We return to the Charlotte, but I hardly sleep at all, and I wake too early. The Argos won’t leave until the evening tide, so I have plenty of time. I force myself to enjoy a leisurely breakfast, but I don’t taste a single bite. Finally I can’t take it anymore, and I pop up from the table, don a wool coat, and climb down to the stable to saddle Peony.
She’s so excited to see me grab her bridle that she tosses her head, whinnying and stomping her hooves. I can hardly hold her still enough to cinch the saddle. I lead her from the hold, up the ramp, and into the street, and by the time I mount her she’s almost shaking with anticipation.
The tiniest nudge with my heels sends her into a fast trot, and together we head uphill. People gape as we pass, and I soak up their attention. Peony is the most beautiful horse I ever knew, with her caramel-sugar coat and her mane and tail blond like spun sunshine. I’m proud to ride her, and after everything we’ve done here in San Francisco, it’s finally okay to draw a little attention.
Together we crest a green hill near the Soldier’s Cemetery and Jim’s grave, where I’m certain to have the very best view. I dismount and turn her loose to graze on fresh grass for a change.
The bay is a wonder—fog sends opaque fingers through the Golden Gate into the bay, and the eastern sunrise sets it all on fire. The fog makes my view of the Argos blurry, but I can see enough. Crews are already loading Hardwick’s fortune on board. A safe dangles from a boom, wrapped in ropes. The boom lifts it away from the dock and swings it over the deck toward the open hold. It’s a slow, careful, dangerous process.
I stretch out my hand. It would be so easy to call that gold to me, to make it snap the ropes and drop through the dock or even the deck of the ship. But what good would that do? Not enough, that’s for sure.
If a single safe broke open, Hardwick’s men would just gather the coins and start over. He could hire another ship. Repair the damage. It would slow him down, but not stop him.
I sit for hours, watching. As they raise and swivel each safe into place, I wrap my head around the shape and weight of its contents. When they lower it belowdecks, out of my sight, I can still sense it down in the hold. I can tell where they place the first one, right along the keel line. The second one is lashed against it so tight that the two volumes become one. A voice, a voice, and then a harmony.
By the time they’re lowering the third safe, Jefferson appears, riding Sorry. He dismounts and retrieves a canteen and a bit of hardtack from his saddlebag. The water feels good sliding down my throat. “Thanks.”
“I figured I’d find you here.”
“One thing left to do,” I say.
“You should have told me you were going.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Which would have been no big deal at all. Lee. We’re going to be married. You’re not alone anymore. You have to stop thinking like an alone person.”
“I . . . you’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been through a lot. I understand.”
And I believe he really does. “Keep reminding me,” I say. “Keep lecturing. I agree with you. It’s just that, like with the gold, I need practice.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulders and plants a kiss on the top of my head.
I watch every safe swing into the ship. I stretch out my hand, close my eyes, and get the shape and feel of it all. So much gold. All in one place. My practice must be paying off, because a year ago, maybe even a month ago, so much gold nearby would have rendered me senseless.
The fog is burning away, and the breeze is picking up when one of the safes clangs like a cymbal in my head. I gasp.
“Lee? What’s wrong?”
“I . . . nothing.” My breath comes in pants. “It’s the safe. The one I was waiting for.”
His face breaks into a grin. “So it worked! You can sense that one just fine, then?”
“Oh, yes. Oh, my. It’s . . . intense.” I close my eyes and follow the safe and its contents as it’s lowered into place. It’s near the keel line now, lashed to the other safes. Perfect.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve given up so much already, Lee. I hate to see you lose this, too.”
I yawn and rub my eyes. Those golden dice were small, but it took so much effort and concentration to control them last night that I’m exhausted. Like I climbed the Rockies again instead of just playing a few hands of cards. “It will be worth it,” I tell him. “I started my journey with that locket. It’s only fitting I end with it.” It will be worth it, I repeat silently to myself.
Jefferson collects Sorry, and they leave to refill his canteen and fetch more food.
I’m glad, because I need this moment alone to say good-bye. After today, the very last tangible memory of my mother will be gone. Thank you, Mama, I say, hoping she can hear me from wherever she is.
The ship is almost fully loaded by the time Jefferson and Sorry return. He carries a basket of still-warm biscuits, but I only take a few bites. I don’t want nature calling me away. I don’t want to miss a thing.
As gold fills the hold of the ship, the temptation to do something grows stronger, but I have to wait a little longer.
Hardwick arrives with a wagon carrying the last pair of safes. Mr. Keys is with him, slumped over as though half drunk and twice as miserable as the night before. As the penultimate safe swings into the air, I stretch out my hand and think about how easy it would be. Just push and pull, get the rope swinging back and forth in the right direction, then yank it off so it lands right on Hardwick’s head.
But I’m not a murderer. I’m not that coldhearted. Am I?
