Into the Bright Unknown (The Gold Seer Trilogy #3)(70)

“Olive, Andy,” Becky says quickly, “it’s time to run and play.”

The two of them peel off, their faces hidden by their hats, and disappear into the crowd.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll follow them,” Henry adds, downing his drink in a single gulp and putting the empty glass back on the server’s tray.

I glance around for Helena Russell. She is surely in attendance. We all have a job to do here tonight, and right now, my job is to make sure Hardwick and his crew are looking at me. It’s the only thing I should be thinking about.

My hand goes to clutch Mama’s locket, but of course it’s gone. I stride toward Frank as if my knees aren’t suddenly wobbling and my heart suddenly pounding. “Thank you for the invitation,” I say brightly. “Lovely party.”

Frank pretends I don’t exist and approaches the Major, glaring down his nose at him. Like he regrets not killing him after the buffalo stampede. Like he might go ahead and correct that mistake right now.

“You showed up,” Frank says glumly.

“I thought you’d be glad to see me,” the Major replies. “After all, the invitation was delivered by your own hand.”

“I can’t figure out what drives you, Wally. I guess an old cripple like you is only good for doing women’s work and watching children. I’d kill myself before I’d ever do a skirt’s job.”

The Major smiles at Frank, but the corners of his eyes are as serious as a gunshot. “Dilley, you’re neither strong enough nor smart enough to do a skirt’s job.”

“The Major is the cleverest carpenter in all of California,” Becky says. “And he does the work of ten men. We couldn’t get by without him.”

Frank ignores her too. “We never would have made it across the desert if you were in charge of the wagon train,” he says.

The Major’s smile disappears. “If I’d stayed in charge, we all would have made it across.”

Becky opens her mouth but changes her mind about whatever she was going to say. Frank is one of those men who can’t feel big unless he’s making somebody else smaller. And suddenly, it’s like a click in my mind, the way everything settles into place. Frank is lonely. He wanted us here. He needed familiar faces, people he could put down so he could feel better about himself.

“I’m sorry for you, Frank.” The words rush out of my mouth before I can stop them, but I decide I don’t want to stop them. “You were in charge of the wagon train, and you couldn’t keep it together. You worked for my uncle Hiram’s mine, and we know how that went. Now you’re working for Hardwick, and he’s going to leave you behind when he goes to New York. You aren’t good enough for anything or anybody.”

He puts his hand on his gun. “I was good enough to put your friend Jim in the ground.”

And just like that, my pity turns to anger. In fact, I’m so angry now that tears start leaking from my eyes, but a show of tears is probably a good thing.

Jefferson steps forward before I can reply. “You’re a murderer, Frank Dilley. Plain and simple.”

Frank opens his mouth, taking a menacing step toward us, but he’s interrupted by a cheerful greeting.

Hardwick approaches, arm in arm with Helena, who is resplendent in a blue velvet gown. With her auburn hair and pale white skin, she’s the colors of the American flag. I focus hard on my anger at Frank, then the scents of beeswax candles and spiced cider, the flickering lanterns and the swirling people.

“Miss Westfall. I was hoping I would get the chance to see you toni—” Hardwick notices Frank’s fuming gaze and the hand on his gun. “Go on, Dilley, get out of here.”

Frank practically snarls, but he shoots one more angry glance at our group, then strides casually away toward the house, as if that was his plan all along.

“Some dogs you have to keep on a leash,” Hardwick says.

“And when the dog bites people anyway?” I ask.

He shrugs. “In one more day, that dog won’t be my problem.” Hardwick indicates his companion. “You remember my associate, Miss Helena Russell.”

We exchange wary nods. Her eyes glitter in the lantern light—merely blue right now. “Pleased to see you again,” I lie. “May I introduce my friends . . .” I look around, but Jefferson and the Major have wisely made themselves scarce. “My friend, Mrs. Rebecca Joyner.”

Becky curtsies. “We’ve had the pleasure of meeting once before, Mr. Hardwick, Miss Russell. In the law offices on Portsmouth Square. I was trying to recover possession of my house.”

“And did it all work out?” Hardwick asks.

“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.”