It had been over a month since James Carter had last heard from Clara’s parents. That morning, while inspecting the display cases in his jewelry shop, he suddenly paused, deep in thought. He approached Clara with the same gentleness he had shown her since the day she entered his life.

"We shall go see if your parents have left any message at the telegraph office," James said, his voice grave and protective. "It would be best if you came with me. As long as you live under my roof, I must ensure your safety."

Clara nodded, though a trace of worry lingered in her eyes.
"Yes… but who will mind the shop?"
"I’ll close for the day. Besides, the telegraph office is not far from here. And I wish to take my new carriage for a proper ride—Pegasus has been restless," he added with a faint smile.

James headed to the stable to ready the carriage while Clara waited outside the shop. The street lay in an uneasy hush, and the memory of the man who had frightened her days before returned with force, sending a shiver down her spine. Yet before long, James appeared, impeccably dressed, the reins in his hands. Stepping down, he offered his hand with natural gallantry, helping her aboard.

"Were you born here?" Clara asked as the carriage began to roll forward.
"No, I come from California. My father runs a business there. We are a family of jewelers—my grandfather was one as well. I learned the craft from a young age. I was trained to appeal to the wealthier classes, and in time, I began designing new pieces in gold and silver."

After a short ride, they arrived at a modest wooden shack, where a man with a thick beard and heavy spectacles worked the telegraph machine. Seeing them, the man greeted warmly:
"Good afternoon, young James Carter. A letter has arrived for you."

The telegraph operator bent down to search for it while James’s heart stirred with hope—perhaps at last there was news from Clara’s parents. But the man straightened with a rueful smile.
"It’s from your father, as always. Punctual as a Swiss clock."

"By any chance, has there been another letter for me?" James pressed.
"No, young sir. Your father is the only one who writes to you," the man replied, adjusting his spectacles. "And I see you’ve taken a wife. Never say never when it comes to love… and she’s a fine-looking lady, too."

James cleared his throat with a polite but tense laugh.
"She is not my wife. She is the daughter of a client, here until she can be fetched. That is why I was asking after any news. But since I’m here, I should like to send my father a telegram, thanking him for his kind words."

The man nodded, readying his machine. James preferred to write the message on paper first:

"Dear Father, I am well. I long to visit you as soon as possible and share all I have accomplished here. Life is not easy, but you taught me that nothing worth having is. I bid you farewell, as always, with gratitude for your constant concern. Yours, James Carter."

Once the message was sent, James offered a courteous farewell.
"I must return to the shop. There are commissions I must finish today."

On the ride back, Clara kept her gaze lowered, still haunted by her recent fright. Then, suddenly remembering something, she spoke:
"Forgive me, but… don’t you have a meeting today with that secret group of millionaires?"

James turned toward her with a knowing smile.
"Yes, I do. But I cannot speak of it to anyone. Do you know why?"
"No… I don’t," she answered softly.
"Envy. People are envious. And that fellow who frightened you may well have been spying on me. I would not be surprised if he saw the day I was gifted that fine horse."

Back at the shop, James immersed himself in crafting new pieces for the following day’s gathering. From the workshop, his voice carried out to Clara, who was sweeping in silence:
"What day is it today, Clara?"
"Thursday, Mr. James."
"The meeting is tomorrow, Friday. That leaves me time to finish a few gifts for Mr. Samuel Thomson. And one thing I promise you—as long as you stay with me, I will protect you. And if you behave yourself, I shall teach you how to handle a firearm on Sundays."

Clara smiled at the thought, pledging to do her best in her work, and to improve her cooking when needed.
"I cook as well," James added. "Do you think a kitchen is no place for a man? I have a feeling that one day there will be women sheriffs. Perhaps you’ll be the first… or a bounty hunter. Though truth be told, I’ve never shot anyone. I only threaten enough to keep people from approaching the shop. Mornings will be for the jewelry, but afternoons we’ll spend at the farm. Supplies are running low."

Clara nodded eagerly.
"Of course! Harvesting is easy. At home I was the servant… for years they despised me because I thought differently. But here… here with you, who don’t see me as a servant, I’ll gladly do the work."

James was certain that someone would soon come for Clara. Yet he could not deny that he would miss her. She knew how to connect with people, how to listen. Some mocked him for keeping a “white slave”; others assumed she was his wife. Though younger, she did not appear it. And if no one came for her… had she truly been abandoned for thinking differently?

"I will do all I can to see her happy," James resolved. But he also knew he did not wish to see her become a gunslinger or fall into a life of crime.

An hour later, two figures entered the shop. Clara greeted them with politeness, though her unease was clear.
"Good day, my name is Harry Osworld, and this is Hans Schroth. We are friends of James Carter. We supply him with gold and silver for his jewelry. Is he in?"
"One moment, I’ll fetch him, Mr. Harry," Clara replied, steadying her voice.

Before she could step away, James emerged from behind the curtain that separated the shop from his workshop.
"You’ve come at the right time. I have orders to finish, but I’m looking to expand my market to other counties."
"It’s been a hard month for finding gold," Harry said, lighting a cigar. "With so much competition, I’ve had to raise my prices."
"That matters little. You’re the only one I trust. I know you speak the truth."
"That’s because it’s harder now to find slaves willing to enter the mines," Harry replied coolly. Then he nodded toward Hans. "But my friend here has good news."

Hans, speaking with calm precision, drew a small sack from his coat and opened it carefully.
"I’ve met a trader who brings precious stones from India and China. Few dare cross the seas with such treasures. Look—green jade, and blue jade."

James was visibly impressed.
"Very well, let’s make our deal quickly. I still have much to finish before tomorrow."