Fortune's Journey (16 page)

I want time to stop. Right here. Right now. There'll never be a moment as perfect as this again anyway.

“It's funny,” said Jamie, picking up one of the nuggets resting in her lap. “A lot of people came west to find gold and ended up doing something else. We came west to do something else, and stumbled over a jackpot.”

“It's pretty enough,” said Fortune, taking the nugget from him and holding it in a sun ray. “But it's hard to imagine people killing each other over it.”

“‘There is thy gold,'” murmured Jamie, “‘worse poison to men's souls, doing more murders in this loathsome world—'”

“Ugh.” Fortune shivered. “What's that from?”

“Romeo and Juliet.
” He lifted her hand, stroking it gently, and dropped another nugget into her palm. “Here's a line I like better: ‘This hand was made to handle nought but gold.' That's from one of the Henry plays. But Old Will might have been writing about you.”

Fortune closed her fingers over the nugget. She knew which piece it was—the peculiar heart-shaped one they had picked up first, the one that had drawn their hands together, knocking down the wall of reserve that had stood between them, kept them apart.

Jamie pried her fingers open, his hand firm but gentle. “The rest of the gold is for the dream,” he said. “Oh, Fortune, we'll go to San Francisco and do such plays! But this nugget will be our keepsake, because it brought us together. I want you to guard it until the time is right. When it is, I'll have it made into a ring…”

He closed her hand again, holding it in his, and kissed her softly on the neck.

Walter was clapping his hands with glee. “Gold!” he sang. “Gold, gold, gold, gold, gold. We're rich! I can't believe it. Henry, we're rich!” He grabbed Mr. Patchett and tried to dance with him.

“Calm down, Walter,” said Mr. Patchett patiently. He was trying to be calm himself, but his hands were trembling.
“We're not
rich. Jamie and Fortune are. They found it.”

“No,” said Jamie firmly. “The gold is for the troupe. We'll go to San Francisco and use it to build the kind of theater you've always dreamed of—do the kind of shows you've dreamed of.”

Mr. Patchett placed a hand on Jamie's shoulder. “That's most generous of you, Jamie. But we can't—”

“Oh, don't be a goose, Henry,” said Mrs. Watson. “Of course we can. He's one of us, isn't he? Any one of us that found the gold would do the same thing, right?”

She looked around the room. “Right?” she asked again. Suddenly it seemed to dawn on her that more than one person in the room might not be so generous with such a find, and she fell silent.

“Half the gold is Fortune's anyway,” said Jamie.

“Well, that settles it,” said Edmund. “San Francisco, watch out!”

Fortune studied his voice for the usual note of sarcasm. To her surprise, it wasn't there.

Only Aaron had been silent through the jubilation that greeted their announcement and the debate that followed. Looking at him, Fortune wondered if he had realized what had happened between her and Jamie, the way their feelings had been unleashed. Could he read it in their eyes, their faces, the way they glanced at each other?

“The thing is, we've got to keep this quiet,” said Jamie. “Maybe there's more gold up there, maybe not. But if we let anyone know what we found, the place will be swarming with men by morning.”

“The boy is right,” said Mr. Patchett, suddenly serious. “We'd better keep this to ourselves.”

“I agree,” said Edmund.

Immediately Fortune felt a surge of anxiety, certain that Edmund was planning to go clean the place out himself before anyone else could get there.

She shook her head. Jamie had warned her that the very discovery of gold could cause divisions within the group. She could feel it starting in her own heart.

She ordered herself not to be so suspicious.

Yet she could not shake the nagging sense of discomfort that plagued her as she watched the men go off to celebrate.

As she brooded through the painful weeks that followed, Fortune realized that no matter how strong her premonitions had been, she could never have guessed how quickly disaster would strike—nor from what an unexpected quarter.

It was announced by a frantic midnight knocking on her door, a thundering sound that pulled her from a delicious dream.

“Fortune! Fortune, wake up!”

She clawed her way to wakefulness. Mrs. Watson, as usual, was snoring ferociously beside her.

