Into the Bright Unknown (The Gold Seer Trilogy #3)(89)

“And I have no use for a ship,” the Major says, staring at Becky. “My home is in Glory.”

I say, “So the Charlotte belongs to Melancthon and Helena now. If you rent out rooms, you’ll need someone to clean them, run errands, and the like. May I introduce you to my friends Sonia and Billy? They are currently in possession of their own means of support, but could use some stability and a future.”

The four of them regard one another uncertainly.

“Lee,” Jefferson says, pausing to toss his shovels back on the wagon. “It’s time to be on our way.”

I turn toward my mare.

“Wait,” Melancthon says. “I have one more big question.”

All of us wait expectantly.

“How did you sink the Argos?”

The air is suddenly taut. Everyone stares at me, wondering what I’ll tell him. The wind is picking up, clearing the morning fog. A sea hawk screeches overhead.

I smile. “Melancthon,” I say, “I’m afraid that’s one secret we’re not willing to share.”

Before he can press, Jasper says, “I need to get back to work. But I’ll be in Glory for the wedding, don’t think I won’t.”

Tom and Henry take their leave, insisting that this is “not a real good-bye,” promising to be in touch soon. Jim declares that he’s fetching his things and heading for Glory, that staying in this city might be bad for his health, and Hampton offers to help him along.

Becky and the Major are on the wagon bench, the children in the back, all waiting for Jefferson and me to finish up. Mary stands beside the wagon, looking a little lost.

“If the Charlotte makes a successful hotel,” Melancthon says, “there might be funds waiting for you. I could hold them in escrow—”

I wave my hand at him. “The deed is in your name. The ship is yours.”

He gapes at me. “But—”

Helena puts a hand on his arm. “She has resources,” she says. “The girl will be just fine.”

Jefferson puts our gold into Peony’s saddlebags. He hefts the bag, gauging its weight. “This is less than we had when we arrived in San Francisco.”

“But still more than we need.” I put a foot in the stirrup and swing myself up onto Peony’s back. “Mary, are you staying in the city or coming home with us?”

She hesitates.

“Mary?” I say.

Mary and Becky are staring at each other. Becky’s jaw twitches.

Finally Becky says, “Mary, don’t be daft. You know I can’t run that restaurant without you.” She lifts her chin. “You’re the third best employee I’ve ever had, and I’ve grown fond of y— your company.” After another too-long pause, Becky adds, “And fine. I’ll raise your wages.”

Mary’s smile could light up the bay. “Glory is my home.”

“Oh, Mary, I’m so glad,” I tell her, nudging Peony forward. “Jefferson, are you ready to go home?”

Jefferson climbs onto Sorry’s back, and I swear the horse sighs. “More than ready.”





APRIL 1850





Chapter Twenty—Four


Our first spring in California is glorious. It’s like the sun dropped dollops of its very own self all over our claims, because the land bursts with yellow mustard and bright orange poppies. The oaks grow heavy with soft gray-green leaves, and everywhere the air is filled with the sounds of birdsong and trickling water. Truly, we have come to the promised land.

The morning before our wedding, a small letter-shaped parcel reaches me from San Francisco. It’s made of beautiful, thick parchment, sealed with a splotch of red wax, stamped with the words OFFICE OF THE GOVERNOR OF CALIFORNIA.

I’m serving coffee in the Worst Tavern. It’s another busy day, because a group of Chinese miners are traveling through again, and the whole lot of them decided to stop for biscuits and gravy. Letters aren’t too uncommon since the weather turned; it seems the peddler or some other traveler stops by with a bundle at least twice a week now. So Mary is the only one paying attention as I break the seal with my fingernail and open it.

I gasp.

“What?” Mary says. “What is it?”

“It’s . . .” Two pieces of paper. One is a letter from the governor himself, which I quickly skim. The other . . . “Mary, I think this is a town charter.”

“What? Let me see.” She snatches the charter from my hand.

Becky sidles over to find out why we’ve stopped working.

“That sure is a fancy seal,” Mary says, gazing down at the charter. “And look at all those signatures!”

Becky snatches the letter from my other hand, so I’m holding nothing.

“The governor thanks you for ridding California of the problem of James Henry Hardwick,” she says, reading quickly. “He doesn’t know what you did exactly, but he knows where credit is due. It’s his pleasure to do you this favor, blah, blah, flattery and more flattery, and he hopes you will remember him in the first election after California attains statehood. . . .” She looks up at me, grinning ear to ear. “He did this to cultivate you as an ally,” she says. “He thinks you’re important.”

“I’m happy to not dissuade him,” I say, and I’m grinning ear to ear, too. A town charter. Signed by the governor himself and several others, probably delegates from California’s constitutional convention, which is what passes for a government in these lawless lands.