Epilogue

The ridingbird chicks stood about four feet and sported downy coats of fuzzy speckled feathers. The four of them raced across the garden to Toby and Susan as the two children tossed out handfuls of feed. Betty and Romeo looked on from the cover of the apple trees but didn’t rouse from their afternoon nap.

Watching from the porch of the Wilder House, Grover smiled as little Susan instructed Toby in throwing a lasso and catching the runningbirds’ legs. Her father, Frank, had become an expert during the month he’d looked after Betty and her family while Grover had been summoned, along with Lawrence, across the sea to Washington.

Neither of the children managed to snag a single one of the chicks, but the hatchling ridingbirds delighted in leaping after and pecking at the ropes as if hunting rattlesnakes.

Grover glanced across the small table to where Lawrence stretched in his chair, with his hat tipped low to shadow his face. Grover felt half-certain that he’d nodded off. He’d hardly slept last night. Neither of them had—and not for pleasurable reasons either. Lawrence still hadn’t received an official discharge from the Office of Theurgy and Magicum. The threat of being called back onto another battlefield haunted Lawrence. It’d made him anxious even when he settled down to draw in his sketchbook, and it woke him from Grover’s arms at night. Three months had already rolled by, and they didn’t know if Lawrence could consider himself free.

Very soon Grover needed to head back out to his cabin and prepare for winter. He’d already delayed a week. He supposed he’d wait longer if he had to. He wasn’t about to leave Lawrence. Together the two of them could get everything done that needed doing before the first heavy snow, Grover reasoned to himself, but he didn’t quite believe it.

He swatted a fat blackfly away from the dish of corn biscuits that Cora Cody had brought over to them.

Leaning against the porch rails, Frank and Cora took turns calling encouragements to the children and the ridingbird chicks. George Cody’s chair across from Grover’s stood empty. He’d volunteered to fetch the first edition of the New United America News, which would supposedly carry the most recent articles from both sides of the Inland Sea.

“You know Toby’s already asking about when he can go along with you and Lawrence to your place in the woods.” Cora glanced back at Grover.

“At this rate he’ll get there before we do,” Lawrence murmured from the shadow of his hat, but his comment didn’t carry past Grover to the other two.

“Clearly he hasn’t been informed of Susan’s plans for him yet.” Frank laughed. “She’s going to set up a bird ranch bigger than Uncle Grover’s. Toby’s going to be her foreman. And they’re going to trade with Chief Niwot just like her Uncle Grover does.”

“Really?” Cora smiled as she turned her attention back to the children. Both Cora’s and Frank’s expressions turned thoughtful as they studied the next generation playing so carelessly at the difficulties of a married couple working a ranch together. Grover read concern in both Cora’s and Frank’s expressions but also something like amazement.

“That would be something, wouldn’t it?” Cora said at last.

“Yes, indeed,” Frank replied. “Might well happen. The future’s bound to be full of surprises.”

A surprise would be fine at this point, Grover thought. It was the waiting that just about drove him around the bend. The only bright side to it was that the comforts of the Wilder House had allowed Lawrence to recover his strength. He looked good now, tanned and comfortable, even with his white shirtsleeves rolled up and his new ivory arm exposed for anyone to see. He cast Grover one of those sly, admiring glances. Grover’s pulse kicked up from real low down.

He longed to have Lawrence to himself—both of them back in the familiarity of the mountains. But they had to wait.

In the meantime folks wanted to see the medals they’d received for their parts in closing the rift. And they wanted to know about the president and all the fine folks and places that filled the far-off capitol. A few souls, like Reverend Dodd, had even taken the time to tell Grover that after what he’d done for them—facing down dinosaurs and risking his life to close the rift—well, it made them ashamed of how they might have treated him and his folks in the past.

Most others weren’t much changed. Sheriff Lee still wouldn’t spare Grover the time of day, but then Grover wouldn’t have deigned to ask him either.

Mayor Wilder had thrown a lavish welcome-home party a week ago. He’d presented Lawrence with his great-uncle’s lucky compass. And a day later when he saw Grover walking along the drive, he beckoned him up onto the front steps to chat and opened the front door for him to come inside.

