Margaret sighed and smiled a little. “I always hope that people will forget what my primary knack is, because when they remember that I can see into heartfires, they try all the harder to shut me out, which nobody can do, or they try to avoid me entirely, which is also impossible within the bounds of Crystal City. All the crystal blocks intensify my insight, and I know what I need to know.”

  “You know what you think you need to know, but what you actually need to know often eludes you, Mistress Margaret.”

  “That might be so, but if it is, you wouldn’t know it,” said Margaret, with sweetness rather than disdain.

  “I came here,” said Eliza, “because I did not trust you to see all that you needed to see. I did not know when Calvin dragged me to that otherwise-all-male conversation that they were plotting to murder your husband.”

  Margaret nodded. She appreciated the fact that Eliza was getting straight to the point.

  “Calvin also decided that I would be useful as the judas in the scene—that I should point out who Alvin is by trying to kiss him, and then be heartbroken and run away when he rebuffs me.”

  “Calvin knows a great deal less than he thinks he knows,” said Margaret.

  “Don’t we all,” said Eliza.

  “I know a great deal more than you think I do,” said Margaret.

  “But you don’t know all,” said Eliza.

  “I see many future paths, but have no way of knowing which, if any, will come true.”

  “Jonah’s dilemma,” said Eliza. “He preached to the wicked people of Nineveh and to his shock and disappointment, they repented and ceased their warlike ways, avoiding the punishment of God.”

  “For a while,” said Margaret. She was surprised that Eliza knew any Bible story. Most people heard “Jonah” and said “whale.”

  “You don’t know how things will turn out,” said Eliza.

  “I know how I hope they will turn out,” said Margaret, “and as far as I can tweak the present, I have a hope of arriving at an acceptable future.”

  “I set my cap for your husband as soon as I knew him to be a man of power—and a kind and clever one, too.”

  “What’s not to desire in that?” said Margaret, suppressing her desire to slap the woman. She did not need to hear a would-be rival praise her man.

  “Many men have turned me down, but only one has done so without even a flicker of wavering. Men desire me, Mistress Margaret, but not Alvin.”

  “I know him better than you,” said Margaret. “Of course he was attracted by your charms. But Alvin has the ability—the hard-won ability—to dissimulate his passing feelings. Only when he has decided to allow himself to feel something does it show in his mien and his behavior.”

  “I suppose I’m relieved to know that he is not unaffected by my attractions.”

  “But when you come to kiss him, what if he and I have decided that he should kiss you back, with eagerness, with passion.”

  “I would enjoy that,” said Eliza. “I imagine that you find his kisses pleasurable. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “But you will know it means nothing,” said Margaret.

  “Maybe not to him.”

  “Let me make it clear. When Alvin wants a woman to feel … strong feelings toward him, he can do it without laying a hand on her. He can please you more than that shallow child you’ve been fornicating with.”

  “By now I believe that common law has slipped into our liaison and made him legally my husband.”

  “Sorry. You have six more years to go. If you can stand it.”

  “I can stand it very well. Because one of Alvin’s knacks that Calvin has learned to emulate is the ability to introduce emotions in a woman, feelings that he believes she wants to have.”

  “Is he right?” asked Margaret. “Do you want to have those feelings?”

  “I bear the burden of Calvin’s clumsy love with much patience and, yes, some pleasure.”

  “If I can help it, Mistress Eliza, you will never have the chance to place your judas kiss upon Alvin’s hand, his cheek, his forehead, or his lips.”

  “That’s what I was hoping.”

  Margaret then saw, to her surprise, that she had not understood Eliza as fully as she thought.

  “You came to warn him.”

  “These men seem harmless enough, and I can’t see into their heartfires the way that you can. But I believe that to a man, they hate Alvin Maker with every fiber of their being. I believe that they all have murder in their hearts. They know that if Alvin sees them coming—sees the pistol before it is aimed—then no bullet will ever emerge from that pistol. Or musket, or rifle. They hope to get him in a jovial, relaxed setting and then, without warning, without wrath, simply insert knives into his body in many fatal places, most especially his throat and his heart.”

