Veins of Gold

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Pearl offered a close-lipped smile, and Gentry wondered if, should things get hard enough, Hannah might be willing to take in Pearl too.

  Her stomach cramped. It had been doing that a lot lately, and Gentry’s fingers tried to knead it loose. She couldn’t bear having Pearl live all the way in American Fork. Gentry didn’t think she’d be able to sleep without her sister warming the other side of the bed. To have it be just her and Rooster . . .

  The door opened almost wide enough to hit the wall behind it. Rooster came in, his shirt damp around his neck, down his chest and back, and under his arms. Dirt dusted him head to toe.

  “Speak of the devil,” Gentry said.

  Rooster merely grunted in reply, kicked off his boots, and slunk down to the floor right there by the door.

  Gentry frowned. “Hard day?”

  Rooster nodded and wiped the back of his hand over his brow. He pulled off his hat and fanned himself with it.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Another nod.

  Today was pay day for Rooster, but Gentry wouldn’t ask for the money—she knew it would be one dollar and fifteen cents—right away. Rooster worked harder than any of them, and seeing him beaten down and worn out made the cramping in Gentry’s stomach travel up to her chest.

  Picking herself up, Gentry fetched a cup and filled it with water, offering it to him. “Supper won’t be ready yet, but do you want some oatmeal?”

  Rooster merely nodded.

  “I’ll get a bath ready,” she said as the oatmeal set.

  “Nah,” Rooster replied, half a pant. “I’ll do it. I don’t want it heated up. I’ll be quick.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “S’alright.”

  Forming tortillas, Pearl commented, “You smell like a horse.”

  Rooster offered a half grin. “Least I have a reason for it. You smell like a hog’s backside.”

  “Hey!”

  Gentry laughed. “He’s just teasing you.”

  Her brother stretched his dirty legs out in front of him—she’d sweep the floor after he left for his bath. “Too bad we don’t still have that fiddle. I could use a song.”

  Gentry rubbed her fingertips together, the left ones having already lost their calluses. “Me too.” Music always made hardship better, and the walls of this house hadn’t heard much of it. The thought made Gentry miss Ma.

  “Why aren’t you wearing your necklace?” asked Pearl. She set a skillet atop the oven, where the saucepan had been. “You haven’t been wearing it much lately. Can I?”

  Gentry’s hand fell down to her pocket. “No.” She retrieved the necklace and fastened it around her neck, careful not to pull on the hairs that had frayed from her bun.

  She didn’t offer further explanation.

  A few days after the arrival of Hannah’s letter, Gentry saw a distinct lack of spirits, even when she rode Bounder away from town to exercise her. It put a sick, cold feeling in her belly, one that resurfaced in her bedroom in the middle of the night.

  The beds jumped.

  “Gentry. Gentry!” Pearl cried, her voice a fishing hook reaching down into Gentry’s dreams, snaring her, and reeling her into consciousness. “Gentry, it’s happening again!”

  The line snagged, the hook dug into her skin, and Gentry shot up in bed, braid whipping as she went. She heard the jostling of the beds against the floor, quaking furniture, and Rooster cursing. Metal clamored and ceramic shattered in the kitchen. Her own body shook.

  “God help us,” she whispered.

  “Get under the bed!” Rooster shouted.

  Gentry grabbed Pearl’s wrist and dragged her over the side of the bed. They collided with the bucking floorboards. Her arms swept out in a swimmer’s stroke to push aside the bags and boxes stored beneath the bed frame. She shoved Pearl under and crawled in after her, though her left shoulder and hip didn’t quite clear the shelter.

  Something shattered in the kitchen. Gentry held her breath. Beneath her fingers, she felt the cracks between floorboards yawning. The sound of a great crash infiltrated the house. Thunder?

  Just as Gentry’s lungs were about to explode, the floor relaxed. The clamoring stilled. Cool air kissed her nose.

  She waited another minute before crawling out, knees sweeping through dust like snow on the floor. She coughed and fumbled for the dresser, searching for the candle, but it had been knocked off during the quake.

