“That remains to be seen,” she says.
Hardwick reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of solid gold dice. He rolls them in the palm of his hand. I can sense their weight and balance. They are perfect. Beautiful.
“I had them made especially for this evening’s festivities,” Hardwick says. “Can I persuade you to try your hand at hazard?”
I eye the golden dice. It would be an interesting test of my skills. But I tamp that thought down as soon as it occurs to me. “Hazard? No, thank you, I’ve faced enough hazards on the road from Georgia to California, and a few more since I arrived.”
He has such a patronizing smile. Very like my uncle’s when he was eager to explain the world to me. “Hazard is the name of a dice game. I think the origin of our common use of the word comes from the game, and not the other way around.”
It’s a trap. I’m sure of it. The trap is even called “hazard,” which ought to be a warning sign, like the church bells ringing when there’s a big fire. But my job tonight is to keep as much attention on me as possible, especially from Hardwick and Helena.
I glance around. Jefferson, the Major, Olive, and Andy are nowhere to be seen. Henry sits at a monte table with the governor and other high rollers. Becky and I are alone. “What do you think, Becky?”
“I think Mr. Joyner loved gambling even though he was never any good at it, and lost far more often than he won.”
“But he did love it, right?” I turn back to Hardwick. “I’ll give it a try. But you’ll have to teach me how.”
Something about Hardwick’s triumphant smile sets my belly to squirming. He tosses the golden dice in his hand. Helena’s eyes gleam; does she already know how this will end?
Chapter Twenty—One
Hardwick leads us over to a table shaped like a tub, long and narrow with high sides and lined with green felt. We watch players tossing dice into the tub, and he explains the rules to me—something about a main, a chance, a nick, and so on—but I’m not paying close attention because a tapestry hanging on the wall behind the table catches my eye.
It’s the new seal of California that’s been proposed, hastily embroidered but clear enough to parse. In the background is the sprawling San Francisco Bay. Miners work in the hills around it, hefting their pickaxes. But what really catches my attention is the woman in the foreground. She wears flowing robes and a helmet, and holds a spear in one hand. Like she’s ready for war.
“That’s Minerva,” Becky whispers in my ear. “The Roman goddess of wisdom.” I hear the grin in her voice when she adds, “It’s appropriate they’d choose a woman for the seal, don’t you think? I hope it gets approved.”
I sense Hardwick hovering at my back. The gentlemen around the table shift to make room for us. He greets everyone, waving his golden dice, as more gather around. It’s a split second before I realize he’s started talking about me.
“A young woman lost all her family back home in Georgia and decided to pack up with some of her friends and come west to California to find gold. And she found it! She and all of her friends found gold and established the prosperous town of Glory, one of the jewels of our new state. And this town, with all of its miners and prominent new residents, chose her as its representative. This young lady right here.”
The room grows quiet. Everyone is listening to Hardwick.
“Last Christmas,” he continues, “she came to me in Sacramento and asked for my help establishing a charter for their town, to protect their claims and their community.”
Every eye is on me. I sense disbelief in several, so I lock gazes with them and try to stare them down, each and every one individually. That’s right, folks, eyes right here.
“Now, what can I do to help with a town charter?” Hardwick asks disingenuously. “Yes, I know many of our politicians, but I’m not one myself. But it made me think, maybe I should be. If I really want to help people like this little lady right here, I ought to consider politics. I don’t mean to cast any aspersions on our local leaders. I think they’re the best in the whole United States.”
This brings forth murmurs of “Hear, hear!” and “Right you are!”
“But what America needs right now is not another general, not another tired old politician from the cities back east. What America needs is a true pioneer to lead them. Someone who’s been in the wilderness and knows how things work out here in the West, for a change. So I’m not making any promises, gentlemen—leave that to the professional politicians!”
This earns some laughter.
“But I’m going to head east, and if you see my name on a ballot come the next election, I hope you will give your fellow Californian due consideration.”
Men cheer and clap. Several promise to support Hardwick on the spot, while a few others hint at all the help his new administration will need. If they’re all cut from the same cloth as Hardwick, it promises to be a government of thieves, by thieves, and for thieves.
“That brings me back to our guest here,” he says. “The Golden Goddess. That’s what the miners called her.”
My cheeks flush. Why bring that up? What’s he trying to do? Maybe it’s a warning. He knows what I . . . I shove the thought away as soon as it pops up, concentrating instead on the generously oiled mustache of the gentleman closest to me.
“She represents the opportunity that California provides for all of us—to take our chance, to strike it rich, to make something different of ourselves. I had these golden dice made in her honor.” He rattles them in his hand and tosses them on the table so everyone can see them, then snatches them up again. “And now we’re all going to teach her to play the game of hazard.”
He’s using me as a symbol, a way to further his own ends. It’s disgusting. The worst violation. And yet, every single eye is on me, exactly as I need. “I’ve never played before,” I say sweetly. “So I’ll need everyone’s help.”
Various middle-aged men shout advice, telling me exactly what to do. One fellow with long sideburns and a garish red cravat slides in and slips an arm around me, but I wriggle away like a snake, and Becky steps in before he can try again. I give her a glance of gratitude.
Hardwick pulls out a stack of gold coins and places it between himself and the gentleman acting as the bank. He declares lucky number seven as his main and rolls the dice. The golden cubes bounce off the back wall of the tub—almost too fast to track with my gold sense—and land upright, with three pips and four. A seven. The dealer doubles Hardwick’s money, and there’s a flurry of bets as the viewers wager on his next roll.
This time the dice roll up two single pips.
“Snake eyes,” says the dealer, and Hardwick loses.