Later, he’s settled on a chair in Grass Valley, in the Golden Gate Saloon, with his legs stretched in front of him, dry and warm, a meal in his belly, a drink in his hand, and a fire at his feet. He’s in a comfortable, dozy, immortal mood. In his nineteen years, he’s survived fire, water, plague, and ice. He was born with a caul. What can possibly hurt him? He might just sleep in the chair. Or he might rouse himself, go and see if he can find the girl he visited last time they passed through.

He does neither. Instead, Edwin picks up an old edition of The Sacramento Weekly Union.

He reads that his father died on November 30th.

Today’s date is January 12th.

—

Night falls. Edwin is wandering, sobbing, drunk and alone, along the main street in the bright moonlit snow when he sees his father coming towards him. His father wears no costume, but is dressed as himself in his stained coat and shabby hat. Edwin stops to wait for him. “ ‘Cut off, even in the blossoms of my sin,’ ” his father says. A bobbing lantern shines through his body. “Honestly, I’m sick of it. You do it.”

As the light grows brighter, his father dims, finally vanishing completely. The man holding the lantern is Old Spudge. “I’m here to fetch you back, boy,” he says.

Edwin has just seen his first ghost. It won’t be his last.

xviii

All that night, Old Spudge sits with Edwin, patting his knee, while Edwin cries. The next morning, Edwin leaves the Waller Company without a word. He leaves Old Spudge sleeping in the parlor, his head fallen forward onto his chest, his feet on the ottoman, his sparse hair sticking up like a rooster’s comb.

The trip back to San Francisco proves almost as hard as the one in from Downieville. The horses all belong to the Wallers, so Edwin goes on foot again. It snows. It rains. When the sun comes out, he’s no better off, the light so bright against the snowdrifts as to burn his eyes. He’s always cold.

Every thought, every memory is painful; his mind exhausts itself looking for a place to land that doesn’t hurt. He took no money with him when he left. By the time he reaches Marysville, he hasn’t eaten in two days. He’s gaunt, sickly, and silent. People meeting him for the first time fear his mind is gone. Out of pity, they take up a collection, buy him food, a seat on the coach to Sacramento, and passage on from there. Edwin hardly notices these things happening to and around him.