“I don’t want to talk to you again, Spencer. What you did was low and dirty—and—” I couldn’t think of anything bad enough to describe his actions.
“I asked you not to hate me.”
“Because of this or all the other lies you’ve told me?” I stopped, confused. “You used me.”
He glanced around at the people in the lobby, then took my arm to lead me to another alcove.
I pulled my arm away from him, not wanting him to touch me.
“I have never lied to you,” he said. “I might be a lot of things, but a liar is not one of them.”
“You told me that your mother and aunt were here—”
“They are in town, and they do want to meet you. This party came up unexpectedly.”
“You’re lying to those men in the penthouse.”
“That’s different.” He sighed. “I told you why I needed to be here.”
“You didn’t need to get me involved.”
“You’re right. They planned this party last minute. I thought you could get close to the women—”
“There’s nothing you can say to make this better, Spencer.” I swallowed my anger. “You betrayed me and my family. I think it would be best if we didn’t see each other again.”
“I don’t want this to be the end.” He stepped closer, and I could see the desperation in his eyes.
“Your reputation is restored. You got what you wanted.” A tear slid down my cheek, and I wiped it away in anger.
“Did I?” He swallowed and worked his jaw for a moment as he looked down. “Go home, Ally.” His voice became dry. “It was all an act anyway. I’ll see you around.”
He turned and left me in the alcove.
The rest of the tears fell against my will as I watched him walk away. I had to turn toward the wall, so no one would see me cry.
If everything had been an act, why did the pain feel so real?
21
October 8, 1849
San Francisco, California
I was quiet the next day as we walked up the steep hill toward Portsmouth Square. My anger and disappointment from the night before were just as raw as they had been when I stood in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel lobby. But the melancholy that had followed me into1849took me by surprise.
Sam’s gaze fell on me as we made our way up Clay Street. He had hired a couple of young men to help carry our bags from the ferry to an assayer’s office opposite Sam’s new hotel. The assayer would evaluate the gold and then process it into ingots, bars of the precious metal, before we would take them to the Wells Fargo bank.
He didn’t inquire about my quiet mood as we walked. Despite the success at finding gold and how excited I was to get it in the bank, I couldn’t shake the sadness I felt about Spencer. It was one thing to withhold information about his work with the feds—another to deceive me into participating. Had he truly thought I would go along with his plan? My emotions escalated every time I thought about it.
San Francisco was just as loud, chaotic, and rough as it hadbeen when we’d left three weeks ago, but there were dozens of new buildings and several new ships anchored in the harbor. Many canvas buildings had been replaced with wooden ones, and there were even a few new iron houses.
I couldn’t wait to see Hazel, Father, and Johnnie and make sure they were safe. They would expect us any day, and I hoped they’d be at the new hotel, waiting. So many things could have gone wrong while we were away. I hadn’t wanted to think about it too much while we were in Downieville, but the closer we came to Portsmouth Square, the more real the threat felt.
“Where’d you find the gold?” one of the young men asked, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Is there more?”
Sam didn’t respond to the question because we had agreed not to share the location. Even though William Downie was already on his way to Downieville, word wasn’t meant to get out until he shared his discovery. We couldn’t and wouldn’t say anything before then.
“He’s not saying.” The other man shook his head, sweat dripping down his temples. “Wants to go back and get more for himself.”
