Veins of Gold

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Pearl scrambled up the dirt pile and into the house, leaving dusty tracks in her wake. Gentry spun, watching her, a reprimand somewhere between her lungs and her teeth. But, really, what did it matter?

  She turned to Winn. “What is all this?” she asked. Her voice sounded tired and old, like her ma’s.

  Winn smiled, a soft expression without teeth. A strand of golden hair fell over his eye, the color of which was darkening by the second. He pushed it back. “I’m helping. Isn’t it obvious?”

  It wasn’t, though Gentry didn’t say it. She fingered the pendant of her necklace.

  Pearl came back, grunting, a pail of water in one hand and a full bowl cradled in her opposite elbow, meaning they’d have to make another trip to the well this morning, if it still stood. Pearl sloshed it onto herself and the worn rug near the stove. Gentry hurried over and took the bowl from her.

  “Excellent! Now, dump it on this pile.” He gestured to the dirt.

  Pearl didn’t hesitate.

  “Pearl!” Gentry watched the mound of dirt slump into thick mud. Murky water streamed onto the half-ruined rug.

  “Trust me,” Winn said.

  Gentry gawked at him. “But I—”

  Pearl grabbed the bowl of water, leaving Gentry alone inside the house. “Please, Gentry. He says he knows what he’s doing.”

  She dumped the remaining water onto the mound, much to Gentry’s dismay. She frowned at Winn, her hands still trembling. “I barely know you.”

  “That can be remedied,” Winn said with half a grin. “Stand back, Miss Pearl.”

  Pearl retreated to Gentry’s side.

  Winn took off one of his earrings and tossed it into the dirt. It wasn’t until that moment that Gentry really looked at the earth piled over her broken wall and noticed the shimmer it had, the same worn by the seagulls. She held her breath.

  Winn stretched out his arms as though he were about to lift something heavy. If Gentry had not known what to look for, she wouldn’t have caught the slight yellowish glow beneath his sleeves. She might not have seen the brightening of his eyes, as though molten gold churned about the dark pupils.

  The mud leapt before her eyes, blocking out the sun, growing up like a hundred dark fingers clawing skyward, seeking purchase in the air. It made sounds like popping cartilage, which grew softer but more numerous until the light blacked out completely, and silence filled the newly enclosed space.

  Air rushed out of Gentry as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the house. Stiff, she lifted one hand and took small half steps until it touched the cool, hard wall, solid as stone.

  Whole.

  Lines of light peeked through the stone. Pearl grabbed Gentry’s elbow and yanked her back just before a square fell away—space for a window. Most of the new rock fell into the garden, but some of its dust puffed inside the house.

  Gentry stared, her joints as stiff as the wall, her lips parted in a deflated O. A few of her buzzing thoughts collided into coherency.

  A wall. The house had a wall. Winn had used his gold to build them a wall.

  Beneath the touch of her necklace, Gentry still saw the faint glow of the fresh stone, the one solid brick that comprised the side of their house. How deep had Winn dug to find earth magically alive?

  “Magic!” Pearl cried, jumping. She grabbed Gentry’s hands and swung her around, breaking her out of her stupor. “Did you see that, Gentry? Look! He’s a wizard or something, I know it!”

  “Miss Pearl.” Winn appeared in the window. He leaned his elbows on the brick sill, his sleeves still loose about his wrists. “Do keep your voice down, or I’ll be building houses all over the territory, and I simply can’t afford it.”

  Pearl released Gentry, who steadied herself against one of the chairs. She blinked until the dizziness left her, then stared at Winn, his soft smile and golden countenance, the way the skin around his eyes crinkled as he tried not to laugh at Pearl.

  “You . . . did it,” Gentry whispered.

  Winn’s eyes shone with magic. Morning sunlight lapped about his shoulders and highlighted his pale hair. At that moment, Gentry had never seen a more beautiful sight.

  She struggled to find her voice. “Thank you.” Her hands clutched at her heart, which swelled so much she feared it would burst from her chest. “Oh Winn, you have no idea . . . thank you so much. You’ve saved us.”

  His expression softened. No, this was the most beautiful sight. Him, leaning on her window, looking at her softly with his dimming eyes and a quirk to his lips. Her swollen heart beat faster, and it hurt.

