The sunset was a brilliant Carolina symphony when Caleb stepped from the house. He nodded a greeting to the seven armed clansmen who circled the garden fence. The men were hardshells, a term from the distant past when their forebears populated the western hills, following codes as hard as local granite. The narrow-faced hillsmen were why the enclave had recently voted against permitting so-called abominations to live among them. Sooner or later Caleb’s closely guarded secret was going to come out. When it did, he would become just another notch on someone’s rifle.
Caleb resembled many of the enclave’s young men, tall and strong. He knew some considered him striking, with his tangle of blond hair and the cleft in his chin and his ice-grey eyes. As he approached the two loaded wagons, the smells enveloped him. The stoppered jugs were nestled in fresh straw that held a meadowy fragrance. The rear of each wagon was crammed with victuals and bedrolls and camping gear and Caleb’s personal effects. The jugs’ contents spiced the air. The first wagon held applejack, the second mostly plum brandy. To Caleb’s mind both fruits had been distorted by the distillation, but the fragrance was pleasant enough. There were also a dozen or so jugs of corn whiskey, and Caleb found that smell revolting.
Those jugs and their contents were nothing but a mask.
Eleven months earlier, Dorsey’s clan had discovered a vein of gold in their mine. Lucky for the enclave and all their futures, Dorsey led the hill clan that was most trusted, most stable, most capable of understanding the risks that the gold carried. Dorsey’s tight-lipped family could also best hold the secret intact. Not just now. For all the years to come.
The region where the Catawba enclave was located, in the Appalachian foothills straddling the North and South Carolina border, had been home to America’s earliest gold mines. Back before the Revolutionary War, back before all the violent events that had made and remade their world, the Catawba mines had supplied the gold that was minted into America’s first money.
Not a dozen people in the entire state were aware of this, of course. But Marsh, Caleb’s father, thrived on such information. He would have taught history at the local community college had he not been so gifted as a trader. Even so, Marsh never lost his passion for learning. Especially about the nation that was now little more than a name and a collection of old myths.
The few people involved all knew the stakes the gold represented. If word ever got out, Charlotte Township would invade, envelop, and put to death their way of life.
Three weeks earlier, Caleb had gone down inside the mine. He and Marsh were the only outsiders granted that privilege. The mine had originally been dug for copper, and the same smelting operation was now used for purifying the gold. The vein itself was a narrow string, scarcely thicker than Caleb’s thumb. But the purity was astonishing.
When Caleb had returned to the realm of sky and fresh air, he had seen the feverish glint reflected in the miners’ faces. Caleb then understood what his father repeated every time the gold was discussed.
No one could ever know.
The door opened behind him, and his father appeared with two hillsmen. Marsh called over, “How are things, Son?”
“Everything’s fine, Pa. The wagons are ready.”
Marsh turned to the two bearded men. “Gentlemen, our business is concluded.”
Both hillsmen wore the same odd getup—dark jackets and trousers, scuffed high-top boots, and collarless shirts. The younger of the two was Harshaw, leader of the enclave’s largest clan. Dorsey’s and Harshaw’s families had been feuding for generations. A single look at Harshaw’s burning gaze was enough to confirm that this man could never know about the wagon’s secret treasure.
“I still say we’re giving you too much,” Harshaw said.
Dorsey replied, “The bargain’s been set in place for months now. And it’s been agreed on unanimously by the Catawba elders.”
“I didn’t agree to nothing.” Harshaw jutted his chin, which thrust his beard out like a point. Caleb had been watching the man do it for hours and wondered if Harshaw’s intention was to make himself as ugly as possible. “The trader Marsh aims on cheating us out of our share.”
“That’s not possible,” Marsh said, his voice mild. Caleb’s father was the calmest man he had ever known. Nothing seemed to bother him. Not even serving as trader for the enclave’s most contentious hill clans. “The enclave’s elders set the commission. I told them whatever they decided would be acceptable.”
“Ten percent to the trader, twenty to the enclave,” Dorsey said. “The clans discussed it, the elders agreed.”
“I still say you’re letting the trader rob us of what’s rightfully ours.”
Dorsey’s hand kneaded the grip of his revolver. Caleb could hear the wood squeak softly. “We done covered all this. You can’t take it to Charlotte Township yourself. They banished you.”
“We’ll get another trader. Somebody who ain’t claiming more than his share.”
