I’m feeling better by the time we return, but I still fall into my cot and sleep like the dead. When I wake, morning shines bright through the window Melancthon made for me. I scratch my itchy upper lip and discover that more blood caked there overnight. The bleeding seems to have stopped for good, though, so I force myself out of bed, wash quickly, and fetch Jefferson, who is hugely relieved to see me awake and hale. Everyone else has left already; Jefferson convinced them to let me sleep.
Dawn chills the air as we return to the cemetery on Peony and Sorry, following the same road we galloped along just hours before. The horses are delighted to be out again so soon. Peony kicks up her heels and tosses her head at every bird and bug. I’m glad one of us has some spunk; I’m so tired I could die.
“I don’t think you should be up and about,” Jefferson says. “In fact, maybe you should stay in bed for a week. Possibly a month.”
“After the meeting,” I promise. “I’ll sleep then.”
To be fair to him and his concerns, my head is throbbing, like there’s an arrastra inside my skull, and a mule is dragging a grindstone around and around in a circle. My knees are weak, and my arms feel twisted and limp as a hen’s wry neck.
“If I’m this exhausted,” Jefferson says, “you must be about to faint.”
“I promise I won’t try to roll over any ships today,” I say.
Jefferson shakes his head. “If I hadn’t been there to see it, I wouldn’t believe it.”
“I hope everyone is all right.”
“Saw Melancthon at breakfast,” Jefferson says. “He said the crew got safely ashore. The ebb tide carried the smaller boats out to sea, but other ships were there to pick them up. Hardwick’s pinnace made it into shore this morning, right before we left.”
“But the Argos did sink, right?” I’d hate to hear it was all for naught, that the ship somehow survived.
“The officer said they expect some light wreckage to drift ashore, but I don’t reckon it will include any gold-filled safes. The water in that part of the bay is more than fifty fathoms deep.”
“Is fifty fathoms deep?”
“Deep enough to sink Hardwick’s fortune.”
Sorry shakes her ruddy head, jangling her bridle, as if putting an end to the matter. As the sun rises across the bay, I feel a little warmer and a lot more whole again.
“We really did it, didn’t we?” Jefferson says.
“Yep. Nobody in California will trust Hardwick again. And he’ll find it a lot harder to start rebuilding his fortune from scratch.”
“Looks like almost everyone is here already,” Jefferson says.
The Sailor’s Cemetery stretches before us, green as an emerald with all the recent rain. A small crowd gathers around Jim’s grave. A final chance to say good-bye. The wagon is here, and it looks like it’s carrying a full load of lumber—Becky’s house, if I don’t miss my guess. Breath rises like fog from the carthorses’ nostrils.
“There you are!” Becky says when she sees us.
“I needed a little extra sleep,” I admit.
“See, Wally?” Becky says to the Major. “Just a touch of lethargy. She’s always that way after using her gift.”
He reaches out and quietly squeezes her hand. She squeezes back like she has no intention of letting go.
Mary steps forward, wearing her traveling dress. I hope that means she’s planning to return with us.
I smile at her. “Thank you for coming. And for working so hard.”
“Glad to see you didn’t kill yourself,” she says.
Henry leans against the wagon. He’s wearing another new suit, this one a brown tweed, a little plainer and more practical than the one he wore to Hardwick’s party. “The news around the city this morning is that the Argos capsized on its way out of the bay last night. All of Hardwick’s gold sank to the bottom of the ocean.”
“We might have heard a thing or two about that,” Jefferson said.
Melancthon reaches up to calm one of the carthorses. “A shipwreck is a bad business,” he says. “And capsizing is one of the worst.”
I nod solemnly. “I was glad to learn the crew survived.”
“Still,” he says. “Makes a fellow glad he didn’t accept that job.”
“Other ships will be headed east soon enough,” I tell him.
“True enough. But I might find a reason to stay.”
Two figures enter the cemetery and walk toward us through the fog. It’s Tom, along with Hampton.
Andy runs forward, arms outstretched. “Hampton! You’re back!”
Hampton lifts the boy into his arms. “I missed you too, my friend.” Hampton is thin and haggard, but he grins like it’s Christmas. Everyone rushes forward to clap him on the back or shake his hand.
“It does my heart good to see you safe,” Becky says.
“Here come the last of the stragglers,” I say.
Jasper approaches, hands in the pockets of his waistcoat, while his companion makes his way with the help of a crutch. I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my whole life.
“Jim!” I say, running to greet him. At his warning look, I stop short of wrapping him in a hug.