Much later, after they’d both probably imbibed far too much whiskey, he even pulled Grover into a strong, fatherly embrace and thanked him for looking after his son.

“I know…” Mayor Wilder had mumbled. “Always knew you two… You’d be the one to care for him.”

“I will, sir,” Grover had promised in a warm slur. “Always.”

They hadn’t said anything more about it since, though the mayor had quietly shared a few stories about Lawrence’s great-uncle and his lifelong prospecting partner—the men who had discovered the seam of alchemic stone that made the Wilder fortune. The two had lived together most their lives, and they shared a grave in the family cemetery. Lawrence and Grover had since paid their respects to the two.

Grover swatted another fly away from the biscuits. Then he looked out to the drive. George Cody came pelting towards them with a newspaper gripped in his hand.

Dread filled Grover. Now that Lawrence was a national hero, his next posting for the Office of Theurgy and Magicum might well be printed up in the newspaper.

If that was the case, Grover decided silently, then he’d leave everything behind—Betty, King Douglass, his home and his friends. He’d register as a mage and follow Lawrence. He hated the thought of losing his home, but not as much as he loathed the idea of letting Lawrence go without a fight again.

Lawrence straightened and pushed up the brim of his hat. Frank and Cora turned as George bounded up the steps.

“What on earth is the matter?” Cora asked.

Out of breath, George simply slapped the front page of the paper down onto the table. A parcel, wrapped in weathered brown paper slid from between the broadsheet pages.

Grover glared down at the grainy image of Nathaniel Tucker, which took up a good section of the newspaper’s front page.

“Nathaniel Tucker commits suicide,” Lawrence read the headline aloud. “Famous Theurgist leaps to icy death in Potomac River. Final note reveals his role in creating the rifts and begs that the courage…” Lawrence’s voice suddenly failed him and he shook his head.

“…that the courage of Lawrence Wilder, Gaston Jacquard and Grover Ahigbe never be forgotten!” George read out proudly. He beamed at both Lawrence and Grover. Then he snatched up the parcel and handed it to Lawrence.

“This came by airship for you.”

The address looked faded and full of ornate flourishes. Lawrence took the package and stepped back from the table to open it. His expression struck Grover as grim. All four of them on the porch glanced after Lawrence, but none of them were so ill-mannered as to pry before Lawrence had a chance to take in the contents himself.

“I knew that Tucker was a bad egg.” Cora went to her husband’s side and picked up the paper. “I’d started to feel a little bad for him because his brother got killed but…” She trailed off as the details of the article absorbed her attention. A moment later she looked up with a shocked expression. “Oh goodness! That David fellow wasn’t even his brother!”

“What’s this?” Frank asked. He strolled over to the table.

Cora read out the entire article, revealing the contents of Nathaniel Tucker’s suicide note. Grover had wondered how long Honora had intended to continue impersonating Nathaniel Tucker after she’d ensured the ratification of the Proclamation of Emancipation. He’d imagined that in her place, he would have slipped away discreetly, but he supposed that just proved how much less of a showman he was than Lady Astor.

He stood and offered Frank his seat, so that he could see the illustrations in the paper. While the further details of the article absorbed the others, Grover withdrew to Lawrence’s side.

“It’s from Honora,” Lawrence informed him quietly as he turned the small package over in his hands.

“Oh? How is Lady Astor?”

“She’s on her way to some destination that she can’t disclose to me now that I’m no longer in the service,” Lawrence said, smiling. “She’s sent me my papers. I’ve been officially and honorably discharged.”

Grover felt a surge of elation and only just stopped himself from throwing his arms around Lawrence in front of everyone. As it was, they leaned into each other, both grinning. Grover knew he owed his life to Lady Astor, but at this moment he felt more thankful to her for not dragging Lawrence back into service than for anything else.

The last vestige of the past that had kept them apart for eight years dissipated like morning dew in the summer sun. Now, he and Lawrence were free to make what they would of today and all their tomorrows.

“She promises to send me more masala soon,” Lawrence added.