“Right.” He laughed again, nearly silently. “Marietta and her unexpected good deeds. And here I was surprised she wanted to volunteer at the hospital today with Barbara.”
Walker’s quiet laugh joined Osborne’s. “Me too. Yetta and the sight of blood don’t mix, though I doubt she admitted that to Barbara.”
Osborne didn’t reply to that, but when he went to the door, he paused again, a silhouette against the scrap of moonlight seeping through the clouds. “I could use your prayers today.”
Walker aimed his feet toward the tack room, because he certainly wasn’t about to take one of Hughes’s trains to Washington. “You have them.”
A moment later the doorway was empty. Walker shook his head and fetched a saddle. It only took him a few minutes to rouse a horse, get her ready, and slip back upstairs to kiss Elsie’s slumbering cheek and whisper to Cora that he would be gone a few hours.
Rather than head straight out of Baltimore Walker headed for the familiar house he always associated with grandfathers—his own and the Arnauds’. Grandpa Henry and Gram Em would be warm in their bed above the Lane carriage house, but somehow he wasn’t surprised to see a light burning in the drawing room window of the main house. And he wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t mostly expected just that.
Thad Lane met him at the kitchen door with a cup of coffee. “I’ve been up praying. Where are you headed, Walk?”
“Washington, for Osborne. He says the KGC is planning to kidnap Lincoln today if they can.” He took a sip of the steaming coffee and breathed a happy inhale. “He wants me to let one of his friends know.”
Mr. Lane nodded and took a sip of his own coffee. “Better not linger too long here, then.”
Walker shifted from foot to foot. “I just wanted to make sure…do you want me to leave it to Pinkerton’s men? Or I could stick around the city for the day.”
“No.” As usual, Mr. Lane’s answer was quick as confidence but soft as wonderment. “This is their job, and they’re doing it. Ours is to help where we can quietly. If we get too involved, they’ll start asking questions we don’t want to answer.”
A sigh worked its way up and out. “But we could do more, Mr. Lane.”
“We always could do more. That doesn’t mean we always should.” His smile made wrinkles fan out. “Much as we all like to be the hero, this one isn’t for us.”
“But—”
“The Culpers saved a president once. We have prevented the Knights from their tasks many times over the last few years. But this…” He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze somewhere past Walker’s shoulder. “This one is for Oz to handle.”
Walker savored the warmth from the mug, though he was none too sure about the advice. “You’ve taken to him awful fast.”
Mr. Lane chuckled. “Maybe. But I have a feeling he will be around for a while, so why withhold my approval?”
Maybe he wasn’t fully awake yet. “How long you think this job will keep him here? I figured a few months at the most.”
“I’m not talking about the job.” Mr. Lane met his gaze and grinned. “You haven’t noticed the way they look at each other? Oz and Mari?”
Walker nearly choked on the sip of coffee he’d just taken. “I noticed how he looks at her. How has she been looking at him?”
Now his host’s gaze went soft, yet it focused on him like artillery. “The same way she used to look at you.”
He had known? Walker pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course he had known. Thaddeus Lane knew everything that went on in his family. “I guess we oughta pray this isn’t as big a mistake as that was, then.”
He wasn’t about to make a judgment as quickly as Mr. Lane did.
“You have a nice cold ride to fill with prayers.” The old man gripped Walker’s shoulder. “Take the coffee.”
“Thanks.” He slipped back outside and onto his horse, willing the sun to come up and warm him. Pointing the mare’s nose in the right direction, he set his thoughts toward prayer.
As dawn touched its rose-gold fingers to the horizon, he wished Stephen were here to talk to. If ever he needed his friend’s placid eyes and ready laugh, it was…always. Now, yes, but every other now between Gettysburg and today too. Some folks you just never stopped missing. Never stopped needing. Marietta was lucky to be able to call up his face, his words whenever she pleased. Walker’s memories were fuzzy around the edges, but still sharp enough to slice.