“Who else can we trust? There’s nigh on thirty silver bars’ worth of shine in them wagons. Marsh is the best trader in all Catawba, especially when it comes to getting a good price down Charlotte way.”
“We can sell it ourselves round here.”
“Anywhere around here we’d be bartering for goods.” Dorsey’s voice carried a soft burr, a dangerous note of growing impatience. “But Marsh is after bringing us back silver. What does it take to get through that thick skull of yours?”
Harshaw’s voice grew hoarse with rage. “You calling me out, Dorsey?”
The entire yard went tense. Caleb could taste the unignited cordite.
Dorsey merely snorted. “Always taking offense and looking for a reason to fight. Which is why you and your clan won’t never be traders. The elders made the deal, the clans voted. Marsh’s son will take our shine to market.”
Harshaw directed his rage at Caleb. “The boy’s too young to be handling our wares.”
“Didn’t you hear nothing we just talked over? Marsh’s wife is ill. He can’t leave her side. The boy’s been trading with his pa since he was old enough to walk. Caleb will get us the best deal going, and he will pay us fair and square. Marsh and his boy have built themselves a good name. Unlike some people round these parts. We can trust them, the deal is the right one, and you know it.”
Caleb turned away. The argument faded into the distance as he found himself drawn away by the signal. That was his name for what was happening. He had no idea if there was a better way to describe the experience. He had never spoken of these events with anyone. Not even his father was aware of Caleb’s bond with Maddie, though both his parents knew about his other abilities. Five months ago Maddie and her father left for Atlanta, and ever since she had sent him these signals. This was Maddie’s gift, not his, and he could not establish a connection unless she first helped him make it happen. Her signal was like a mental knock on the door. All Caleb had to do was open and . . .
But for nine days now, Maddie’s signal had only drawn him into silence. She signaled—just a quick contact, almost like she needed to make sure he was there and listening for her—then she withdrew. No explanation, no word, nothing. Caleb had never really missed her until now. Before, he trusted her to be true to their promise. She would go to Atlanta and settle her father and then meet Caleb in Overpass. It was the biggest reason Caleb was so eager to depart, so that he could prepare a home for them both. Only now he wasn’t sure of anything except that he missed her terribly.
He stepped away from the quarreling men and reached out. His gift was different. But still he tried.
Nothing.
It was when he turned back, his secret sense still on high alert, that he realized what was about to happen.
“Pa!”
His shrill tone was enough to jerk all the men about, both the three on the porch and those by the wagons. Caleb pointed a trembling finger at Harshaw. “He aims on murdering you!”
Marsh took a step away, watching his son and Harshaw both. He reached to his belt, then realized his sidearm was still hanging by the front door. “That true, sir?”
“What nonsense is this boy of yours spouting now?”
“I’ve seen it, Pa! He aims on calling you out, then claiming it was you who turned to violence!”
“I knew there was something wrong with that boy!” It was now Harshaw’s finger that trembled as he stabbed the air between them. “He’s one of them abominations, and a liar to boot!”
“That’s enough.” Dorsey stepped between them, his gun in his hand. The metallic click as he cocked the weapon was loud as the gunfire to come. “Keep your hands away from your sidearm, Harshaw. Boys!”
The young men stationed by the wagons cocked their weapons. “We got you covered, Pa!”
“You git on, now,” Dorsey ordered, his voice soft. “We’re done here.”
Harshaw spun on his heel, stomped past Caleb, and strode to where a cousin held the reins to his horse. He jerked the horse around and yelled, “This ain’t over!”
Dorsey stood on the porch next to Caleb’s father as the two men rode away. “I’ll have a word with Harshaw’s clansmen. See if we can’t put a strong set of reins on that’un.”
Marsh offered Dorsey his hand. “Surely appreciate your backing me up there.”
“My boys will stay on watch here tonight. I’ll be back before daybreak to see you off safe and sound.” He nodded to Caleb as he headed out.
Marsh waved Dorsey away, then said, “Son, go say goodbye to your mother.”
Caleb jerked away. “What?”
“Harshaw’s not a man to let something like this pass.” Marsh enfolded him in a fierce embrace. “If you’ve already left, hopefully we can avoid bloodshed. You best get on down the road. Don’t worry about packing. I’ll meet you this side of the boundary creek just after daybreak. Hurry now. I don’t need your gift to know Harshaw is probably looking for others to back his play.”