More murmurings and shufflings.

“Okay, Lee.”

It’s farther away this time, and I have to close my eyes and focus. It tugs me southward, to the edge of the pond at the bottom of the hill. No, that’s something different. Something bigger.

I rise to my feet and head downhill.

“Where’s she going?” Mrs. Hoffman says.

“Hah!” says her husband. “She got it wrong this time.”

I pay them no mind. I’m already on my knees, digging in mud that’s damp but gritty—so different from the mud back home in Georgia. My fingertips know gold the moment they touch it, and I can hardly control how fast they scrape and dig to get at it.

Finally I can hook a finger around it and pry it from the mud.

“Whatcha got there, Lee?” says little Andy, and I jump. I turn to find that everyone has followed us down the hill. The half-moon gives just enough light for me to make out their faces. Jasper’s eyes are bright. Becky is calm and cool as an early fall morning. But Mr. Hoffman glowers, and in the dark, his form is hulking and monstrous.

I wipe the nugget on my trousers and hold it up for everyone to see. “It’s gold,” I say. “Very pure. Worth about eighty dollars.”

“You already knew it was there,” says Henry.

“The locket is in your pocket, Henry Meek,” I tell him.

Silence greets me. After a moment, he fishes it out and hands it back to Mr. Hoffman without a word. Everybody stares at me like I might bite, or maybe cast a hex.

“There’s more in the pond,” I say to fill the awful quiet. “But there’s even more on the east bank. A vein, I think. Close enough to the surface to get to, if you’re handy with a pickax. Lots of dust in the rapids for the little ones to pan. It’s a good spot. The best we’ve come across.”

Major Craven worries at the fabric padding his crutch with his thumb. “That’s why your uncle sailed all the way around the world to find you,” he muses in a voice barely audible above the sound of the running creek.

Jefferson jumps in with, “Remember how she found Andy, that time he got lost on the prairie? He was carrying that locket.”

Becky’s eyes are wide with understanding. “That’s why Mr. Westfall killed your ma and pa,” she says. “That’s why he wants you so badly. You have . . .”—I expect her to say “a burden” or “a curse”—“a gift from the Lord.”

“I . . . Yes, I suppose so.”

The Major straightens. “Well, Hiram Westfall can’t have you.”

My relief is short-lived, because Mr. Hoffman says, “You’re saying he might kill us, too?”

I promised myself I would be truthful. “Yes.”

“I can’t lose another child,” Mrs. Hoffman says, her voice wavering. “I can’t.”

And I can’t blame her. I miss Therese more than I’ve let on to anyone, even Jefferson.

Mr. Hoffman’s face falls into his hands. His silhouette becomes a huge lump against the sky, like the weight of all of California is stooping him low. “We never should have come here. It’s the worst decision I ever made, and . . . I’m sorry, Helma. Bitte, vergib mir.”

His wife pulls his head down to her shoulder.

I force the words out: “I’ll pack up my gear. Peony and I will be gone by morning.”

“No!” Jasper shouts. He’s as excited as I’ve ever seen him, taken with the fever, same as my uncle.

“Anyone who sticks with me is going to get rich, for sure and certain,” I tell him. “But they might get dead, too.”

“I’m going with Lee,” Jefferson says. “No matter what.”

“Me too,” Jasper says.

Hampton steps forward and places a hand on Jefferson’s shoulder. “I’m already a dead man,” he says, “if those slave catchers ever find me. Might as well be with friends.”

I swallow against a sudden sting in my throat. “I didn’t want . . . I mean, you shouldn’t all separate on my account. I’ll just go. I’ll point you in the right direction so you can all get to prospecting, and I’ll leave you in peace.”

“No,” says Mr. Hoffman. He has straightened, and his voice has steadied. “You stay, Lee. We’ll go.”

“Where?” Tom asks. “You’ve got no experience. You need Lee and Jefferson to—”

“Home. Back to Ohio.”

“Vater, no!” Martin cries.

His father winces but says nothing.

Mrs. Hoffman reaches over and grasps her husband’s hand so that they face us united. He squeezes back and says, “We’re not the first to give up and go home; talked to a few folks at Sutter’s Fort and Mormon Island who were already making plans to leave California. I thought crossing the desert would be like crossing the ocean, and there would be a better life waiting for us on the other side. But gold isn’t worth our lives. We’ll go by ship this time, arrive home a lot poorer, but grateful not to lose anyone else.”

We are silent for a long moment. I expect others to announce their own departure, but no one does.

I offer the nugget to Mr. Hoffman. “Here.”

He takes it from my hand.

“And this, too.” I reach into my pocket and pull out another. “I found it two days ago. Worth about fifty dollars.”

“I can’t—”

“You can and you will.” I shove it into his hand. “I have a leather pouch in my saddlebag filled with smaller ones. They’re all yours. They can buy passage for your family.”

He shakes his head. “I still have a candlestick left. Once I sell it—”

“Use it to give yourself a new start back in Ohio. Take it as a gift. In Therese’s memory, because she was my friend.”

“I . . .” Concern for his family’s welfare overcomes his pride. “All right. Thank you, Leah Westfall.” He rummages in his pocket and pulls out my mother’s locket. “I should be returning this to you.”

With a nod, I take it from him and slip it around my neck. I breathe deep as the heart-shaped piece settles against my chest, setting my magic to buzzing, welcoming it home where it belongs.

Together, we all trudge back up the hill. Martin Hoffman hangs his head and kicks at the ground with each step. Once we reach the wagon and tents, he dashes off into the darkness. Mr. Hoffman starts to go after him, but Mrs. Hoffman grabs his arm. “Give the boy some time.”