  “Candle. Where’s the candle?” Her voice shook and somehow sounded too loud in the sudden silence following the shake. “I need light!”

  Rooster coughed. “Pearl?”

  “She’s fine.” Gentry’s stomach clenched. “Pearl?”

  “I’m coming,” she whimpered.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “N-no.”

  Rooster loomed beside her, his hands sliding over the dresser and then over the floor. “Found it,” he said, “but not the matches.”

  Gentry cursed a dozen times in her head. She crawled on her knees, searching for the small box of matches, tripping over her nightgown. Rooster slid the nightstand out farther from the wall. Pearl crawled out from beneath the bed, coughing.

  A sliver caught in Gentry’s palm.

  Finding her feet, Gentry stood and carefully picked her way toward the kitchen, stepping over the laundry hamper and something else she couldn’t see that had fallen out of place. Her foot stepped on something sharp, and she jumped—a jar or glass must have shattered. At least she saw more in the main area. The starlight shone brightly through the—

  Gentry stared.

  A cool breeze rustled her dress.

  “Window,” she whispered.

  Where a window had been, there was now nothing. No planter box, no glass, no wall. Gentry stared out onto the ravaged garden, the stable behind it, and the desert landscape beyond. On the floor lay a heap of rubble and splintered wood. The entire wall had fallen in.

  Gentry gaped, stiff and cold.

  “Got it.” Rooster called, and the glow of firelight mixed with the chilly blue of the Utah night sky.

  Gentry dropped to her knees, staring. The candlelight grew brighter as Rooster and Pearl stepped out of the bedroom.

  “Holy . . .” Rooster began, but he didn’t finish.

  “It’s . . . gone,” Gentry whispered. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

  But the mantra didn’t work this time.

  Gentry covered her face with her hands and wept.

  “Gentry . . .”

  Rays of dawn slid over the peaks of the Wasatch Mountains, illuminating the mess of the house.

  Pearl prodded her shoulder. “Gentry, it’s all right. We’ll clean it up.”

  But there was too much. Shards of dishes littered the kitchen floor, some having flown out into the small living area. Others had caught in Gentry’s nightdress. The oven door hung crooked. Pieces of furniture lay on their sides. The few decorations that spotted the walls had fallen. Broken glass from the kitchen window dotted the floor. Splinters and expensive bits of brick lay in an impossible heap. A coat of dust and debris clung to everything, even the window that had survived.

  And the damn wall was missing.

  Gentry barely had any tears left. Her face felt hot and swollen, her sleeves soaked. Her back hurt, and she was covered in filth, both what had fallen from the ceiling and what had collected under the bed.

  How was she supposed to rebuild a wall? How was she supposed to afford to rebuild a wall? After the mortgage payment, she would barely afford to live inside the three still standing.

  Her Pa had built the house too fast. Too many shortcuts. What would he do?

  “Gentry, it’s not so bad,” Pearl murmured, her voice too soft, giving way to the lie in her words. “The stable is still standing. That’s good, isn’t it?”

  Rooster picked his way over the collapsed wall and into the garden, silent.

  “Maybe . . . maybe Pa will come home and help,” Pearl suggested.

  Gentr
y cried anew, burying her face in the crook of her elbow, her knees drawn to her chest.

  “Or Hoss,” Pearl tried.

  “Wonder how he’s held up,” Rooster said. The concern in his voice wasn’t terribly heavy. Hoss could afford some losses. With a sigh, her brother trekked back over the wall pile. “Might as well get dressed before people come and gape.”

  Gentry lifted her head, her breath hard and sporadic. “C-can’t have them g-gaping”.

  Pearl grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet. The door to the bedroom didn’t close all the way anymore. Gentry leaned against it, forehead to the wood, as Pearl changed. She was so tired. She could have slept right there, standing and all.

  Her sister tossed Gentry yesterday’s dress. “It’s the most clean.”

  Gentry dressed, numb and slow. She didn’t bother putting her hair up. Clasping the pendant of her necklace in her fist, the tip of the heart burrowing into her palm, she offered a weak prayer and ached for her parents.

