Veins of Gold

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Gentry’s fingers brushed the bandages about her hands. “Oh . . . yes. She’s quite chatty.”

  “Agnes? Really?” Hannah asked. “She must have taken a liking to you, I suppose. Was she helpful?”

  “Oh, yes. All fixed.”

  “Your hands!”

  “I fell,” she answered too quickly, though that much was the truth. She didn’t know how to explain Winn and the spirits without sounding completely loony, so she didn’t, for now. “But I’m patched up. Can I, uh, help with anything before bed? Where’s Pearl?” She struggled to adjust to the here and now. She felt like she’d just fallen from a storybook. Everything around her appeared so ordinary.

  “She’s just out of the bath. Should be in your room.”

  “Your room, Hannah.”

  The woman smiled. “All the same, in the end. Willard should be home tomorrow. I’ve been praying for you, Gentry, and I think we’ll get good news.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll go . . . find Pearl.”

  Sleep played games of hide-and-seek with Gentry that night. When it hid, she lay awake in Hannah’s bed listening to Pearl’s breathing and thinking of magic. She stared hard at the shadows in the corners of the room, waiting for them to move or blink, but they remained still. She ran her fingers over the bandaging around her hands, thinking of Winn and his house of birds. She broke apart and repieced his words: magic, gold, spirits, mining. Mining?

  Her thoughts turned to her father and wondered at the connection.

  When sleep sought her, she had torrential dreams that were more pictures and colors than anything with a semblance of story. Swirling seagulls, golden gardens, clusters of kite-like spirits dragging across the sky.

  Gentry woke early, not willing to play another round of hide-and-seek, and went to the kitchen to set the table for breakfast. Doing what she could to earn her keep. Carolyn was up not long after, and Gentry helped her grate potatoes for hash browns and form dough into biscuits. The Hinkle family barely fit around their kitchen table. A few more years and they’d have to get a second.

  Gentry tried not to think of the empty space at her own.

  After everyone had roused and Gentry broke a biscuit into pieces for Caleb, Willard returned home. Carolyn greeted him first, then Hannah, both with equal fondness. Gentry tried not to think on the oddness of it and cast Pearl a withering look when Pearl opened her mouth to comment. She, thankfully, closed it without much sound.

  “Mr. Hinkle.” Gentry wrung her finger again. She caught herself and stashed her hands behind her back. “Were you successful with the china?” Her voice softened with each word, ending the sentence in a near-whisper. How would she explain herself to Rooster if she came home poorer than when she left?

  “Ah, yes, nearly forgot.” Willard opened a small suitcase and fished around in it until he found an envelope. “I don’t know how much you were hoping for, but I did manage to sell all of it.”

  Gentry glanced to Pearl, who frowned. Her sister had wanted to save at least one piece of china, for sentimentality.

  Gentry took the envelope and opened it. There were several coins within, totaling about two dollars.

  A heaving sigh escaped her mouth, and a warm shiver coursed from her shoulders into her hands. “Thank you.” She closed the envelope and smiled. “This will help. Thank you, truly.”

  Willard grinned. “It’s no problem. How long are you two staying?”

  Gentry turned to Pearl. “Not long, I’m afraid. We’ll need to leave soon to get back before dusk.”

  Pearl frowned. “But the road—”

  “It’s fine now.” A crispness formed in her chest. “I mean, I heard it was.” All truth.

  “Hmm.” A wrinkled formed between Hannah’s eyebrows. She studied Gentry, who averted her eyes to a spot on the carpet. “I guess the water receded. Place is so dry, probably sucked it right back up. Here, let me pack you a lunch.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Pearl followed Hannah into the kitchen. It was no secret that the Hinkles had nicer food than the Abrams. Gentry shook her head and stowed the money in the pocket of her skirt. Half an hour later, she drove herself and her sister back to Dry Creek.

  Rooster arrived at the house at the same time Gentry and Pearl did, with the sun starting its descent in the sky. His clothes were dirtier than usual, the bridge of his nose sunburned, and his hair heavy with sweat. Hoss strode beside him, dusty and suntanned.

