Not dead yet, she always said to herself, even when she was thinking about being an enchanted dead but never-fading princess, and Alvin Maker would come and kiss breath back into her lungs, and raise her up out of her bed and laugh when she said, “But what about Margaret?”

  He would say, “I should have turned her to tin and sent her away instead of the gold,” and as she thought these things she knew she was a truly wicked woman, to covet another woman’s husband, and imagine the wife tidily disposed of so Eliza could take her place.

  Never mind that she had a knack that would be useless to an honorable woman married to the founder of Crystal City.

  The train was much faster, but she knew she had time. She had seen in a block of water in a vision wall. Alvin was on a ship in the midst of a flotilla of ships on a very still sea, not moving at all. She couldn’t guess whether that was past, present, or future, but if it had happened, Alvin’s return to America would still be a few weeks off. Time enough to make a leisurely trip in the coach, wishing Calvin would keep his promise and smooth all her roads, even when she wasn’t walking.

  It took her two weeks to reach Philadelphia. The train would have taken only two days, with one change in Erie. But she had done that before, and it held no allure for her. Speed was good when you needed it. But in the coach, she had been able to receive some lovely gifts from two of the men who rode with her when they reached a roadhouse to spend the night.

  She wouldn’t have made a bit of money on the train. There was no privacy in those hot miserable cars. She was a lady, not a street woman who would please a man with her back against a wall and her own skirts in her face. Not that she had never done it, but, like the train, it was an experience she preferred to never have again, unless there was no other way.

  A hansom cab took her to her favorite hotel in Philadelphia—the kind of place with a few luxuries she appreciated, where they always remembered her by name, and where nobody asked about any man who told them he had to see her on business. It was usually true, though once it had been one of the men who shot at her.

  She went to the docks every day around noon, to see if any ships had arrived—or a flotilla of three big ships and a lot of smaller ones, down to the size of rowboats. Day after day, no such boats and no word of them. She began to wonder if Alvin wouldn’t bring them to the largest port in the United States, the capital, for heaven’s sake. With a bunch of knacky Irishmen, he would definitely need to get them legally admitted into the country, which could only be done in the capital, at least with enough authority to make it stick.

  She even bought a map of the whole English-speaking coast from Georgia to Acadia. What would stop him from entering the continent at Halifax? Or Boston? Well, he wasn’t that stupid. He could only bring them, really, into the United States, and Philadelphia was the best port of entry.

  Eliza walked up and down the higher boardwalk, where she had a view of the whole riverside. It smelled better up and away from the cargoes and the stevedores. And the passengers and the ferries and the fishermen. Since it wasn’t winter but spring, the fishing boats couldn’t be half filled with ice, to keep the fish smelling fresh, though they often tried to keep the fish alive in their iceless holds by letting the bilge get high enough to keep them in water. Eliza heard from one scientist she talked with that of course the fish couldn’t live in the hold. “So many fish piled on top of each other, none of them can breathe.”

  “Fish breathe?”

  “Oxygen, just like us, but their gills only work when they’re moving, and when there’s free oxygen in the water. Fishermen know that, too, so I think they only do that business with the water to assure their customers that their fish are fresher than anybody else’s.”

  It was one of her most pleasant mornings, and the professor of Ichthyology—she made him teach her how to spell it and say it—gave her such a nice gift that she thought, first, how much do they pay these scientists? And second, didn’t he know I would regard his conversation as enough of a gift to satisfy her covetous heart? But, third, it was a very substantial gift. Enough to buy and keep a carriage of her own, if she had had any use for such a thing. And a carriage was no use without at least one horse, so that would be a waste of her money. If she wanted to be responsible for another living thing, she’d have a baby.

  Alvin’s baby.

  Knowing his power, it was probable that no woman would conceive his child unless he wanted her to.

  But who knew how far knacks went in any direction? Being a Maker didn’t make him God, who was all powerful. At best, Alvin Maker was much powerful, but not all powerful.

  There on the upper boardwalk, there stood a man looking out over the river, downstream like her. He was getting on in years, and though he looked lean and healthy, he did not look rich. He was a gentleman, certainly, but beyond that, he was hard to read.

  He noticed her looking at him and beckoned to her mildly, not smiling, not ingratiating, so he didn’t want what most men wanted from her. When she got near him—holding her bags, which were getting heavy—he reached out and took the heavier bag from her. She knew he was not a thief, and when his expression asked her for permission, she said, “You are kind, sir. Even lightly packed bags can become heavy in the gathering heat of the day.”

  “You’re waiting here for someone?”

  “I don’t know when he’ll arrive. There was certainly no schedule, so I merely come each day to see, hoping that he’ll come.”

  “Hoping he will come.”

  “Just a friend. We once traveled in the same company on forest roads until we came to…” And there she stopped, because saying she was from Crystal City might make her a target of punishers from New England.

  “Crystal City,” the man said.

  That set her back on her heels. How could he know?

  “I only made that guess because the man I’m waiting for is closely tied with that city.”

  “You’re his friend?”

  “I try to be, though he’s probably the most self-sufficient man in the world.”