  “You have to stay for supper,” Pearl demanded.

  His gaze flickered back to Gentry’s sister. “Supper is a long way off.”

  “Then stay all day!”

  Winn chuckled. “I will kindly accept your invitation for supper, but until then I must be out and about, checking up on things. Someone’s got to keep this place together.”

  He glanced to Gentry at that last sentence. She nodded, speechless again, numb everywhere except for a slight tingling in her toes.

  Winn tipped his invisible hat and vanished from the window. A new breeze swept in, carrying with it the cries of seagulls and the slightest scent of brine, and Gentry knew Winn had gone.

  “Oh bother.” Pearl tapped her chin. “How do we explain this to Rooster?”

  It was indeed difficult to explain to Rooster, who returned an hour after Winn’s departure. Pearl gushed at him a thousand words a minute explaining everything in unbelievable, minute detail. But the tale was unbelievable, and when Rooster asked Gentry to clarify, she simply said, “It’s a miracle, Rooster.”

  For now, Rooster was content with that.

  Hoss, the generous man that he was, gave Rooster a paid day off to help the family while the rest of Dry Creek recovered from the sudden quake. Rooster went to work cleaning up brick and rubble and pushing furniture back where it belonged. Gentry swept broken ceramic and shattered glass, barely noticing the loss now. She gave Pearl a few pennies and the instruction, “Go buy the smallest chicken you can find.”

  The cast iron pots and pans were unscathed, thankfully, as were the tin pitcher, bowl, and serving tray. The wooden dishes were all right too, save for a cup that had a triangular chip knocked from its lip. Her ma’s tea set was in shambles, but the teapot had broken in big enough pieces that Gentry had hope for repairing it. Three teacups and four saucers had survived. The rest were too broken for salvaging and went to the trash. Gentry was thankful they’d sold the china when they did, before it had been scattered in pieces over the floor too.

  The glass vase was done in, as well as the small Dutch shoe Gentry had gotten as a souvenir when she visited Washington as a girl. Pa’s beer mug lost its handle—Gentry found it under a chair—and won a chip in its lip as well. Gentry placed it back on its shelf.

  Pearl returned with a chicken so small it barely counted as a chicken, which in the end was a job well done. Gentry set her to wiping down every surface while Gentry plucked and prepared the bird. She would make her ma’s velvet chicken soup and a jam cake, if she had time. It would be a richer meal than they’d had since before Pa left, but it was the least Gentry could do to thank Winn for the immensity of his help and the loss of his gold earring. She diced, stirred, and seasoned with care, hoping within her still-swollen heart than Winn might be impressed.

  Gentry eagle-watched the soup as it cooked—she would hate herself if she burned it and wasted those chicken pennies. She had enough time and jam to put a small cake in the oven. By the time the cry of seagulls announced Winn’s return, the house smelled pleasant, the bulk of the grime had been scrubbed away (and the dirty rags added to the ever-growing laundry pile), the bricks had been sorted, and the garden had been tidied. Gentry hadn’t counted how many more plants they may have lost, not today. She had already decided to put off further worrying until tomorrow.

  Pearl shrieked with pleasure when a knock sounded at the door. Gentry tugged off her apron and checke
d her hair, tucking a few baby strands behind her ears.

  Pearl tore the door open. “Winn! You came!”

  “Of course I came. You offered me supper.” He grasped her shoulder and squeezed it. He released her and looked into the house. “What a lovely home you have.”

  Gentry snorted. “As if you haven’t seen it.” She glanced over the table set for four, like it used to be. “Pearl, spoons.”

  “Oh.” Pearl spun back into the tiny kitchen to retrieve spoons from the dish cloth set by the sink, where the last of the dishes were drying after a thorough scrubbing.

  Winn entered the house, and Rooster approached him with extended hand. Winn shook it, firm but brief. Skepticism slanted Rooster’s brow. “Thank you for helping us. We couldn’t have asked for better.”

  “Pleasure is mine.” He focused on Gentry. “Smells like heaven in here.”

  Gentry blushed and resisted the urge to wring her hands. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Winn.”