  “What took so long?” he asked, wiping his hands on a handkerchief not much cleaner than the rest of him. “Hoss here was about to set out looking for you.”

  “The road flooded.” Pearl hopped off the wagon the moment it came to a stop. “It flooded and it smelled terrible, and we had to go around, and then an earthquake shook us and broke all the china.”

  Hoss laughed. “That’s some imagination.”

  Pearl’s brows touched. “It’s no imagination, Mr. Howland. I swear it.”

  “Don’t swear,” Rooster chided.

  “It’s true.” Gentry slid from the wagon herself. Hoss moved as though to help her, but he only made it a step before she touched the ground. “A geyser opened up on the road, and we had to go around.”

  Hoss’s eyes widened. “A geyser?”

  Gentry nodded, moving to Bounder and scratching the mare under her forelock. “And we broke the china, but still managed to sell it. Willard Hinkle took it into town for me. We had to wait for his return until we could head back.”

  “Caleb?” Rooster asked.

  Gentry smiled. “He’s getting big.” She glanced at Hoss. She didn’t want to talk about money, or her bastard brother, with him standing there. Rooster must have sensed it, for he didn’t ask more.

  “We got two dollars!” Pearl shouted.

  Gentry rubbed her thumb and forefinger into her eyes.

  “Well that’s something.” Hoss smiled. Eyes on Gentry, he added, “Can I help you with anything? Stable the horse for you?”

  “I can do it.” Rooster led Bounder and the wagon toward the stable.

  “Thank you for keeping an eye on him,” Gentry said to Hoss.

  “Just glad to see you and Miss Pearl all in one piece. We were right worried.” Hoss removed his hat and ran his fingers back through his hair.

  Gentry fiddled with the ties of her bonnet. “Well, I’ll not have you wandering around in the dark, Hoss Howland. Thank you for seeing to us. I’ll send Rooster by in the morning.”

  Hoss tipped his hat. “Good day to you.” He smiled at Pearl before turning and heading back for his farm, passing a glance back to Gentry once he hit the road. The gesture made a spot between her shoulder blades itch.

  Kneading tightness from her abdomen, she headed into the house, Pearl following behind. Finding her father’s ledger, Gentry filled in the new income. The numbers were looking better.

  Not good, but better.

  Her father hadn’t written while Gentry and Pearl were gone, but such was to be expected—he wouldn’t be to California yet. Gentry hoped he would write along the way, but it had only been a few days. Letters would come. Just one letter would lend Gentry strength for her new role.

  As Gentry worked the garden the next day, Pearl weeding beside her, a squawk brought her attention to the fence. There, balancing on the farthest post, stood a seagull regarding her with one eye, its beak slightly open as though it were panting. Gentry straightened, wondering at it—seagulls didn’t frequent Dry Creek—but when she moved toward it, the bird flapped its wings and took off.

  She watched it go, searching for more of its kind, but the gull appeared to be solitary. Surely it wasn’t one of Winn’s. And what purpose would Winn have sending a gull this way?

  Until we meet again, he had said. Gentry had mentioned living in Dry Creek, but there were few enough people in town that it wouldn’t be too hard to find a specific person. All he’d have to do was ask Mr. Olson at the mercantile.

  Her skin prickled. She looked at Pearl, wondering if she should me
ntion her bizarre visit, but decided against it. Had it not been for the bandages on her hands, which were now discarded, she would have thought she’d hit her head on the way back from Agnes’s and dreamed it all.

  Her necklace weighed down her pocket. She still chose ignorance over wearing it.

  Gentry counted it a blessing that her father had taken Rose. It left only one horse to care for. Feeding Bounder took more out of their budget then feeding themselves did, but all that would get easier once the garden started to produce. There were wild grass and weeds about that Bounder grazed on between meals of hay and bran, though unfortunately the mare had no interest in sagebrush, and that they had aplenty.

  The weather cooled significantly the following day, much to Gentry’s pleasure. The day after all three of them overslept—storm clouds in the sky had dulled the sunlight.

