“What?”
“Promise to let me know if Lang ever proposes.” I cracked a smile. A sad, painful smile. “Or if you tell him ‘no.’ I’ll come back for you.”
She sniffled and pulled away—out of my grasp. Out of my reach. “If I tell him ‘no’ now, will you stay?”
I shook my head. “He isn’t a bad guy. He might even be a good one.”
“But he isn’t you.”
My eyes winked shut at those words, and I had to focus on sucking in my next breath. I was doing the right thing—I knew I was.
Clack-clack-clack, thwump!
My eyelids snapped wide. Cass had the spyglass in one hand, and she was holding it out to me. “Take it.” At the jump in my eyebrows she added, “So you can’t forget me. No matter what happens, you’ll look at this, and you’ll remember how it was. You’ll remember the freedom of the river and the power of the Queen.” She reached out and stroked the steering wheel fondly. Then her eyes, still puffy and overbright, slid back to mine. “And no matter what happens, you’ll remember me. Cassidy Cochran. The fastest pilot on the Mississippi.”
I reached out, surprised to see my hand trembling, and ever so slowly I closed my fingers around the tarnished brass. Briefly I touched the palm of her hand—warm, rough, and unforgettable—and then I eased the spyglass from her grasp.
Clack-clack-clack. I drew it open, examining it. Old fingerprints coated every inch of the brass. Thwump! I let it fall closed, and my gaze lifted to hers. “Good-bye, Cassidy Cochran. I wish you all the best. And I . . .” My voice faded, and before I could summon more words—before I could conjure more excuses to drag out this moment—Cassidy popped onto her toes, grazed a kiss on my cheek, and whispered, “Good-bye, Danny Sheridan.”
Then, in that long-legged lope of hers, she strode past me, down the stairs, and out of my life forever.
For a long moment I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe. . . . But then I heaved a lung-ripping sigh and shambled to the open window. With the spyglass in hand I watched the final rays of daylight sink behind the horizon.
And as I watched, I pretended that I was king of the world. That this gleaming steering wheel was taking me exactly where I wanted to go.
I rolled my head back and let the breeze cool my cheeks. Let the sunset sear through my closed eyelids. And as I stood there, I felt a shift in the wind—a shift that rattled deep into my bones.
It started with a prickle in my shoulders—like little pins and needles stabbing me from the inside out. Chill bumps rolled down my arms despite the sun, and all I could think was when had I gotten so cold? When had I forgotten what it felt like to enjoy a brief patch of sunshine?
And then, just as suddenly as the cold had come, a wave of heat crashed over me. All my hairs shot straight up, and a painful joy stabbed through me. Through my chest. Through my gut. My knees almost buckled.
Because I was alive. And no matter what came for me today or tomorrow, during last night—with Joseph and Jie—I had done something right. I had made a choice and I had fought for it until the end. It was more than I had ever done in my life. More than I’d ever known I could do.
So let Clay Wilcox come, I thought. I would face him unflinching and unafraid. I would face anything life threw at me. Because breath still burned in my chest and my fingers could still curl into fists.
There was no atoning for what I had done, but I could always keep it from happening again.
And I would. I would.
EPILOGUE
PHILADELPHIA, 1876
I scuffed toward the bottom of the hospital stairs. They led me to a wide, marble-floored room, and though I knew I ought to walk quietly, I didn’t. I was too preoccupied to worry about stealth.
Because I wanted to go back to Eleanor. I really wanted to go back. My hand slipped into my coat pocket—to a familiar piece of brass. I withdrew it, slowed to a stop on the final step, and examined it in the dim moonlight.
Cassidy’s spyglass. Three years since she’d given it to me. And almost two years since I’d managed to get the thing open. I didn’t know if I had left it untouched for too long or if it was well and truly broken. I had barely looked at in two years—two years and four months, to be exact. Ever since I’d seen an article in a St. Louis paper declaring the happy union of a Miss Cassidy Cochran and a Mr. Kent Lang.
Lang gave her a brand-new steamship as a wedding gift, and last I heard, the Sadie Queen II had won the Baton Rouge, Natchez, Memphis, and even the St. Louis horns. I had done the right thing by leaving Cassidy behind . . . but that didn’t make the old ache hurt any less.
Except . . .