“Treat me like a set of silver being polished up for a shop window, you mean,” Jenny grumbled. She reached for the bottle of whiskey again, but Will quickly tucked it away, mindful of her father sitting at the dinner table just a few hundred yards away.
“Miss Murison’s is pretty good ... as girls’ schools go ...” Jenny parroted derisively. “I’ve only learned one thing in that ‘girls’ school’ that’s worth more than two pins—and that’s excellent French. Without it I could never have read Monsieur Bachelier’s thesis. You would love it, William, it’s on the use of Brownian motion to evaluate stock options.” She paused, sighing dreamily, as if she were discussing the latest moving picture star. Then she frowned again. “Of course, when I try to discuss Bachelier’s work with my mathematics tutor, all he wants to do is stare into my eyes.”
“Gee, you got it rough,” Will deadpanned. “Math tutors staring into your blue eyes. How can you stand it?”
“I can’t stand it!” she countered sharply. “And don’t you dare poke fun, William Edwards. You don’t understand what it’s like to have no one—not one single person—take you seriously. Your teachers, Mr. Tesla ... they all think you’re a genius. Everybody takes you seriously.”
“Not everybody” Will muttered. Not the one person who mattered.
Jenny heaved a sigh. “Well, that’s how parents are,” she said. “How fathers are, at least. I couldn’t say about mothers.”
Jenny had lost her mother when she was three years old, and despite the fact that Ma’am was a loving witchly godmother, it wasn’t the same. Will hastened to change the uncomfortable subject.
“That’s how people are,” he said. “They’re unpredictable, they don’t make decisions rationally or logically, and they usually don’t make much sense. It drives me up a tree.”
“I suppose that’s why you like machines so much, right?” Jenny mused. “Because they do what you expect?”
Will nodded, surprised. She leaned forward.
“But you see, I like things that do what you don’t expect,” she said. “For instance, when most people think about mathematics, they think of boring equations—you know, like two plus two equals four. But there are other equations, William. Equations that seem just as simple, except when you put in different numbers, the strangest things come out. They seem so boring on the surface, but then when you realize how incredibly, beautifully complex they are it’s just ... wonderful.”
Will was transfixed by how radiant her face had suddenly become. He recognized that kind of rapture. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and through some unspoken agreement, they decided to be friends again.
And now that they were friends again, Jenny leaned toward him and dropped her voice low.
“William,” she said, “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“Miss Hansen!” He feigned outrage. “I’ll have you know, I’m not that kind of fellow!”
Snorting, Jenny punched him in the arm.
“You want to get out of here, right? I mean, get to Detroit, get to your apprenticeship, everything?”
“Yes,” Will said. “More than anything.”
“All right, then hear me out. Don’t say anything until I’m done.” She took a deep breath, then seemed to lose her courage. “It’s just that I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but until I heard your situation it never quite gelled, you know?”
“No, I don’t know,” Will said. “Spit it out. What are you talking about?”
Jenny drew another deep breath. “All right. You know my mother died when I was very young. And you know that she came from money, and she left a bundle. That bundle was put into trust for me and my sister.” She paused. “Now, in Claire’s case the money goes to ... her support.”
Will said nothing, but nodded. He had heard about Jenny’s older sister Claire. She was a victim of the Black Flu epidemics, and was, according to his brothers’ whispered gossip, horribly disfigured and deformed. She lived in an asylum somewhere, they said.
“In my case, however,” Jenny continued, “I come into my money free and clear when I’m twenty-one. Or”—she paused meaningfully—“when I get married. Whichever comes first.”
She let the silence hang for a long time. Will didn’t say anything, and Jenny evidently interpreted his silence as a failure of comprehension.
“We get married, dummy!” she said.
“Yes, Jenny,” Will said. “I got it. You couldn’t be any clearer if you whitewashed it on the side of a barn and then set the barn on fire. However, I was waiting for you to explain exactly how you think we can do that, when neither one of us is old enough.”