Plenty of folks have gotten hurt around me. Daddy and Mama, gunned down like animals in their own home. Poor Mr. Joyner, crushed when the wagon rolled down the mountainside. Therese, dying in the desert, giving up her life to save her family. Her brother Martin, killed by my uncle’s men. All of Muskrat’s people, dying in the mining camp—maybe even Muskrat himself, since no one has seen him since that terrible night. Jim, shot before my very eyes, bleeding in the mud at my feet. And Frank Dilley, who even now might be hanging at Portsmouth Square.
The last safe swings over the ship and gradually lowers into the hold, and I let it. I don’t do a thing about it.
Beside me, Jefferson uses his pocketknife to slide a bit of cheese from a wedge. “Want some?” he asks.
“Not just yet.”
This is my last chance to fix that final safe full of gold in my mind, to feel where it fits with the others in the hold of the ship. The ship rocks on the waves, but the safes are tied down tightly. I sense them moving with the flow of water, but their weights don’t shift one bit relative to one another. In the center of it all is the familiar chest, containing a stack of gold bars, all wrapped tight with rope around the centerpiece of my mama’s locket.
I know from Melancthon that the captain wants to take the ship out with the ebb tide, as the moon rises late this afternoon. I feel hollow inside, from all the gold I moved yesterday, from the lack of sleep and food, from the final choice I know I’m about to make.
Hardwick stands on the deck, with only Mr. Keys at his side. Hardwick is smaller than a toy soldier, but I still recognize him. Two days ago, he was arguably the most powerful man in California. Today, no one shows up to wish him farewell.
But it’s not enough to sully his reputation and cast suspicion. The people of New York don’t know him like we do. When he shows up with all the gold he’s collected in California, they’ll fall all over themselves to make him feel at home.
A few loyal underlings wander the deck. I recognize the fellow who was guarding the bank the night they caught the robber. But I’m glad Large and Larger are not among them. I never saw them do anything cruel.
The captain calls out to the crew, and they cast off from the dock. A boat with long oars tugs them out of the harbor and into the bay.
I stand as the ship goes by. “I need to keep my eyes on it,” I tell Jefferson. “Time to mount up.”
Jefferson shoves leftovers back into his saddlebag, and we both return to our saddles. I direct Peony so I can follow the ship around the bay line, always keeping it in sight, never releasing my mental grip on all that gold. As the ship rounds the mouth of the bay, I coax Peony into a trot. Sorry’s hooves clatter behind me.
The air turns cold with the evening, and the bellies of the clouds are burnished red gold with the setting sun. The lighthouse at Alcatraz Island winks on, and behind it stretch the green hills of Rancho Saucelito. The sea is choppy. The waves rock the ship back and forth as it sails toward the Golden Gate and the Pacific Ocean.
I pull Peony up, to give her a quick rest and to reach out with my gold sense. The ship is moving faster than we are, stretching the distance between us, but I can still feel its golden cargo, especially Mama’s precious locket. It’s like a song wafting toward me from a great distance, through a valley in the mountains.
“It’s not far enough,” I whisper to myself.
“What’s not far enough?” Jefferson asks.
“The ship. There are islands. Like Alcatraz. Places it can put into shore.”
“That’s a good thing, right? We don’t want anyone to die.”
“Melancthon took care of that,” I assure him. “The Argos needs to be close enough to shore that lifeboats can reach safety, but far enough away that the ship itself can’t.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I—we—have to get to the fort at the Presidio,” I tell him. “We have to see her through the Golden Gate.”
“Then we’d better move. Fast.”
But I’m already urging Peony forward, and Jefferson quickly falls in behind. It’s almost a mile from here to the army fort at the Presidio, but we’re on land and the ship is going with the tide. Thank goodness it’s sailing directly into a west wind.
I give Peony a light kick with my heels, and she eagerly stretches into a full gallop. She is a wonder, game to run and giving it her all in spite of being cooped up for so long. I lean forward onto her withers, where my weight will be easiest to bear. She recognizes the weight shift and what it means. Without any further coaxing, she lowers her head like a thoroughbred and runs even faster.
Still, it’s going to be a close thing.
Wind chaps my face, and my hair loosens from its braid. People stare as we fly by, and we must be a sight—two people breezing their horses through the San Francisco streets, dodging carts and amblers and puddles. Sorry begins to fall a little behind, but I don’t dare slow down so she and Jeff can catch up.
If we do get there in time, what if my gold sense isn’t up to the task? I’ve done some amazing things with it, for sure and certain. I found a lost boy in the middle of the night on the wide-open prairie. I collapsed my uncle’s mine. Of course, that mine was only a stone’s throw away, and my gold sense was aided by a liberal application of gunpowder. By the time I reach the fort, the Argos will be halfway to the setting sun.
I just don’t know if my second sight, or whatever it is, will be enough.
The white walls of the Presidio rise before us. The flagpoles fly the banners of California and the United States.
“Whoa,” I say, pulling back on the reins. Peony slows, and I dismount. Her coat is damp now. She’ll need a good rubdown as soon as I get a chance.
