We spend a long time with Jasper, talking things through, making all the proper arrangements.
Before returning to the Charlotte, we hire a boat to row us out to the prison barge. The water is rough today, and the little boat can’t seem to keep its course, no matter how valiantly the boatman rows. But eventually we reach the sheriff’s floating jail. I bang on the hull, just like on my previous visit with Jim, and call out for Hampton.
When his face appears in the porthole, a lump lodges in my throat.
“How are you doing?” I manage to shout.
“If it weren’t for the rats and the lousy food, it’d be just like the county fair,” he says. The false cheerfulness in his voice doesn’t hide the strain. “Come to think of it, the county fair also has rats and lousy food.”
“Need anything?” Jefferson calls up, and I give him a sharp look, because that’s not like Jefferson at all. It’s one of those things that feels good to say, I guess, but I don’t know how we’d get Hampton anything he needed.
“I need out! Won’t be much longer. Yesterday Jim said they raised enough money to get me free. They just need to take it to the sheriff and sign the papers.”
“That’s why we came to talk to you,” I say. “It’s about Jim. I’m afraid we have bad news.”
Hampton’s face in the porthole is an unreadable mask, like a man so accustomed to bad news it doesn’t even land.
“Frank Dilley shot him. It turned out bad.”
Anger flashes across his face. Then he pulls away from the porthole. He returns a moment later, wearing the same mask as before. “Shouldn’t make a difference. Jim said one of the preachers is handling the money. He has standing in the community, even with the sheriff.”
Jefferson and I exchange a look. “That’s . . . good news,” I say.
“Have you talked to Tom?” Hampton asks.
After too long a pause, Jefferson says, “We haven’t seen much of Tom lately.”
“He’s been working,” I add. “We see him at supper and sometimes breakfast.”
“You ask him about my Adelaide.”
“We’ll do that,” Jefferson says.
The waves are growing more violent, knocking our boat against the side of the ship. I grip the bench to keep from losing my seat.
“We gotta go,” Jefferson says.
Hampton nods once, and his face disappears from the porthole.
We reach shore, pay the oarsman, and trudge home toward the Charlotte. The daylight fades early this time of year, especially with the sky so overcast. It’s almost dusk by the time we make it home. The wagon is parked outside the ship. Inside the wagon is a huge barrel.
Everyone is gathered in the galley, including Mary. The table is cleared of the Major’s and Melancthon’s latest project, and fixings for dinner are spread. The Major bounces the baby on his knee, the end of his wooden leg tapping on the floor.
Becky’s eyes go straight to the bloodstains on Jefferson’s clothes and mine. “How is Mr. Boisclair?”
“He’s . . .” I glance at Mary, who nods quietly. Yes, she arranged everything after she left the doctor’s office, just as she promised. Even though Helena Russell is nowhere near, I’m afraid to say or even think too much.
“There’s going to be a funeral for him tomorrow,” Mary says finally. “In the Sailor’s Cemetery at the corner of Sansome and Vallejo.”
“Oh, Lee, I’m so sorry,” Becky says. “I know he was a longtime family friend.”
I just nod, unable to form words.
“The view from that spot is positively poetic,” Henry says. “I think your friend Jim will approve.”
“But . . . Sailor’s Cemetery?” Becky says. “He was never a sailor, was he? I thought he was from Dahlonega, like Jefferson and Lee.”
“A lot of folks buried there,” Mary says. “Indians and Negros. Chinese. The funeral is going to be a small affair. Henry and I made all the arrangements today.”
“Mary is a marvel,” Henry says. “Did you know she speaks English, Chinese, and Spanish?”
Mary glares at Henry, as if complimenting her is the worst thing ever.
But Becky says, “Of course.” As if it’s nothing. “She interprets for me all the time at the tavern.”
“In any case,” I say, “I’d sure appreciate it if everyone could be there tomorrow. Jim is . . . was one of my oldest friends.”
“Which reminds me,” Jefferson adds, looking to the Major. “We’ll need to take that barrel off the wagon to make room for a casket. I told Jasper we’d come pick it up tonight. He promised to have it ready.”
The Major and Melancthon exchange a glance and a nod. “We can do that right after supper.”
“I’d be grateful,” I say.
Jefferson and I grab plates. I serve myself a helping of everything on the table—smashed potatoes, green beans with bits of bacon, and a slice of salted ham—but I don’t have much of an appetite. I sit beside Mary. She puts her arm around me and gives me a quick squeeze—a rare gesture from her.
“How’d the auction go?” Jefferson asks around a mouthful of food. Nothing affects his appetite.
