Oh, I realize. This is what that means.
“Jim’s right,” I say. “My uncle took everything from me. Then . . . remember how Dilley treated the Indians we met crossing the continent? Hardwick funded my uncle’s mine, and we know what happened to the Indians and the Chinese there.”
Henry adds, “Then Hardwick took all the money we raised in Glory and promised us a town charter, only now he’s holding the charter ransom for even more money.”
I nod. “He’s stealing Becky’s house, and he’s going to sell it to somebody else. Now he’s stealing Hampton’s freedom. Over the last year, we’ve been treating all these things like separate problems, but they’re not. They’re all one problem.”
“What’s the one problem?” Jefferson asks. “Hardwick’s an evil cur?”
“No, there are lots of bad men. I mean, yes, he is, but the real problem is the way he’s got the law all tied up with money. He uses the law to rob people. Then he uses his money to change the laws and to buy lawmakers so he can rob even more people. It’s a vicious circle, and it won’t stop until he’s not able to do whatever he wants to anyone.”
“So what are we going to do?” Becky asks.
“We’re going to stop him.”
Jefferson steps forward, puts his hands on my shoulders, and looks at me dead-on. “You know I’m with you, right, Lee? Always, no matter what. But this time, we need a plan. No more going off half-cocked.”
“A plan,” Becky agrees.
“Something foolproof,” Henry adds.
“Easy,” I say. “Right?”
Chapter Eight
Two mornings later, we take leave of the City Hotel, long before our full week is up—paid in advance, both rooms, all four cots—and form a small parade with all our possessions to walk down to the docks.
The Major has the baby tucked in one arm and holds Andy’s hand with the other. I’m afraid he’s going to topple over on his wooden leg, but he stomps along like a man who’s been doing it his whole life and not just a few months.
Olive flits like a hummingbird. She runs ahead half a dozen steps, notices something new, and then immediately dashes back to tell us about it. “Ma, the sign on that big house says it’s an oh-per-uh. Ma, what’s an oh-per-uh?”
“An opera is a form of musical entertainment—”
“Jasper, is that man sick? He’s sitting against the wall and his skin is blanched. You said that when a man’s skin is—”
“Hush, dear,” says Becky. “It’s not polite to point out such things.”
The three bachelors walk together. It’s the first time they’ve all seen each other in days, because Jasper has been volunteering at doctors’ offices throughout the city.
“I’m trying to find someone I can learn from,” Jasper tells his friends, “but when a man with a crushed hand needed two fingers amputated, I was the one teaching the doctor how to do it instead of him teaching me.”
“That’s still better than my search,” Tom says. “Plenty of law offices, but none willing to give me a job unless I bring in my own clients. If I had my own clients, I could afford rent, and I wouldn’t need a job.”
Henry rubs his eyes. I suspect he was up all night again. I don’t think he gambles as much as he says, else he’d be broke by now, but he sure loves dressing fine and being sociable.
Jefferson and I bring up the rear, leading the wagon, which is loaded with our bags, and Peony and Sorry, who seem relieved to be let out of the stable. It’s our first private moment together since the walk back to Portsmouth Square the other day.
“I think Becky’s forgotten about the wedding dress,” I tell him. Softly, so there’s no chance of Becky overhearing.
“Not a chance,” he says.
“How can you be sure?”
“Well, this is Becky we’re talking about.”
“Good point.”
“Also, she asked Henry if he’d be willing to help me find a proper suit.”
“Really?”
“I tried to dissuade him, but without luck. He knows just the place. And he’s certain he knows just the color for me.”
“What color is that?”
“I’m pretty sure he said plum.”
“Plum?”
“Plum. Which, until that moment, I could have sworn was a fruit.”
I want to ask if any other colors were mentioned, but it’s a very short parade route and we have arrived at our destination, which is the Charlotte. I don’t see Melancthon anywhere about the deck, so I bang on the side.
“Whaddyawant?” comes from somewhere inside the cabin.
I hammer the side of the ship again. “Prepare to be boarded!”
His rat’s nest of hair bobs to the surface of the ship, and Melancthon Jones squints over the side at us. “Oh, it’s you,” he says, frowning. “I already told you, the house we loaded in Panama isn’t here anymore. You’ll have to go up to the customs office in Portsmouth Square.”
“We’ve been and gone,” I say. “That situation isn’t resolving as quickly as we would prefer. In the meantime, we’ve bought this ship.”
Major Craven reaches into my saddlebags, which are a lot lighter than they were a couple days ago, much to Peony’s delight. And much to mine. Carrying around all that gold was worrisome.
The Major holds up a deed for the ship and the land underneath, and waves it at the sailor.
Melancthon straightens like a man called to attention. After a moment’s pause, he hurries to the side of the ship and drops the gangplank.
“Come aboard,” he says, but he eyes us with mistrust. As far as he knows, we’ve just bought his house out from under him.
The children are the first to rush aboard. Andrew jumps up and down, cheering. “We have a ship! We have a ship!”
“A land ship,” Olive clarifies.
The Major pauses at the top of the gangplank and allows Melancthon to inspect the bill of sale.
“This is unexpected,” Melancthon says, combing his hair with his fingers, once again with no noticeable effect. “I didn’t plan to vacate until next Tuesday, but it’ll only be a few minutes’ work to gather my things.”
“Don’t be in such a hurry,” I tell him. “You said you were a carpenter?”
“That’s correct, ma’am. Started out as a carpenter’s mate nigh on twenty years ago. Been ship’s carpenter for seven years, the last three aboard the Charlotte.”
I like the way he squares his shoulders when he speaks, like a man who takes pride in his work.
“I need a carpenter,” I tell him. “Are you familiar with the Apollo saloon?”
“Formerly the Apollo? Now sadly run aground, down on Battery Street. I may have had a nip or two there on occasion.”
“I noticed they added a door at street level, along with an awning, and a second story above the deck.”
“Yes, ma’am. And they’ve got a very nice saloon inside—a long bar running the length of the lower deck, with booths and tables beside. Do you mean to turn the Charlotte into a saloon, ma’am?”
“Would that be a problem?” I ask.
“It’s just you don’t look . . . old enough to be the proprietor of a saloon. No offense intended.”
“None taken,” I assure him. “What can you tell me about this ship?”