After sitting with Papa for nigh unto a half hour, Laura began to feel silly at the thought of wondering around the boat looking for Sam. She would just give him his clothes later, she decided. Not to mention that she was probably needed back upstairs in the kitchen or in the laundry.

And then she ran into Manny.

"Hello, Laura," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his feet and looking for all the world like they had secrets to share. Which they didn't.

"Hello," a dark skinned, thin man said from next to Manny.

"Will, this is my good friend or should I say my brother's good friend, Laura. Laura, this is Will."

Laura made sure that the look she gave Manny was withering, which of course made him grin broadly. "If you'll excuse me, I'm needed upstairs."

"Don't go, Laura. Will, give me a minute," Manny said and Will walked past them, but not before shooting Laura an assessing look. She hadn't been looked at like that in quite some time. Not even by Sam and she and Sam... well...

Laura tossed Sam's clothes at Manny so quickly, he jerked back, startled. "Sam left those upstairs." She made to move for the stairs, but Manny moved just as quickly, taking a step and blocking her way.

Making sure they were making eye contact, Manny raised Sam's shirt to his nose. Sniffed. "Smells like roses."

"It does not." The cleaning soap was not scented with roses.

"Listen. Laura," Manny said, his tone almost serious as he lowered his brother's clothes. "My brother is a very nice person."

"I know that, Manny," Laura said and then made to move around him, but he moved to, continuing to block her exit.

"No. You don't understand. He's nice to everyone. He jumped in the water to save some white person he doesn't know." Well. How interesting. Sam hadn't shared anything about Adam Ward with his brother.

"Alright—,"

"Basically, what I'm sayin' is. You're nothin' special." Laura stopped, folded her arms over chest, stared at him. Manny shrugged as though to say that he couldn't be responsible for the truth.

"Lots of girls mistake his kindness for somethin' else. Just tryin' to help you out is all."

Laura tilted her head back, raising her face to the sky. She was not going to give Manny whatfor.

"Manny. Get out of my way."

He slid to the side, letting her walk past him and just when she thought he was done, he spoke again. "Because really, Laura, if it were somethin' more and you hurt him, you really wouldn't like the consequences."


"Bright red hair?" Adam repeated. They were in his room again. Adam was sitting at his desk, but facing Sam who stood before him, hat in hand, telling him all he had seen. "Mrs. Hartford is a redhead," Adam said slowly to himself. Sam watched as Adam brought a hand up to his chin, rubbing the lower of half of his face and clearly thinking deeply.

Well, good then. Seemed like Adam Ward had his answer. Sam slipped his hat on, shuffled his feet a bit. He slowly made his way to the door.

"Sam," Adam said and Sam turned around quickly, waiting to hear anything, everything he needed so he could be a free man. He watched as Adam went to his trunk, dug around a bit. Then he pulled out something shiny and metal. A gun. Sam instinctively took a step back.

Adam glanced over at him, and then making sure Sam was watching, set the gun very slowly on his desk.

"Go ahead. Pick it up. It's empty."

Sam placed his hands on his waist, his eyes narrowing as they darted from the gun to Adam. He had expected some kind of a lesson or a word of advice. He didn't know what this was.

"Listen," Adam said, spreading his hands before him. "Slaves can't touch guns, but free Negros can. With a permit. In the United States. But you're not a slave, Sam Rivers," Adam said slowly, still meeting Sam's gaze. "And where you're going is a territory, if I'm right. Not a state. You're going to need a gun... out there in Indian Territory."

Sam swallowed, staring hard at the gun for a second. It shouldn't have been that hard to reach over and pick it up. For crying out loud, he had run away. But this... he took a slow step forward, his heart racing so hard he was sure Adam could hear it. And then he picked it up. It was both heavier and lighter than he expected. He remembered Sly with his gun and how at ease he had been at using it. That would be him, Sam decided. He was going to learn this thing too. He turned it slowly, taking it in. The butt of the gun appeared to be made of wood while the rest of it was made of metal.

"That right there is the best gun out. A Colt 1851 Navy. Six round .36 caliber. It's lighter than then the '47 and a near perfect sidearm. Here, let me show you."

Sam handed the gun to Adam. Adam did some maneuvering with it and opened it up so Sam could see its guts. "See," Adam started, pointing at something. Sam listened intently as Adam explained to him the mechanics of the gun, tucking every word, every piece of instruction in his mind so he wouldn't forget. "This is how you clean it."

Sam watched as Adam showed him how to dissemble the gun and pointed out where to check for fouling and powder in the chambers. Adam went to his trunk and pulled out a cloth. Sam watched him clean every piece of the Colt. Then, he put it back together and handed it to Sam.

Sam took it, hefting it in his hand again, pulling on all of his reserves to keep from smiling.

"I want you to keep it."

"Keep it?" Sam said quickly, unable for once to hide the emotion in his voice.

"I've got another one. You keep this one, learn its insides and outs. If anyone sees you with it, tell them I asked you to keep my gun clean."

Did that mean it was his? Or was it just a loan? Sam didn't care either way. He was holding a gun in his hand. He fought the urge to straighten out his arm and aim, just like he had seen white men do. Manny was gonna love this. He was going to forget all about the hat that Adam had given him. And Sam didn't care one lick that the gun was empty and for all intents and purposes useless. A gun. Sam, a slave, had a gun. It was a picture of himself he had never seen before. And now he would never be able to unsee it. Sam felt dizzy with the excitement of it all. Adam had been right. He could teach him how to be free.

"Sam?" Sam glanced over at Adam who was eyeing him with a funny expression on his face. Sam quickly made his face blank.

"Where you're going," Adam said, still eyeing Sam curiously. "You probably won't really need a six shooter. Six shooters are for killing men. And the last thing you need is to be killing men. You'll need a rifle or a shotgun. Their barrels are longer and better for accuracy and range. But I've got neither. Fact of the matter is, you've got to learn about guns and this is as a good a place as any to start. You don't have the right belt for the gun, but you've got a pocket?"

Sam nodded and slipped the empty gun into the side pocket of his pants. He took the cleaning cloth and slipped it in the other pocket on the side of his pants. He was trying to be careful to keep his emotions in check, but all Adam had to do was look at Sam's shaking fingers to know how much the gun meant to him. Manny was going to just about pass out when he saw it. Sam wanted to run and find him now. He wasn't sure of anything Adam said after that, but Sam just gave him a nod and left his room.

He was almost to the top of the stairs when he remembered his clothes. Turning back around, he went to the laundry room, tapping on the door lightly.

"Come in!" The voice was young, high-pitched and unfamiliar.

Sam took a step back. And then the door was opened by a girl younger than him and the color of peat soil. "Hello," she said, blinking up at him with bright eyes and a small smile tugging on her lips.

"Is Laura here?" Sam asked, ignoring the friendly gaze she was shooting him.

"No, but I can get her. I'm Birdie, by the way."

Sam gave her a quick nod, careful not to meet her gaze. "You don't have to do that. I'll find her later."

"You'll find who later," he heard from behind him. Laura was standing just off to the side, her arms filled with clothes.

"Let me help you," Sam said, taking a step forward and easing her load.

"They're clothes, Sam. Hardly heavy," Laura said dryly but she didn't fight him.

"Is this your friend?" Birdie asked Laura, a wide smile on her face. Before Laura could respond, the girl walked out the door. "I'll give you two a minute. Never say that Birdie doesn't know when it's best for her to go!"

Sam glanced over at Laura who was looking at him. Once they were in the laundry room and the door was closed, Laura made a face and said, "I don't trust happy slaves."

Sam hummed. "You sure she's a slave?"

"Uh huh. Runaway." Like them. It was becoming quite clear to Sam that there was a distinct something about slaves. Something that surpassed even skin color. And he needed to shed it fast. "Content slaves, yes. Happy ones, no."

"Manny would agree with you there." Manny said happy slaves were either too dumb to realize they were slaves or too plain close to the massa. It was a sentiment that Sam had found more often than not to be true.

Laura sent him a look he didn't understand. "Don't talk to me about Manny. Set those clothes over there for me, please."

Sam did as he was told, thinking. "What did he do?"

"You mean what did he say?" Laura asked, her voice so light that Sam knew his brother had said something rude. Laura came alongside him, bending down and sorting the clothes into various piles. "I gave your clothes to your brother this mornin'."

"I'm sorry about that," Sam said, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "I meant to come and get them last night."

She stood up, arms filled with sheets. "No worries, Sam."

"I didn't leave them here expectin' you to clean 'em."

"I know, Sam. If you had, I wouldn't have touched them," she said and shot him a wry smile as she tossed the sheets into another corner.

"What did he say?"

Laura shrugged. "It wasn't important." She made to move past him, but he reached out, grabbing her arm, and pulling her to a stop so that they were only inches apart. There was something about the woman that always made him want to shrink the space between them. His grip on her arm tightened, and though her gown was long sleeved he could tell she was slight, and soft... and somehow fragile. He had never thought of Negro women as fragile. Sturdy? Yes. Hard-working? Obviously. Robust? Definitely. They had to be. He could remember his own mother, slight as she was, lifting things bigger and heavier than him. He had never really thought of Negro women as feminine exactly. Not like white women who couldn't lift a flower without fainting dead.

But with his hand on her arm, he realized she was all of those things, fierce and tender, strong and elegant. He wished with a suddenness that he could court her as she deserved to be courted, however that was to be. Cause he was sure if there were any rules to courting, Laura knew them all. And he knew none of them. And well, even if he did, he didn't have a thing to offer her. Fact to business was, he could be captured at any time, finding himself a slave again in a tobacco field. With that thought, he let her go.

"What did he say?" he repeated. He might not know all the ways to treat her as a lady, but he sure wasn't going to let his brother treat her as less than.

Laura sent him a sly glance. But when she spoke next, it had nothing to do with his brother. "Did you just finish meetin' with Mr. Ward?"

