“Is that what you want?”
“No.” I’m relieved to hear him say it. He adds, “But as long as I’m with you, I’ll be right as rain, no matter where we go.”
“We can’t leave. You promised Becky you’d wear a plum-colored suit for our wedding in Glory,” I say.
Both of his warm hands fold around mine, and he pleads. “Please, please, let’s get out of here and run away before we have to do a big wedding. I already feel sick every time I look at a plum.”
I flash back to Helena Russell’s plum-colored eyes.
“Lee?”
I blink to clear the memory. “Becky will be so disappointed in us.”
“Becky lives to be disappointed in people. If we get out of her way, she’ll expand her horizons. She’ll find all sorts of new people to be disappointed in.”
I chuckle while Jefferson leans back against the railing. “You know, I think that baby girl is going to be full-grown before she gets a name,” I say.
“The Major’s been calling her Rosy, ’cause of her rosy cheeks. Becky caught him doing it the other day, and I thought she was going to rip off his other leg before she was done.”
“Jeff!” I say, but I’m laughing.
“I’m serious. She wants to control everything, so nothing can go wrong. She won’t even give that baby a name because she’s afraid it’ll be the wrong name.” He takes a deep breath, like he’s carefully considering his next words. “You can’t get so scared of doing the wrong thing that you don’t do anything at all.”
I let that sink in for a moment. Jefferson’s voice has changed. It’s deeper than it used to be. Warmer. A voice a girl can trust. “That’s not why I’m scared,” I tell him.
“Then what are you worried about?”
“Something happened tonight. When Henry and I followed Hardwick.”
“Tell me.”
And just like that, my heart starts pounding all over again.
“Lee?” His fingertip traces my left eyebrow.
I wanted to keep this to myself a little, hold tight to it, let it stew. It feels so monumental. So personal. But this is Jefferson. I can tell him anything. “It’s about Helena Russell, Hardwick’s associate. I think she knows what I can do.”
Jefferson sits straight up, his fingers leaving my face. “You mean, your witchy powers?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I explain what happened at the gambling parlor.
He rubs his chin with a hand, pondering my words, and it turns out it’s a relief to tell someone I trust, to share the burden of thinking with him. At last he says, “That thing about the eyes. More than a little bothersome.”
“Yeah.” I scoot closer so our thighs touch. He’s like my own personal woodstove, a shield against the cold night.
“You think she can find gold? The way you do?”
“No. Not exactly. I mean, she asked me how I did ‘that thing with the gold.’ If she could do it herself, she wouldn’t ask, right?”
“That makes sense.”
“But I do think she has . . . magic. Something miraculous and amazing that she can do. And Jeff, I have to tell you. I talked to Jim today.” It pours out of me, everything about Hiram and Mama and her ability to find lost things and how, one time, the lost thing she found was Jefferson.
Jeff is silent a long time. “So this kind of thing is passed down, generation to generation.”
“Maybe.”
“And Helena Russell can recognize it in someone else.”
“It’s possible.” A bit of wonder tinges my voice.
“Does that mean Hardwick knows about you?”
I force myself to consider this sensibly, without panicking. “He noticed my particular affinity for gathering wealth, for sure and certain,” I say. “But he always seems baffled by it. Maybe Helena knows but hasn’t told him for some reason.”
His arm drapes my shoulders again, and I lean into him. “So that’s why you’re so scared,” he says.
“We need to tell everyone. If Helena knows . . . things . . . it will be very hard to make a good plan.”
He’s silent a long time. “But maybe, also, it’s a little bit wonderful? It must be hard to hold those two things in your heart at the same time. Fear. Delight. All about the same darn thing.”
I can’t help it; I turn my face and kiss him hard on the lips. Because he understands without me having to say. I’m not the only girl with witchy powers. I’m not alone.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning I wander to the galley, drawn by the smell of coffee and the sizzle of bacon. That alone would leave me more than satisfied, but the big table also contains platters of scrambled eggs and fried potatoes. My mouth waters. Before I take the first bite, I know that Becky didn’t cook this meal. I pour some coffee, cup it in my hands, and hold it to my face, just breathing in the aroma.
The lanterns are lit, and a candle brightens the table. If we’re here for any length of time, maybe I should commission some windows. And it’s as though I summoned him with a thought, because Melancthon enters with a huge platter of flapjacks and thumps it down on the table.
“I hired you to be a carpenter, not a cook,” I tell him. “You’re under no obligation to feed us.”
“Who’s feeding you? All of this is my breakfast.” We both grin. “No, seriously, I just wanted to show my appreciation.”
“It’s no problem for you to stay here. There’s more space than we need.”
“It’s not just the room and board, and giving me honest work for honest pay, although I appreciate that. It’s my thanks for saving the Charlotte. This was my home for three years, and I’ve worked on every part of her—I know every beam and strake, every inch of timber. Thought I’d see her torn apart and used for lumber. But you saved her.”
“So you’ve forgiven me for wanting holes in her.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
I sip the coffee. “Have you given any more thought to your long-term plans?”
He sits beside me and pours a cup of coffee for himself. “It’s been on my mind. This meal is a bit of a thank-you, yes, but it’s also a bid-thee-well. Word has it the Argos is setting sail for New York next week.”
The thought of losing Melancthon saddens me. I barely know him, but he’s already proved himself a decent fellow, and pleasant company besides. “Do you have enough to purchase passage?” We’ve paid him fairly for his work, but I have no idea how much it costs to sail from San Francisco to New York by way of the Panama Isthmus.
“That’s just it; I wouldn’t have to buy passage. The captain and I sailed together before, on a whaling ship out of Newport. He says the ship is privately chartered. Won’t say for who, but he did say that the customer is paying very well for his privacy. He wants to hire me as a carpenter—his last one caught gold fever.”
I am now fully awake and alert, and it has nothing to do with coffee. Well, maybe not everything to do with the coffee. “That’s . . . interesting.”