“Nothing we said, in shouts or whispers, did anything to slow it down,” Henry says.
“The starting prices were too good to pass up,” Becky explains. “I think even people who thought Hardwick had robbed them in the past wanted to get a piece of things.”
“But did you get your house?” I ask.
Becky brightens. “I think so! I have to pick it up in the next few days. We’ll see if the auction . . . holds.”
“I’m so relieved to hear it,” I say. We needed something to go right for us. “I can’t wait to set it up in Glory.”
“So Dilley collected all the money and took the strongbox to the bank?” Jefferson asks.
“They were done before noon,” Becky says.
“Sold off everything and closed up shop,” Henry adds. “I was able to spend the whole afternoon helping Mary arrange things.”
I stop playing with my food and put down my knife and fork. “Which means that tonight, a huge portion of his fortune is going to be at Owen and Son, Bankers, right on Portsmouth Square.”
“We may have some news about that,” Mary says, with a nod toward Henry. “When we were out making funeral arrangements, we had a little trouble finding the help we needed.”
Henry adds, “The first two people we asked had already been hired out by Hardwick. To fetch all his safes from various banks around the city.”
“Whoa,” says Jefferson.
“When?” the Major asks. Melanchthon is looking back and forth between us all, obviously curious about why these details are important, but not butting in. He knows we’re up to something, but he hasn’t once pestered us with questions. I hope he’s trustworthy. The Major assures me that he is.
“Tomorrow,” says Mary. “They’ll start first thing in the morning, and deliver all of them to Hardwick’s house before a big party tomorrow night.”
“A party, huh?” I say, and Jefferson draws in a small breath. A party would be perfect. Exactly what we need for the last part of our plan. We’ll have to work fast, though, to put everything into place.
Maybe all those safes will . . . I shut my thoughts down as quick as I can. I need to practice not thinking about the plan. Then again, it’s not like Helena is standing outside the door, hoping to eavesdrop on our thoughts.
“Can you do me a favor?” I ask Mary.
“Of course.”
“Any chance you can find the folks Hardwick hired and give them a message?”
“Probably.”
“They’ll be watched by Hardwick’s men every step of the way. They should be warned that the safe at Owen and Son will be the heaviest safe and the hardest to move.”
Mary tugs her earlobe. “That is a very good thing for them to know. Thank you.”
Jefferson eyes me, but he doesn’t say a word. Melanchthon looks at Mary, then me, then back again.
Mary rises. “I need to go. I got myself a job serving drinks in a gambling den tonight.”
“Serving drinks?” Becky asks with a raised brow.
Mary has the grace to smile. “Just serving drinks.”
“I suppose it’s good not to be idle while you’re here,” Becky says, which I think is a callous and uppity thing to say, as Mary has never been idle a day in her life. But my thoughts toward Becky soften when she adds, “Will you be coming back with me to Glory? After we’ve finished here? I . . . I’ve gotten used to having you around the tavern.”
Mary looks at her a long moment. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
Becky opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
To me, Mary says, “Be careful.”
“You too. Mary . . . I know you volunteered for these assignments, but I’m not sure it’s safe.”
Mary shrugs. “I’m the only one who speaks Chinese and Spanish. It has to be me.”
Melancthon stands. “I’d be happy to accompany you, ma’am, and see to your safety.”
Mary’s smile lights up the galley. “I’d like that, sir.”
After they leave, the Major hands the baby to Becky, along with her fistful of smashed potatoes. “I should hitch up the wagon and get over to Jasper’s before it’s too late.”
Olive and Andy clear their plates and run off to play hide-and-seek. The sounds of counting and running echo hollowly through the ship. Henry, Becky, Jefferson, and I all linger at the table, unwilling to let the day go.
“What exactly do we know about this party tomorrow night?” I ask.
“Not much,” Henry says. “Hardwick has been sending out invitations to all the local politicians and bigwigs, but they take turns hosting parties for each other all the time. It didn’t sound like anything special.”
“We’ll make it special,” Jefferson murmurs.
I think about the city and get the map of it clear in my head. “Hardwick’s house is in Pleasant Valley, right? Melancthon says the Argos is sailing for New York. It’s currently anchored in Mission Bay, which is right next to Pleasant Valley. If all of Hardwick’s safes are being delivered to his house, that’s the first step to loading them onto the ship.”
“If we hadn’t hired Melancthon ourselves,” Jefferson says, “he’d be on the Argos already, overseeing the hold retrofit. The carpenters will be finished soon, and Hardwick could be gone with the tide on Thursday.”