"Laura."

"The day I can't handle Manny is the day I'll come to you." The look in her eyes told him that was a day that was never going to come. Well. He would just have to talk to his brother himself.

"Saw Baldwin talkin' to a woman with red hair last night so I told him that this mornin'." And that was when Sam remembered the gun. He reached for his pocket.

"A redhead?" Laura asked, a frown on her face.

"I think he said it might be a woman called Mrs. Hart..."

"Mrs. Hartford," Laura supplied, her arms now folded across her chest.

"Yes. Anyway, look what he gave me." Sam brandished the gun before her.

Her eyes darted to his. "Sam."

"Free men have guns," he said simply, even though he couldn't stop the smile from appearing on his face. "It's got no bullets in it. You can touch it."

Laura's eyes flickered to his once more before she slowly, tentatively took the gun from him. "I've never touched a gun before."

"It was my first time too," Sam admitted.

"My brother Prince has. Massa Richard took him huntin' plenty of times," she said.

"This brother of yours sounds like somethin' else."

"Oh, he is," she said softly, a hint of longing in her voice.

And Sam found himself mentally cursing slavery. Again. The evil beast that had taken his mama and Laura's, obviously, beloved brother. He couldn't imagine being parted from Manny. No matter how much of an idiot he was sometimes. Before he could stop himself, he placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. She looked over at him, meeting his gaze and though they said nothing, something was shared.

"Why did Mr. Ward give you the gun?" she asked, breaking the tension. Sam removed his hand from her shoulder, leaving it loose at his side.

"He said that if I help him with Baldwin and that woman, he would teach me to be free. It's a part of that lesson."

"He's not threatenin' to turn us in to bounty hunters no more?" Laura asked, sounding skeptical.

"I'm not sayin' I trust him. I don't. But I don't think he's plannin' on turnin' us in before he finds out what he needs to find out. Figure I may as well learn what I can from him. Ain't like no other white man volunteerin' to help."

He watched Laura bite her lower lip. "And so he gave you a gun."

"And this hat," he said, tipping the brim of it to her.

"Huh. I'll admit it, Sam. I'm very curious about what he'll do next when we provide him proof that Mrs. Hartford is Mary Stiles."

"We?" Sam asked, eyeing her.

"Yes. We. We're a team. You and I. And besides, it's my family whose bounties he's holdin'."

Sam rocked on the back of his feet, a sudden knot of fear tightening in his belly. "You just be careful. I don't care how much you snuck in and out of white folks' rooms in that big house you worked in. This here is different. These white folks done already killed a white man."

"Don't worry about me, Sam," Laura said, grimacing as though only now realizing they were dealing with hardened killers. "I'll be just as careful as you."


Threatened. Threatened! Laura still couldn't believe Manny had threatened her. But she couldn't even be angry, she thought as she pulled and tugged on Lucinda's stays in an effort to make the girl's waist smaller. It wasn't quite working. The girls had sent for her to help them get dressed for supper that night. Daphne was already dressed and just picking over ribbons to possibly add to her hair. Lucinda, as always, had needed the most help.

"Pink or blue?" she heard Daphne ask Lucinda from behind her. Tuning out Lucinda's response, her thoughts went right back to Manny. And Sam. No, she couldn't be angry at Manny. Because she understood. There was something about Sam that inspired... fidelity. He was... genuine in a world that often seemed filled with actors. And she had never seen the likes before. At least not in a man. Not that she had much experience with men. She had always been so busy in Salis House that she had not been as free as other girls her age to start something with a boy. Which had been something of a mixed blessing. Like most girls her age she wanted a home of her own, with her own man and her own babies. At the same time, Laura hadn't known how she could do it all. Mama had barely managed it when she was alive and even then the family seemed divided with Papa, Benji, Sol, and Gid on one side and her, Prince, and Mama on the other.

Then there was the added fact that Annie—being her best friend and all—would have rather pulled out her own teeth than try to get some male attention or even talk about male attention. And she couldn't forget Prince. There was nothing quite like the talk of romance to curl Prince's lip. But that hadn't stopped him from having an opinion. Prince, who had told her if she couldn't marry someone who was better off than she was, there wasn't any sense in marrying at all. For Prince, marrying up was a Negro who was free or a Negro with a trade. If he could read or write, well then, that was perfect. She knew what Prince would think about Sam, a field slave with no book learning and no trade. But she found that she didn't care. If she could ever have introduced the two of them to each other, she had a feeling Sam could hold his own just fine against her brother. And quite frankly, now that she thought about it, she didn't give one hoot what Prince thought of Sam.

But then her fingers slowed a bit as they traveled up the buttons of Lucinda's dress. Sam would never have taken in consideration of what everyone else thought. No. Instinctively, she knew only one opinion mattered when it came to Sam and that was God's. Did God think she should get married? What a thought; that the God who had created the whole earth would be concerned about Laura and her possible, future family. But how comforting it would be to know His thoughts on the matter. Not that there was anything to think about Sam. What she should be focused on was getting off this boat and making a future with her family in Oklahoma.

"Are you really wearing the silk?" Daphne's voice held more than a little judgment in it.

"I wouldn't have had it made if I wasn't going to wear it," Lucinda said to her reflection as Laura carefully spread the rose-colored skirt of her gown over her crinoline petticoat.

"Hmph. Well, I know why you're really wearing it."

"Do tell," Lucinda said, her voice dry as she stared at herself in the mirror before them. Laura watched as she rolled her eyes.

"You're trying to get a husband."

"Aren't we all?"

"Yes, but Mr. Cronwall—,"

Lucinda huffed. "Don't you ever mind your own business?"

"No."

Laura rolled her own eyes as the girls bickered and after helping Daphne tie a blue ribbon in her hair, she slipped out of the room.

Without running, but not quite walking either, Laura made her way to the kitchen to help with fixing and serving supper. The room was bustling with energy. Shad and Birdie were at the stove each managing two pans of food while Emma was chopping up vegetables with a skill that only accrued from having performed the same service for so long. Piping hot plates filled with meat were cooling on the side table. She grabbed an apron from a basket and pinned it on.

The door that connected the dining room to the kitchen swung open and Laura watched as several of the Negro servers loaded up a dumbwaiter with food and left to serve both on the Texas deck and on the Hurricane deck.

"Behind you," Shad said. Laura ducked out of the way as he placed a glazed and still sizzling ham in front of her. "Slice it and plate it," he instructed and returned to his station at the stove. Laura grabbed two sharp knives and began the task of slicing the meat. Splatters of fat and juice hit her fingers and she fought the urge to grab a piece and taste it. Tasting was for later. When it was sliced to perfection, she didn't wait for anymore directions from Shad. She grabbed a heavy porcelain plate and transferred the sliced meat onto it. Then she lifted it and headed straight for the dining room. She paused for a second, taking in all of the people gathered at the long table. The ladies were decked out in all of their finery, most of which Laura had labored over that afternoon, ironing or repairing loose seams. There were ice blue gowns, red gowns, emerald gowns, violet gowns. Gowns made of silk, taffeta, linen. Very nice gowns. But nothing quite on the scale that compared to the ones Laura had sewn and seen in Salis House.

A two-finger wave caught Laura's attention and she walked over to one of the waiters handing him the large plate of ham. In return, he handed her an empty bowl.

"We're out of butter beans," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He was an older man, probably older than Papa. Laura had watched him serve before. He did it as though he had done it for years. He probably had.

Laura gave him a nod and then did one sweep around the room with her eyes. She was there for a reason and it wasn't to compare gowns. She wanted to see all of the women who had red hair or some variation thereof. And unless they were sick, every woman on the Texas deck would be at supper. Mrs. Hartford had, of course, been the most obvious woman to fill the role since her hair was the color of a red-hot flame. But Sam hadn't been raised around white women and she didn't quite trust his judgment on the color red. Though to be fair, Sam had never said it was Mrs. Hartford. Adam Ward had. Which begged the question of what Adam Ward knew or thought he knew about Mrs. Hartford.

Taking note of no less than five women who could have been considered to have red hair, Laura went back into the kitchen, refilled the butter bean bowl and returned to the dining room. This time, she made a more thorough inspection of the redheaded women. And that was when she realized how Adam Ward had come to his conclusion. Two of them were of an age that even Sam would have noted. These two ladies were either wearing some kind of hair piece or had hidden their gray hair with dye. The other two were married and had small children. This Laura knew from cleaning their cabins, doing their laundry, and just plain running into them on the upper deck. They were not hardly likely to be killing a man one day and shuffling a baby around the next. Only one redheaded woman sat at the table that was both relatively young and unattached: Mrs. Hartford.

Walking over to another waiter and picking up an empty plate, she glanced around the table again and spotted Adam Ward talking quietly to the woman on his right. As always her mind followed his clothing first. He was a man dressed in the first stare of fashion, wearing something that even Prince would have admired. A detective? She had never heard of the like and she wondered where his money really came from. Walking slowly back to the kitchen, she noted Daphne laughing and Lucinda batting her eyes at a man at least thirty years her senior. She also caught sight of Baldwin, smiling and talking quietly to the woman on his right. He didn't look like a killer. But then again, a lot of men didn't.

Making her way back into the kitchen, she placed the empty platter that had once contained chicken onto the table.

"I'll refill it," Shad called out. "I need to check on some things. You come over here and finish this dough. Emma, go on and get me another chicken. If we don't need it today, we'll use it tomorrow."

In seconds, the kitchen was empty except for Laura and Birdie, who stood over the stove cooking down fruit for the filling that would go into the pie dough Laura had started working.

"I've never cooked for so large a group of people before," Birdie began. Laura paused from rolling the dough and exhaled. "Have you?"

"Yes," she said simply. And she had. Whenever there was a ball at Salis House, Annie had always recruited her for help in the kitchen.

