Ennis has left Bridget and the boys in New York to go off and make his fortune. He sees my face when he says it and adds that he’ll come back for them in a year or two. “It’ll be worth it when we’re living like kings,” he says. “Soon as I heard about the gold, I took the first train down here. When I get supplies together, I’ll take the C&O Canal to Cumberland.”

“Are you saying there’s gold in Cumberland?”

He lifts an eyebrow, excitement in his eyes. “You haven’t heard? They found gold in California. The trail west starts in Cumberland, Maryland.”

It doesn’t seem likely to be true. But, true or not, Ennis believes it.

“I swear it’s just sitting in the ground for any man who can swing a pickaxe.”

I stare in amazement. “You’re talking about gold. There for the taking.”

“I’m telling you, Henry, this is a hell of a country.”

“Then why are you looking for a blacksmith?”

“See now, that’s the beauty of my plan. Men’ll be fighting over every patch of ground, stabbing each other in the back to lay claim to a stake. But first, they’ve all got to get west. Every gold prospector and every west settler will strike out from Independence, Missouri, the last settlement before the westward trails lead through bears and buffalo and Indians and wilderness.

“By the time a man gets to Independence, he’s going to have a strong appreciation for his wagon wheels,” Ennis says. “He’ll want them fixed up, new ones bought and a few spares to take with him. That’s where we’ll come in. I can make a wheel, but I need a smith for the runners.” He leans into me and presses me hard with his stare. “Think of it. If you come out there with me, we’ll be rich as Solomon.”

“It’s a good plan,” I say. My mind floats to a picture of what that could be like. To the open road and striking out to Missouri with Ennis, making my fortune in wagon wheels at the tail of civilization. A man can’t help where his mind goes, and that’s where mine went. To the wide-open possibilities. But it comes back to Virginia soon enough, and to Sarah’s eyes, and her shoulders, and that spring rain smell of hers, and the way her voice curls around my name when she says it soft in my ear and the hairs on the back of my neck poke right up. With all that holding me, a fool scheme making wheels can’t stand up. “I wish you luck, Ennis, but I’m selling my forge for the cash.”

“Jesus, Henry. What’d you do, drink too much whiskey at the gambling table? I met a man who gambled his whole farm away after a bottle too many. Had to go home and tell his wife to pack up the family.”

“It wasn’t gambling,” I say. I don’t tell him the story. It seems too much to tell. And not likely he’d understand if I did.