“I’m still prone to toppling over,” Jim cautions.
I settle for grasping his shoulder and grinning like a fool.
“He’s lucky to be alive and walking at all,” Jasper says. “I’d hate to see him fall down and undo all the amazing surgery I did to save his life. My recommendation was that he stay in bed today.”
“I told her the same thing,” Jefferson said, jerking his thumb at me.
“Some folks make the worst patients,” Jasper says.
“All right, now that everybody’s here, let’s be quick,” I say. Henry is already grabbing shovels from the wagon and handing them out. I take one, eager to get started.
“Wait a second,” says Hampton. “Boisclair . . . you’re alive?” His eyes are as wide as saucers.
“Alive and kicking,” Jim says. “Well, I’ll be kicking in a few weeks, I’m sure.”
“Not that I’m complaining, but . . . could someone explain this, please?” Hampton says. Relief and anger do battle across his face. I hate that we caused him any more suffering, and I wouldn’t blame him one bit if he decided to be mad as a wet cat.
“I’m pretty sure none of us knows the whole story,” Jefferson says. He yanks the shovel out of my hand and gives me a stay-put-or-else look.
“Then this is a good time to put it together,” I say, and everyone nods agreement.
“First,” Becky says, “I want to know how Hardwick was able to set a trap for us that day at the Custom House. How did he know I’d try to reclaim my house? Was it that mind reader of his?”
Henry stops digging long enough to wipe sweat from his forehead. “I’ve wondered the same thing.”
“Wait,” Hampton says. “Mind reader?”
I nod. “Miss Helena Russell. When she sees people, she gets glimpses of the future, sometimes the thoughts in their heads. So when she met us in the law offices, she got a picture in her head of Becky returning with Henry in tow. She warned Hardwick, who sent his guards.”
“Is that what she told you at the party?” Becky asks.
“I asked her outright, and she admitted it. After our failed attempt to reclaim the house, Hardwick’s men kidnapped Hampton.” I nod toward my friend.
“That’s when we decided to ruin Hardwick,” Mary says smugly.
“I knew you were up to something big, something that involved Hardwick,” Melancthon says. “But . . . this is a lot for a fellow to swallow. A mind reader?”
I’m so glad we decided to trust the sailor. He ended up playing an important role. I say, “That was the hardest part—deciding how to act when Hardwick had someone who could pluck our thoughts right out of our heads. We had to divide the plan into parts, and give each person a single part to figure out on their own.”
Tom says, “I pretended to be at odds with everyone, and I went to work for Hardwick.”
“In the meantime,” I say, “we spied on the banks where he kept his money.”
“I loitered around the docks to spread word about how much money he had,” Jefferson says. He’s standing knee-deep in a hole, with his jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows.
“I helped with that!” Henry says. “I spread the word at gambling houses throughout the city.”
“I even suggested that some people might be planning to steal it,” Jefferson adds. “The idea was to have the rumors get back to Hardwick, so we could see what protection measures he’d put in place. But that part backfired a little. When we went to the bank that night to check it out, a couple of ambitious knuckleheads got there first.”
“We did find out exactly how his money was guarded,” I say. “But I couldn’t let the robbers get away with the safe—we needed that safe intact.” The shadow of the gallows passes across my thoughts.
“In the meantime,” Tom says, “I learned everything I could about the sheriff’s auctions. Hardwick managed them, and Sheriff Purcell took a cut of the money. I soon discovered that Purcell felt he wasn’t getting his fair share.”
“So Jefferson sabotaged the auction,” I say. “All the prices were too low, only a fraction of what Hardwick wanted. And every single lot he had sold at the last auction was listed again. But, Jefferson . . .” I turn toward him. Sweat runs down his neck. “How did you do it?”
His self-satisfied grin is the best thing I’ve seen in days. “I paid a printer to run off phony auction sheets,” he says. “Billy, the pickpocket, was already working at the auctions, handing out price sheets every month. So Hardwick’s printer handed him the real price sheets, and then we replaced them with fake ones we commissioned, and Billy distributed them, just like always.”
“Custom House lot twenty-three!” Becky says.
“Huh?” I say.
“Custom House lot twenty-three, that was the other thing you changed. The original bid sheet said ‘one house, from Tennessee, complete with furnishings and ready for assembly.’ But the fake one said ‘one small load of wood, somewhat water damaged.’”
I grin. “That probably made it easier to buy.”
