Kevin peeled it open and let the virgin coins slide onto the table, where sunlight transformed them into a pool of liquid gold. An involuntary smile spread across his face. He assembled stacks of five from the glowing pile, leaving four coins for his flattened palm. Two faces showed Lady Liberty standing and two showed an eagle in flight.
“I count twenty-four as well. Pretty as a sunset on the water.”
“Fair enough, then,” Morrison said. He deposited the bills in his satchel and snapped the jaws shut while Kevin transferred the sleeves into the bottom of his toolbox and laid the stacked coins in the hanging coin tray. With the coins secured, he locked the toolbox and stood up, adjusting his fingers for a better grip. Empty it weighed almost fifteen pounds, but now it felt heavier. He snared his hat from the chair and extended his hand across the table.
Morrison exhaled smoke toward the ceiling and leaned forward to shake Kevin’s hand with limp, pale fingers. His lips were pressed into an ironic smile and behind his glasses his eyes were again dancing a private dance. “Take care, my friend. Your appreciation of precious metals is well-founded, but you should try to keep them at some distance. Otherwise they can drag you down.”
“So long, Mr. Morrison,” Kevin said. He started across the carpet toward the door. “No need to call your woman, I know the way out.”
***
As Kevin turned onto the dirt road to the Rock Creek boat basin, the toolbox felt heavy in his hand but his heart was light. He and Tom had accomplished the tasks they had set for themselves in Georgetown. They had delivered two barrels of whiskey to Finn Geary, which Kevin hoped would solidify the relationship they had established with him last fall. Most of Geary’s paper had been converted into hard money. Reddy Bogue had finally arrived yesterday evening and paid fifteen dollars for the seven cords. Reddy and his kid had carted away two wagons full last night and appeared again at first light to take the rest. They had been stacking the last load as Kevin set out to visit Morrison.
Yesterday morning he had even found time to visit the M-Street store Ellie had steered him to for fabric. And while the remains of the rockfish had been consigned to the creek, a trip to the M-Street grocer on Wednesday had yielded smoked beef, potatoes, and carrots for the trip back up the canal.
It wasn’t noon yet but the thought of food made his stomach growl as he approached the scow, which had been tied up in the basin for over two days now. Mike and Bess were grazing thin grass and Tom was sitting with his back to the nearest tree, knees bent and hat lowered over his eyes. The feed trough was set up, but when Kevin reached it he saw it was empty. The water bucket next to it was half-full. He walked over to Tom and kicked his boots.
“Think they might want a little hay before we ask ‘em to pull us back to Harpers Ferry?” He put the toolbox down and stretched his tired hand.
“I fed ‘em!” Tom protested, pushing his hat back and looking up at Kevin. “Didn’t want to give out too much, since there ain’t a whole lot of hay left. Maybe one of us should go out and get ‘em some corn.”
“Hell with that. We can get canal-company corn for nothing. We’ll feed ‘em again on the way up. And they’re pulling a light boat now anyway.”
Tom stood up and brushed the dirt from his pants. “Morrison come through?”
Kevin grinned, tapping the toolbox with his boot and rattling the coins in the tray.
“You ready to get going?”
“Yep,” Kevin said. “Let’s get ‘em harnessed.” Tom went to the hay-house to retrieve the tack while Kevin took the toolbox down to the cabin and set it under the table. He carved two hunks of smoked beef from the side in the cupboard, refilled his hip flask with whiskey, and returned to the deck as Tom was emerging with the bridles, breast pads, and spreader bars.
“Tommy, a toast.” Kevin screwed the top off his flask and held the vessel high. “To our first Georgetown run of 1924. An unmasticated success.” He took a long swig, then presented the flask and a hunk of beef to Tom.
“First of many,” Tom muttered. “But the trip ain’t over ‘til we’re back in Washington County.” He knocked back a comparable shot. “Now let’s get boating.”
They set their teeth into the smoked meat in unison, and Kevin followed Tom toward the mooring lines and the mules.
Chapter 20
Sunset
Friday, March 28, 1924
Lee Fisher pedaled hard and jerked the handlebars up as the front wheel reached the descending pitch of towpath below Pennyfield Lock. For a split second the bicycle felt airborne. When the wheel reconnected with the dirt, he spread his feet from the pedals and let the bike coast as the towpath flattened again. As it lost momentum, he squeezed the brake-lever until it stopped. He stepped off, spun it around, and admired it again.
Charlie Pennyfield’s bicycle was a black Mead Ranger with diamond-shaped white accents. Mounted between the parallel top tubes was a narrow tool compartment also painted black and white. That compartment was a nice feature, Lee thought, since it could hold the old leg-irons that he used to lock the bike. And earlier today when he’d pedaled up to the crossroads market to shop for tonight’s dinner with Katie, he’d been able to stuff the sausages and potato salad in the compartment, then somehow make it back to Pennyfield balancing the cherry pie on the handlebars!
He felt the blood rush to his face as he envisioned meeting Katie again tonight. The interminable five-day wait was almost over. His hand drifted into his pocket to touch the note that he’d found pinned to the lockhouse door at Pennyfield when he returned from the store. He read it again for reassurance. “Lee, I’ll see you tonight at 6. Katie.” It still confirmed what he’d hoped for – Katie had returned from her trip to Alexandria and would visit tonight.
If she had forsaken their date, he wasn’t sure when he would have seen her again. The Emorys should be starting their run back upstream today, and slow as his cousins were, even they would reach Pennyfield by noon tomorrow. Lee was boating with them up to Harpers Ferry, so once they got here he’d be gone. From Harpers Ferry he would have to find his own way up to Hancock to join Ben Myers because the season would be starting soon. The repair crews that Lee had locked through this week said that the canal should be running on all levels down from Cumberland by April 1. That was Tuesday, only four days away. Spring sunshine was finally reaching the Appalachian mountains of the upper Potomac Valley and bearing down on the winter’s sullen layers of snow and ice.
But Lee was looking forward to a mild March night far downstream, a night just hours away and full of promise. Tomorrow morning would leave time for short-term goodbyes, and for plans to reconvene with Katie along the canal during the weeks ahead.
***
In the kitchen of the lockhouse at Swains, Cy arrayed four pint-flasks of whiskey on the scarred wooden table next to his untapped five-gallon cask. He’d sold fourteen pints on Wednesday, seventeen on Thursday, and five so far today at the lock, all at a dollar seventy-five. He grabbed a ceramic jar from the counter, fished out his roll of bills, and rifled through it. Sixty-eight dollars. He pocketed a handful of coins, peeled off a dozen dollar bills, and stashed the rest back in the jar.
The flasks on the table had drained the first five-gallon cask, but the second cask was full, so he had forty-four pints of whiskey left. Selling another eight tonight would give him enough to pay the Emorys when they came through tomorrow, plus a little to spare. Hell, he could probably even sell a few pints Saturday morning before the Emorys arrived. But selling whiskey tonight was critical. With the repair crews around and a few weekend sightseers, there should be enough potential customers at the Great Falls Tavern. “Tavern,” he muttered derisively. “A tavern that don’t sell nothing to drink.” Bad for the patrons, but an opportunity for Cy. A sudden stab of pain in his left hip overrode the usual dull ache. He grimaced and an image of Zimmerman intruded on his thoughts.