"I also never had nobody to work with in the kitchen. It was always jest me. Massa, he had near 'bout ten slaves," Birdie said, sending Laura a sidelong glance as though ten slaves were a lot.

Salis House had around two hundred slaves. There were more than ten slaves that served inside Salis House alone. But Laura said none of these things. The least said about Salis, the better.

"Did you buy your freedom, then?" Laura asked, even though she already knew the answer to the question.

Birdie flinched and returned her gaze back to the pot in front of her. She mumbled something under her breath and Laura didn't bother to try and decipher it. She had nothing against the girl, but talking about the past was just about one of the stupidest things a runaway could do.

"I come here with my brother, Will."

"I think I met him," Laura said in a conciliatory tone, feeling a little bit of guilt.

"He's tall and thin as a bean pole, but he sure can sing. You'd never guess it from the looks of him, though. You got any kin on board?"

Laura picked up the dough, sprinkling it with more flour before draping it over the pie pan. She hoped she was supposed to be adding more flour. She could never remember the small details. She had never had to before. Annie remembered them for her.

"Fillin'?" Laura asked, ignoring Birdie's question though if the girl was on the steamer long enough it would soon become evident as to whom Laura was related to.

"That boy I saw you with, the real good-lookin' one. He your beau?"

"Sam?" Laura asked as Birdie handed her the pot of cooked cherries. They must have been preserves then. Laura did know that you didn't need to hardly touch fresh cherries.

"Is that his name?" The girl had an expression on her face that made Laura blink a few times. It also made Laura feel less guilty about reminding Birdie that she was still a slave.

"Are you his woman, then?"

"What's that bubblin' in that pot?" Laura asked. The door swung open and Shad entered, cutting off their conversation, though not cutting off Birdie entirely cause the girl was still talking. Was she his woman? No. She wasn't, she thought as she began to lattice the dough. And further, Sam wasn't about to get any woman any time soon because he was focused on making it to Oklahoma first. And Manny wouldn't let him.

"Hurry up on them pies! I only have two cooked!"

Laura stayed in the kitchen until every dish was washed and put away. Though she was exhausted, she still found herself going out to the railing to look over the side of the steamer. Anything to feel a cool breeze. Her hair had sweated some fierce and no doubt smelled of everything they had cooked in that small kitchen. It would behoove her to get up early to wash it and pull it back into a tight bun. And it would have to be really, really early. She walked in the direction of the laundry room. Maureen had been the only one doing laundry that evening but she was a fast worker. If she had gotten through most of it, then maybe Laura could snatch a few extra minutes of sleep. But Laura didn't make it to the laundry room because standing outside of Mrs. Hartford's room was Mrs. Hartford and Baldwin.


"Let me see it again," Manny's voice was demanding and entitled. Sam watched from his seat on the lower deck, a smirk on his face as Benji, very reluctantly, handed the gun back to Manny. It was evening time and they had all eaten their simple supper of bread and meat. Bread and meat, Manny and Benji had purchased when they actually left the steamer that afternoon when it stopped in Indiana. They had had no choice. Their food supply was quickly running out and it was cheaper to buy in town than to pay for a meal on the steamer. They had been quick and efficient, careful to get in town and back on the steamer in good time. Sam had asked Manny what Indiana was like, but Manny had just shrugged and rolled his eyes. And now here they were, sitting in the near dark on the unmoving steamer. Sam had been told that Captain Leahy was still waffling about whether to continue on in the dark. Until they moved, there was nothing for them to do. So, they had gathered together and Sam had pulled out Adam's gun.

"You ever seen the like, Pa?"

When Benji had caught sight of the gun, he had thought it was worth waking Amos up to see. Amos had agreed. He too had held the gun in his hand, hefting it slowly and turning it this way and that.

"Not up close... which is probably for the best," Amos said with a low, humorless laugh.

Manny opened the gun up for what had to be the hundredth time, revealing its six empty chambers. Again. "So, you saved the man's life and he gave you a hat and the right to clean his gun." His voice was neutral as though he was still weighing whether a hat and a new chore was worth a man's life. Course the new chore was something no slave Sam had ever known, unless he was really trusted, had ever been given before.

"Sl—Negros ain't supposed to touch guns," Gid said defensively. It was the six of them gathered together in a spot on the deck: Amos, Benji, Sol, Gid, Manny, and Sam. It felt odd including others in on information he had learned. He was used to whispering his knowledge to Manny over the tops of tobacco plants or deep in the night when they were sure no one else was listening. But this family—the Altans—Gid had told Sam just the other day, knew stuff that he didn't. And if it was one thing he and Manny understood it was the importance of learning all you can when you can. Besides, they were always introducing Sam and Manny to new things. It felt good to be able to show them something they hadn't seen before.

"They can if they have a permit," Sam said, sharing this new fact with them. He hadn't known free Negros could sometimes own a gun.

"Like some kind of pass?" Benji asked, wrinkling his nose. "Free Negroes need a pass sayin' they free, a pass sayin' they can work, a pass when they bowels move sayin' they can take a—,"

Amos cuffed him on the back of his head. "Watch yourself."

Manny snorted next to Sam, extending and contracting his arm with the gun in his hand, though low enough that only the six of them could see it. "Maybe it's best we ain't goin' up north. No passes."

"Course if you can read and write, you can make your own passes," Benji said, his voice dry. Sam watched as the Altans exchanged quick glances. No doubt they were thinking of their own fake passes.

"Amos?" Sam waited until the large man was looking at him. "Between Benji, Gid, and Sol, Manny and I have been learning to read, tell time, and do math."

"Basic. Math," Gid said forcefully.

Sam smiled, but continued. "Anythin' else you think we ought to be learnin'?"

Amos exhaled and pulled in one of his outstretched legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around it. It made him seem younger and Sam wondered for a moment just how many years Amos had seen. "I'm not sure I'm the one to ask."

"Yes, yes," Manny said, rolling his empty hand in a loose circle. "Laura is the one we need to ask, but she's not a man." His words came out quickly to cutoff any and all objections. But Sam levelled him with a look. A look Manny avoided. He could see that they were going to have to have a talk. "What do we need to know as men?"

"Are we men, though?" Sol's voice was barely above a whisper, but they all heard it. More than that, they felt it... that hole on the inside that desired to be filled with respect. Sam felt his jaw clenching as he stared straight ahead. The boy didn't say much, but when he did...

Finally, Amos spoke. "Only thing that matters is what God thinks of us."

Benji sighed. Gid and Sol hummed. Manny huffed. "And the white man," he said lightly, though his voice held no humor. "I'm glad God thinks I'm a man, but does it matter if no one else does too?"

"What is a man, really?" Sol threw out as he stretched out and leaned back on his arms.

"Would somebody shut this boy up?" Benji muttered to himself.

"No," Amos said firmly. "It's a good question. A man, I think, is someone who is fully grown and can take of his business."

"Guess we're all out then," Manny said dryly and Sam heard the note of grief in his words. None of them knew the first thing after all, about taking care of their own business. For good or for ill, they had all been taken care of.

"We're tryin'. That's the important thing," Amos countered. "And one day, we will be handlin' our own business. And by business, I mean ownin' your own and takin' care of your family. I don't mean smart. I done met some real stupid white men. And last time I checked, they still counted as men."

Manny let out a little laugh, and then they were all laughing.

"Any ideas?" Sam asked, reminding Amos of his original question. And then he wondered why, exactly, it mattered. Because he trusted Amos, he realized. And that part of him, that small, infinitesimal part of him that had always longed for a father, was starting to latch onto Amos. Which was fraught with its own problems. Problems he would think about later.

"Let me think on it some. But Laura really is the one to ask. I've only seen one side of white men. Laura's seen 'em all. She understands all the things you need to know to live in their world."

"Like not only ownin' a gun," Sol said quietly. "But knowin' how to shoot it."

"She doesn't know how to shoot a gun," Benji said forcefully.

"I bet she knows more than you," Gid said, defending his sister.

"That's not what I meant!" Sol said, sending both of his brothers a frown. "I meant that the difference between a white man and Negro man is the how-to." He pointed at the gun that was still in Manny's hand. "He can hold it, but he don't know how it works. Not really. It's things like that what makes us different."

"Maybe he'll teach you," Gid said, his eyes staring hard at the gun.

"What are you talkin' 'bout?" Manny asked, his eyes too on the gun.

"Maybe the man, Mr. Ward, will teach Sam how to shoot the gun."

There was silence for a moment.

"He would never—,"

"Boy, you ain't got the sense God gave a goose."

"And where's he goin' to do that at exactly? All these white men on this boat just gone stand 'round and let a Negro shot a gun?"

It was Sam's turn to eye the gun. And why couldn't Adam teach him how to shoot it? He had been letting Adam decide what to teach him, but what if he had his own ideas? Sam leaned his head back against the railing as the others talked. He would have to come across something valuable first to barter with. "It's not a bad idea, Gideon," Sam said softly and the others quieted. "Maybe I'll ask."

"You never will," Manny asked, his gaze fierce on Sam's. "That's fool kind of talk, Sam. He might... don't you do that. You hear?"

Most white men probably would get offended, but...

"Sam." It was Finn's voice in the darkness. "Captain's gonna keep on movin'. I need you to light the torch baskets."

Sam stood up, brushed off his backside. He wasn't the only one to stand. Amos did too. If they were moving, then Amos had to go back to feeding coal to the steamer. "Keep an eye on the gun for me, Manny?"

Manny grunted as though he was being put upon, but Sam also watched his grip on the gun's handle get a bit tighter.

Sam walked around the steamer, carefully placing oil-soaked scraps into the metal baskets that someone had already set up about the boat. Using the pocket tinderbox that Finn had given him, Sam got a small fire going in each basket, illuminating the deck and the water below. He felt the sudden, small jerk, heard the sound of things in the boiler room picking up, and soon felt the movement of the boat beneath his feet. The steamer was starting to become very familiar to him. But since he also felt like a fish in a barrel, he still couldn't wait to get off.

