I resume my search for Jefferson. Time and again I see someone with his lanky form and dark hair, but then he turns around, or moves in a way that Jefferson would never move, or calls out in a voice I’ve never heard.

Finally, the sun is high enough that I head into town for my meeting with Free Jim. The Hawthorn Inn is easy to find, though calling it an “inn” is generous and optimistic. It’s little more than a giant shack, with wax-paper windows, sleeping cubbies curtained off with sheets, and a huge, canvas awning pretending to be the roof of a busy dining area.

Free Jim is already sitting at one of the long benches, a mug before him on the table. Though the inn is crowded, there’s a bubble of space around him, so I climb over and plunk down beside him.

“I ordered us up some fried catfish,” he says by way of greeting. “Hope you don’t mind.”

My mouth waters. “Thanks, Free Jim!”

“It’s just Jim now.”

I peer at his profile. “But Missouri is a slave state. It would be better if—”

“Do you have to go around introducing yourself as ‘Free Lee’?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then why should I?”

Because I couldn’t stand it if something happened to him, but I take his point.

A serving girl not much older than me sweeps by and plops our plates down before us.

“Eat up,” Jim says.

The fish is a bit rubbery, like it sat out a day or two before getting cooked, but I can’t afford to turn down a meal. I’m halfway through when Jim says, “What are your plans?”

I swallow my mouthful. “Find Jefferson. He said he’d meet me here. Then we’ll figure out how to get to California.”

He nods. “Some folks thought the two of you ran off together.”

“I wish we had.” If Jefferson had been around, those brothers wouldn’t have dared rob me. Then again, maybe his Cherokee blood would have made him a tempting target. The thought turns my stomach. “Have you seen him? He left a few days before I did, so I really thought he’d be here by now.”

“I haven’t, no.” At the look on my face, he adds, “Sorry. Some companies have left already, even though the grass isn’t growing in yet.”

It’s an awful possibility, that we could come all this way and not find each other.

“The reason I ask about your plans,” Jim says, “is that I’m heading out tomorrow. Found a good company willing to have a Negro along. You’re welcome to join me.”

I stare at him. “But . . . Jeff . . .”

His smile is sympathetic. “I figured you’d say that. But in honor of your daddy, I had to offer.”

“You could wait! Just a few days. We could look for Jefferson together.”