  “So you’re waiting for the … for the blacksmith?”

  “And smith of other metals, I’ve been told,” said the man.

  “I would wager—and I never wager, sir—that you’re a man of the cloth.”

  “What gave me away?” asked the man.

  “You have no luggage.”

  “But I didn’t just arrive, as you did. You came here even before getting a room.”

  “They didn’t want to rent me a room till midafternoon, after the maids had cleaned all the rooms.”

  “And they wouldn’t hold your bags for you?”

  “Everything I have in the world is in those bags,” she said simply.

  She saw at once that he knew she was lying. He gave a little smile. “Then you must have judged me very trustworthy, to let me hold your whole estate!”

  “You have a foreign accent. English, I think, but don’t I hear something else?”

  “I have lived in several places and learned the local language. I doubt you speak any of them.”

  “Oh, sir, I speak only two languages. American and money.”

  “Two very powerful languages. Many people speak the language of money, but most of them only enough to be able to bid the coins farewell as they run away.”

  “I’m frugal,” she said. “Which is why I won’t buy you dinner.”

  “I’m well provided-for,” he said.

  “Catholic,” she said.

  “It happens that I am.”

  “You didn’t look like a German or a Viking.”

  “I never thought I looked like anything. But until last year, I had lived quite comfortably in Portugal, a lovely country with fine harbors.”

  “And last year, what happened to move you out of Portugal?”

  “I received an urgent request to go and help purify the Church of Ireland.”

  “Aren’t the Irish Catholics?”

  “Tried and true,” said the man. “But the established Church of Ireland is really run by the church of the conquerors of Ireland, and it is most definitely not Catholic.”

  “Church of England—like New England. Were you going to get rid of the people with knacks?”

  The man laughed. “In a way,” he said. “But my role was to convict them all of crimes that would allow me to sentence them to be transported.”

  “To where?”

  “Here. Where I plan to help them board the trains that can take them west to Crystal City.”

  “You are generous, sir.”

  “My patron is generous.”

  “And who is your patron?” she asked.

  “Our Savior, Jesus Christ,” he said, and crossed himself.

  “Well, now everybody knows you’re Catholic.”

  The man laughed.

  “Do you have a name?”

  He seemed about to answer, but at that moment a racket that had started upriver was now coming near enough to make it hard to talk. They watched four noisy steamboats paddling downriver.

  “Don’t you wonder what their errand is?”

  “No,” said the man. “Because I paid for their errand.”

  “But they’re not stopping here!”

  “They were notified by telegraph that there was a flotilla arriving at the mouth of the Delaware River, with sailors so little skilled that it would be a miracle if they could sail upriver against the current. So, as arranged, they’re heading down to greet those ships and attach hawsers to them and tow them upriver to here.”

  “Why would a man of the Catholic Church—”

  “I am, or was, the Lord Inquisitor of Ireland, my lady. It was I who sentenced all of Alvin’s companions to exile in America, where they could use their knacks without fear. As you use your knack.”

  “I don’t like how you know things you couldn’t know.”

  “Alvin told me about you,” said the man.

  Eliza hoped that she was poised enough not to blanch. “What did he say?”

  “He met you in a forest glade, and you were accompanied by men who were unaccountably carrying a wagonload of tin through the edges of Irrakwa country.”

  “Alvin the blacksmith guided us all the way to Crystal City,” said Eliza.

  “And you the only woman in that company of men.”

  “One must be vigilant, but one must also trust sometimes.”

  “Oh, no. Alvin was quite sure you were the ringleader and thought up the whole thing.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “Because he couldn’t conceive of you following anybody on such a madcap adventure. So you were the one they were following.”

  “People leap to a lot of conclusions around here.”

  The man held out his hand. “You asked my name just before the riverboats came by. My name is Lukasz, Father Lukasz, but between me, a priest, and you, a dedicated and determined sinner, let’s not stand on ceremony. Just call me Lukasz. And I believe your name is Eliza?”

  Eliza was actually flattered that Alvin had remembered her name, and then talked about her enough that Lukasz remembered it, too. “I am a sinner, or so most religions would judge me to be.”

  “Like the woman at the well, you have had a number of husbands—”

  “Well, not exactly hus—”

  “And the one you have now is not your own,” said Lukasz.

  “I don’t have a husband now or ever, Father Lukasz.”

  “I’m sorry if I misjudged you,” said Lukasz. “Since you are not going to buy me dinner while we wait, will you let me pay for yours?”

  “Isn’t your money … what, consecrated?”

  “Money can never be consecrated. It can be used in a consecrated cause. But also for simple things like feeding the body to keep up our strength. I’ve eaten at the fish shop just down there.” He pointed. “I found it tasty and healthy. And because the owners are neither Quakers, Puritans, nor Baptists, this charming dockside vittler serves a very good ale of his own making. Since you’re expecting to meet Alvin and make one more attempt to seduce him, I’m sure you don’t want any of the stronger spirits.”

  Eliza, by reflex, went into mortally-offended mode, but Lukasz just chuckled. She stopped protesting, then stood at the rail looking out across the Delaware.