As he made his trek around the deck, Sam caught sight of Baldwin again, standing in his usual spot, smoking. But this time he was not talking to a woman but to an older man. Sam watched the two, steadily moving closer in hopes that he could hear their conversation. If he heard something real good, maybe Adam would teach him how to shoot. And wouldn't that surprise his brother?

He was almost within a foot of the two men, ducking and hiding behind large cargo and long pillars, when he heard his name whispered.

"Sam!"

Sam glanced behind him quickly. It was Laura. And what was she doing down here anyway?

He turned, but not before tossing one more glance at Baldwin and the other man. They were still talking, neither one of them, apparently, having heard her. Laura was standing next to one of the torch baskets, rubbing her hands up and down her arms in an effort to ward off the cold. Her apron was gone, stray hairs of hers that had escaped the confines of her braids were swaying with the cool breeze of the night. She looked tired and done in. Yet here she was. Something must have happened.

"Somethin' the matter?" He asked as he got closer to her, not that she looked upset or shaken in anyway. No. He would have to say that if anything, she looked determined. Looking around them, he caught a few glances from the men who had claimed sleeping spots on the lower deck. He grabbed her arm, pulling her in a bit closer so that their conversation wasn't overheard.

"I know what we have to do, next." By the way her lips were pursed, Sam knew exactly what she was talking about.

Leaning in close, so that his lips were barely an inch from her ear, he jerked his thumb behind him. "We could listen in on that conversation between Baldwin and that man."

Laura, stood on her tiptoes, and moved a bit to look over his shoulder. "He sure is a busy man. I swear I just saw him talkin' to Mrs. Hartford up above by the stairs."

"You sure?" Sam asked, raising a brow. "He's been there for a minute."

Laura shrugged. "I don't know how long he's been down here, but I do know he was talkin' to Mrs. Hartford. You go on and listen to their conversation if you can, but I'm goin' go to Mrs. Hartford's room tomorrow and search it so we can know for once and for all if she's Mary Stiles, tell Adam Ward, and be done with the man entirely."


Sam didn't seem none too pleased with her suggestion if the intense frown on his face was any indication. "Why stop there," he said, his voice laced with uncharacteristic sarcasm. "Why not run up to Baldwin's room right now, since we know he's done here and search it for whatever it is that Adam needs?"

It wasn't a bad idea.

"That was not an actual suggestion!" Sam's voice was low and fierce and his grip on Laura's arm tightened so much she feared the blood had stopped flowing.

"If I actually knew what I was lookin' for..."

"Laura—,"

"I know what I would be lookin' for in Mrs. Hartford's room. Somethin' that would link her directly to Mary Stiles. Then Mr. Ward would at least have that information for certain. It's a good idea, Sam."

"It's a fool idea."

"You sound like Manny."

"I feel like him, too," Sam muttered under his breath before lifting his hat and running one hand over the top of his scalp. He replaced it with a sigh. In the dim lighting of the steamer, he looked tired. They didn't do the same kind of work at all, but they still spent most of their time working from sunup til sundown. And apparently, solving a mystery.

"Don't you want to be free of this?" Laura asked as she reached out a hand, setting it on his arm.

"Not at the expense of anyone gettin' hurt."

"We don't have the luxury of makin' that kind of choice, Sam. We've got to solve this thing, the sooner the better."

Laura watched as Sam's lips pressed together tightly, forming a thin line. "When do you aim to search the woman's room?"

Laura closed her eyes for a moment, thinking. "Durin' the noon meal."

"Then, I'll be there if I can. To watch your back."

"You don't have to—,"

"I know," he said quickly, cutting off the rest of her words. "You've got a safety plan already hatched. Nevertheless, I'll be there. I'll have your back."

Laura ignored the small thrill his words gave her. Because Manny was right. Had she been anyone else, Sam—kind, compassionate, thoughtful Sam—would have their back too.

"Meet me in the laundry room, then," she said and took a step back, removing her hand from his arm. It took him a few seconds longer to take his hand off her arm.

"Don't you do anythin' until then." His whisper was low and fervent.

"Alright, Sam. You have a good night."


"I hear tell we gone be on this here boat for several days without stoppin'!" Birdie declared to Laura. They were ensconced in the laundry room, Birdie repairing seams and sewing on buttons while Laura ironed out wrinkles on shirts, pants, and dresses. And listened to Birdie's chatter about nonsense.

"Yes. This mornin's stop was the last stop for a minute."

"Can you imagine? Why, if we crash into somethin' or if somethin' happens in the boiler room there won't be a single person to help us."

"We're not passin' any ports. It doesn't mean there's no people on land." Laura bit off the rest of her words. She was not going to be rude. Even if she desperately wanted to.

"I s'pose you right. You sure is smart, Laura. I was tellin' my brother, Will, that you know just about everythin' there is to know about anythin'. He was tellin' me how he spects he ought to meet you then."

Laura had zero interest in talking to Birdie's brother, Will. If he was anything like his sister, her patience might meet its limit. But since Birdie seemed to be waiting for a response, Laura made a humming sound in the back of her throat. By the way Birdie's face lit up, that was all she needed.

"Can you read?" Birdie asked. Laura raised the iron and set it on the stove. She stared the girl down for a full minute. Yes, they had told Sam and Manny they could read, but that was because there had been something there that told them they could be trusted. There was nothing there that indicated that Laura could trust Birdie. The girl had the good graces to look away. "I was just thinkin' is all 'bout how nice it would be to know things." And this time Laura had the good grace to feel ashamed. When the girl put it like that... life had not been easy for Laura, but she could not imagine how odd it would feel without words. Without knowledge. Without knowhow.

The laundry door opened up and for a second Laura straightened, thinking it was Sam. But it wasn't. It was Maureen, her arms filled full with bedsheets. Besides, she told herself as she reached for the iron behind her. It wasn't yet noon.

"Laura, the girls in room six are looking for you," Maureen said in that sing song voice of hers. "I'll finish the ironing if you want."

"Thank you," Laura said, setting the iron back on the stove. "When I get back, I'll finish the washin'."

"It's just sheets in this pile," Maureen said, unusually chatty as she tossed the dirty laundry onto the ground. "Do you know who's an odd duck? The man in room three. Never lets me in, just hands me his load like he's hiding a dead body in his room or something."

Laura stared down at the shirt before her. What room was Baldwin in anyway? Perhaps... perhaps a quick search of his room would be just the thing. "What man is in room three?"

"Can't say I know his name. I'll tell you who else is strange. Mrs. Lacy. And Mrs. McRae with all her perfumes. And Mr. Barrons."

Laura sighed and walked around the table she was using to iron the clothes. Maureen was right. There was more than one odd duck on this steamer.

"See you round, Laura!" Birdie called to Laura's back. Laura paused, gave the girl a quick wave and left.

By the time Laura left an arguing Lucinda and Daphne again—this time over the merits of marrying a man three times one's age—it was time for the noon meal. And she didn't have to look at a clock to know it. The smells of roasting chickens and a glazed ham lingered in the air outside of the salon doors. The food to a degree was monotonous. But Shad and Miz Nellie knew how to turn a chicken and a ham. The other big clue that it was midday was that Birdie, Maureen, and Emma were gone. Hopefully, long enough for her to meet with Sam before they noticed him.

In an effort to make time go by faster, Laura began sorting the piles of wash so that when she came back, she would be able to move faster. It wasn't until she found herself returning to the same pile for the third time that she realized something. She was nervous. And she blamed Sam for all of his cautioning. She had been entering white folks' private domains since she was nigh unto a duck. Some things made her afraid. This was not one of them.

There was a gentle knocking on the door. Sam. She didn't wait for him to open it, but met him at the door. His eyes were hidden under the cap of his hat, but she could see the tension in his body from the way he stood firm with one hand gripping his other arm.

"You're makin' me nervous, Sam."

"You should be. Laura."

She stared up at him for a second. "Trust me on this, Sam."

"I am. Doesn't mean I have to like it." He leaned in closer, smelling like sun, earth, and wind. Not an altogether unpleasant smell on Sam. "If someone comes, I'll whistle. Like a warbler."

"It's alright, you know. If I get caught," Laura said, her gaze flicking to his. "I can handle myself."

"Why should you if I'm here?"

She saw his eyes now, deep brown, worried, and a bit flinty. It would be easy, too easy to rely on Sam. But theirs was a life of hard times and torn relationships. Until they made it off this boat and somewhere safe, she would do well to keep her distance from Sam. Even if he did look more handsome when he was fierce.

He took a step back, letting her pass. She moved calmly down the boat, not too quick, not too slow until she reached Mrs. Hartford's door. She raised a hand to knock, but then eyed Sam for a minute.

"I know how to look busy," he said as he pulled out what seemed to be torn ropes from his back pocket.

Laura gave him a single nod before knocking on the door. When she got no response, she pressed an ear to it. Again, nothing. She tried the knob, but it was locked. She had thought it might be. She reached into the pocket of her apron, pulling out her lock pick.

"Laura!" Sam's whisper behind her was both low and shocked. "You house slaves got it so easy, you make it hard," she heard him mutter behind her.

For the first time she could remember, she sent him an annoyed look. "I told you about this already. We. Need. Information."

"I suppose Prince taught you this too," Sam said, shaking his head in judgment. She rolled her eyes so he could see it. "I'm just not sure this of God."

"I'm not sure the whole institution of slavery is of God. And yet here we are. And for the record," she hissed. "Benji taught me. Now. Go. Away."

Field hands. They always thought they knew everything. Sam opened his mouth, closed it. His eyes darting to the side as though afraid someone would come up on them at any second. But what he didn't know was that Laura's ears had been trained to hear the first heeled footsteps several feet away. She wasn't worried. Yet.