“So this is our only chance.”
Henry nods.
Becky tries to spoon some green beans into the baby’s mouth, but the tiny thing can’t be fooled. She tightens up her lips and shakes her head. Becky widens her eyes and grins hugely and says to the baby, “Say ‘Hardwick is a baaaaad man!’”
“Bah!” says the baby, and Becky slips a spoonful into her mouth.
Jefferson folds his arms. “It’s comeuppance time,” he says.
“It is,” I agree. “Then home to Glory.” With its sunrise hills and golden grass and wide-open space. So different from this busy, rickety city.
“Which reminds me.” Becky hands the baby to Henry, who uses his table napkin to wipe at the smeared potatoes on her round cheeks. “You two wait right here. I had time to go shopping after the auction today, and I found something for you.”
She disappears and returns with several bundles wrapped in brown paper. She puts the first in front of me and unfolds it to reveal a gold-and-yellow damask linen.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Material for your wedding dress! I realized I was never going to coax you into a dress shop. And then I thought about it—why must you have a boughten dress, anyway? We could get one tailored just for you.”
It looks like a tub of butter exploded in a vat of cream. “It’s . . . nice.”
Becky beams and starts tearing open another package. “And I found the perfect lace to go with it!”
I admire the lace and try not to think about how, when I get married, I’m going to look like a giant pastry covered in spun sugar. “You’re so thoughtful, Becky.”
“This one is for you,” she says to Jefferson, opening the final package to reveal wool and satin in varying shades of plum—unripe plum and juicy plum and nearly prune. I’m going to look like butter and sugar, but Jefferson is going to look like a giant walking bruise. I glance over at Henry, but he’s no help at all, because he stares at the nearly prune satin like it’s manna from heaven.
“You shouldn’t have,” Jefferson tells Becky flatly, and I have to stifle a giggle.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Glory’s first wedding is going to be a special event. Historic. It’s the least I could do for the two of you.”
“I . . . thank you,” Jefferson says, looking at me with panic in his eyes.
“The tailor will be here Friday to take your measurements,” Becky says. “I would have scheduled it sooner, but they’re very busy right now, finishing up new clothes for Mr. Hardwick’s party. I declare, any person with an aptitude in San Francisco right now is bound to make a fortune.”
Movement catches my eye, and I look up and see Olive and Andy peering around the corner. I beckon to them, and Olive runs over and climbs onto my lap.
“Do you love it?” Olive asks.
“I love it,” I say. “Your ma is a very good friend.”
“This is the color I would have picked,” Andy announces, grabbing at the fabric for Jefferson’s suit. Becky slaps his hands away.
“No touching. You haven’t washed your hands,” she says.
Andy sticks his fingers in his mouth and licks them vigorously, then wipes his hand on his trousers. “Now can I?” he asks.
I am eager to see the result of this inquiry, but we’re interrupted by banging at the door.
“I’ll see who it is,” Jefferson says, and he heads down the hallway to the entrance.
Before he gets halfway, he starts backing up. Following him is Frank Dilley, his hand on one of his guns.
I slide Olive from my lap and push her behind me.
My Hawken rifle is in my room, beneath my cot. I’ll have to get past Dilley.
“I let myself in,” he says. “Well, ain’t this a proper reunion with you wagon-train bootlickers, the Johnny-come-latelies. I don’t suppose Wally Craven is around here somewhere?”
“Your former wagon master and superior is momentarily engaged,” Becky says. “If you have a message for him, you may leave it and go.”
“No, I have a message for you,” he replies. “Well, you, specifically,” he adds, indicating me. “But I’ll extend it to all of you, even the brats.”
He reaches into his left vest pocket; Jefferson starts forward.
“Slow down, tiger,” Dilley says, and draws his gun just far enough to make Jefferson freeze.
He removes a gilt-edged envelope, which he tosses onto the galley table.
“Mr. Hardwick requests the pleasure of your company, and that of your guests, at a little soiree he is hosting at his home tomorrow night. It’s a farewell party for all his business associates before he leaves for New York. He’s done business with you, as a representative of the town of Glory, and would like to show his appreciation. The details are in the invitation. Be sure to bring it with you. I’ll tell them at the gate to expect you—the children too.” He glances at Henry. “Your good pal Tom doesn’t need an invitation. He’ll be there working for Mr. Hardwick. And I understand the doc deserted you, like he should have a long time ago. But he’s still invited.”
“Why’d Hardwick send you?” I ask. Hardwick knows our history with Dilley.