“We are most certainly old enough!” she said. “By law, the groom has to be over eighteen and the bride over fifteen. Well, you just turned eighteen and I’m almost eighteen myself—”
“You still have to have your parents’ permission if you’re under twenty-one,” Will pointed out. “How do you reckon we get that?” Will imagined asking Father for permission to marry Jenny. The image was terrifying—but not as terrifying as asking Mr. Hansen the same question.
“Oh, pshaw. Who doesn’t lie about their age? You look twenty- one, especially if we clean you up and put you in a suit.”
Will was skeptical. “What makes you think a hot marriage license will cut any ice with your mother’s estate attorneys?”
“You leave that to me,” Jenny said. “I have ... connections. As long as I’ve got a marriage certificate I can get the estate released. And I’ve got money to start us off. Dad’s always giving me cash for dresses and chocolates and junk like that, and I’ve saved it up.”
Will was beginning to feel slightly horrified. It was clear that, far beyond just “thinking” about this scheme, Jenny had put a lot of actual planning into it.
“Jenny, come on. Even if you got the money it would just be a matter of time before the ruse was discovered. What then?”
Jenny waved a hand. “Who cares? Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Once I have the money, they’ll have to chase me down to get it back. What better place for me to lay low for a while than Detroit? And even if they find me, and try to sue me for the return of the funds, it’ll take years to wind through the courts. By the time anyone makes any kind of judgment I’ll probably be twenty-one anyway, and it won’t matter!”
Will stared at her. “You’re really serious, aren’t you?”
She nodded.
“And you don’t feel like it’s kind of a dirty trick? On your dead mother and your living father?”
“What do either one of our fathers have to do with anything?” Jenny countered acidly. “I thought from your performance at the dinner table that you’d be all too happy to be shut of yours.”
“Easy for you to say!” Will lifted his eyebrows. “My father isn’t likely to hunt you down and beat you to a pulp.”
“Oh, Dad’s a big pussycat,” she sniffed. “You know he likes you. He’ll be thrilled having you for a son-in-law.”
“But it won’t be real.” Will’s head was spinning. “And what if you fall in love with someone for real and want to marry him? You’ll have to divorce me—”
“Or kill you,” Jenny grinned. “Then I could be a widow. No shame in that.”
“I don’t much care for the way you think, Jenny Hansen.”
“All I’m saying, William, is that it’s high time we both showed everyone that they shouldn’t underestimate us. Everything else is just ... logistics.”
Will grinned slightly. “And after all, you do have a crush on me—”
“I do not!” Jenny screeched, eyes wide with indignation. “When I was ten, I was impressed that you could whistle through the gap in your teeth. Can you still do that?”
Will puckered and whistled. But the gap in his teeth was long gone, and the sound was puny and unimpressive. Jenny waved dismissively. “You’re clearly not half the man you once were. So we’ve got to keep it just business. But look, it can work. We can do this.”
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“And what do you get out of it?”
“I get to be a married woman who makes my own choices about things.” She spoke with strange fierceness. “That’s all you need to know. You have to promise me not to ask any more questions than that.”
Will thought about everything she had said. He couldn’t really be considering it. It was crazy!
“We sure couldn’t go into Walnut Grove to get a license,” he mused. “The clerk there has known me since I was in short pants, and he’d have to send the paperwork to Stockton anyway, since it’s the county seat.”
“Stockton’s where we need to go.” Jenny’s quick certainty gave Will the impression that she’d written away for the information weeks ago. “Most local offices are closed the Friday after Thanksgiving, but since Stockton is the county seat the offices there have to stay open. But I bet you the clerk will try to go home early. And if we don’t get there tomorrow we’ll have to wait the whole weekend and that would ruin everything.”
Will nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“Maybe I could get the Baker off my friend Pask. It’s only a few hours drive to Stockton from here.”
Will knew the road like the back of his hand. He and Pask often drove down to Stockton to take in moving pictures and moon over unapproachable girls at dance halls. And the weather had been dry for the past few weeks, so no worries about getting stuck in the mud ...