She turned back to the lock. "Not so easy," she muttered to herself. "Bein' in the House comes with its own set of problems." Like Mama and Prince, Annie and her boys, and dozens of others who had not been quick enough to please Massa Richard and Miss Martha.

The door clicked and loosened. She slipped into the room before Sam could say another word, closing the door behind her. The small cabin was dark and smelled of the scented lavender water that Laura had come to associate with Mrs. Hartford. The bed was already made and tidy, evidence that Emma had already been in to clean.

But that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was finding something that would directly link Mary Stiles to Lavinia Hartford. There was the obvious trunk in the middle of the room. Most folks kept what was important in their trunks not to mention that Laura had seen Mrs. Hartford's letters in there before. But, a woman with something to hide was not usually so obvious.

She went to the small chest of drawers first. She ran her hands along the bottom of the drawers both inside and out. Drawers had always been the first place Missy Charlotte hid her love letters from Mister Louis Dupree. There had been nothing to hide in Laura's estimation. Louis Dupree was a poor beau indeed. In spirit if not in pocket. There was nothing there. She went to the trunk next and found the letters she had seen previously. Opening the most recent one, she read quickly. Paused. And then read again. As before, she noted that neither the person who had written the letter nor the person to whom the letter was addressed was Lavinia Hartford.

Also, it became quite clear that Thomas Andrew Carter, the writer, was the brother of Marianne, the receiver. All very proper and nothing in them to indicate why someone would steal them. She skimmed all of the letters looking for the name Mary Stiles but didn't find it. It wasn't until she was on her tenth one when she realized that Mary Stiles itself could just be a pseudonym. With a long sigh, she replaced the letters and went to the closet. Surely there had to be something in this room that would help identify Mrs. Hartford.

She went into the closet which was slightly cluttered with parasols and hanging garments. There was nothing on the ground, but that didn't mean that there wouldn't be something up top. She pulled the lone chair into the closet and stood on it. And there was a box. It was locked and in need of a key. Laura slipped the thin pieces of metal into the small cavity and fiddled with it until she heard a small pop. She lifted the lid slowly. It was a jewelry box, but if the box was anything like Missy Charlotte's the first layer was just that—the first. And sure enough there was something on the bottom... a sheet of paper. And when she read it, she knew. Mrs. Hartford was not Mary Stiles.


Hours later, Sam was once again cleaning the deck and still marveling over the absolute risks that Laura took. He supposed it might be different for a female slave than a male slave. Not easier, necessarily, just different. She had probably never been whipped, he decided. He knew Benji, Sol, and Amos had. Though Gid had not. It was probably why there was still such an innocence to the boy. Nothing like having yourself stripped and bared and beaten before the world to realize that life was filled with a lot of not-so-great-moments. It also did something to the spirit. He and Laura had continued their disagreement about sneaking around white folks rooms until Laura said that they would just have to agree to disagree. It wasn't that he thought Laura was entirely wrong. He understood. Knowledge was power. He did not understand all the planning to be so shifty. And yet, he was also beginning to see when dealing with Adam Ward that it paid to be a bit a shifty. If you knew how someone was going to react first, then you could better prepare yourself.

He could see he was annoying Laura, but honestly he had enjoyed the discussion. They did not have to agree on everything for him to still enjoy her presence. He moved around the deck slowly taking his time as he came up on the animal pen. Having spent most of his time inhaling fresh air from the other side of the steamer, the smell of enclosed pigs, chickens, cows, and horses, made his nose wrinkle. But he supposed that was what he was there for as he scooped up manure, moving it to the side.

"Hey, Sam."

Sam looked up from the floor he was cleaning to see Adam standing a few feet away, patting one of the horses with affection.

"I thought I saw Baldwin come down here," he said as he fed the black horse in front of him a piece of an apple, patting it gently.

"I haven't seen him," Sam said quietly, glancing around. But no one seemed to be paying them any attention as they went about their various duties on the steamer. Not to mention that the animals weren't just standing or sitting quietly. It was like a veritable symphony of honks, clucks, mooing, and snickers.

"Sam, come meet my horse, Rex," Adam said fondly. Sam would never understand how some men treated their animals with such affection. He walked over so that he was on the other side of Rex. "This is a Morgan. Morgan horses are hardy, strong, and fast." Pride reigned in Adam's voice as he ran a hand down the horse's neck. Sam stared at the horse but said nothing as Adam began to slowly describe and point out the differences between his horse and the others in the pen next to it.

"Sam," Adam said after a moment. "I get the feeling you know all this already." Sam shrugged, his face blank. He did not know everything there was to know about horses. But neither was he a complete idiot. Adam blinked at him a few times.

"Didn't know it was a Morgan," Sam finally said, careful only to meet Adam's eyes for a second before looking back at the ground.

"Well, can you ride?"

Sam raised his head sharply. Shook his head once. "Never been on a horse."

Adam gave a decisive nod. "When we stop in Paducah, Kentucky, we'll both get off. I'll take Rex and rent you a horse. A man who goes out west ought to know how to ride."

Sam felt several emotions warring through him. He hadn't realized it until that moment, but he very much did want to know how to ride. But more than that, he wanted to know how to shoot. And good gracious, how in the world were they still in Kentucky?

"Got somethin' for you," Sam said slowly, and then pulled out the small sheet of paper Laura had taken from Mrs. Hartford's room. She won't miss it, Laura had said. He handed it to Adam, and watched several expressions cross his face. "Says she's an actress, up in New York. Hartford is her stage name. She was acting in some... play," Sam couldn't remember the name of it though it had been very familiar to Laura.

"As You Like It by Shakespeare," Adam said slowly, staring at the billing in almost disbelief. His eyes flickered to Sam's. "Where did you get this? How did you get this?"

Sam shrugged, careful to keep his eyes averted.

Finally, Adam said, still staring at the sheet in his hand, "I'm beginning to think I've underestimated you, Sam. Thought they said darkies weren't much smarter than puppies," Adam murmured to himself. Sam kept his flinched internalized. Most talk like that washed over him like water over a duck's back. But in that moment he realized he had thought Adam saw him as a bit more than a prop to hang one's coat. "I mean," Adam continued, still talking to himself. "There is the occasional smart one. Like Frederick Douglass. I heard him speak once."

Sam continued to keep his face neutral. Frederick Douglas? He had never heard of him. He would ask Laura and see if she knew who he was.

Adam folded the small sheet of paper and stuck it in a small pocket in his vest. "I thought you couldn't read?"

Sam shrugged again. He couldn't read. Not really. But he was getting much better at recognizing letters and following along with words. He met with Gid every day to practice with the different words that were written on things throughout the steamer. He recognized the word 'property' now. One day though, soon, he would be able to read the newspaper cover to cover. For now, he was trusting entirely on Laura's mind. "Mr. Ward," he said quickly. He had had a reason for giving him that paper. "I would rather you taught me how to shoot than ride."

Adam frowned. "I was planning on doing both. When we get off the steamer." Sam bit his lip in an effort to stem the tide of emotion he felt rising in his chest. "If you're free, I can give you some pointers now."

Sam didn't need to be told twice. He set the broom he was holding to the side. So long as he was with a white man, any white man, it was highly unlikely he would get taken to task. "I've got some time."

They walked to the very front of the steamer, finding an empty spot against the rails. Sam looked down watching as the boat cut through the water. He had heard the sailors talking. When they finally reached the Mississippi—and oh what a happy day that would be—the river would get narrower. Sam couldn't wait to see that.

"Do you have the gun on you?"

"Yes," Sam said, reaching into the pocket in his trousers and producing the weapon. He handed it to Adam. But Adam took a step back, refusing to take it. "Show me what you've learned so far. Dissemble it and put it back together." Sam did as requested in seconds. "You have been practicing." Sam fought the urge to say, obviously. "Sam, how did you get that billing on Mrs. Hartford?" Sam looked away. "Because I think I need to get into Baldwin's room and any particular skills you have..."

Adam's voice trailed off as Sam shook his head. "Can't do that."

Adam turned to face the water, though Sam felt him gazing at him out of the side of his eye. "What if I break in? Could you keep watch?"

Sam gave one quick nod.

"In fact, Baldwin never misses a meal." Adam pulled out a pocket watch, flipping it open and checking the time. Sam resisted the urge to ask if he could figure out the time. "Supper will be in a few hours. Meet me outside his room just before," Adam said, going on to mention which room that was. Also,..." Adam stopped talking once again, but this time it was because he was looking past Sam. Sam turned to his side and saw Manny standing one foot away, watching them with his arms folded across his chest. His expression was probably emotionless to Adam. But to Sam, there was a variety of emotions on his brother's face, the main one being sharp curiosity.

Manny, realizing that Adam was looking at him, walked up to Sam, so that they were inches apart and placed a hand on the railing. And waited.

"My brother, Manny," Sam said with a nod. Adam smiled a very slow smile.

"I didn't know you had a brother, Sam. I... you look... are you identical twins?" The question was asked very hesitantly as though Adam were afraid to cause offense. Which was absolutely ridiculous considering everything he had ever said to Sam. "And Sam, if you answer that question by shrugging at me, I swear I'm going to push you over the side of this boat myself."

Sam felt his brother tense next to him, and he moved his hand on the railing down so that his hand touched Manny's. It was a motion that did not go unnoticed by Adam. "There is a just a lot I don't know," Adam said so quietly, Sam was certain he was talking to himself again. "It's nice to meet you Manny Rivers. I'm Adam Ward."

Sam could not bring himself to make eye contact with Manny in that moment. He had forgotten that he had told Adam that his last name was Rivers.

"Mr. Ward," Manny finally said after a moment.

"I was just going through the motions here and teaching your brother how to aim and shoot a gun. When we get to our next stop, I aim to teach him how to fire a gun."

This time Sam did turn and quirk a brow at Manny. Manny just blinked back at him. Sam knew if he wanted to, he could knock his brother over with a feather right about now.

"Mind if I stay?" Manny asked, leaning forward.

