“Throw in the box too,” I tell him, my voice shaking a little. “I like that silver inlay.”
“Very well.” He smiles, puts the coins back inside, closes the lid, and sets it on the table. The same servant returns with a piece of paper, and pen and ink. I scrawl out “Deed for the Charlotte,” and sign my name, and now everyone knows what a disgrace my penmanship is. I toss the paper onto the table.
“Will that do?” I ask.
“Not usually,” Hardwick says. With a sweep of his hand, he adds, “But with all these fine Californians to witness, it’ll do just fine.”
Echoes of “Hear, hear!” rise around us.
“This is a mistake,” Becky whispers anxiously. The baby fusses in her arms.
“Maybe,” I whisper back. I’m flexing my fingers under the table, and focusing my thoughts on the gold dice in Hardwick’s hand. “But I’m feeling lucky.”
Hardwick rattles the dice in his hand and then pauses. He glances over his shoulder, beckoning for someone. Helena.
Who is there, as always, watching. She squeezes through the crowd to reach him, and he holds out his fist with the dice. “For luck,” he says.
She leans in, smiles, and—keeping those shining violet eyes on me—blows on the dice.
Ice cracks down my spine.
Everyone is cheering. Hardwick draws back his arm, and I concentrate, waiting for the moment the dice bounce off the back wall of the table. He flings them hard, and—
One die goes flying over the edge of the table, bounces off the banker, and falls on the ground. The banker ducks down quickly and comes up with it. He starts to hand it back, and then pauses.
“One of the corners is smashed,” he says, almost apologetically. “It won’t roll evenly.”
He switched it. I can sense a third die still near the floor, maybe stuffed into his shoe. Or maybe I’m imagining it. There’s so much gold in this room, and none of it as familiar as my locket. I could accuse him of cheating, but if I’m wrong, or if I can’t prove it, I’ll be in even worse trouble. The banker hands the die around the table, so everyone can see that it’s ruined.
“Alas, gold is so much softer than bone,” Hardwick says. “I guess we’ll have to retire these dice and replace them with an ordinary pair.”
My pulse jumps in my throat. “Sure.”
Becky grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze.
Hardwick pockets the damaged die, and the banker retrieves a conventional pair. They’re passed around for inspection, but I can’t focus enough to look at them. My stomach is churning, enough that I might throw up. I’ve played right into Hardwick’s hands again. Hardwick’s and Russell’s. They’ve been steps ahead of me the whole time. Hardwick knows what I can do after all, and he knew I’d use my power to cheat.
He makes a show of shaking the dice again, and pauses to hold out his fist for Helena. When she leans in to blow on the dice, he snatches his fist away, making everybody in the crowd laugh.
He pauses to look at me. “I’ll make my own luck this time.”
I smile, but I’m sure it looks sickly. The dice are undoubtedly weighted to favor his call. There’s not a man in the crowd that would admit to it, though.
Hardwick tosses the dice. Perfectly this time.
I close my eyes as they bounce off the back of the table.
They thump along the felt, rumbling to a stop.
Half the crowd cheers. Half the crowd groans in disappointment.
When I open my eyes again, the banker is pushing the stack of coins towards Hardwick. He picks up the deed for the Charlotte, snapping the corners.
“Oh,” Becky breathes. “This is not good at all.”
“You win some, you lose some,” Hardwick says, waving the makeshift deed, taunting me with my own signature. “Let me give this to the source of all my good fortune this year, the woman who deserves it most.”
With a flourish, he hands it to Helena. She smiles with gratitude, but there’s a tremor at the corner of her mouth, and after she folds the sheet of paper and tucks it into her bodice, she lets her hand linger over her heart for a moment, as if assuring herself the deed is actually there.
“That’s all for me here,” Hardwick says, with a wave of his hand. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to be a good host and visit with the other guests at my party. I return you all to your previous amusements.”
As he turns to go, the governor at his heels, I push through the crowd to follow them. Becky grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Let him go,” she says.
“He played me. He played me perfectly.”
“He knew exactly what you were going to do,” she says.
“Because of his Irish woman,” I growl.
“No,” Becky says, circling around to stand in front of me and block my view. “No, he knew because the two of you were dancing, and you followed his every lead. You let him dictate the tempo and the steps, every step of the way, right up to the end when . . . why are you grinning like a cat that caught the cream?”
“I . . . I can’t say. Or even think it. Not yet.”
Becky’s eyes narrow. “I see.”
Quickly she guides me away from the crowds at the gaming tables to a quieter spot beneath a tree hung with lanterns. From here we have a perfect view through the double door of the proposed seal of California, and Becky stares at it, rocking the baby back and forth.
She says, “In that case, you have to calm down, control your thoughts, keep your eye on the horizon.” The baby yawns, which is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. “We still have a ways to go.”
“I know.” I glance around the garden, trying to reorient myself. Hardwick is giving another speech to a different crowd. Henry is still seated at one of the card tables, laughing like he’s winning, or at least having a good time. I see glimpses of Olive and Andy—or rather their hats—in the crowd around the band and dance floor. Maybe Becky should pretend to be more concerned about them.
But Jefferson and the Major are nowhere to be seen. When I turn toward the house looking for them, Helena is walking toward us.
Becky sees her at the same time. Taking hold of my arm, she steers me the other direction. “Let’s go. I prefer to be in polite company.”
“Wait,” Helena says. “I just want a quick word.”
I hesitate. Becky gives me a stern look, then hugs the baby closer as the other woman approaches. “Be careful,” forms on Becky’s lips as she hurries away. “Mind your mind.”
I think hard about grief. Over losing the Charlotte, Jim getting shot, the loss of my parents, now a year gone. Even the empty space at my chest where my locket used to be. Grief is an easy thing to think about. It fills me up, leaving room for nothing else.
Helena stops a few feet away, near yet wary. An infuriating half smile plays about her lips, as if she’s pondering hidden knowledge. Her gown and jewelry sparkle, her red hair stuns. You almost can’t tell she’s a hardworking mountain girl, just like me.
That’s what centers me.