  “It’s actually gotten me plenty of places.” He grinned and elbowed Rooster, who chuckled. It warmed Gentry to see her brother laugh.

  “Sit down. It’s ready.” Pearl pulled out a chair at the head of the table. “You get Pa’s seat, Winn.”

  Gentry rolled her lips together, then let herself smile. She set the pot of soup atop a pad on the table and filled everyone’s bowls, hers last, just as Ma had done. Rooster offered a quick grace, and they ate.

  The first bite drew hot trails through Gentry’s mouth. How good it felt, eating something that stuck to the bones. This was turning, oddly, into a very good day.

  She glanced at Winn, who caught her eye, and asked, “Winn, I don’t think you ever told me your last name.”

  “It’s Maheux,” he answered. It sounded familiar.

  “Matthew?” Pearl repeated.

  “Sort of, but no Ts,” Winn said between bites. “It’s French.”

  “You’re French?” Rooster asked.

  “You don’t sound French,” Pearl added.

  He laughed. “I’m Canadian, actually.”

  “Really?” Pearl beamed as though she, too, were filled with magic. Her light faded a bit, and she said, “You don’t sound Canadian.”

  Winn smiled. “And what do Canadians sound like?”

  Pearl shrugged and slurped a spoonful of soup.

  Gentry studied Winn. He had a few smears of dirt on his white shirt, and she wondered what he’d been up to all day. But if his activities were anything like this morning’s, now might not be the best time to ask. He was missing more earrings. She noticed he was already halfway through his bowl, and that made Gentry sit a little straighter. A smile even tickled her lips.

  “You’re a long way from home,” she said.

  Winn shrugged, swallowed a spoonful, then leaned his forearms against the table edge. “From Canada, yes, but not from home, not really. I travel a lot,” his gaze was knowing, “but I like to stay close to this area, or roundabouts. I actually spent many of my adolescent years with the Hagree.”

  Pearl asked, “The who?” at the same time Rooster said, “The Indians?”

  Gentry looked at Rooster before returning her gaze to Winn.

  “They’re a small tribe to the west, closer to California,” Winn explained. “I, uh,” he hesitated, “my father was a scientist. A medicinal scientist, to be specific. He took us all over the continent searching for new remedies for this and cures for that.”

  As he spoke, his eyes watched the soup bowl, his spoon slowly stirring chunks from the bottom. Gentry sensed a story behind his words.

  “The Hagree are friendly,” Winn continued, “and he visited them for a while to learn some of their practices.”

  “That’s a long time to stay,” Rooster said.

  “Oh, I lingered there after he’d gone. I’m actually not sure where he is, now.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a mirthful gesture. He swept back his hair, revealing two gold studs in each ear.

  After supper, as Winn carried dishes to the sink, Gentry asked him, “Where do you get your earrings?”

  “Hm?” he asked, but his touching of the studs told her he had heard her. “Oh, a Hagree woman made them for me.”

  “But how do you afford them?” she asked, quieter. She glanced over her shoulder. Rooster had pulled out their Pa’s chess set, and Pearl was bothering him for a game, though Gentry knew Rooster meant to play Winn.

  Winn grinned. “When you give gold to the earth, it gives it back, if you stay around long enough.” He dropped his hand.

  She eyed him, thinking of Turkey. She made a twisted face. “You mean you waited for it to pass through your bird?” A laugh vibrated the last few words.

  “I assure you they’re sanitized,” he replied. “That place, where I first met you. I went back there too. The birds are good at finding them.”

  “The one in the wall—”

  “Consider it a gift.”

  “Winn—”

  He set his hand on her shoulder, but it was distinctly different from how he had touched Pearl earlier. Less playful, more . . . Gentry couldn’t really describe it, but the heat of his palm traced heavy lines under her skin, warming her blood. “Do you really want me to chisel around and see if I can find it? The wall would collapse anyway. It’s a gift.”

  Gentry looked down to her hands, the sink. “Thank you.” She lifted her eyes. “It means a great deal to me. Us.”

  He moved his hand, crooking a finger and placing it under Gentry’s chin. “Hardly a sacrifice.” He dropped his hand to his side. “Now. Dishes.”

  “You are not doing the dishes.”