"Not at all."

Manny stayed during the whole demonstration, watching and listening as Adam explained how the gun worked, how a man should stand when aiming, and the best way to aim. After some time passed, Adam slapped a hand against Sam's shoulder. "I've got to go. But I'll see you around. Maybe this evening," Adam said, meeting Sam's gaze. And Sam knew he was referring to sneaking around Baldwin's room.

Manny waited until Adam was clear away from them. "Rivers? Rivers, Sam? I thought we were goin' to choose a second name together?"

"He asked me what my full name was and we on a river and I could hear the water... ," Sam said, lifting his shoulders in an embarrassed shrug.

He felt Manny's intense stare, but ignored it. "I guess I ought to be thankful you wasn't hearin' a bird cacaw. We could be Sam and Manny Warbler."

"It's not like it has to stay Rivers."

"Hey," Benji said, coming along Sam's other side, where Adam had been only moments before. "What was goin' on with that fella?"

"That's the man Sam rescued," Manny said, answering before Sam could. "He was tryin' to teach Sam how to shoot without teachin' Sam how to shoot." The bottom of Benji's mouth dropped to his chest in disbelief. "That's not even the crazy part. The crazy part is where Sam told him our last name was Rivers because he was hearing the river when Mr. Ward asked him his name."

Sam gave his brother a look while a slow smile crossed Benji's face. "Could have been worse."

"And don't I know it!"

"Let's see you come with a second name on the fly," Sam muttered.

"Surname," Benji said, correcting. "Least that's the proper way to say or so Laura says," Benji muttered before clearing his throat. "Pa made a big deal out of choosin' our last name, but I really don't think it matters much. 'Sides, you can always change it. Not like it's legal anyway," he said under his breath.

"I don't want to be Manny Rivers, Sam," Manny said succinctly. Sam rolled his eyes to the heavens.

"I had no clue, brother. I had no clue."

"I'm gonna choose our surname," he said, enunciating the last word. "And it's not gonna be no river or no tree or no rock."

"Just make it short cause we cain't read."

Sam moved quickly to avoid Manny's bony elbow to his side while Benji laughed at the both of them.

"Benji," Sam said. Benji raised an eyebrow in question. "Just what were you thinkin' exactly, teachin' your sister how to break into locks?"

A confused expression crossed Benji's face for a second before light dawned. "I didn't realize she still remembered that."

"Was the all knowin' Laura breakin' into locks?"

Sam ignored Manny. "She told me today that you taught her that. She said it's a skill she used up at the big house all the time."

"It was?!" Benji asked, looking surprised and more than a little prideful. Sam had known it would please the boy to know that his sister had valued his knowledge all this time.

"Yeah. Apparently, that's all they do all day in them big houses. Just break in and out of rooms."

"Politics, Papa said," Benji offered, slipping his hands into his pockets. "He said Mama and them played politics but it was a dangerous game to play cause they didn't really have no power."

"What are we talkin' about?" Manny asked, his eyes darting between Benji and Sam.

"Salis House and house slaves. You know, stuff that no longer matters cause we is free."

"Yes, we are. Free. Which is why I, the smart brother, have to think of a proper surname."

With a roll of his eyes, Sam left the two of them talking and went back to get the broom to finish cleaning up manure. He worked quietly on the first deck, took orders from Finn, and generally prayed quietly to himself. Mostly, he liked being on the steamer, but it didn't negate the fact that he was still in these United States. Thinking about it made the inside of his stomach twist with anxiety and he knew how the good Lord felt about having anxious thoughts when He was there to go before you. Thus, Sam spent a lot of time praying to change his worried reflections. Eventually he noticed the slow fall of the sun and the emptiness of the first deck. Supper time.

Sam grabbed a piece of stale bread and hard meat from his sack, stuffed it quickly in his mouth, and headed up the stairs to find Adam. But Adam was waiting for him, leaning against the railing, and looking out over the water just a few feet from Baldwin's room.

"Good," Adam said, his gaze still on the river. "I just saw Baldwin pass by not ten minutes ago for supper. If I hurry, that should give us a good ten minutes in his room."

Sam gave a small nod, taking Adam's place on the railing as Adam took a few steps back and glanced around. Their part of the deck was completely empty. "If he comes back, cause a ruckus." Sam hummed. Adam sighed. "Or not. Just make sure I get out in time," Adam said, shaking his head.

Sam leaned further across the railing. This sneaking around business was just plain not for him and here he was on watch for the second time in one day. Cause a ruckus? And get himself thrown off the ship for sure. With Laura he could whistle cause he knew she would be listening for it. There was something about her sneaking that gave him a whole lot more faith.

Behind him, he heard Adam knock gently at Baldwin's door. He turned for a second to see Adam pulling out similar small pieces of metal that Laura had had when all of a second the door swung open, and Baldwin stood there glaring at Adam.


They only had four stops left until they reached Arkansas. Laura shook her head slowly as she continued to knead the ball of dough in front of her for the supper meal. That was it, four stops. Only problem was the stops were days apart. They had their last stop in Kentucky tomorrow, then Missouri, two days on the river before they reached Tennessee. Then two more days after that for another stop. Then Arkansas. She had found a copy of the schedule when she had been cleaning Mr. Ward's room earlier that day.

After leaving Mrs. Hartford's room and handing Sam that advertisement, she had gone right to Mr. Ward's room to clean and snoop because if Mrs. Hartford wasn't Mary Stiles that put them back to almost the beginning when they had nothing. And Laura didn't know how Adam Ward was when he had nothing. Sure and he was a whole lot nicer to Sam, but she didn't trust the man. Or rather, she trusted the first version of the man, not the second one. It had never been her experience that folks got nicer when the irons got hot. So, when she went to Adam Ward's room to clean, she also went to see if he had sent any telegrams.

She remade his bed, folded his clothes, straightened his things and went digging. She found the papers again with her and the boys and Papa's description. She went through the papers on his desk and saw that he had sent and received several telegrams. None of them had mentioned any slaves as far as she could tell. She had found a copy of the steamer's schedule copied in his own hand and marveled at the fact that they had still yet another week on the river. She had been in the middle of digging through his closet when his door had opened.

"Oh," Mr. Ward said slowly as Laura had stepped out of the closet. She watched his chest sink with relief and a small, tight smile cross his thin lips. "I didn't realize you were in here."

"Your suits have been cleaned, Mr. Ward," Laura said slowly and distinctly, clasping her hands in front of her and ignoring the silent question in his words. Her heart was pounding fast, but she stilled her face and paid no attention to her emotions.

"Thank you, Lolly," Adam Ward said with a sigh as he took off his jacket and tossed it across the back of the lone chair in the room. It was a move he never would have made if she had been a white girl. But then, if she was a white girl, she would never have been there in the first place.

"Is there anythin' else you need, Mr. Ward?" Laura asked, making sure her voice was low, soothing.

"No, Lolly." She started for the door. Her hand had just touched the knob when Adam Ward spoke again. "Well, actually... Lolly, you're free right?"

"Suh?" She felt the blood in her body start pumping, the pace slowly picking up speed.

"I mean... can you read?"

She turned her face so he could see the expression on it. She made her eyebrows furrow, made sure her eyes were cast down as though in shame. "Read, suh?" She saw his grimace out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't suppose you know a Negro man by the name of Sam? That's here on this steamer?"

"I know, Sam. Suh." Her eyes were blank now as she blinked at him.

He grimaced again. "Nevermind, Lolly. I—nevermind."

She left his room with a roll of her eyes. What did he expect? That she would pour her heart out to him?

She had next gone to the laundry room to wash sheets before heading first to Mrs. Hartford's room and then to Lucinda and Daphne's room.

Mrs. Hartford had been waiting for her, sighing over her choice of dresses for the evening. "Laura, you choose. You have such a good eye for color." Without hesitation, Laura had chosen a green taffeta gown. She helped Mrs. Hartford with her petticoat and corset before covering them with the evening dress. Mrs. Hartford stood before the mirror as Laura brushed and pulled and tucked to make the dress look just right.

"I can't wait until we arrive in New Orleans, Laura. I look so nice and it's all wasted. There's not a single man of interest on this boat." Laura said nothing as she continued to straighten out the dress. Her only thought was how much she wished Mrs. Hartford had been Mary Stiles. "And then, well, Laura, I'm an actress," Mrs. Hartford said with a dejected sigh. Laura guided her to the chair in front of the vanity and quickly began to dress her hair. It would be nothing so elaborate as what she done for Missy Charlotte on more than one occasion, but it would do. "And some men have a tendency to think that that must mean that I'm easy with my favors. Why one man—I can barely remember his name—but I told him I was not interested in his romantic favors. And then he came back the second day as though we hadn't talked at all the day before. I had to slap him! I told him if he didn't stay away I would talk to Captain Leahy personally."

Laura paused in brushing off Mrs. Hartford's shoulders and mentally sighed. If they had only had this conversation a day earlier it would have saved her and Sam some time. She listened to Mrs. Hartford bare her complaints for another fifteen minutes before presenting her with gloves and a matching stole.

Then she had raced down to Daphne and Lucinda's room, knocking as she pushed open the door. She came to a stop when she saw a black-haired woman standing in the center of the room.

"Oh, Laura, you gave me a fright," Daphne said, turning around. She reached up and pulled the black-haired wig off her head. "Isn't this the most ridiculous thing?" Laura stared. "It's Lucinda's. She has a whole box filled with different color wigs. You would think she was balding. She's out for a stroll with Mr. Cronwall," Daphne said, wrinkling her nose. Laura took this to mean the old, rich man that Lucinda was trying to marry. Laura went to the closet for Daphne's evening dress as Daphne went to Lucinda's trunk and tossed the wig back inside. "She said to tell you not to leave until she gets here cause she's still going to need your help."