“We were the only bidders,” Henry says, looking up from the hole again, which is now almost waist-deep. “Imagine that!”
“My job was to create a distraction,” Jim says. “To keep the auctioneer from paying close attention to the false bid sheets, and to put the crowd on edge.” He winces. “That proved to be an even better distraction than anticipated.”
“You mean worse,” I say, glaring.
“After Jim was shot,” Becky says, “Henry and I stuck around for a while, sowing discord.”
“We put on a fine bit of theater, if you ask me,” Henry says. “We didn’t know what kind of shape Jim was in, but we soldiered on.”
“Ideally, the plan should have worked either way,” I say. “If they didn’t catch the substitution, then the sale proceeded and the sheriff would think Hardwick was trying to cheat him. If the auctioneer did notice something wrong and called off the auction, then both Hardwick and the sheriff would come up empty-handed.” I turn to Jim and say, “But neither one was worth your life. If Frank Dilley had killed you, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“I didn’t come all the way out to California just to die,” Jim says. He stretches out his crutch and taps the name on the grave marker. “But since everyone thinks I did, I might try being someone else for a while.”
“Well, you’re welcome in Glory, Mr. Boisclair,” says the Major.
“But why?” Hampton says. “Why let people go on thinking Jim was dead? I’m still so confused.”
“We’re getting to that,” Mary assures him.
Hampton’s frown deepens. I open my mouth to assure him, to explain, but he jumps into the muddy hole and takes Jefferson’s shovel. “I have no idea what’s going on here, but let me spell you a bit.”
“Thanks, Hampton.” Jeff wipes his forehead with his sleeve and climbs out.
Following Hampton’s lead, Jasper rolls up his sleeves and jumps in to spell Henry.
“The best thing about the auction,” Tom says, “is that it made Sheriff Purcell steaming mad at Hardwick, even before he got called out to the party.”
“Party?” says Hampton. He pauses midshovel, and dirt clods topple back into the hole.
“I bet the sheriff expected to confiscate all the money Frank Dilley stole,” the Major says.
“Frank Dilley stole a bunch of money?” Jasper asks, exchanging a baffled look with Hampton.
“Don’t stop digging!” Mary says. “We have to get this done before anyone comes along.”
As they resume their attack on the hole, I say, “We stole the money. But we made it look like Frank Dilley did it.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all month,” Hampton says.
“Tell me how you did it,” Jasper demands.
“Well, we needed your help for that,” Henry says.
“Ah,” Jasper says. “That’s what all the fuss with Jim was about.”
“Yep,” I say. “After Jim was shot, Mary had the best idea.”
Mary grins. “It turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. Once we had the keys for Hardwick’s safes—”
“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Tom interrupts. “How did you get the keys to Hardwick’s safes? I’ve been dying to know how you managed it. They were never out of Ichabod’s hands.”
“Ichabod?” I ask.
“His accountant.”
“Mr. Keys!” Jefferson says. He’s leaning against the wagon now, taking a breather. “That was a tough one. He checked those keys every time he sat down and again the second he stood up. So I paid Sonia to help us. One day when Mr. Keys . . . Ichabod . . . stopped for lunch, she lifted his key ring. We had wax trays ready so she could make impressions of all the keys in just a few minutes.”
“Like the locksmith who worked on the Charlotte,” Melancthon says.
Jefferson nods. “By the time his food was served, the ring was back on his belt; he never noticed it was gone.”
“Once we had the keys for Hardwick’s safes,” the Major continues, “we needed a way to get the gold out quickly and efficiently, and then transport it without it being noticed.”
“Aha!” Melancthon interjects. “That’s what you needed that bilge hose for. They’re heavy when full, but easy to move.”
“We were going fill the hose with gold coins, and then store them all in the Charlotte in a barrel,” the Major says. “But it’s a good thing we didn’t. After he was arrested, Frank Dilley told the sheriff that we stole the money, and Purcell came and searched the Charlotte from stem to stern yesterday. If we’d had a single coin hidden aboard the ship, he would have found it.”
“I still don’t understand how you got the money out of the bank,” Jasper says.
“That was me, too,” Jefferson says. “The bank has a tile roof. I climbed up, removed a few tiles, and slipped directly into the cage. Took me a minute to figure out which key opened the safe. Then I stuffed the gold coins into the bilge hose.”
“Which was why Major Craven had me line it with cotton padding,” Melancthon says, running a hand through his whisk-broom hair. “To muffle the sound.”
“Exactly,” the Major says.