“Will he loan it to you?”
Will made a face. “Just how do you figure we’d return it? No, I’d have to buy it from him outright. I guess he’d sell it to me. You said you had money?”
Jenny nodded. “Cover your eyes.”
“What?”
“Just do it!”
Will covered his eyes, peeking through his fingers. Jenny hiked up the hem of her skirt. In her stocking garter was tucked a wad of banknotes so fat he wondered how they stayed put. He was so shocked he forgot he was supposed to be keeping his eyes closed.
“Jiminy Christmas!” he gasped. “Just how many dresses and chocolate bars does your dad think you need, anyway?”
“I’ve been saving for a long time,” she said. “And supplementing it ... creatively.” She did not elaborate as she let her skirt drop. She pressed the wad of cash into his hand.
Will looked at it with astonishment. It had to be almost a thousand bucks! He didn’t say anything.
“Well?” she spoke with some impatience. “Are you in?”
“Yeah,” he said finally, tucking the money into his pocket. “I’m in.”
The resolve in his voice was apparently insufficient, for Jenny narrowed her eyes and stared hard at him for a moment. Then, with great deliberation, she spit in her palm and extended her hand.
“Shake on it,” she demanded.
Without hesitation, Will spit in his palm, and they pressed their hands together, damp and sticky. Jenny grinned broadly.
“That’s that, then. I’m going back in to help your Ma’am with the cleaning up. Meet you back here tomorrow morning?”
“Before dawn,” said Will.
“Wear your best suit,” Jenny said as she slid down the hayloft ladder. “I won’t marry you if you look like a hobo.”
After she was gone, Will withdrew the wad of banknotes from his pocket. He stared at them, sudden delight rising within him. The more he thought about the plan, the more he liked it. He could be in Detroit, working at Tesla Industries, before the end of the month! Tucking the money back inside his coat, he hurried down the ladder, glancing at his wristwatch, wondering if he could make it over to Pask’s place before too late ...
“Hey, Will.” The voice came from over near one of the stables. Nate’s voice. Will froze, wondering how long his brother had been there. Knowing Nate, he’d lit out for the stable almost as quickly as Will had—he didn’t like to be too long away from the horses.
“Hey, Nate.” Will didn’t think his brother had overheard any of the discussion between him and Jenny; they’d been speaking quietly, and Nate was not the type to listen in on conversations. He just wasn’t interested in them. Nate was standing by the sorrel mare’s stable, visibly fretting. The mare had a crazy look in her eye and her velvety muzzle was flecked with foam.
“Given her a purgative,” said Nate, eyes fixed on the glossy Morgan. “I may have to have Ma’am look at her.”
“Nothing Ma’am likes more than taking care of sick things,” Will observed. “Nice, helpless little things.”
Nate didn’t turn from the ailing Morgan. “You talking about horses, or you talking about yourself?”
“Take a wild guess,” Will said. “I have to go, Nate. See you around.”
“I guess I know horses pretty well.” Will had turned to go, but Nate’s words stopped him. “Sometimes they can be pretty stubborn. Like this mare, we’ve tried and tried to keep her out of the clover, and she just keeps going after it. It’s not good for her, but I guess she likes the taste.”
Will released a long breath, clenched his fists. Even though Nate’s lectures were milder than most, he still recognized one when he heard it, and he still resented it. He said nothing.
“Well, we’ll keep trying to keep her out of that pasture.” Nate’s voice was slow and resigned. “But she’ll probably keep going back to it, and one day it may kill her. That’d be a darn shame, because she’s a really nice horse.”
“Yep, it would be a darn shame,” Will said. “I got it, Nate. Horses are stupid and stubborn and smart people like you and Father have to figure out what’s best for them.”
Nate looked pained.
“I never said you were stupid,” he said. “This mare isn’t stupid. She just doesn’t understand. That doesn’t make her stupid.”