“Fortune!”

Slightly dazed, Fortune recognized the voice as Aaron's. She felt a chill. Had he come to confront her about Jamie?

More pounding. “Fortune.
Fortune!”

“All right, all right,” she called. “I'm coming!”

As she threw her robe over her nightclothes she was struck by an uncomfortable memory of the last midnight knocking at the door. Surely they weren't going to be run out of town again? That brawl last night was nothing more than a…a conbobberation. The miners had them all the time.

Taking a breath to steel herself against whatever problem she was about to face, she opened the door. The palpable fear on Aaron's face sent a wave of hot panic racing down Fortune's spine. The last vestiges of sleep fell away from her like icicles crashing from eaves on a sunny day. “What is it?” she asked. “What's going on?”

“It's Walter. He's in big trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Aaron looked on the verge of tears. “We went to the Golden Slipper tonight, to…to kind of celebrate the good news.”

The cold feeling increased. She remembered the last night her father had gone out drinking. “Was Jamie with you?”

Aaron looked angry. “No. Listen to me! Walter got separated from the rest of us. After an hour or so Mr. Patchett told me to go find him. He was at one of the gambling tables. Fortune, he…he got in over his head. He lost a lot. More than he ever had in his life, probably. If we don't pay it for him, they're apt to…to…”

He lapsed into a stunned silence.

Her voice was cold. “Will they kill him?”

“Yes.”

“How much is it?”

“Everything. All you and Jamie found today. Maybe more.”

She felt herself stagger. “How could you let him?” she whispered.

Aaron began to protest.

“Oh, never mind,” she snapped. “Be quiet. I've got to think.”

But there was nothing to think about. She knew what she had to do. Yet she couldn't bring herself to it right away. “How do you know how much we found today, anyway?” she asked to stall for time.

“Jamie weighed it and told Mr. Patchett. Mr. Patchett told the rest of us.”

“You'd make a fine bunch of old women,” said Fortune tardy. “Your tongues flapping like…Oh, never mind. Wait here.”

She went to the trunk the Hyatts had given her after the accident in the mountains. Lifting the lid, she drew out an old sock bulging with the morning's bounty.
Sorry, Papa. I guess this is the end of the dream. But I know you'd do the same thing. You wouldn't let anyone hurt Walter. Or any of the troupe. Not even Edmund. Mama always said you were too softhearted for your own good.
A solitary tear trickled down her cheek.
I guess I'm not that different.

She carried the gold to Aaron. “Here. Take it. Save his worthless old hide…” She turned away. “Hurry up. Go!”

Before Aaron could move more than a step from the door, Fortune turned back and asked, “Will it be enough?”

“I don't know. He lost an awful lot. The other men are furious.”

A coldness crept over her, seemed to reach all the way to her heart. “Wait a minute.”

She was angry at herself for what she was about to do, even though she knew she had no choice.

“Fortune, I've got to get back there. They may not wait as it is…”

“I said wait a minute!” she snapped. Then, almost to herself, she whispered, “We can't take any chances.”

Crossing to the bed where Mrs. Watson lay disturbing the night with her snores, Fortune thrust her hand under her own pillow and closed her fingers over the heart-shaped nugget that was to have become her wedding ring.

Forgive me, Jamie, because I may not ever be able to forgive myself. But I can't take a chance with Walter's life…not if this would make the difference.

Trembling, she returned to Aaron. “Take this!” she said ferociously. She pressed the nugget into his hand. “Take it, and get out of my sight!” She waited until he had closed the door, then ran to the bed and threw herself across it, weeping silent, bitter tears. All their dreams, their hopes, their plans for the theater were gone again.

Had Fortune stayed at her door just a moment longer, she might have seen a slightly groggy Jamie Halleck—roused by the disturbance in the hall—open the door of the room he shared with the other men. Just a moment longer, and she might have caught the stricken look on Jamie's face as he watched Aaron Masters softly step away from her room.

She might have seen all that.