“My job was to talk to the guards,” I say. “Keep them from walking around the back of the building or paying too much attention to any odd noises.” I helped in another way, too, by giving all that gold a little push, making the bilge hose easier to handle. But I’m not sure I should say so aloud. Melancthon doesn’t need to know all our secrets.
“I thought for sure they were going to catch me when they opened the door,” Jefferson says. “There was just enough time to close the safe door and crouch behind it. If it hadn’t been cloudy and dark, he might have noticed the hole in the roof.” He looks at me. “You did a great job distracting them.”
I shrug. “Those fellows weren’t too bad.”
“Once the safe was empty,” Jefferson continues. “I climbed back up to the roof, holding one end of the hose. I pulled it over the edge and loaded it onto the wagon. Then I replaced the roof tiles, and it was like I’d never been there.”
Mary is all grins. “The next day, I paid Hardwick’s Chinese workers—the ones who moved all his safes—to pretend that one safe was just as heavy as the others, even though it was empty.”
“He never suspected a thing,” Tom says. “I never suspected a thing.”
“So, back to Jim,” I say. “Once he was shot, Mary recognized an opportunity. A way to hide all the gold we planned to steal.”
Jasper says, “So that’s why she told me to keep Jim hidden.”
“She made all the arrangements,” Henry adds. “She organized everything.”
“I came to San Francisco alone,” Mary says. “So I didn’t think Hardwick would realize I was part of the group. I had to keep out of sight around the Charlotte, though, sneaking in and out through the hold. I was afraid Frank Dilley would recognize me from Hiram’s Gulch.”
“It worked out,” I say. “Mary was able to get things done without Hardwick ever catching wind.”
Becky stares at Mary. “I thought . . . I thought you were avoiding me.”
Mary stares back, not answering.
“So that’s why we’re digging,” Jasper says, attacking the hole with renewed enthusiasm.
“Because you did bury something here,” Hampton agrees. “But it’s not Jim.”
A sharp crack sounds. Hampton and Jasper use their shovels to scrape dirt away, revealing a muddy wooden casket.
“Go ahead, Hampton,” I say. “You do the honors.”
He shoves the tip of his shovel beneath the lid and levers it off.
We all crowd around and peer down into the hole. About four thousand coins sit piled inside the casket, all fifty-dollar pieces. There’s a moment of silence, as if someone has died and we’re all showing respect. It’s not inappropriate, I think. People probably did die to collect this gold. The Indians who had their land stolen. The forty-niners who died on the wagon trail west. The miners who worked themselves sick. The people Hardwick kicked out of their homes to live in the cold, wet San Francisco streets.
Jim gives a low, appreciative whistle.
“Hampton, I’m so sorry we lied to you,” I say. “It was meant to protect Jim from any further reprisals, and we weren’t sure how to get the real information to you.”
“I have to admit,” Hampton says, “after getting my freedom papers, then having my freedom taken away again . . . more bad news was awful hard to take in.” He takes a good long gander at all that gold. “But it also gave you a casket and a reason to bury it,” he adds graciously.
Becky says, “It comes to about three hundred and thirty coins per portion. We’d better get them counted out quick.”
“Already on it,” Jefferson says. He climbs back into the hole with a dozen bags, and he and Hampton start counting out the coins.
“So what happened at the party last night?” Jasper asks. “You know, the one I missed so Mary could go in my place?” He says it with mock effrontery, as if he was the type of fellow to actually care about a party.
“All I know is that I was supposed to debauch Ichabod yesterday,” Tom says. “If anyone was going to sense something amiss, it was going to be him. I was successful, and I hesitate to share all the details, although I confess that we opened the first bottle of wine before lunch. He’s a decent enough fellow. I was glad to hear he escaped the sinking of the Argos.”
“At the party, we had to get inside one of the safes and frame Frank Dilley,” I say. “But I don’t know this part. The Major took care of that.” I turn to him. “Please tell me how you did it!”
“We needed to use those copied keys again,” the Major says. “So many people are abandoning steady employment and running for the golden hills that the caterers were understaffed. They were thrilled when Mary and I volunteered to help out.”
“It took a long time for us to figure out which room was Frank’s,” Mary says.
“Almost too long,” the Major says. “By the way, this crutch is noisy as all get-out. I stepped on rugs whenever possible, but I don’t mind saying that getting in and out of Frank’s room is one of the most hair-raising things I’ve ever done.”
Becky pats his arm. “You’re a brave man.”