  Margaret had seen their desire, of course, weeks ago. But Eliza’s certainty that they were planning on murder and thinking of ways to surprise Alvin so completely he can’t heal himself fast enough, that was something she had not foreseen. Sometimes her insights into heartfires were complete, so she knew a person better than he knew himself. But sometimes she found that there were many paths opening up into the future. She had to pick one to follow. One to heed.

  “I see several futures,” said Margaret, “and not one of them is certain to take place.”

  “I’m sure you don’t want Alvin to die with many knives in him.”

  Margaret smiled. “You don’t know how many metal pieces can be inserted into him, or how brief a time it would take him to heal completely.”

  Eliza cocked her head. “Calvin said that his control over the natural world is nearly complete.”

  “Calvin brags without a lick of truth in what he says,” said Margaret. “I knew him long before he knew me.”

  “And I know him now, in ways that you do not,” said Eliza. “If you don’t believe my words might have value, I shall not waste your time any further tonight.” She arose from her chair and, like a thoughtful guest, she carried her cup and saucer into the kitchen and set them near the dishwashing tub.

  Margaret followed her into the kitchen. “I’ll wash, you dry.”

  Eliza accepted by putting on an apron and washing her hands. Margaret waited patiently for these ablutions and then began to hand wet dishes to Eliza for drying.

  Margaret thought, wouldn’t it be nice to have a knack that could dry off water-soaked dishes without getting a towel so damp that it could no longer dry anything.

  And then she thought, as she always did, that her life would be poor indeed if she had to swap knacks with anybody. Even Alvin’s. Her knack was knowing; his was doing. She would never trade.

  As if her thought had summoned him, Alvin walked into the kitchen unannounced. “I hope you didn’t save any of the tea for me. It’s too expensive and it tastes like sawdust soaked in cow’s urine.” A typical greeting, because Alvin well knew how distasteful she found his humor when it delved into bodily excretions.

  Eliza piped up, as if to make sure Alvin noticed her, “How many other things have you tasted after soaking them in cow’s urine? Is there a significant difference between bovine urine and pig urine? And what about bull urine?”

  Margaret had long since learned that showing her irritation at discussions of bodily functions only guaranteed that Alvin would conclude that his remarks were very funny, and therefore needed to be repeated often. So her answer had to be as sassy as his jest.

  “That is a decoction I have never tried myself, my love,” said Margaret as her husband bowed to kiss her forehead. “But since we keep a cow, feel free to take a bucket, collect what she discharges, and I’ll soak whatever you want in it.”

  “You have comforted my soul,” said Alvin. Then he turned to Eliza. “And you brought the Irish without losing a one, and sheltered them, fed them, governed them. Did you like it?”

  “Everybody with a complaint believed it to be the most urgent business in the group. I stopped them from mobbing me by instituting a rule that they can only talk to another actor as part of a genuine scene.”

  “Are they all in a play?” asked Alvin, ever playing the naive country boy.

  “When they came to me for judgment they were,” said Eliza.

  As she answered, Alvin headed into his study to find something better to drink than nasty sophisticated tea. Meanwhile, the ladies walked into the parlor and sat down to converse.

  Margaret interjected, “Did that happen often?”

  “There were many small disputes, and some more serious accusations. As a general rule, when I said the right things it got them back in their seats in a better temper.”

  “Alvin will not be surprised to hear it,” said Margaret.

  “He isn’t hearing it now?” asked Eliza.

  “He left the room. He’s not a spy.”

  “Is that what you are?” asked Eliza.

  “Not by choice, by nature. Alvin can see heartfires a little, but he has to be trying to see. He doesn’t garner anywhere near as much information as I do. It’s in our natures.”