  “Who’s going to stop me?”

  Rooster said, “I am. You promised me a game, Maheux.”

  Winn turned, grinning yet again. “That I did. Your sister shall get her way, this time.” He offered Gentry a wink that made the heat beneath her skin blaze and walked to the game board, kneeling opposite of Rooster. He took the white pieces. Pearl leaned over the short table with an interest she had never possessed when their father played. Then again, Pa hadn’t used his chess board in . . . Gentry couldn’t remember how long. She wondered how much it would sell for and how angry Pa would be if he came home to discover it missing.

  She scrubbed the dishes—it was a quick job—and wordlessly excused herself outside, where the sun had finally fallen behind the mountains, making the sky pink and the earth blue. Folding her arms, she walked to the crops and looked over the gate. If the quake had damaged it, Rooster had already repaired it. A few seagulls rested on the roof. Where the others had gone, Gentry couldn’t be sure.

  Though her necklace already rested against her collar, Gentry pressed two fingers over the pendant and scanned the area, searching for the dark blobs, but only the seagulls and the new wall whispered of magic tonight. Her gaze fell back upon the garden. Could she magic the plants to maturity the way Winn had magicked the earth into a wall? Somehow multiply the crops and build some stores? But she didn’t see that subtle shimmer anywhere in the garden. She let out a sigh. “Couldn’t afford it anyway,” she mumbled. Even if she could do the spells, or whatever they were called, she’d need gold to make them work.

  She picked up her necklace, studied it. Winn got his earrings back, didn’t he? But what if magic would tear the links apart, or take a bite out of the pendant? Gentry could never reforge it. No, her ma’s necklace was too valuable to give up.

  She lingered there, leaning on the fence, fingering her necklace. One of the gulls squawked, and Gentry saw a wormy spirit wriggle away from the house, toward Bounder, who also didn’t shimmer with magic. The spirits didn’t scare her, not anymore. She thought that interesting.

  She heard approaching footsteps, but didn’t identify them until Winn said, “Are we too dull?”

  She smiled. “Hardly. But if I challenge you to a game of chess, Mr. Maheux, I’m certain I’ll win.”

  He smirked. “I believe you. And please, Mr. Maheux is my father. There’s a reason I didn�
��t tell you.” He leaned on the fence beside her, examining his wall.

  Gentry inhaled cool evening air, considering. “Winn.”

  “That’s better.”

  “Have you ever used magic to find him? Your father?”

  He licked his lips. “Yes. I’ve been searching for him for a while.”

  The name suddenly clicked in her head, the memory of their meeting outside American Fork coming to the front of her mind. You don’t perchance know an Ira Maheux, do you?

  “The network is so . . . dim,” he continued. “Like I said, the magic has receded in so many places. I’ve tried several times—lost a good few pennies, I’ll have you know—but I’ve never found him. I fear such a feat would take far more gold than I’ll ever have.”

  It was only the surface of the story. Gentry determined it by the sound of his voice and the way his eyes unfocused when he spoke. It was a deep story, a stake driven into the ground until only the hammered surface remained visible. But it was too early to pull up the stake to see what it was made of.

  “My father left us six weeks ago to hunt for gold,” she said. “He didn’t even tell us he was planning it, even considering it. It came out of the blue.” She, too, watched the wall. “One day he said he wanted to mine, and the next he was gone. We’ve been waiting to hear from him. The road he took is a well-traveled one with way stations, but we’ve not received one letter, and it worries me. He seemed so confident about it . . .”

  Winn turned toward her. “I’ll help you find him, if you’d like.”

  She met his gaze. “Why are you so eager to help us? Why do you keep doing us such kindness, without asking anything in return?”

  He grinned. “My belly would argue with you.”

  “I made no promise before you built this wall.” She gestured weakly to the solid brick and glassless window. “You’re incredibly selfless, Winn. I don’t understand you.”

  “I wasn’t always,” he countered. Shrugged. “Maybe I’m making up for lost time. Or maybe the earth spirits chose to quake when they did because they thought I should meet you.”

  He meant their first meeting, not the morning’s quake. Gentry stared at him, her pulse speeding through her wrists and neck, her chest flushing beneath her dress.