  Gentry woke with a start. “Rooster, Rooster! You’ll be late!”

  Rooster lifted his head from his pillow on the other bed. It took a few seconds, but realization struck him. He swore and jumped out of bed, pulling on his dirty trousers from the day before and pounding his feet into his boots.

  Gentry didn’t fear Rooster’s job was in jeopardy—Hoss was a kind and reasonable man, and even if he weren’t, Gentry knew a few kind words from her would smooth anything over. Still, the job was indispensable.

  Gentry dressed herself and yelled after Rooster, “Did you get something to eat?”

  “I’ll pick from my lunch,” he called back, and he bolted out the door. The satchel that bounced at his hip, containing his noontime meal, looked too flat, too light. Pa’s lunches had never looked so small.

  Gentry sighed. Turning to the window, she peered out to the heavy storm clouds. They could certainly use a good rain, though the clouds had a strange texture to them, almost like curdled milk, and a nearly burgundy hue. Gentry had never seen clouds like those before. Not in Utah Territory, not in Virginia, and not in the places in between.

  Thunder rumbled far beyond the mountains.

  Returning to the room where Pearl was brushing her hair, Gentry opened the drawer of the shared nightstand and retrieved her ma’s necklace. She glanced about the house with it in her hand, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Stepping outside—the air smelled stale and rainy—she noticed a few glimmering shapes far toward the Wasatch Mountains, moving away from her. A fading spot of blue in the sky. Then nothing.

  Rooster returned as Gentry scrubbed the last breakfast dish. “Hoss is calling it quits today.” He hung his hat on a nail near the door. “The storm looks bad.”

  Gentry pinched her lips together but nodded. A day without pay. She’d have to write that in her ledger. One day shouldn’t be so bad. They would survive.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Rooster said, “I think I’ll go to the mill this weekend, see if they’re hiring extra help.”

  The mill, where her father had worked before setting out west. “You think Pa’s position is still open?”

  Rooster shrugged. “Worth a shot.” A grin spread on his face. “Besides, maybe Pattie Benson will be there.”

  Gentry rolled her eyes. “All right, lover boy, why don’t you bring in some water before the heavens drown us in it?”

  Her words were ominous, for not half an hour later, the sky tore open and poured out its sorrows.

  The storm banged with thunder that made Pearl shriek and assaulted the town with a downpour so heavy Gentry could barely see out the windows. Within minutes, puddles formed over the earth. Their roof began to leak in one corner. Rooster set a bucket under the drip.

  “The plants,” Gentry murmured. She hurried into the bedroom and pulled the blankets off her bed, rolled them in her arms, and rushed outside.

  The rain bit her skin like horseflies. Large drops careened from the clouds and slapped the ground. Gentry should have grabbed her bonnet—rain skewed her vision.

  She was soaked by the time she reached the garden gate. Unfurling the blankets, she set them over the crops. Several smaller plants had already been beaten down. She hadn’t grabbed enough to cover all the crops, and she couldn’t, not unless she wanted every blanket in the house muddied. She set out the two she had over the more fragile crops, then stood, her heels sinking half an inch into fresh mud.

  The sound of the storm was heavy and constant, like someone shushing into both her ears without pausing for breath. How long would it last? Would the other plants survive? Would the roof leak more? Was the stable roof strong enough to withstand it? What if the rain caused a flood?

  Gentry drew in wet air until her lungs stretched to their limits, then let it out all at once. She was drenched. Every hair on her head, every layer on her body. Even the insides of her shoes squelched.

  She laughed.

  The first few chuckles hurt, like the first breaths after a heavy cough. But the laughter flowed freely, a bird caged too long, finally stretching its wings.

  This was ridiculous.

  Gentry wiped rain off her face, not that it made a difference. At least she wouldn’t need to take a bath now. That made her laugh more.

  Pearl’s voice barely pierced the din of the rain, calling from the house. Tipping her head back, Gentry opened her mouth, surprised at how quickly the rain filled it. She trudged back to the front door, her shoes squeaking and squashing with each step.