“But I’m not a horse, Nate.” Will clipped the words. “I am a human being. I can think things through, predict the consequences, make informed choices. I can do that for myself. I don’t need anyone to do it for me.”
Nate drew in a deep breath, let it out. Then he nodded.
“I guess,” he said. “If you say so.”
He pushed back from the stable, and turned his gaze onto Will, and for the first time it was like he was really seeing his younger brother. It made Will uncomfortable. There was something about Nate’s direct, unshifting gaze that made one feel as if he knew too much.
“I had a letter from Ben the other day,” Nate said, scrutinizing Will. “And I think I figured something out. I think I figured out the difference between Ben and the rest of us—well, me, Argus and Laddie anyway. We all believe everyone is doing the best he can. Even Father.” He paused, thoughtfully. “Especially Father. Even when we don’t understand the things he does, we believe that he does them for reasons that are good. I believe it, I know Argus does, and Laddie too—as much as Laddie believes anything. But Ben ... doesn’t. Ben doesn’t believe it at all.”
Nate blinked once, then asked, with real curiosity, “What do you believe, Will?”
“Sure, I believe Father does what he does for reasons that are good,” Will said, quickly and caustically. “Good for him, that is. He just doesn’t concern himself about whether they’re good for anyone else.”
Nate absorbed this gravely. Then he sighed. “I don’t think that’s true. Can’t prove it one way or the other, of course. But I guess I’m willing to take him on faith. You and Ben aren’t.”
Will was silent for a long time. First, the words made him numb—but almost instantly, that numbness kindled into hot fury. Take him on faith? Really? He should just ... surrender? Kowtow to someone else’s high-handed notion of what was right for his life?
“Thanks for the advice, Nate.” He was so angry he almost choked on the words. “But you can keep it. Good luck with the mare. Honestly, I hope she gets in the clover again. I hope she kills herself on it. At least that way she’ll die doing what she wants. She may be just a dumb animal, but even a dumb animal deserves a choice.”
Then he got on his bicycle and pedaled furiously to Pask d
e la Guerra’s house.
Chapter Two
A Sheep in Will’s Clothing
28 DAYS UNTIL THE FULL MOON
Early the next morning, Will met Jenny behind the barn. They walked in silence through the misty half-light to a grove of oaks along the wide slow Sacramento River. It was a cold morning; frost made the fallen leaves a sparkling carpet of orange and red and yellow that crunched under their feet as they walked. The air smelled of distant smoke, from farmers burning off the last of their fields.
The clearing where Will had parked the Baker was another place they’d used to play. Jenny smiled in recognition, raising her gloved fingers to push aside a tattered strand of sisal dangling from a thick branch—the remnant of a long-gone rope swing.
But when she laid eyes on the Baker—on the sloppy red and green paint, and the streaks of mud that still lingered from its dunk in the irrigation ditch—pleasant nostalgia gave way to outrage.
“Just how much of my money did you spend on this heap?” she circled the Baker with a frown, eyeing the cracked leather of the folding top.
“Pask took five hundred.”
“Are you kidding? That’s more than half the price of a brand new Model T!”
“As it happens, Pask does not operate a Ford franchise,” said Will, archly. “And this automobile cost almost four thousand when it was new.”
“This automobile has not been new in a long time.” Jenny’s frown deepened as she examined the auto’s stubby bonnet, the unique hallmark of its type. “And honestly, William ... an electric? Who buys an electric out here in the sticks?”
Will felt secretly smug. She was right, of course; an electric had been an unwise choice for Pask’s family, living as they did in the middle of California’s Central Valley where electricity wasn’t always available. But that inconvenience had been one of the motivating factors behind the improvements Will had made. He couldn’t wait to show her what the “electric” could do.
Jenny seemed to be waiting for him to argue back at her. When he did not, she concluded: “Well, I think your friend Pask is a swindler. But if this flivver will get us to Stockton in time, I guess it’s worth it.”
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