  “Please don’t pout, my daughter. Alvin knew what you were doing, and when his Margaret met you, she knew you down to the bone. We hope that your heart will soften and that you will join Crystal City as your village, as your home.”

  They had discussed her, knew her motives and plans, and still wanted her to stay in their city. “Why would they want a woman like me?”

  “There are no women like you, my daughter, my child. I wish you had any inkling of who you really are. Precious in the sight of God. One of his dear children, for whom he has such high hopes.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “Do you think priests are utterly without knacks?”

  “What, you hear people’s confessions before you even meet them?”

  “You dread my judgment of your sins, but you doubt my knowledge of the Savior’s love for you.”

  And with that, Eliza burst into tears.

  Any other man, any, would have put an arm across her shoulders to comfort her. But Lukasz was a priest, a man of God, and he did not choose to touch her.

  She calmed herself. Dabbed at her eyes with the kerchief from her left sleeve.

  “What a beautiful, finely crafted handkerchief,” said Lukasz.

  “It is not,” said Eliza. “I hemmed the thing myself, with not very straight seams, and there’s not a speck of lace or embroidery on it.”

  Lukasz merely smiled at her, and then said, “If we go down into my favorite fish house in Philadelphia, we will still be able to order a fine dinner.”

  “They’ll be out of all the good fish by now,” said Eliza.

  “I waved at the owner when I arrived, and he waved back. He knows I’m here, and since I rarely dine alone, there’ll be plenty of his best for both of us.”

  “What’s his best?”

  “Sometimes cod, sometimes tuna, sometimes haddock. Black sea bass, striped bass. Walleye, perch. Flounder and bluefish—they’re just coming into season, they’re the best catch from the middle of the bay at the river’s mouth.”

  “You’re telling me that his best is … fish.”

  “Whatever fish he thinks is best will be prepared for us with a skill that I suspect is a knack, and we will dine. And when we’re done, we’ll hear the steamers coming up from downriver.”

  “I’ll pay for my own dinner,” she said.

  “As you wish, daughter. But if your means are tight, I’ll share what I have.”

  Eliza knew when she was seeing a performance. He was acting the role of man of God, and he had very good lines to say and he delivered them well. And yet, despite her cynicism, his offer to share what he had resonated with something deep within her, something she had known was there, but hadn’t touched in years.

  22

  ALVIN STOOD IN the bow of the riverboat, marveling at the sheer power that could draw a retired but full-size man-o’-war and five other ships upstream on the Delaware. He could feel the vibration of the steam engine, could even feel when coalmen tossed another shovelful of fuel into the burner. He felt how the ship grew just a bit lighter as the coal burned, yet there was no loss of strength.

  There was the dock of Philadelphia, the little-used lower dock because it was too low for steam traffic, and any sailing ships that came this far upstream were piloted by men who knew these docks and brought their ships right close to the warehouses. Father Luke had given good, clear instructions to these men.

  When Luke had left their Quayside community, Alvin asked if he was going back to—Rome? Portugal? And Luke said, “My work in Ireland has barely begun.”

  “When will it be done? When you’re executed for helping witches? Or simply for being a priest.”

  “I will plead guilty to both, if it comes to that. I wouldn’t want my executioners to have any doubt of my guilt preying on their consciences.”

  “Forgive them, for they know not what they do?”

  “He showed us all the way.”

  “So much wickedness is done in his name,” said Alvin that day.

  “I will sail to America, and I imagine my ship will get there much more quickly than any of yours.”

  “Why will you go there? The Irish are here!”

  “I go to prepare a place for you. Where would you most like to disembark from your fleet?”

  “Philadelphia, I think. There are more trains out of Philadelphia than anywhere else, and a lot of them go west.”

  “And a sudden influx of starving Irishmen won’t be so hard for the city to absorb.”

  “They won’t be starving,” said Alvin.

  “You can’t carry enough provisions in those boats for the people you’ll be carrying. Unless you can do that business with the loaves and fishes.”

  “No loaves, but in the ocean there are plenty of fishes. Not to mention air-breathing mammals like dolphins and seals.”

  “Mammals?” asked Luke. “I thought dolphins were fish.”

  “There is a type of dolphin that is a fish, but the rest are mammals. We won’t eat them, we’ll ask them to bring us all the fish we need, if we get low on provisions.”

  “You’ve been to sea before.”

  “I met some very clever dolphins who wished me well and offered help if I ever needed it.”

  “Expect me to be waiting for you in Philadelphia, with as much help as my wit and someone else’s money can organize.”

  Lukasz was a good man, for a Catholic, and Alvin figured he wouldn’t’ve burnt Joan of Arc as a witch if he had inquisitioned her.

  Now here he was, as good as his word. Better than his word, because Alvin had been in despair, trying to think of how to get the whole flotilla upriver. Sandy said he was good with wind, but with the boats all spread out along the curves of the river, there wasn’t one wind direction that would serve all of the ships at once. “They’ll run aground, and not close to Philadelphia, either,” Sandy told him. “Though the wind is mostly out of the south or southwest, this time of year. If we had expert pilots…”