“So we found the safes first. We opened one and put Lee’s little bundle inside, then I marked it with a bit of chalk so the dockhands would know which one to put in the center of the hold.”
“Huh?” says Melancthon. “‘Little bundle?’”
“Just a keepsake,” I hurry to say. “A locket I carried west with me. It belonged to my mother. I wanted to give it a ceremonial burial at sea, in her honor.”
Henry gives me an admiring look, and Mary coughs to cover a laugh.
“Then we found Frank’s room,” the Major continues, “and we left the key there, along with some other incriminating evidence.”
“Where did you hide the duplicate key?” Tom asks. “Everyone at the party was searched closely, and staff was searched twice.”
The Major hands the baby to Becky and sits down on the edge of the wagon. He pops open a small door on his wooden leg to reveal a secret compartment within. “I carried it here, along with everything else. They searched my pockets, and the seams of my clothes, but they didn’t even want to touch my wooden leg.”
“You’re so clever,” Becky says.
“I manage.”
Jefferson and Hampton finish dividing the last of the coins. They stack the bags beside the grave and climb out of the hole. Jeff offers the first bag to Hampton. “For all your trouble,” he says.
“I’ve had a lot more trouble than this in my life,” Hampton says. “But I’ll take some of that gold, I’m not ashamed to say.”
Jefferson hands the second bag to Tom.
“As an officer of the court, who may have to testify under oath at some point in the future, I cannot in good conscience accept stolen property.” Jefferson starts to withdraw the bag, but Tom grabs it. “I can, however, with a clear heart, give it to someone who should never have been treated as property in the first place, as a first step toward making things right. So I shall hold it in trust for Adelaide.”
Hampton beams. “Any word of her while I was gone?” he says.
Tom’s smile is sympathetic. “You know it’s too early, Hampton. It takes months for these things to happen.”
“Well, this ought to help me open that general store,” Jim says, taking his bag.
Jasper says it’ll help him start his own practice and provide services to the people of California who can’t afford a doctor. Mary, Melancthon, the Major, and Henry all accept their shares.
When it’s Becky’s turn, she opens the bag, removes a few coins, and then hands it back. Holding up the coins, she says, “This is reimbursement from Mr. Hardwick, to repay the cost of recovering my house at auction. But otherwise, I don’t feel comfortable stealing from anyone, not even a man as terrible as he was. He’s been ruined, and that’s enough for me.”
Jefferson hesitates, glancing at me uncertainly.
The Major reaches out and grabs the bag. “I’ll take it and invest it for the children. We’ll plant it like a seed and let it grow, so that they have something to inherit when they’re older.”
“Wally!”
“Don’t try to talk me out of it. My old man left me nothing but a bunch of debt and some bad memories. I figure these little ones already have good memories of their father, all except for the babe here. But there’s no reason they can’t have a little money. It’s what your husband would do if he was still here.”
“I’m pretty sure he would gamble it all away,” Becky says.
I’m pretty sure she’s right.
“So, I think I understand the whole story now,” Jasper says. “Except for one thing. How did you steal all those jewels? The pocket watches and gold coins?”
“It was us,” says a sulky voice.
“Sonia!” She has arrived with Billy, which I expected, and with Helena, who I wasn’t sure would show up.
Jefferson, Hampton, and Jasper clamber out of the hole, and they work fast to shovel all the dirt back in. Everyone gives Helena a wide berth, even though she’s here at my invitation.
“These are our new friends, Sonia and Billy,” I say. “They helped us all along, mostly by working with Jefferson and Mary. They also joined us at Hardwick’s party, disguised as Becky’s children.”
“That’s why the children stayed with me all night on the Charlotte,” Melancthon says.
“They were supposed to be us?” Olive asks, running up to Sonia. “You’re so big!”
“You’ll be big soon enough,” Sonia says, chucking her under the chin. “Don’t rush it.”
“Nobody but Frank Dilley knew what Becky’s children looked like,” I explain. “So we were able to sneak them in.”
“Which I might have foreseen,” Helena says. “But I don’t think you ever really looked at them.”
“I tried to think of them as Olive and Andy,” I say. “It was hard.”
“But it worked.”
“So you’re the mind reader,” Melancthon says to Helena.
Helena just smiles at him.
“You’ve counted out all the portions,” Sonia says, her voice suddenly cracking with anger. “And you weren’t going to leave any for us.”
“A promise is a promise,” I say, bending over to pick up one of the remaining bags. “I trust you’ll use it to look after Billy.”
