The night John appeared was the only night in which the theater was filled. A capacity crowd had hissed John’s performance. The air of triumph Asia detected was the best acting John had managed. Mother was right. He’d been exploited for his name and the man who did this was Edwin’s good friend Sleeper Clarke.

It all made John remember how, years ago when he was only eight, Sleeper and Edwin had taken the role of Richard away from him and offered him Richmond. He remembered their arrogance, their thirteen-year-old bossiness.

Yesterday, he’d been grateful to Sleeper for giving him his chance. Sleeper’s been practically family for as long as John can remember. He wants to believe in his good intentions. The fault is John’s own, his own dreams, his own vanity. Getting above himself. He says nothing to Asia. The next time Sleeper asks, he says no.

xiv

Asia turns twenty. It’s an occasion for a good scrubbing of the soul. What has she done in the past year on behalf of heaven? Has she avoided becoming what she most fears—scrupulous, prudish, judging, and cold-hearted? Has she instead been what she most wishes—generous, merciful, a kindly old maid? How can she do better? What lies ahead?

“I fear the unfolded page,” she writes to Jean. “Promise you’ll always love me.”

xv

Letters arrive from Edwin with such adventures! Pirates boarded his ship near Samoa, trying unsuccessfully to seize the wheel and run it aground on the coral reefs. There was a mutiny in which the traveling players were forced to defend the captain with their counterfeit swords and wooden guns.

After a successful run in Sydney, the troop moved on to Melbourne, where Edwin celebrated his twenty-first birthday in a manner his letters do not recount. In fact, quite, quite drunk, he attempted to fly the American flag at his hotel, while loudly castigating the British Empire. This roused the Australians to such a pitch of patriotism that they refused to come and see him act. In one drunken spree, Edwin destroyed the whole Australian tour.

Laura Keene, all too familiar with such behavior, fleeing a drunken husband of her own, never forgives him. Eliding the cause, Edwin’s letters admit to the rift. He writes that he’s “suffering Keenely” as a result. He parts from her and sails on to Hawaii, where he performs Richard III for King Kamehameha, who had once seen his father in the same role.

John can hardly bear to read these letters, so great is his envy. He’s desperate to protect his captain from a mutiny—he’s better with a sword than Edwin is by miles. Meanwhile, the situation on the farm is desperate. No one since the Hagan debacle has leased the fields. No one has ever teased a good crop of grain from them. In the winter of 1855, the Booths begin to slowly starve.

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