“You sure it’s worth the trouble?” the Major asks gently. “You earn so much each day with your restaurant, and you have a sound cabin already.”
Becky’s eyes soften. “I do. And I’m grateful for all of it. But that house has sentimental value. And it comes with other items of worth—some furniture, a few heirlooms. It would be a final courtesy to Mr. Joyner to lay hold of it all and pass it along to his children someday.”
“Well, that’s good enough reason for me,” the Major says.
“Ba!” says the baby girl in his lap.
“I would dearly love to see San Francisco,” Henry says. “My claim has done fine. I could take my stake to the city. Get a job as a tutor.”
“Maybe this is a good time to set up my law practice,” Tom says.
Jasper says, “I’d love the opportunity to study with a city doctor for a while.”
I stare at the college men, my heart sinking. “So . . . you want to leave Glory?” We traveled across a whole continent together, and I can’t imagine the place without them.
“Maybe,” Henry says.
“Just temporarily,” Jasper says, with a pointed look at his friends. “I’m not giving up my claim.”
But Tom grasps Henry’s hand with his own, and some kind of understanding passes between them.
Hampton reaches down to scritch Coney behind his long ears. “I wouldn’t mind heading to San Francisco, see if there’s any word of my wife, Adelaide.” With Tom’s help, Hampton arranged to buy his wife’s freedom. We’re hoping to hear the sale has gone through and she’s on her way. It’s probably way too soon—it takes months for letters to find their way back east—but you can’t blame a fellow for being optimistic.
Becky turns to Jefferson and me. “What about you two? Any interest in a trip to San Francisco?”
“I don’t want to give up my claim,” Jefferson says. “I’m about to be a married man!”
“Tug and the Buckeyes could work your claims while you’re gone,” Tom suggests. “In exchange for keeping a percentage of what they find. They’ve proven themselves hardworking and trustworthy. I could even draw up some quick contracts.”
“I suppose that would work,” Jeff says. “Lee, what do you think?”
“I think . . .” I take a deep breath. Mama and Daddy were originally from Boston. They used to tell me about the sea, about water that stretched farther than a body could gander, a color that’s the most perfect deep blue in the world. “I think I want to see the ocean.”
“Then it’s settled,” Jasper says.
“Wait, Becky, what about your restaurant?” I ask. “You have so many customers that—”
“I’ll do it,” Mary says, and we all look at her. “I can do it,” she insists.
Becky taps a finger to her lips, considering, sizing up the girl.
“I might need to hire a little help,” Mary adds, “but I can keep the place running.”
“Very well,” Becky says at last, and Mary grins from ear to ear.
“We should leave soon,” Tom says. “Maybe even tomorrow. I don’t know what they do with unclaimed property, but if Becky doesn’t act fast, it could get dumped into the bay. Or even stolen.”
We work out a few more details, but it’s settled in no time. The Joyners, the college men, Hampton, the Major, and Jefferson and I are all headed to San Francisco. The Buckeyes and Mary will stay behind to keep things running smoothly.
When our meeting comes to an end, Jefferson and I head out toward our adjacent claims, walking hand in hand, the dogs at our heels. I’m already rich. My stash of gold pieces and nuggets and dust is fit for a king. Still, I want to find as much gold as I can today, because who knows what our journey will bring?
“There’s another reason I want to go to San Francisco,” Jefferson says after a stretch of silence.
“Oh? Something you didn’t want to say in front of everyone else?”
“That James Henry Hardwick fellow. Doesn’t he have holdings there?”
We had some business with him over Christmas. We paid him a tidy sum for his services, and while he made good on his word to get rid of my uncle once and for all, he still hasn’t fulfilled all the terms of our agreement. “You’re thinking of the town charter he owes us.”
“Yep. If we don’t get that straightened out soon, the people of Glory have no protection. The town could just . . . go away.”
Together we leap over a small rivulet, onto a rocky embankment that marks the boundary of Jeff’s claim. “I thought you didn’t care about owning land and all that fuss.”
“I don’t. But Glory is bigger than me. It’s a safe place for a lot of folks now.”
“A sanctuary.”
“Exactly. A sanctuary. So maybe we can find Hardwick, remind him he still owes us that charter.”
I frown. “He gives me a bad feeling.”
“Oh? Why?”
“He uses tricky words and fancy deals and shiftiness. Like my uncle. I prefer a straight-up fight.”
Jefferson laughs. “Well, maybe we’ll learn to fight differently. Anyway, going is the right thing. It’s fitting.”
“What do you mean?”
“Once we get to San Francisco, once we see the ocean, we’ll have really gone all the way across the continent. I mean, it’d be a pity to come all this way and not finish the journey.”
I squeeze his hand. “Then let’s do it. Let’s finish the journey.”
Chapter Two
On a cold, cloudless morning, after weeks of hard travel, we reach the busy San Francisco docks. The Major and the college men depart right after breakfast to pursue their own errands, so it’s just me, Jefferson, Hampton, and the Joyners.
The huge bay is a wonder, so crowded with ships it looks like another city spread out across the water. Masts rise like steeples of a hundred churches, each one a temple to the love of gold. Seagulls dive between ships, or settle on abandoned masts, or swirl in the air. Beyond the ships, choppy gray-green waves froth into white peaks.
The air is breezy and wet, and it smells of salt and fish. To our left, out of sight beyond the golden hills of the peninsula, the Pacific Ocean supposedly stretches as far as the eye can see. We caught glimpses of it on our way here—smudges of blue shining through the creases of the hills—but I’ve never seen an ocean up close, and there’s no way I’ll allow us to do our business and be on our way without setting eyes on such a marvel.
I turn to say as much to Jefferson. He’s riding Sorry, the sulky sorrel mare that carried him all the way from Dahlonega, Georgia, to the goldfields of California, the same way my palomino girl, Peony, carried me.
Jefferson’s hat is tipped back, his dark hair spilling out around the edges. His eyes are alight beneath raised brows. An odd thing happens every time I look at his face, ever since I asked him to marry me and he said yes: my heart beats faster and everything else in the world—the crowds, the noise, even the smell of fish gone sour—disappears like a puff in the wind.
A grin plays at the corner of his mouth.
“What?” I wipe the back of my hand across my cheek, thinking of the crumbly sweet bread we had for breakfast at Mission Dolores.
“That look!” he says. “Miss Leah Westfall has seen all the wonders of the continent, and she still turns into a slack jaw at something new.”