The fight melts out of her. “And maybe a few other kids,” she says, cradling the gold to her chest, a shy smile forming.
“It’d help if you had a decent roof over your heads and some honest work,” I say.
Her smile disappears. “It’d help if someone would give us honest work.”
“We’ll see,” I say, and I glance over at Helena. “I think the Charlotte would make a fine hotel. It already has a good carpenter, who is also an excellent cook, but he needs someone who can manage the business side of things. Someone who is good at working with people, and who can see trouble coming before it arrives.”
“You gave him the deed for the Charlotte,” Helena says fiercely.
“No. I gave it to my good friend Wally Craven.”
The Major steps forward, pulling a bit of paper from his pocket. “And I’d like to give it to our new friends, Helena Russell and Melancthon Jones,” he says. “Miss Russell, you need a man to hold the deed in trust for you, and I can’t think of a more trustworthy fellow than Mr. Jones.”
“Either one of you can buy the other out at any time, of course,” Tom adds.
Helena snatches the deed from the Major’s hand. Melancthon and Helena regard each other like a pair of alley cats who discover themselves in a corner.
After a moment, Helena says, “I can see myself working with him,” and I wonder if she means it literally or figuratively. “Mr. Jones, it looks like we’re going into business together.”
Melancthon’s eyes are wide with amazement. “I can hardly believe it.”
“You’ve been such a help, sir,” I tell him. “We couldn’t have done this without you. You worked hard getting the Charlotte into livable shape. You watched the children during the party. Most importantly, you convinced the crew of the Argos to have plenty of lifeboats ready.”
“I . . . yes . . . I mean, sailors are a superstitious lot. All I had to say was I’d heard omens about it being a bad day for sailing and . . . really? You’re giving us the ship?”
With a glance at Jefferson, I say, “I can’t own property, being a woman. And my future husband can’t own property either, being half Cherokee.”
“And I have no use for a ship,” the Major says, staring at Becky. “My home is in Glory.”
I say, “So the Charlotte belongs to Melancthon and Helena now. If you rent out rooms, you’ll need someone to clean them, run errands, and the like. May I introduce you to my friends Sonia and Billy? They are currently in possession of their own means of support, but could use some stability and a future.”
The four of them regard one another uncertainly.
“Lee,” Jefferson says, pausing to toss his shovels back on the wagon. “It’s time to be on our way.”
I turn toward my mare.
“Wait,” Melancthon says. “I have one more big question.”
All of us wait expectantly.
“How did you sink the Argos?”
The air is suddenly taut. Everyone stares at me, wondering what I’ll tell him. The wind is picking up, clearing the morning fog. A sea hawk screeches overhead.
I smile. “Melancthon,” I say, “I’m afraid that’s one secret we’re not willing to share.”
Before he can press, Jasper says, “I need to get back to work. But I’ll be in Glory for the wedding, don’t think I won’t.”
Tom and Henry take their leave, insisting that this is “not a real good-bye,” promising to be in touch soon. Jim declares that he’s fetching his things and heading for Glory, that staying in this city might be bad for his health, and Hampton offers to help him along.
Becky and the Major are on the wagon bench, the children in the back, all waiting for Jefferson and me to finish up. Mary stands beside the wagon, looking a little lost.
“If the Charlotte makes a successful hotel,” Melancthon says, “there might be funds waiting for you. I could hold them in escrow—”
I wave my hand at him. “The deed is in your name. The ship is yours.”
He gapes at me. “But—”
Helena puts a hand on his arm. “She has resources,” she says. “The girl will be just fine.”
Jefferson puts our gold into Peony’s saddlebags. He hefts the bag, gauging its weight. “This is less than we had when we arrived in San Francisco.”
“But still more than we need.” I put a foot in the stirrup and swing myself up onto Peony’s back. “Mary, are you staying in the city or coming home with us?”
She hesitates.
“Mary?” I say.
Mary and Becky are staring at each other. Becky’s jaw twitches.
Finally Becky says, “Mary, don’t be daft. You know I can’t run that restaurant without you.” She lifts her chin. “You’re the third best employee I’ve ever had, and I’ve grown fond of y— your company.” After another too-long pause, Becky adds, “And fine. I’ll raise your wages.”
Mary’s smile could light up the bay. “Glory is my home.”
“Oh, Mary, I’m so glad,” I tell her, nudging Peony forward. “Jefferson, are you ready to go home?”
Jefferson climbs onto Sorry’s back, and I swear the horse sighs. “More than ready.”