Into the Bright Unknown (The Gold Seer Trilogy #3)(68)

She had enough wagon riding to last a lifetime.

I add, “Plus, it’s better if you aren’t seen with us.”

Melancthon presses his lips tight, making me wonder how much he has guessed. But then he nods, and that’s that.

So we’re going to walk.

As the night falls, we gather in the galley of the Charlotte, dressed in our best finery. For Becky and the Major, that means the same clothes they wore to Jim’s funeral, but brightened with a few decorative flourishes. Becky paces nervously, irritating Baby Girl Joyner. I don’t pretend to know much about babies, but from what I’ve seen, they must be like cats, sensitive to every fleeting emotion of the person who holds them. Before the tiny girl can get too upset, the Major offers to hold her, and both she and Becky calm right down.

Jefferson sidles up to me. “We might have one of those one day,” he whispers in my ear.

“We might have a whole mess of them,” I say. “I just hope we can bring them into a world a little safer than this one.”

“Becky seems to be doing all right with hers,” he points out. “And so will we.”

And that’s a good thing, because the only thing about children I know for certain is that they tend to follow a wedding the way light follows the sun. I reach out and squeeze Jefferson’s hand.

Mary rolls her eyes at us from her seat at the table. She is taking Jasper’s place tonight, since the invitation doesn’t specify names except to say “Leah Westfall and seven companions.” She wears a nondescript dress of brown muslin, and a heavy cloak with a cowl that will hide her face from Frank Dilley.

“You ready for this?” I ask.

She grins. “You know I am.”

Henry wears a suit of deep navy blue, with a bright yellow double-breasted waistcoat. He struts around, waiting for someone to notice. Mary has no patience for frippery, and Becky and the Major are too preoccupied—with the children and possibly each other—so I take pity.

“No peacock ever looked finer,” I tell him.

He straightens, head held high. “I look dashing, don’t I?”

“San Francisco agrees with you.”

“I just wish it would agree with me in a more financial capacity.” He sighs.

Jefferson is trying to fix the narrow tie that he’s added to his shirt.

“It looks like you’re tying a halter hitch,” I tell him. “You aren’t pulling a cow out of a ditch. Here, my daddy taught me. Just”—I slap his hands out of the way—“let me take care of that for you.”

He waits patiently while I undo the horrible knot. He says, “If my da owned a tie, I never saw him wear it.”

“Your da didn’t do a lot of things he ought to have done.”

He flinches.

“I mean, you’re twice the man he ever was.”

“Didn’t take it as a criticism. Sometimes it just feels like I’ll spend my whole life trying to catch up with all the things he didn’t do.”

“You’ve already caught up and run past him,” I say, earning a smile. “Here’s how my daddy taught me: the long end is a rabbit being chased by a fox, and the short end is a log. The rabbit goes over the log . . . under the log . . . around the log . . . and through the rabbit hole.” I make the motions as I talk, tying the knot for him. “Then you slide it up tight, and you’re done. Don’t pull on the rabbit; that’ll make it too tight. Just slide the knot up like this.”

“So the rabbit gets away?”

“Daddy was the type to always pity the frightened rabbit over the hungry fox.”

“Tonight we need to be a rabbit who thinks like a fox.”

“Or a fox who looks like a rabbit,” I say, standing back. “That looks . . .” Sudden shyness hitches my words. “You . . . Jefferson McCauley Kingfisher, I don’t mind saying you’re the finest-looking young man west of the Mississippi.”

He blinks, a little stunned. “And you’re beautiful.”

I shrug. “The best thing about this dress is it’s freshly washed.” It’s an unremarkable calico, blue to match Becky and Henry, the fabric a little faded. “But I don’t mind being a bit ordinary tonight.”

“Lee, there’s nothing ordinary about you,” Jefferson says.

Before I can reply, we’re interrupted by an overly dramatic sigh. Everyone is staring at us. Mary mimes a huge yawn.

“I offer my enthusiastic support for young love,” Becky says. “But can I beg you to hold off on your explorations until tomorrow?”

The Major sits on one of the benches, adjusting the straps that hold his wooden leg—a newer, bulkier design he just finished making. “I think the job that never gets started never gets finished. So let’s get started.”

Becky says, “Exactly my point. Do you have the invitation?”

I grab it from the table and hold in the air. My hand trembles. “Right here.”

The Major hefts Baby Girl Joyner. “Then off we go.”

We are solemn and silent as we exit the Charlotte and close the door behind us—as if we’re still at Jim’s funeral. So much hinges on tonight. There are so many things that must go exactly right.

My hand goes to the locket at my throat, but of course it’s gone. If all goes according to plan, I’ll never see it again, which puts a little ache in my chest. The locket will be nearby for a short while longer, and I reach out with my gold sense toward the Major and discover where he’s hidden it. The steady step-thump of the Major’s gait feels like it could be my own heartbeat.