I blow it dry, fold it shut, and hand it back to the postmaster, who has been helping other customers while I wrote. I watch as he drops it in the box, and when Jefferson does not appear instantly to claim it, I head outside.

The general store draws me like a moth to a flame because two pretty blue-gingham dresses are now displayed in the window. The more I stare at them, the more I consider the possibility that I miss skirts even more than I miss my daddy’s rifle. For some reason, the thought of meeting Jefferson while looking like a boy makes me feel funny inside.

Then I see the prices. Twenty dollars each!

Someday, I’ll be rich. I’ll use my magic to find so much gold in California that I’ll be able to buy all the dresses and rifles a girl could ever want. I’ll buy carrots and sugar cubes for Peony too. White sugar cubes just because I can afford them. And I’ll have a tidy house with an oak bannister and a bright dormer—

“Hiram!” comes a voice.

I flatten myself against the wall like a rat trapped in the pantry corner. My eyes frantically search the crowd. Maybe Jim was wrong about Hiram taking the sea route. He probably turned around and came up the Mississippi in a steamer. Caught up to me when I was down with fever.

“Hey, Hiram, over here!”

The man shouting and waving is no one I recognize. He has a curly beard and an army issue jacket. His gaze leads my attention across the street and—

“Lemuel!”

A little sob escapes my lips. It’s not my uncle. Just someone who shares his name.

But Uncle Hiram will surely be waiting for me in California. It’s a big territory, I tell myself. Big enough to disappear in, maybe. Especially if he’s looking for a girl.

My hands don’t get the message though, and they refuse to stop trembling as I untie Peony from the hitching post. She nuzzles my fingers, looking for a treat.

“Sorry, girl. We don’t have enough money left for—”

“Lee McCauley!”

There’s nothing but jump left in me. I whip my head around, half ready to run, and find Mr. Joyner bearing down on me. His suit is as pristine as always, and I don’t have a single notion as to how he’s not as mud-spackled as the rest of us. “Sir,” I say, surprised. “Glad to see you.” I’m even more surprised that I mean it. It’s good to see a familiar face, even if it’s someone I don’t care for much.

“I can’t believe my good luck. Have you signed on with a wagon company yet?”

“No, sir,” I say, and immediately regret it. I don’t fancy being chased off by his wife again.