  “I always thought my knack was getting away with things. Or maybe just getting away. I have been remarkably unpunished all my life.”

  “Now you think your knack is, what, leadership?” asked Margaret.

  “I know you and Alvin rule this city,” said Eliza, “and I don’t covet an ounce of your authority. I’m no threat to—”

  “I know you’re not a threat,” said Margaret. “You kindly came to give Alvin warning of a very serious plot against him.”

  “Thank you,” said Eliza.

  “What do you think should happen now?” asked Margaret.

  Alvin walked back into the room, still wearing traveling clothes and carrying a half-empty duffel bag. “Your opinion does not interest me, Eliza,” said Alvin. “Nor yours, at this moment, my love. These conspirators want to kill me because I’m a Maker, a knacksman with powers that frighten them. Until I built this foolish city, the United States left knackings alone. But now stories are spreading about the Crystal City, with Alvin Maker at its head, protecting it, teaching powerful knacks to all the people.”

  “Of course such stories are spreading,” said Eliza.

  Alvin dropped his duffel and sat down on a chair, his long legs sprawling out under the table. “If I leave, if people are absolutely convinced that I’m gone, then this will just be a town of people who have knacks.”

  “It will still scare them,” said Margaret, “with or without you.”

  “Much less without me.”

  “Perhaps,” said Margaret.

  “Where in the world can you go?” asked Eliza. “You won’t be able to resist helping people that nobody else can help. You’ll expose your true identity with every rescue.”

  “I know a place,” said Alvin, “where I will be unseen and undiscovered as long as I like.”

  Eliza shuddered. “The grave?” she asked.

  “I’m not playing a game of riddles,” said Alvin. “I’m going to cross the river and live with Tenskwa-Tawa and his people.”

  “I heard they kill any White who crosses,” said Eliza.

  “They don’t—they don’t kill any of them. They send them back.”

  “That’s all?” asked Eliza.

  “What, you want old war stories to come back? Hacking people’s scalps from their head? Shooting whole families, women and children included?” asked Alvin.

  “I thought that was how Reds waged war,” said Eliza.

  “Bring them a war, and they’ll fight it,” said Alvin. “They used to treat wars like football games between towns. The teams fight over a ball, one of them wins, and nobody has to die. The pinnacle of courage was to ride up to an enemy so closely that you can tap his back or his shoulder with your riding crop.”

  “Reds use riding crops?” asked Eliza.

  “They call them coup sticks. Reds fought whole wars with no killing.”

  “Reds fought games with no killing,” corrected Margaret. “But they fought bloody wars with lots of widows and orphans. Whites didn’t bring brutal warfare to this continent. The Irrakwa are all civilized and Christian now, but they were horrid to their enemies. Torturing them to death with burning brands, to see how much pain they could bear in silence.”

  Eliza shook her head. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because if there weren’t a fog over the Mizzippy,” said Margaret, “there would be warfare between Whites and Reds at such a scale—”

  “There is fog over the Mizzippy,” said Alvin. “So that war will not happen.”

  “And you plan to cross the river and put yourself at the mercy of savages,” said Eliza.

  “I’m at the mercy of savages on this side of the Mizzippy, too. Isn’t that what you came to warn my wife about?”

  They sat in silence. Several times Margaret wanted to thank Eliza for her well-meant visit and escort her to the door. But instead she sat and gazed steadily at her husband. “Will your family cross the river to join you?”

  “Would you leave Crystal City without your guiding light?” Alvin asked in reply.

  Margaret laughed. “Didn’t you put Eliza in charge of the trainfuls of Irish folk to give her the experience so she could become mayor of the city when you go?”

  Eliza almost fell off her chair.

  “Don’t exaggerate your surprise, my girl,” said Margaret. “You knew Alvin was preparing you for something.”

  “I didn’t actually know what,” said Alvin. “It just felt right to put you in charge so you could see if you had any skills other than getting out of town.”

  Eliza chuckled. “Apparently you’re going to try to take over my knack, by going west over the river.”