Laura had been stuck in that room with first Daphne and then Lucinda for well over an hour. And now, here she was, kneading bread for supper and wondering how she could find Sam. Alone. It would be easy enough to find him, but Manny might be with him or her own brothers. Though she supposed it wouldn't be so bad to visit with all of them. They just wouldn't be able to talk about Baldwin and Mary Stiles.

"I think that's good and ready," Birdie said, coming alongside her.

"Oh," Laura said and let Birdie take it from her so that the bread would have a chance to rise.

"You know the food on this here steamer ain't so bad, but I could sure go for a mess o' greens, right about now," Birdie said with a grin.

"Cooked with salt pork or some ham hock and some fresh corn bread on the side," Laura added as she began to flour her station again in anticipation of making a fresh batch of dough.

"Oh, my yes," Birdie said and they shared a smile and a laugh. "You ever cooked up some ox tail stew?"

"Every other Sunday when Mama was alive." Laura closed her eyes, remembering those few times when all of them—except Prince—had gotten together and enjoyed Sunday supper. The last time had been a year or so ago, but the sweetness of those memories made her ache.

"And a pot of black eyed peas on New Years'?"

"With salt pork and onions after soakin' 'em over night? Yes, indeed." Laura was no great cook, but she knew good food like Annie's which always tasted like there was something extra in her pot that made you want to keep dipping. She wondered if Sam had ever had collard greens and ox tail stew, or a plate of black eyed peas. When they got off this steamer, when they got good and settled, she would cook for him. And for the first time the thought of seeing Sam in the future didn't feel so strange. Why wouldn't their families stick together in Oklahoma?

"Yes, chile," Birdie said with a laugh, pulling Laura back to their conversation. "We not so different, me and you." Though she made a statement, Laura could see the question, the hesitance in her eyes.

Laura sent her a small smile. Shook her head. "No, we not so different."


She found them gathered in a spot on the lower deck, stretched out, and talking.

"Laura, is that you?" Gid asked, straightening from laying his head on Benji's shoulder.

"Yes, it's me," Laura said as she took in Manny and Sam, sitting close together with Benji, Gid, and Sol sitting across from them. When she was a few feet away, music started not too far away from her causing her to startle.

"Oh, that's just Will and his friends," Gid said just as Will's tenor filled the air.

"The river is up and the channel is deep, the wind is steady and strong," Will sang out clear and soulful. Someone's fiddle filled the air, slowly accompanying his words.

"It's just singin,' don't let it scare you none," Manny called out.

Laura shot him a look of exasperation as she took a seat next to Sol. She wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in for a short side hug. His arm went around her waist giving her a gentle squeeze.

"What are you doin' down here?" Benji's voice was short and abrupt, his view on her visit quite clear.

"I, for one," Gid started before Laura could respond, "am happy to see you." He said as though he didn't see her every day. He, Sol, and Levi were constantly running between floors running errands for passengers and sailors alike.

"Brought fresh bread," Laura said, reaching into the deep pockets of her apron. She would just ignore Benji's rudeness, like she did most days. She pulled out several rolls, handing two to Sol. "Give that to Papa next time you see him." He was the only brother she trusted to actually do as he was told. He gave her a short nod and slipped the extra roll in one of his pockets before taking a small bite out of his own, savoring the flavor. "Here," she said, handing one to Manny and Sam.

"Us too? Are we... does that make us... family?" Manny's voice was filled with false sweetness.

"Man, shut it and be thankful," Sam said, his voice low. He gave Laura a nod. "Thank you for thinkin' of us."

"So what do y'all usually talk about?" Laura asked as she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. It was not a fitting position for a young lady. But her legs were covered and well...

"You," Manny said, his smile wolfish.

"Ignore him," Sam muttered over her brothers' small snorts.

"That man Sam saved is goin' to teach him how to shoot a gun," Sol offered, his voice serious as he continued to take tiny bites out of his roll.

Without thinking, Laura turned to Sam. "Adam is goin' to teach you how to shoot?" She had never heard of the like. Oh, Master Richard had taught Prince how to shoot but he had taught Prince how to read and do maths too.

"Whoa," Manny said, holding up one hand, his eyes now darting between her and Sam. In that moment she realized that whatever Manny was, no matter that he could barely read and probably couldn't write, he wasn't stupid. "Adam?"

Laura winced as Sam placed a hand over his mouth, thinking.

Gid leaned forward. "Yes, do tell us about... Adam."

"He's a detective," Sam said quietly.

"A what?" Manny's voice was sharp, irritated, and was that hurt she heard there too?

"He solves mysteries. If someone is murdered or somethin' is stolen, he's hired to find out," Laura explained.

"Like a paddy roller?"

"Paddy rollers are mostly for slaves, but the idea is the same," Laura said, her voice just barely above a whisper. "'Cept detectives are for white folks."

"He's tryin' to find some bad... white person?" Gid asked confusion in his voice.

"Somebody start from the beginnin' cause none of this is makin' a lick of sense." Manny's voice was harder now, his jaw tighter as he stared at Sam. Laura watched as Sam's whole chest sank with a sigh. When he finished telling them very quickly what he and Laura had been up to and why, the whole group of them fell silent.

Laura, still holding her knees to her chest, noticed the tight anger in Manny's face and the stricken looks on her brothers' faces... and Sam hadn't even told them that it was only her family that Adam knew for certain were escaped slaves. Not Sam and Manny.

"Why are we still on this boat?" Manny's question was quiet, but filled with emotion.

But Sam had been ready for the question because his response flew right off his tongue. "Every day, every inch of water we go is one step further than from where we came. What's our other option? Escapin' by land? We'd be caught within a week."

"Every time we stop in a port, we're at risk," Manny countered.

"We're always at risk." It was the first time since Laura had met Sam that she heard anger in his voice. "You may not like it, you may not want it, but at this point in our lives we've got nothin' to trust but God's leadin'. When he tells me to get off this boat, we'll get off this boat. Until then, we're stayin'."

There was trusting God and then there was trusting God. And Laura realized in that moment that she had never really trusted God. She had trusted her Mama, Prince, and everything she had ever been taught. And while she hadn't totally put God in a box and left him on a shelf, she had not exactly lived side by side with Him neither. Out of the side of her eye, she glanced at her brothers. Gid's mouth was still slightly open, Sol was staring hard at Sam, and Benji still had that stricken look from earlier... only now it was more pronounced.

"We'll help," Gid's voice seemed very high and childish in that moment. "We'll help you help that detective guy."

"We'll have to be more vigilant," Benji said irritably. As though they weren't vigilant enough. Sometimes Laura felt she couldn't breathe from being so vigilant.

Manny huffed. Sam smiled humorlessly. "Just be careful. If need be, we can get off this boat."

"Bein' careful," Sol said slowly, "that's our whole life."


"Alright, are you ready for your history lesson?" Gid asked as he pulled himself up on the lower rung of the railing so that more than half of his body was leaning over the water.

Sam placed his hands under the boy's armpits, got a grasp, and pulled Gid from behind setting him back on the deck. "Don't need you fallin' over," was all he said.

"Why do we need to know history?" Manny asked, his response dry. But his responses had all been dry since last night when he had listened to Sam and Laura's explanation about Adam Ward. It wasn't the first time Manny had gone to bed really and truly angry with him, but it was one of the top five. He still wasn't technically talking to him.

"Foundation, blah, blah, blah. You know how I feel about questions," Gid said, turning to face them.

They didn't have much time, but Gid always tried to find some time to squeeze in a quick lesson about something. And Sam had learned there was always something to learn.

"Right. So. Yesterday, we talked about how the Indians were here first, the white man showed up and sent them packin'. After that happened, Americans got in a fight with the British."

"Who are the British?" Sam asked quietly, though he didn't know why. There were so many names and explanations and divisions and unifications. He was pretty sure he wasn't retaining most of it.

"Other white folks. They talk funny and they live on the other side of the water. I know. One visited Salis House before and I had to feed his horse. Anyway... no... wait, Americans were British first or something. Listen, the white people here came from somewhere, ok? The white folks who settled here got in a fight with the ones settled in the old land."

"I know," Manny drawled, "we not supposed to ask questions, we just supposed to learn, but I feel like we're missin' a few facts."

"Probably are," Gid said with a shrug and then made a face as though to ask Manny, now what was he going to do about it?

"Alright," Manny said after a few minutes of trying to stare the boy down and losing. "The Americans got in a fight with the British."

"Twice. Americans won both times. Once in the 1700s and then again in the 1800s."

"We're in the 1800s," Sam said, his finger pointing down.

"Yes, we are. What year?"

"1855," Sam replied, allowing a small smile to cross his face. He had known that fact before he had met the Altan family. He just hadn't quite known what it meant.

"Good," Gid said with a quick nod. "This other fight was way back, like 1805 or 1810 or somethin' back then. Doesn't matter, British lost."

"What were they fightin' over?"

"Freedom," Gid said, giving them both a look.

"From what?" Manny asked, skepticism lacing his tone.

"Somethin' to do with taxes. But we don't have to worry about taxes cause we ain't free," Gid said, the last word just a puff of air.

"What do taxes do?"

"That's tomorrow's lesson," Gid said quickly and Sam knew that probably meant he was going to ask Laura first.

The steamer whistle blew loud, the sound carrying to them quickly. Each of them had a place to go and it was not there trying to get a botched history lesson.

"Sam, when you go on land can you buy me a piece of candy? A peppermint stick? Or a caramel? Either one is fine. I'm not particular." Gid asked, handing him a small coin.

"Where did you get this?" Sam asked, slipping the coin into his pocket with his other coins. He had been tasked with buying bread and meat for all of them.

"I got a tip!" Gid's eyes danced with amusement and slight astonishment. "Sol got one too. He's savin' his for both of us and I'm spendin' mine for both of us. We're like you two. We do everythin' together... 'cept we don't look the exact same."

