Cordia drove on toward Springfield. Part of her was very glad that she had run into Cal Markson. Now they had a better idea of exactly where they needed to go. But, then, the only news he had given her was bad news. So, on she drove, knowing the quicker she got there, the quicker the agony of the unknown would be over.
By nine o'clock, it was pitch black. The horses were exhausted, and Frieda was insisting that they stop for the evening. The house Cordia's father had recommended was left behind in the miles they had crossed that day. They had stopped to rest the horses only twice, and Cordia had spent the whole time pacing, urging Frieda to let them continue. Now, she, too, was feeling weary from their long journey. And she did not like the idea of driving into war-torn country in the dar
