Fortune's Journey

by Bruce Coville

  “What did you say?” asked Fortune.

  “That’s miner talk, gosling,” said Mrs. Watson, as if she had been in California since the first month of the Gold Rush. “Means he’s all spruced up and looking fine.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Then Walter stepped onstage to introduce the show.

  Things went well until the third act, when someone in the audience started making whispered comments to his neighbor about the performance. His neighbor’s laughter emboldened him, and soon the comments got louder, until there was a circle of laughter in the center of the audience that made it hard for others to hear.

  “Quiet!” bellowed someone in front. “I want to hear the show!”

  Things did quiet down for a few minutes. Then the self-appointed wit decided to make fun of Edmund’s costume, a shabby thing he had patched together to replace one lost in their mountainside accident.

  Edmund’s eyes grew dark and angry. Fortune, anticipating trouble, began to rush her lines, hoping they could get through the act, which was nearly over, and let things calm down.

  No such luck. One more comment from the audience was all it took to push Edmund over the edge. Seething with indignation, he jumped from the stage and barged through the audience until he reached the heckler. Then he drew back and landed a powerful haymaker on his jaw.

  After that it was pure pandemonium. Half the audience was on the side of the actors, having been enjoying the play. The other half was all for the locals, no matter what they had done. And both halves, Fortune suspected, enjoyed a good brawl at least as much as a well-done play anyway.

  Walter waded into the fray, roaring and swinging his massive arms like an enraged bear. Mrs. Watson hung back until she spotted someone struggling with Mr. Patchett, at which point she picked up a chair and hit the man over the head.

  The low point of the whole fiasco came when Fortune decided to join the battle, too. Ducking under the flying fists, most of which were well over her head anyway, she pushed her way toward the oaf who had started the whole problem. Spotting him, she wound up and let fly with a solid punch, which landed squarely in Jamie Halleck’s eye.

  “I was on my way to rescue you from the mob,” he told her the next morning as he poked ruefully at the spectacular shiner that decorated the right side of his face. “I should have let the mob rescue me from you instead!” He winced and added, “I think I would have preferred another fire.”

  “That would have cost more,” replied Fortune glumly. “As it was all we had to do was pay for the broken chairs.”

  “I suppose you’ve got a point,” said Jamie. “Is there anything left?”

  “A hundred dollars.”

  “Well, that’s more than we started out with.”

  “Breakfast cost thirty.”

  “Ouch!”

  “Are you referring to the price tag, or your eye?”

  “Both.”

  They walked in silence for a while. It was a beautiful morning, golden and sundrenched, with just enough of a late September chill to make the air almost painfully sweet. They had left the hotel separately after breakfast and run into each other at the edge of town. By mutual consent they had walked together up the bank of the river, eager to be away from outsiders.

  “Mrs. Watson says it was the biggest conbobberation she ever saw,” said Fortune after a while.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “That’s miner talk,” said Fortune, imitating Mrs. Watson perfectly. “It means a brawl.”

  “Well, I’ll agree with her on that. What got into Edmund, anyway?”

  “Theatrical temperament. He can’t stand being laughed at.” Fortune recalled the desk clerk’s prophetic words about needing a sense of humor in mining country. As if reading her mind, Jamie started to laugh himself.

  “And just what is so funny?” she demanded.

  “Oh, I was just remembering Mrs. Watson knocking over that miner,” he said, still chuckling. “She packs quite a wallop.” He poked at his eye again. “So do you, for that matter.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not for the first time.

  “No, no. It’s good to know you can defend yourself. I never did like weak women.” He smiled at her. “It’s getting warm,” he said, changing the subject. “Let’s go wading!”

  Fortune hesitated. Back East her mother would have been scandalized at the prospect. But here in California the rules seemed different. She looked longingly at the small stream that bubbled along beside them. Her feet were feeling hot and tired.

  “Good idea,” she said suddenly. And at once, as though by the very act of shedding her inhibition, the whole world seemed richer and sweeter. She became more aware of the increased warmth of the sun as it had risen in the sky, of the calling birds all about them, the smell of the forest, and most of all the presence of someone very special beside her.

  How can he not be angry with me? she wondered, suddenly feeling very safe with him. For a moment, almost against her will, she remembered the feel of his arms about her when he had carried her out of the fire months ago.

  “This is a good spot,” said Jamie. He took her arm and helped her sit on the thick moss.

  He has nice feet, she thought, watching from the corner of her eye as he slipped off his shoes and socks and rolled up his trouser legs. She slipped off her own boots and looked at her feet appraisingly. These aren’t bad, either, she thought with satisfaction.

  “Come on,” said Jamie, jumping up. “Let’s go!”

  Laughing, they splashed into the water. It was cold, but the air was warm. Great trees arched over them, filtering the sunlight so that it fell in pools and puddles of gold about them.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Jamie, gesturing to the forest that surrounded them.

  “Uh-huh. Almost scary. It’s so big.”

  “I don’t think anything can seem big after those mountains we crossed.”

  Fortune thought of the mountains, and how Jamie had kept the group going at the worst stage of the crossing with his irrepressible good humor. She felt a surge of closeness to him and moved imperceptibly nearer.

  Without a word he led her to the far side of the stream. They sat on a rock outcropping, warmed by a patch of sunlight.

  Jamie was stiff, almost rigid, as he sat staring into the water.

  Say it! Fortune thought. Tell me what you’re thinking!

  “Fortune, I…” He stopped, then tried again. “Fortune…”

  Just then they spotted it, a dull yellow glow in the water between their feet. Without a word they reached for it, their fingers entering the water simultaneously. Then, as if drawn by a magnet, their hands moved from what they had been reaching for and instead closed over each other.

  Still not speaking, Jamie stood and drew Fortune to her feet.

  She looked up into his eyes. I think I’m going to die. I didn’t know my heart could beat so fast…or that his arms could feel so good. What’s happening to me?

  And then there was no time to think of what was happening as he drew her closer. His arms tightened about her and his hands slid over her dress and his lips pressed against hers.

  There were no questions now, no answers, no right, no wrong, no night, no day—only the two of them standing in the ancient forest, clinging desperately to each other, admitting what both of them had known from the very first instant they saw each other…that there was no one else in the world for either one of them.

  “I love you,” he whispered, his voice soft and husky. “I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you, loved you without stopping ever since, loved you while you tried to make up your mind, loved you while you were laughing at me, wondering about me, angry at me, hating me, teasing me…”

  And then he couldn’t speak anymore, because her lips had covered his, and words were no longer necessary.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fortune sighed contentedly. “Probably you should have just grabbed me and run away with me that first day in Bust
ed Heights,” she said, leaning against him.

  “I doubt it would have done much good. You’re the type who wants a man to prove himself.”

  “I suppose I am,” she said, snuggling closer. “Of course, you did that some time ago.”

  “Yes, but you wouldn’t admit it!”

  She laughed. They were sitting on the bank of the little stream, still dangling their feet in the water. A small bird was flitting back and forth above them, its yellow wings flashing in the sunlight.

  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.”