"What's candy?" Manny asked, leaning against the railing and smiling slightly at Gid's chatter. They had gotten tips before. A lifetime ago. Though they had never spent the money on anything. They had been saving. To buy themselves.

Gid, who had been backing away stopped and stared at the both of them.

"We've had candy before," Sam said quickly, feeling about as dumb as a bag of rocks. "Remember that sweet stuff Reverend brung us that one time?"

"Oh," Manny said, nodding, though Sam could see he didn't understand. "Right. The sweet stuff." When Gid left, Manny turned to him. "Molasses?"

"Yeah. I think that's candy."

"That boy said peppermint. Caramel."

"At this point, is it really a surprise that the candy we had was different than the one he had?"

"Good Lord we're ignorant, Sam."

He guessed his brother was talking to him now. "We knew that already, Manny."

"Doesn't make the medicine any easier to swallow, brother. I mean, taxes, British, wars? All these things happenin' and we pickin' tobacco plants and runnin' around a farm like ignorant puppies."

"Sam!" The voice was Adam's. He was only a few feet away and had Rex's reins in his hand.

"Gotta go," Sam said, tipping his hat at his brother.

"That no good—,"

Manny's opinion had greatly soured on Adam Ward. And he had been quite put out with Sam for saving him.

"If he gets back on this ship alone..."

Sam walked away, quietly praying. Cause first off, he did not want to go back to bein' a slave. Gid might have been a poor teacher, and his learning might have been slow as molasses, but he could not go back to what he was. He would rather die first. It was a grim thought, but a true one. He would rather die. And secondly, his brother didn't make idle threats. If Adam came back on this ship without him, Manny would kill him. Didn't need book learning to know how to do that.

Sam walked over to Adam. It was the first he had seen of Adam since Baldwin had caught Adam trying to sneak into his room. With Sam pretending to be far, far away from the two men, Adam had claimed that he was there in hopes of inviting Baldwin to another poker game. Baldwin had merely stared at Adam before muttering something about not playing with men who couldn't swim with the sharks and then slammed the door in Adam's face. They had both agreed that it had not gone well. Sam had no clue what Adam was going to do now.

Adam handed him Rex's reins. "I want you to take him off the steamer. I'm going to rent another horse for you to ride and then we'll head out of town for some lessons. We've only got two hours though, so we have to make it quick." Sam said nothing as Adam gave him directions as to where to go when he got on land. And then Adam was gone.

The horse made a small sound, shaking his head from side to side and Sam reached up to pat him, hoping it would calm the animal. He had cleaned horses' stalls and fed them. He had a general understanding of how they worked, but he had never had a need to interact with one.

"Sam." The voice was deep and gravelly and could belong only to one man.

Sam turned. "Amos." He gave the older man a quick nod as Amos came to stand next to him. The steamer jerked once, quick. They were in port.

"My boys told me about what you've been doin', tryin' to help that white man," Amos said simply. He didn't finish the rest of the story. He didn't need to. "You should have told me." His tone didn't change, but Sam could hear the censure in his voice.

"We've all got enough worries. No sense in addin' to 'em."

Amos bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Nevertheless, that's a worry I would have liked to have known. Especially since my baby girl's involved."

Sam winced slightly at the rebuke, but didn't think it was justified. "Fair enough, Amos. But if it's one thing I've learned about your baby girl it's that she makes her own decisions." This time, Amos winced.

And Sam thought about what he had said. "I just mean when it comes to stuff like that. I don't mean as a woman."

Amos' head gave a sharp turn in his direction. And Sam knew that that had sounded even worse. "I mean—,"

"I know what you mean," Amos said quickly.

Sam felt his face filling with color. How could Amos know what he meant? He didn't know what he meant.

The whistle blew again. "The boys gave me some money to get ya'll some victuals."

"Stay focused out there, son." Sam felt a small bubble of... something rise in his chest that he immediately squelched. Just cause the man called him son, didn't mean he actually thought of Sam as a son. It was probably a slip of the tongue. After all, the man already had four sons.

Sam gave him a small nod and led Rex off the steamer. The first thing he noticed was that earth felt different after eating, sleeping, and walking around the steamer for nigh until eleven days. And he missed it. The river life was for somebody. That somebody wasn't him. But he and Rex didn't have a minute to waste on Sam's philosophizing, so he pulled his cap low over his eyes, tugged on the horse's reins, and made his way towards town. He didn't want to walk through it, necessarily, but he had to know where to buy the victuals at.

He felt a few stares, no doubt cause of the fine horse he was escorting, but he kept on moving past the stores, the smithy, the saloon, until he saw the town's church. It was where Adam had said they would meet.

He was already there with a brown horse.

"Let's switch," Adam said, tossing the brown horse's reins at Sam. "You know how to get on?" Adam asked as he pulled himself onto Rex's saddle.

"I've seen it done a few times," Sam said as he placed one foot into the stirrup and then slowly pulled himself up. He couldn't stop the small grin from escaping as he settled himself on the horse. He gripped the reins tightly as the horse beneath him moved slightly. It was... a very strange sensation. He wished his brother was there.

"Alright," Adam and Rex came over to him and Adam reached over, giving him instructions as to how to guide the horse. It was both a lot to take in and yet familiar. "Just give her a gentle kick, Sam. We should get out of town." And with that Adam was off. Sam did as he was told, slapping his feet against the belly of the horse and was more than a little surprised when she actually moved.

"You sit in the saddle well, Sam. Breathe deep... move with the horse... keep sitting straight... ," Adam made continuous corrections as they moved further and further out of town. And Sam didn't mind one bit. He was riding a horse. He, Sam, born of Virginia, son of Lucilla, was riding a horse. He bit his lip hard to keep from grinning. "We're going to pick up the pace a bit Sam. Watch."

They rode for quite some time, and Sam could feel the strange pull in his muscles that he sometimes got when he hadn't been using them for a while. Only this time they were in his thighs. But the small pain felt good. He wouldn't have traded it for anything.

They got to a small clearing and Sam watched as Adam dismounted from Rex. "How did you know about this spot?"

"Asked when I got that horse," Adam said with a nod towards the horse Sam was sitting on. Carefully, slowly, he dismounted, keeping in the forefront of his mind all the times he had ever seen someone else do it before. "You brought the gun?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said, stumbling a bit as he gave the horse a few thankful pats for going along with everything. Horse riding was something a man needed to get used to. But he could do it. Sam walked over to Adam who had pulled out a cartridge of bullets.

"We're just going to target the trees, today."

"Sounds good to me."

Adam looked up from the bullets he was counting to look at Sam. Sam took a moment to make his face emotionless. Adam glanced away for a second before handing Sam the bullets. "Load it up." Sam quickly pulled out the empty chambers and filled them. "You don't have to do that, you know."

"Do what?" Sam asked as he snapped the chambers back into the gun.

"Hide your expressions." Sam tilted his head to the side once. "I already know you're far smarter than you pretend to be."

"Am I?" Sam asked, his voice neutral

Adam huffed. "Find you a target."

"That tree," Sam said, pointing towards a tree that was ten feet away from him with his hand.

"Good job, pointing with your finger and not the gun."

"I've heard some things," Sam murmured, bouncing lightly on the back of his feet. If his face was going to be blank, then he guessed his body was going to carry his excitement.

"Sam, I have a feeling you hear a lot of things."

"Same," Sam said, feeling a bit brave in that moment. "I have a feelin' you hear a lot of things too. Which is why I am at a loss as to why you haven't solved your mystery," Sam said and then without waiting for instruction, fired the gun at the tree. He didn't stop the grin that spread across his face when the bullet sank into it. It had been so fast; nothing, and then the kick of something in his hand and the echo of the gun firing filling his ears. He didn't even notice Adam staring at him for a full minute. "Can I try again?"

Adam, still staring at him, blinked. "Yes."

They were out there for just above an hour, or so Adam said when they mounted their horses and headed back to town. Sam dismounted a little less than half a mile before they reached town and left to buy food from the store while Adam left with Rex to return the horse he had rented.

It had been one of the best days of Sam's life. He was sure of it. Careful to keep his eyes lowered and his hat low, Sam walked into the mercantile. He knew better than to touch anything, but he made note of the bread and the jerky meat. He could really go for some fresh squirrel right about now, and if all went well, in less than a week, that would be an option. At least Laura had brought them some fresh bread the night before. It had tasted like nothing Sam could ever remember eating before. It had been sweet and filled with flavor. It had taken him almost two hours to eat it cause he had savored every tiny bite.

"You there, boy. What you need?" the store owner called out after helping everyone else in the store. Sam pointed to the food items he needed.

"Do you have any candy? Peppermint or Caramel?" He would get Gid's candy, but he would get him and Manny some too.

"You comin' in from off the steamer?"

"Yes, suh," Sam said, keeping his eyes on the few coins in his hand.

"That's got to be some kind of livin'," the man said as he picked up two jars. "Got both. Peppermint and caramel." Gid's coin got him one of each so Sam gave the man another coin so he and his brother could share one of each. He was just finishing wrapping his food in the cloth he had brought when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"You won't regret it, Mr. Cronwall. Railroads are the future. It's the next big thing connecting the West to the East."

"I'm sure you're right, Mr. Baldwin."

"I know I'm right. I've been in the railroad business for over ten years. Just you see, Mr. Cronwall. Your little investment is going to set you up for life."

"And you need the money now?"

"Least before we get to New Orleans."

"Well, I keep a little something with me. Though not in my rooms. Not quite safe."

"Oh, don't I know it. You can't trust anybody these days. I keep my funds with Captain Leahy. He's got a special safe."

Sam, not wanting to linger exactly in the same state he was still running away from, grabbed his things, and slipped out the door as Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Cronwall placed several items for purchase before the store owner.

Investments. Railroads. Special safes. Sam was fairly certain he didn't understand all the nuances of what was just said, but he was also sure that he had some idea as to what was going down and whatever game was being played, Mr. Cronwall was 'bout to lose big.