  “Because west under the river would mean holding your breath for a long time,” said Alvin.

  “He jokes about it,” said Margaret.

  “If I cross the river, it will be because Tenskwa-Tawa sends me a canoe, preferably with a couple of rowers.”

  “How will he know you want to cross?” asked Eliza.

  “He’ll see it, in a dream or a cloud or a fog or a whirlwind,” said Margaret. “Alvin learned to create solid blocks of water from the Red Prophet, so in a way, Tenskwa-Tawa is the father of Crystal City.”

  “Ironic,” said Alvin, “since he hates cities so much.”

  “When will you go, then?” asked Eliza. “Across the river?”

  Alvin reached down and picked up his duffel, set it on another chair.

  “Tonight?” asked Margaret, a little mournfully.

  “Waiting around for the right time only means less chance of success.”

  “Should I write that down?” asked Eliza.

  “Why bother?” asked Alvin. “Tell ten people in Crystal City and it will be repeated by all.”

  “Do you have to go?” asked Eliza.

  “I’m supposed to say that,” muttered Margaret.

  “Don’t you know how much we need you here?” asked Eliza.

  “Don’t you also need me to stay alive?” asked Alvin.

  “Nobody can kill you,” said Eliza. “Calvin said so. You turn gun barrels into butter and powder into flour.”

  “Swords into plowshares,” murmured Margaret.

  “I can’t turn gunpowder into flour,” said Alvin. “It would take me so long I’d die of old age before the job was done.”

  “But you can melt the barrels of their guns. You can melt their blades.”

  “Don’t tempt him,” said Margaret. “Do you think he wants to leave me tonight? And he does like showing the amazing things that he can do.”

  “Well, am I supposed to hate having people see my handiwork?” asked Alvin.

  “If he shows that their ordinary weapons can’t kill him,” said Margaret, “they’ll find another way.”

  “And on that cheerful birdsong,” said Alvin, “I’m on my way.”

  “Won’t you take someone with you?” asked Margaret.

  “I don’t want to bother anybody this time of night. And the others will want to ride horses, while I can travel by shank’s mare.”

  “Arthur Stuart isn’t asleep now, you know that boy hates going to sleep.”

  “He’s a man now,” said Alvin. “He would come, so would Measure.”

  “And Verily Cooper, and John Binder, and … anybody you asked,” said Margaret.

  “Don’t send anyone after me,” said Alvin. “By the time they get up in the morning, I’ll be on the other side of the river.”

  “This keeps sounding like death,” said Eliza.

  “Will you kindly shut your yap?” said Margaret, in the gentlest of tones.

  Eliza knew she had no right to offer an opinion, and so, for once, she did not defy authority and refuse to remain silent. She truly had nothing to say.

  “Make sure you show up tomorrow,” said Alvin. “Or whenever they decide you should kiss me.”

  “Word will spread that you’re gone,” said Eliza.

  “Just don’t pick someone else to kiss, in case they really don’t know what I look like,” said Alvin. “Don’t want some unlucky stranger to die in my place.”

  Alvin walked over to Margaret, kissed her lovingly—something Calvin had never done with Eliza—and then strode to the door, opened it, and went out into the darkness.

  “I’ll go now,” said Eliza.

  “That would be best. I think your business here is done.”

  Eliza laughed. “Mayor of Crystal City?”

  “Stranger things have happened,” said Margaret. “And if the future bends in that direction, I believe you’ll do the job splendidly. Just as you did on the trains.”

  Eliza went out the door that Alvin had left unlatched behind him. She did not look for him on the road, but walked straight back to the Crystal towers of the city, through them, and on to her place.

  28

  WORD SPREAD THROUGH Crystal City like fire through a dried-out cornfield. Margaret was used to this. She didn’t tell anybody, Eliza swore she wouldn’t and kept her word, and Alvin himself was closed as tight as a rich man’s purse.