  This had scared the magic away, then. The little blob-thing had sensed it. Couldn’t it have warned her?

  She kneeled at the bed and laid her head on the dusty mattress. She didn’t know where to begin. What use was cleaning the house when there wasn’t a wall to keep the dirt out? Could she put off the mortgage and use the money on the wall? But how would she pay the mortgage the next month? Then again, Dry Creek was in the middle of nowhere. Surely the debt collectors wouldn’t come right away.

  She needed a letter from her father now more than ever. She fisted handfuls of blanket.

  She’d have to sell Bounder. It was the only way to raise the money . . . but Pearl loved that horse, and then they’d have no means of transportation. They’d be trapped in their little hovel in the desert indefinitely.

  Gentry’s heart hit her navel and cracked open like an egg.

  “She’s out of sorts,” Pearl’s voice drifted from the living room, “and she doesn’t look very pretty.”

  Gentry buried her face in dust and blanket. Her leg muscles tensed. She was going to sick up—she felt it. Maybe it would make her feel better, but she hated the idea of wasting food, even if it was only the last undigested dregs from supper.

  “I wouldn’t look very pretty, either,” replied a male voice, and certainly not Rooster’s. The shells of Gentry’s heart clanked together, and she covered her face with her hands.

  Pearl pushed the bedroom door open. “Winn is here.”

  “I heard,” Gentry mumbled, not sure if the words were loud enough to carry.

  “Gentry,” said Winn, “I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

  Lifting her head, Gentry shook it and sat back on her heels. Winn stayed in the doorway, thankfully offering her some space. His face was drawn, his lips tight, his hair swept back unevenly in an almost childish fashion.

  Gentry tossed her hands up with feeble effort and let them fall like flapjacks to her lap. “There’s nothing to be done.” Her voice was airy and raw. “I must have done something very horrible to be punished this way.”

  Pearl clarified, “She means God.”

  “Yes, thank you, Pearl,” Winn replied. “And I hardly think anyone here has elicited the vengeance of God.” To Gentry, he said, “It’s the wild—”

  “I presumed so,” she cut in.

  Pearl said, “Rooster is sorting out the split bricks from the whole ones. You can do that.”

  Winn leaned against the doorframe. “Gentry—”

  “I just . . .” Gentry swallowed and clenched her fists together. “I just can’t, right now.”

  Winn sighed. A moment passed—long enough to graze awkwardness—before he said, “Well, I have an idea. Pearl, would you assist me?”

  Gentry didn’t look over, but she heard Pearl bounce on her feet. “What is it? Ouch!”

  Now Gentry lifted her head again. “Pearl, there’s glass everywhere—”

  “No worries,” Winn scooped Pearl up in his arms as though she were a baby. Pearl yelped, and Winn passed a cursory glance over her bare feet. “No harm done. My lady, where are your shoes?”

  Pearl’s face flushed bright as a trumpet creeper. “By the door.” She pointed over his shoulder.

  Winn passed a final glance to Gentry, who evaded his eyes, and stepped outside. Glass and ceramic crunched under his boots. Each step made Gentry cringe. Then they were gone, leaving the house silent except for the muted sound of Rooster stacking broken bricks.

  Gentry needed to do something. She needed to get up and start sweeping, but to do that would be to see all the brokenness, all the things lost that she couldn’t afford to replace. Her body was so tired, and her stomach squeezed and squeezed until her throat burned and her bowels twisted. Her heart had somehow managed to piece itself together. It pulsed with an iron beat inside her head. Her skull ached with every pump.

  She should get up. Clean. Make breakfast. Take inventory of what was useless and what was usable. But her limbs were anvils, and the more she thought about it, the higher the bile climbed, and the louder the outhouse called her name.

  She studied her hands. Dust had settled in the lines of her palms, tinting them brown.

  “Hey.” Rooster nudged the bedroom door a little wider. “I’m going to run over to Hoss’s and see how he’s fared. If he’s good, he can help us. Maybe give me an advance to get some lumber.”

  “We need all your wages for food and the mortgage,” Gentry murmured.

  “I know. But I’m going to check.”