“Oh, I volunteered. A chance to see some old friends one last time.”
He tips his hat and backs out the way he came, keeping his hand on his gun the whole time.
The second he’s gone, I run to my room and grab my rifle. I have my powder horn out and I’m shoving a wad of shot and cotton down the muzzle when Jefferson stops me. “You can’t shoot him,” he says.
“I’m not an idiot. But he was here. In our home. He just walked right in. So I’m keeping this gun loaded.”
“Lee, you know better. That gunpowder will get wet. Next time you shoot, it will backfire in your face. There’s nothing to be done that we aren’t already doing.”
I glare at him, hating that he’s right. It’s exactly what my daddy would have said. “We have to do something, damn it.”
“You’re entirely correct,” Becky says softly. “He shouldn’t get away with just walking into our home. But the children are listening, and I would still ask you to mind your language.”
All the fire goes out of me, doused by the ice-cold water of Becky’s words. “I’m sorry.”
“Damn it!” Andy says, in perfect mimicry of my voice.
Becky spins on him. “Andrew Joyner Junior! If you ever say that word again, even as a grown man, I will scrub your mouth with soap until it’s clean enough for serving Sunday dinner, is that clear?”
“Yes, Ma,” he says contritely.
“Besides, you don’t want to shoot him, you want to thank him,” Henry says.
I spin on him. “What . . . ? Oh. You’re right.”
He holds up the invitation, which he has unsealed and read. “Now we have a way into Hardwick’s house. The final part of our plan, the only part we hadn’t figured out yet. Delivered to us on a silver platter. My friends, we are going to a party!”
Becky grins ear to ear. “I haven’t attended a proper party since Chattanooga. We have to find something appropriate to wear!”
I recap my powder horn and return the rifle to my room, Jefferson trailing behind me. “Helena Russell will be there,” he says.
“Yep.” I sit on my cot, and Jefferson settles on the one across from me. “But we’ll worry about that tomorrow.”
He puts his elbows on his knees and rests his chin on his hands. A tiny bit of soft, dark hair is growing along his jawline now, and I resist the urge to trace it with my fingers. I wonder if he’ll choose to grow a beard, like his da, or shave it clean, like his mother’s people.
“We have a long night ahead,” Jefferson says. “Maybe you should get some shut-eye.”
I stare at his lips. “Maybe you should get some with me.”
He grins. “I like that idea.”
My cot is too small for us both, so we shove two cots together and lie down side by side. He cradles me close, twining my fingers with his, and it reminds me a little of being on the trail, sleeping together beneath the wagon. Back then, I thought he was holding my hand in friendship.
I smile to myself. We aren’t just friends, and maybe I can take liberties now. I reach up and touch the hair on his jawline, because I can.
Hours later, Jefferson shakes me awake. I snap to, shivering with cold. This is our last chance. If we can’t do what we plan tonight, we’ll run out of time.
I don a skirt—the bright yellow calico, given to me by Lucie Robichaud before she took her leave and went to Oregon Territory. I need to be visible. A distraction.
Jefferson wears dark trousers, brown leather gloves, and a miner’s hat, all meant to help him blend in with the night. Together, we exit the Charlotte and head toward Portsmouth Square. A few blocks short of our destination, we pause. Jefferson plants a quick kiss on my lips. “Good luck,” he whispers.
He’ll need luck more than I will tonight. “Be careful,” I warn. “Take no chances.”
He tips his hat to me and dashes away, into the darkness.
I continue on alone. It’s the quietest part of the night, when all the gamblers are abed and a body can hear the water of the bay lapping against the docks just a few blocks away. The sooty wet smell of the city has faded with recent rains, only to be replaced by the more pungent smell of an overflowing outhouse. Everyone has been doing their business wherever they please, and when they’re drunk, wherever they please turns out to be wherever they are.
The gallows still stand in the corner of the square, like a tall, angular scarecrow. The body has been removed, but a single crow remains, perched atop the crossbeam, its head tucked under a wing for the night. Near the gallows, a lantern hangs in front of the bank, illuminating not one, but two guards.
Apparently Hardwick learns from his mistakes. With two guards, there’s one to spell the other, and no reason to leave the door unguarded even for a second. It reminds me not to underestimate him.
The guards sit quietly in their chairs, positioned on either side of the door. I recognize them instantly: my old friends Large and Larger.
Chimes echo from the harbor. The ships, ringing five bells.
I walk boldly across the square toward the veranda. No short cuts, no misdirection, straight and brisk. “Hello, gentlemen.”