The flags snap in the wind, which is changing direction to favor the Argos.
But I can still see her. She’s in the middle of the Golden Gate now, pinched between two peninsulas, a quarter mile away. From here, at last, I can see the Pacific, and the sight catches my breath, makes me feel like we’ve run a hundred miles instead of one.
“Have you ever seen its like?” Jefferson says breathlessly, riding up on Sorry. The sun is setting over the ocean, skipping coins of gleaming light across the waves. The watery horizon stretches forever, slightly curved, and finally I understand how big the world is.
The ebb tide runs rough, and the waves are high, tossing the ship back and forth as it doggedly pushes for the open sea. Seabirds circle and dart. A few have landed on the mast, but they are barely more than black dots at this distance.
I close my eyes and stretch out my right hand, find the shape of the gold. It’s easy. Mama’s locket jumps out at me in particular. Even through the haze of gold surrounding it, I feel its gentle curve, its tiny latch, its flower etching.
I squeeze my fist around the heart shape, and I pull it toward me.
Nothing happens.
I concentrate again, and push it away with all my power.
Still nothing.
I’ve waited too long. My plan was never going to work.
“Don’t give up, Lee,” Jefferson says. He has dismounted and now stands at my side.
I grab the gold and pull it toward me with all my strength. I hold my fist up tight against my chest, then I fling it away, as hard as I can.
The ship slips past us, toward open water.
There’s nothing complex about this part of my plan. It should be as simple as sensing a broken coin in someone’s pocket, and pulling and pushing it, back and forth, until the coin rips the seam. As easy as pushing a saddlebag full of gold back and forth across a bedroom floor. As easy as flipping over a pair of golden dice.
I reach out with both hands, close my eyes. Ten safes. Almost two million dollars in gold coins. More money than I ever imagined. All tied down around the heart of my mama’s final gift to me. And using that final gift as a focus, I pull my hands against my chest and squeeze, like I’m giving all that gold the fiercest bear hug of my life.
To anyone watching, I must appear to have taken leave of my sense, but I don’t care. I punch my fists out, like I’m trying to knock an attacker down to save my life.
Something moves.
My eyes shoot open. The ship is farther away, heading toward deep water.
I stretch out my arms again, and pull the gold toward me. I feel it skew, unevenly, as something breaks. I shove it away again, and the mass lurches hard.
The cargo is no longer tied down, and the ship rolls in the waves.
I remember what Melancthon told me about the capsized ship: the waves and the cargo together were what sank it. So I wait—just a moment—until the ship is listing toward my shore, and I pull with all my strength, working with the waves instead of against. I release it, and when the hull begins to tip back in the other direction, I push as hard as I can.
Now the loose cargo is doing half the work, sliding on its own as the ship tosses in the rough tide.
“Lee,” Jefferson whispers. “Your nose is bleeding.”
“Tell me if my eyes start bleeding,” I snap. But I lick my lips and taste raw copper on my tongue, thinking of the story Becky told me, about the man who moved the tree and caused his heart to burst.
But I can’t quit now, with the job half done. If I do, the crew will just go down into the hold and secure the cargo.
So I stand here, pushing and pulling, one way and then the other, as the ship rides off into the distance. My legs start to wobble. I’m vaguely aware when Jefferson closes the gap between our bodies, and suddenly I realize I’m no longer standing on my own strength, that his arm is wrapped around my waist.
The Argos is rolling so violently now that the masts nearly kiss the waves. Dark specks flee the tossing ship—the crew has managed to launch several of the lifeboats.
The ship is so far away now, I can barely sense the locket at all. It feels like a nugget, lost in a rushing creek, beneath gravel and ice. It’s going to get away.
My luck changes. The ship slows. The captain, either in a panic, or under orders from Hardwick, is trying to turn the ship back. To put to shore before all is lost.
It gives me a chance. A large wave hits it nearly broadside. I grab the gold and pull it as hard as I can. The ship rolls right over. The mast breaks as it hits the water. A split second after I see it, I hear the sharp snap of cracking wood.
I sink to my knees.
“Lee,” Jefferson says. “Lee . . . Lee, are you all right?”
I reach out one last time with both fists, and yank down as hard as I can, hurling that gold down to the bottom of the ocean. I hope the water is a mile deep. Or at least too deep for any divers to reach it.
“Lee!”
Bloods gushes out of my nose and runs down over my lips and chin.
“I . . .”
I don’t remember falling over, but I’m lying sideways, and my head hurts where it hit the ground. Gravel presses tiny dots of pain into my cheek.
“Lee!”
Jefferson’s hands grasp me, but they feel faraway, almost like they’re touching someone else. So tired. Hollowed out. Sun fading away.
“S’okay,” I tell him, from a distance. “Trust you . . . help me home?” Arms wrap me tight, bolster me. I’m barely conscious as he helps me into my saddle. Fortunately, riding Peony is something I can almost do in my sleep, and we start a slow, careful trek back toward the Charlotte.