If she had, she might have prevented what happened next.

It was Mrs. Watson who found the letter. He had written it in pencil, on blank pages torn from the front of one of his books of Shakespeare, and must have slid the letter under their door sometime during the night.

She handed it to Fortune, who opened it eagerly, but found her excitement turning to horror as she read.

My Dearest Fortune,

I address you that way, even though I now understand that you do not feel the same way toward me. I suppose it marks me as a fool. Even so, it is how I will always think of you—as the dearest person in all the world. I thought the games were over. I thought you were done playing with me, and ready to accept my love. But when I saw Aaron leave your room tonight I realized that Macbeth was right; life
is
nothing but “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, and signifying nothing.”

At least, that is the case with my life.

I cannot tell you how that sight burns within me. I thought my heart would burst with pain when I watched Aaron leave your room. Fortune! Didn't this morning mean anything to you? Was all that passed between us a charade, words without meaning, kisses without love?

I cannot stay with the troupe any longer. I do not know if you love Aaron. If so, I wish you all the happiness in the world with him. If not, then I hope you do find love someday. Because you deserve to be loved. And when you find that love, I hope it is even half as deep and half as true as the love I bear for you. Because then I know he will never be able to hurt you, and will do all that he can to make you happy.

I can't bear to see your face again, so I have to go now. To be with you and know you are not mine, to see you and not kiss you, be near you and not embrace you, love you and know it is all in vain…

I have to leave. If I had any sense, I would try to forget you.

I have no sense. As long as I live, I will hold you in my heart and cherish the memory of this morning. False as those moments were, they were the dearest I shall ever know.

Please make my excuses to the others. I hate to leave you at this time, but I am sure you understand.

May God be with you.
Your adoring servant,
Jamie Halleck

Chapter Seventeen

Her cry was like that of a wounded animal. “Noooo!” she shrieked. “No! Oh, damn them, damn them. What have they done to us? What have they done to
him?
Oh, Jamie!”

Her initial hysteria turned rapidly to a deadly calm. “Find him,” she said coldly. “Now!”

Mrs. Watson scuttled from the room and roused the others. Without telling them exactly what had happened, she told them that Jamie was missing, and they needed to find him. The worried actors spread out and searched the town, the little valley along the stream, even the forest.

As for Fortune, she made her way back to the stream where she and Jamie had found the nugget, praying that she might find him, tell him what had happened.

But he had vanished. To find him was impossible, for despite the rapid influx of people during the last four years, the area was still a great wilderness, easily capable of swallowing a man—especially one who
wanted
to disappear.

Late that evening, when they had all returned to the hotel, Aaron took her aside.

“I managed to save this out last night,” he said, handing her the heart-shaped nugget. She bit her lip, but said nothing. She was beyond bitterness, beyond thanks.

He reached down, placed his hand against her cheek, his touch gentle, tender.

“Look, I know how things are with you and Jamie,” he said. He spoke slowly, the words clearly difficult for him. “I've known for a long time, actually. Probably before you did.”

She started to speak, but he cut her off. “No, it's all right. Because I also know that I'm not what you need.” He turned away, and when he spoke, his voice was soft. “I don't think I'll ever…” He let the words hang, the thought unfinished. “It's not you, Fortune. It's me. Don't worry about it.”

She reached out, touched his arm.

When he turned back to her, saw the tears streaming down her face, he reached out and gathered her into his arms.

“Go ahead,” he whispered. “Cry it out. I made a lousy boyfriend. Maybe I can do better as a big brother.”

It seemed as if Jamie had taken the heart of the troupe with him. Walter, stricken with remorse, seemed to age twenty years in a day, somehow shrinking into himself. He walked about wearing a mask of tragedy that almost equaled the sorrow Fortune felt inside. Mr. Patchett was silent, the silence of a great emptiness. Mrs. Watson, on the other hand, raged on at length about fools and drunks and gamblers, making everyone feel generally worse than they already did. Even Aaron and Edmund seemed to be mourning his disappearance.