  “Fine.” The word was dead before it left her mouth.

  Rooster left. Another breeze swept through the house.

  Holding her stomach with one arm, Gentry leaned on the bed and found her feet. Her headache intensified, and she dropped back to her knees, dry heaving twice. Fortunately, her stomach was as loath to waste food as the rest of her.

  She climbed enough to sit on the edge of the bed, cradling her head in her hands. What would Pa do? Ma? she thought. She combed through her memories, trying to find an answer, but none came. I’ll tell you what they would do, came a thought. Pa would quit his job and sell my fiddle and drag us out west for the sake of a new start and “prosperity,” and Ma would agree because she’d slept with another man and didn’t want the neighbors to know. That’s what they’d do.

  Gentry shuddered and wiped half a tear from her eyelashes. Maybe they could move. Maybe Hannah would take them in until they found work. Gentry cursed her womanhood. She could do so much more if only she could get a real job.

  She didn’t know exactly how mortgages worked. If they left, she could simply turn over the land and what was left of the house and be all right, yes? Was there interest to pay? Would the bank accept the memories of her mother that lingered in these walls as payment? What would Pa do when he got back and found them mooching off the Mormons again?

  She needed to go to the mercantile. Maybe he’d finally written. Maybe there was money waiting for them. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

  Gentry took several deep breaths, coaxing her stomach to settle. She’d been so sick lately, and she wasn’t sure why. Once she was steady, she got up, found her hairbrush under Rooster’s bed, and combed out her hair before pulling it back. She searched for her ma’s compact mirror, finding it near the window. She nearly cried anew when she opened it and saw a crack in the glass.

  Gritting her teeth, she checked her face. It wasn’t red, but her eyes were still puffy. She dropped the mirror on the mattress and fanned her face, looking toward the ceiling to stall further tears. One thing at a time. There might not be any wagon trains or military troops coming through to carry letters. Did the stage line even pass through Utah?

  She had to clean. Throw away all the things the quake had ruined. Rewash all the laundry, the blankets, the pillow cases. Reinventory everything. They would just have to sleep with a gaping hole in the house until Gentry figured out a solution. Maybe they could tack blankets over it, for now. They didn’t need blankets—or a wall—until w
inter.

  Winter. Gentry shivered as though it were already here. Stop it, she chided herself. Pa will be back by then.

  Steeling herself, Gentry stepped into the other room, avoiding shards of brokenness despite wearing her shoes. She crept to the fallen wall and the small, unfinished piles Rooster had formed. There were far more broken bricks than whole ones.

  In addition to the planter boxes, the rubble had crushed part of the garden row closest to the house. Gentry felt her resolve crumbling.

  A seagull squawked from the second garden row. Gentry narrowed her eyes at it. “I see you peck one leaf or swallow a single crumb, and I’ll swat you clear to Nebraska, you hear?”

  The seagull tilted its head, regarding her.

  The wind picked up, blowing dirt into the house and Gentry’s eyes. She brought up her arm as a shield and turned away, feeling her chest sink again. The gust settled abruptly, and with it the sound of falling rubble.

  Instinct had Gentry fling her arms over her head, but none of the ceiling came down. She turned around and saw a large mound of dirt and some of Bounder’s hay atop the broken bricks. Winn and Pearl stood on the other side of it. Gentry saw the glimmer of a vein in Winn’s right hand just as it faded, and when he spoke, gold shone in his eyes.

  “We’re halfway there, Pearl.”

  “Gentry!” Pearl clapped her hands. “Gentry, Winn’s seagulls scooped dirt like a thousand shovels, all the way down to the dark stuff!”

  Gentry’s gaze darted from Pearl, to the dirt, to Winn, to the dirt. She knew she should say something, but the rawness of her throat presented itself, lump and all. A tremor that started in her belly snaked its way into her shoulders and down her arms until her fingers shook, and her mind couldn’t piece any two thoughts together.

  “Pearl,” said Winn.

  “Yes!” Pearl saluted.

  Winn began to unroll his sleeves, pulling them down to his wrists. “Water, please. As much as you can carry.”