They straighten in their chairs, faces brightening. They’re likely bored out of their minds, and I provide a welcome diversion. Still, I have to be careful what I say. The moment I cause any trouble, they’ll chase me off.
I stop at the edge of the veranda and lean against the post.
“Nice night for a stroll?” Large asks.
“I can’t sleep,” I admit.
“It’s hard to sleep when you’re walking around,” Larger points out.
“It’s usually easier to sleep when you have a bed,” Large agrees.
“Why aren’t you home in bed?” Larger asks.
Tiles rattle on the rooftop.
“Quite a breeze tonight,” I say, which is true, but not the reason for the rattling roof tiles. I jerk a thumb toward the gallows. “I didn’t see the hanging. Were either of you here for it?”
“See, that’s interesting to me,” says Large.
“Me too,” says Larger. “The way I heard it, someone fitting your description was loitering the night of the attempted robbery.”
“Two people,” says Large. “Someone about your height, and a taller, skinny boy. The guard who caught the robber thought they might have been lookouts.”
My heart races. Right now I’m giving away more information than I’m getting. “You don’t say?”
“I just said,” says Larger.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he did,” adds Large.
“So what are you doing here tonight?” asks Larger.
I’m here to distract them from what Jefferson is doing right this very second, but I think hardest about my second reason for being here, which is knowledge.
And maybe that’s not such a bad thing to admit. So I take a chance and try honesty on for size. It’s the opposite of what Hardwick would do. “I need information about James Henry Hardwick. He took a bunch of money from me, promised to give my town a charter. Only he never delivered. Now he says there are going to be additional expenses.”
Large looks at Larger. Shrugs.
“Sounds like Hardwick,” Large says.
“There are always additional expenses with him,” Larger agrees.
“And now he’s invited me to this big soiree at his house tomorrow night. I’m wondering what I’m in for if I go, and whether I have any chance at all of getting what he promised me, or if I’m just walking into some sort of awful trap.”
The roof tiles rattle again, and I press on, thinking about what Becky would say. “You may have noticed there aren’t a lot of woman out here in the territories. It’s enough to make a girl downright lonesome. I’d dearly love to make some connections, and this party seems like the place to do it.” I do my best to look forlorn and frightened. “But attending might be dangerous. Anyway, it was keeping me awake, and so I started walking and ended up here.”
The two men look me over, like they’re sizing up a stray dog to see if it’s going to bite. The night is cold and sharp. The salt-laden wind cuts through everything now, even the latrine scent. Which is the bigger threat, me or boredom? They glance at each other and reach an unspoken consensus. Boredom wins out. Large stands up, fishing a key from his pocket. He turns to open the bank door.
“Mr. Owen lets you go inside his bank?” I practically yell it out, loud enough to wake everyone in the hotel across the square.
“He lets Mr. Hardwick have keys to his bank,” says Larger.
“Sort of an apology for what happened the other night,” says Large. “Hardwick would never let us have access to the safe, though.”
“Never that,” Larger agrees.
My heart is in my throat as the door creaks open and Large disappears inside. I shuffle my feet, clear my throat, make any natural noise I can think of. When he reemerges a moment later with a chair, I barely keep from gasping with relief. He drops it on the boardwalk and slides it over toward me. Then he relocks the door.
Larger holds out a hand the size of a paddle. “Have a seat.”
I’ve never been so glad to comply with an order. The roof creaks, so I loudly scrape the chair a little closer to the guards.
Large hikes up his trousers as he sits down again. “What do you want to talk about?”
I cross my arms. “I have a list. . . .”
Two hours later, when I’m yawning too much to keep talking, I thank them for their time and wander home again. The wagon with the casket is parked outside the Charlotte. Jefferson sits in the wagon, legs dangling over the side, and I’m so relieved I can hardly breathe. I run forward and throw my arms around his waist.
“Glad you’re back safe,” he says into my hair.
“It worked!” I say. “I can’t believe it actually worked.”
“It did.” I hear the smile in his voice. “You were out there long enough.”
“I wasn’t sure how much time it would take. I kept them talking as long as I could think up questions.”
He pulls away and holds my shoulders at arm’s length. “Well, that’s the end of that. No more going anywhere alone in this city. For either of us.”
He’s probably right. “How are the horses?” I ask.
“I think they were happy to stretch their legs. Did you learn anything interesting from the guards?”
“No. I just pretended to. And then I was suitably grateful afterward.” I yawn hugely. “The rest can keep until after I get some shut-eye.”
“Did you at least learn their names?” he asks.
“Never thought to ask.” And I head inside to bed.