“And now your uncle wants them gone.”

“Yes, sir.”

He studies me close, rubbing at his jaw. Softly, he says, “That Hiram Westfall owns you right proper now, doesn’t he?”

His words give my belly a squirm. Too loudly, I say, “Seems like everyone around here is making plans to head west.”

“Indeed. The sooner you get to a gold field, the better you’ll do. Folks in this town remember that.”

Free Jim glances around the store, but we’re alone. Everyone is outside listening to the speech. He says, “McCauley was asking around town after his boy. Seems to think his son ran off to Savannah, hoping to catch a boat and sail halfway round the world. Don’t suppose you know anything about that.”

I pretend to misunderstand. “Mr. McCauley spoke to me at the funeral, said the same thing.”

“Might have been a mistake for Jefferson to go.”

I step toward the counter, getting right in his face. “You know he has reasons to strike out for himself.”

He holds up his hands. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what?”

He considers me, as if deciding something.

Free Jim reaches beneath the counter and pulls out an old farmer’s almanac, the kind Daddy always kept lying around for easy reference. He opens the cover, revealing a square of thick folded paper tucked inside. He unfolds the square and spreads it out. “This is Mitchell’s Reference and Distance Map, the 1846 edition, with an inset for Texas, California, and Oregon.”

I peer at it. “Oh?”

“We’re right here.” A large blunt finger drops onto the section labeled “Georgia.” The states are marked in bold outline, each one filled with brightly colored counties. His voice drops to a whisper. “Now, when someone leaves Georgia, and they don’t want anyone finding them . . .”

His voice trails off. I swallow a lump in my throat. “Like Jefferson, you mean.”

“Sure, like Jefferson.” His fingertip traces across Georgia to the ocean. “Say the rumors are true and Jefferson is going to Savannah. That’s trying to get to California all in one jump. A temptation, to be sure. But he’ll have to wait there to find passage, and waiting somewhere is asking to get caught. Even if he does find passage, the ships will have records. Passenger manifests that anyone could look at.”

“How should he do it?” My next words are timid. “Head for Independence?”

“Sure.” The map keeps trying to fold back up. Free Jim grabs a boot from the shelf behind him and plunks it on the counter to hold down the edge. “If Jefferson is smart, and I reckon he is, then he should consider his journey in stages. The first thing is to get to Chattanooga. There’s only one road across the mountains. Now, let’s say somebody’s looking for him.”

“Like . . . his da.”