at her sister, Rachel lowered to her knees and considered Clarence more closely. No, not Clarence. “What’s your real name?”
“Clara.”
Rachel took in the rounded cheeks, bow-shaped lips and pretty brown—albeit poorly cut—hair. “You look like a Clara.” She touched the other woman’s hand in the same manner she might a frightened child. “I still don’t understand the need for all the secrecy.”
Clara glanced at Emma. Emma patted her friend’s hand.
Seeming to draw courage from the obvious support, Clara pulled in a shaky breath of air. “My husband and I sold everything we owned to join the wagon train. But Adam fell ill not long after we left Pennsylvania. He died before we reached Missouri. He...”
She stopped speaking, choked back a sob. The sound was so full of grief Rachel felt the woman’s pain as if were her own. Though she’d never been married, she knew what it was like to lose a loved one. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
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