He worked beside the villagers.
For three days.
On the fourth morning, a young warrior named Nakoa showed him a collapsed section of stone.
Caleb crawled inside.
The passage was narrow and dark.
He cleared rocks until his hands bled.
When he finally heard water rushing beneath the stone, he shouted.
The villagers outside answered with cheers.
By afternoon, the spring was flowing twice as fast.
For the first time in weeks, the village had reason to celebrate.
That evening, Awan summoned Caleb before everyone.
There were drums.
Food.
Torches.
Caleb immediately became suspicious.
He looked at Nakoa.
"What is this?"
Nakoa smiled.
"You are about to receive an honor."
"I don't want an honor."
"You may change your mind."
Caleb frowned.
Then twenty-two women walked into the firelight.
They stood in a line.
Some were young.
Some were older.
Some looked amused.
Others looked deeply embarrassed.
Caleb stared.
"What in God's name—"
Nakoa whispered:
"The chief gives you the right to choose a wife."
Caleb looked at Awan.
Awan's face was perfectly serious.
Caleb looked back at the women.
Then at Nakoa.
"Twenty-two?"
"Yes."
"I only need one."
Nakoa laughed.
"The chief knows."
Caleb rubbed his forehead.
"This is not something you choose like a horse."
The laughter around the fire stopped.
Caleb turned toward Awan.
"I am grateful. But I won't choose a woman because I found a spring."
Nakoa translated.
Awan listened.
Then he smiled.
For the first time, Caleb saw warmth in the old man's eyes.
"Good," Awan said.
Nakoa looked surprised.
Caleb frowned.
"What does he mean?"
Before Nakoa could answer, one of the women stepped forward.
She was perhaps thirty.
She wore her dark hair in a single braid.
A narrow scar crossed her left cheek.
Her name was Mara.
She did not look at Caleb.
She looked at the old silver pocket watch hanging from a chain around his neck.
Caleb noticed.
His hand closed around it.
His father had given him that watch.
It was the only thing Caleb had left from him.
Mara's face had suddenly gone pale.
"Where did you get that?"
Her English was fluent.
Caleb stared.
"My father."
"Name?"
"Jonas Mercer."
Mara stopped breathing.
The fire crackled between them.
"Your father," she whispered.
Caleb felt something cold move through his stomach.
"You knew him?"
Mara looked toward Awan.
The chief's expression had changed.
Caleb took one step closer.
"How did you know my father?"
Mara did not answer.
Instead, she turned and walked away.
Caleb followed.
"Mara."
She stopped beneath a cottonwood.
"Your father came here twenty years ago."
Caleb stared.
"No."
"Yes."
"My father never came this far west."
"He did."
"Why?"
Mara looked at the pocket watch.
"Because of my mother."
Caleb felt the world shift.
"What was your mother's name?"
Mara looked directly into his eyes.
"Elena."
The name struck him.
He had heard it before.
Not from his father.
From his mother.