How many rations do they normally get? Do they get sorted wheat or the chaff, too? I’ve eaten raw wheat before. It has a nice, nutty taste, but it leaves grit in your molars and an ache in your belly if you eat too much.

He’s still gazing at me, awaiting my response. “Thank you,” I manage. And because it’s what Becky would say, I add, “That’s very generous.”

He smiles again, and it sickens me that I’ve pleased him. “Wilhelm will escort you to the mine when you’re done here.”

He leaves, and it’s just me and Mary and the clanking of dishes.

There’s still a basket half filled with biscuits on the table, covered with a cloth to keep them warm and away from flies. Maybe I could grab a few. Sneak them to Jefferson and Tom in the mines.

It’s a flash in my mind: the ear-piercing gunshot, the Indian splashing into the water.

I shouldn’t let Frank or Abel or anyone observe me singling out anyone for special treatment. It might get them dead.

But I can do it tonight, at midnight, when no one is watching. I grab the basket. “Mary, may I take the rest of these biscuits to my room? Sometimes I get hungry at night.”

She glances at me over her shoulder. “Yes. Take.”

“Thank you.” I turn to go, but I hesitate and turn back around. “What happened to you?”

Mary turns to face me, dripping dishcloth in her hands. “I no understand.”

I gesture toward my face, mirroring the huge bruise pillowing on her cheek.

The light goes out of her eyes for the briefest instant. Then she smiles. “Is nada. The mens. Sometimes . . . what is word? Rough.” She shrugs.

I frown. “Do you cook and clean for them, too?”

She laughs wickedly, like I’m the brunt of her joke. “Oh, no. Not those mens.” She returns to the dishes. “Tall man wait outside,” she says, dismissing me with a wave.

I stare at her back, puzzling over our conversation. Mary reminds me of Jefferson a little, the way her face always seems deep in thought, the laughter in her eyes when I say something that has amused her somehow. But a real friendship seems miles distant, because unlike Jefferson, her demeanor is cold as a winter wind.

I run to my bedroom and stash the basket of biscuits in the chest at the foot of my bed. I lace my boots, square my shoulders, and prepare to meet Wilhelm.

Frank Dilley was right; the Joyner tunnel is a lot drier. Frank isn’t at the mine today, but Abel Topper is. He and Wilhelm escort me up the tunnel, which is long and so low I have to duck to avoid hitting my head on the swinging lanterns. Tree roots poke at us occasionally, which means the slope of the land has caught up to the slope of the tunnel.

After stepping aside twice to make way for mine carts, we finally reach the end of the tunnel. Sure enough, it seems as though their pickaxes have reached a solid wall.

“The quartz vein seems to go in this direction,” Abel says, pointing at the hard face of rock. “We can push through, but it’s blunting our tools faster than we can smith them. Westfall headed up to Rough and Ready yesterday to get some gunpowder. We could blow a hole right through if we need to. But he said the daughter of Lucky Westfall might . . . have a special insight. Tell us where to go next.”

Just how much did my uncle tell Abel? Abel Topper was a mine foreman back in Georgia, and as experienced as anyone. There’s no way he buys into that bit about “special insight.” Miners can be a superstitious lot, though. My uncle probably told him I’m lucky.

And what does he mean by up to Rough and Ready? North of here? Higher into the mountains? If I can figure out where Rough and Ready is, it will give me a clue where I am.

“Miss Westfall?”

“Er . . . let me think a moment.”

Abel looks at me expectantly. Wilhelm is behind me, but even though I can’t see him, his eyes on my back are like a weight bearing down.

“Shine the lantern on the wall there,” I order, indicating the solid rock. Abel complies, and the light shifts away from me to the dead end ahead. Under cover of darkness, I close my eyes and reach out with my gold sense.

I find the vein right away, a bright, warm river of gold that heads off slightly to the right. If they tunneled forward, they’d miss it entirely.

My shoulder hits the wall, startling me. I moved toward the vein without realizing it, like a moth to a flame. I place my fingertips to the rough, hard dirt, letting the nearby gold vibrate my skin. It spells warmth and comfort to me. Life and hope.

It’s better than peach pie. Better than autumn mornings by the box stove. I push deeper, letting my senses expand like roots in fertile soil. The buzzing intensifies until it fills me up.

I smile.

A slight tremor rocks the earth. Dirt and pebbles rain down on my head.

“What was that?” Abel says. “Did you feel that?”

I blink, coming back fully to the present. I thought it was just the gold buzzing, speaking to me like it always does, but this time Abel felt it, too.

“Maybe get some more beams in here,” I say quickly. “This tunnel doesn’t feel sound.” And maybe that’s the truth, given the twisting roots just above our heads. But maybe it was me. It was almost like the gold talked back.

Abel is frowning, the lantern light making deep hollows of his eyes. “Maybe you’re right.” He whips the lantern around and shines it in my face. “So, what do you think? Veer off? Move forward?”

It’s so strange to me that he can’t feel that vein sweeping off to the right. It’s like the sun on your face, the wind in your hair. I make a swift and possibly bad decision.

“Definitely forward,” I tell him. “Get that gunpowder in here and keep that tunnel growing. You’re headed in the right direction.”

He grins. “I knew it!”

“Need me for anything else?”

“Not just now.” He waves me off absentmindedly, already contemplating the wall before him.

Wilhelm and I return to the surface, and as much as I love the feel and scent and weight of gold around me, I can’t say I’m sad to leave that dark, dank hole behind.

“What now?” I ask.

He gestures toward the cabin.

“Again? All day?” I hate being cooped up, doing nothing. I’ve never spent an idle day in my life, and it makes me fit to burst.

He just frowns.

“Well, don’t talk so fast. I can hardly understand you.”