  Rooster stood in the doorway. “You’re loony,” he said. “What are you doing standing—”

  Gentry spit the water into his face.

  Rooster’s eyes bugged. His jaw dropped. Pearl gasped behind him.

  His lip quirked. “You’re dead.”

  He rushed her, bending over and grabbing her around the waist. With a grunt, he managed to heave Gentry over his shoulder. Gentry screamed and beat at his back, but Rooster hefted her to a large puddle and dropped her into it. Muddy water splashed in an uneven ring around her.

  Gentry spit grit out of her mouth, laughed, and grabbed onto her brother’s leg. “Pearl! Help me!”

  Pearl hesitated as Rooster struggled in Gentry’s grasp, but eventually ran out—leaving the door open—and crashed into Rooster’s other leg, landing all three of them in the mud.

  The heavy rain washed the dirt from their faces. Pearl splashed Rooster, Gentry splashed Pearl. Their giggles cut through the fog of the storm, and despite the heaviness of her soaking clothes, Gentry felt lighter than she had in a week.

  Rooster found his feet and ran toward the stable, Pearl chasing after him. Her skirt was a good three inches longer with all the water weighing it down.

  Shielding her eyes, Gentry followed. Rooster grabbed the water pail from outside Bounder’s pen and dumped it over his sister’s hair. Gentry held her sides and laughed.

  Thunder bellowed overhead without lightning, drawing Gentry’s attention back heavenward. Her heart skipped a beat as she checked her pocket, but fortunately her ma’s necklace still nestled there, safe and sound.

  She looked about as she touched the gold and spun slowly as she searched the valley. Even in the untamed land away from the town, she didn’t see a single spirit. Not one eye, blob, or ripple. The absence relieved her, yet a small part of her wanted to see the magic, to reassure herself that what happened in American Fork had, indeed, happened.

  Rain trailed hundreds of paths from her hair down her face and neck, and she wondered at it. She didn’t know much about this realm hidden within her own, but she wanted to.

  What sort of storm scared off even the most terrifying of spirits?

  June 7

  Dearest Pa,

  I hope your travels have been good and that you’ve been safe on the roads. We’ve had strange troubles along the paths back home; I pray all has been smooth for you and Rose.

  Pearl was humming that song you used to sing to us as children, but for the life of us we can’t remember one of the lines. Young ladies in town, and those that live ’round, wear none but your own country linen . . . and then we cannot recall the third line. Do tell us whe
n you write back. We shall try our hardest to imagine it in your voice.

  We had quite a storm last week. It caused a flash flood in some of the lower points in the valley, but thankfully not in Dry Creek. It did, however, pulverize quite a few plants in the garden. I’m holding my breath, hoping the stalks were sturdy enough for them to come back. Else we’ll have to replant and cross our fingers.

  And Pa . . . if scary things happen at the mines, you’ll come home, won’t you?

  Rooster passes on his regards. Hoss has been good to us, increasing his wages and hours. Still, I hope to hear from you soon.

  Much Love,

  Gentry Sue

  “What’s that?” Rooster asked, kicking his boots off with more force than usual as he came into the house.

  Gentry folded the paper. She used only one sheet, not wanting to waste. Not wanting to purchase more. “A letter to Pa.”

  “Where will you send it?”

  “The Boston Company. He’ll get it when he arrives, if he hasn’t already. I’m sure he’ll send us a better address.” She lifted her gaze from the paper and cringed. “Oh Rooster, there’s a nasty thing on your shoulder.”

  Rooster turned his head to his right shoulder, where a dark and rather large grasshopper sat. He swatted it off.

  “Not in the house!” Gentry cried.

  Rolling his eyes, Rooster brought his socked foot down and crunched the intruder.

  Gentry huffed as she stood. “You’re in a foul mood. Pattie turn down your advances?”

  She meant it in jest, but Rooster didn’t smile. He collapsed in one of the threadbare chairs. “Mill isn’t hiring. Said they didn’t plan to anytime soon.”

  Gentry drooped. “They already filled Pa’s position?”