Veins of Gold

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Winn stopped just beyond where her doorstep would be, had they built one. “Three days, then, if that’s what you want.”

  Until California, he meant. She nodded. That would be enough time to get the house and her thoughts in order and to see that Pearl and Rooster were taken care of. With the speed Winn traveled, they could probably make it to California and back in a day. A day. The thought made her bones light, like they could float right out of her skin.

  His lip quirked and he took her hand, kissing it as he was wont to do. “I look forward to it. Until then.”

  He stepped back, but Gentry held fast, interlocking her fingers with his. He paused and gazed at her. Gentry’s heart beat in her throat. Rooster and Pearl were only a wall away. But . . .

  But.

  She pulled on his hand ever so gently, but it was enough for him to take a step forward. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she stood on her toes.

  Winn smiled. His hand slipped behind her head, just below her bun. Gentry managed one quick intake of breath before his lips covered hers, warm and sweet, filling her with the scent of earth and butternut. Gooseflesh prickled her arms.

  Winn’s thumb traced the nape of her neck. He pulled back and looked into her eyes. Gentry felt warm and cold all at once. She exhaled, slow and steady.

  “Until then,” he whispered, and he kissed her forehead. He released her fingers one by one. Gentry watched him retreat until the birds took him away into the night.

  Gentry’s thoughts buzzed as she slipped into the dark house and pressed the door shut behind her. She couldn’t stop smiling. Her skin tingled, and she was happy.

  “Waiting up for you is going to leave me real tired tomorrow.”

  Gentry jumped at her brother’s voice and turned around. She was just able to make Rooster out in one of the chairs in the front room. She let out a breath. At least he hadn’t wasted a candle. “I know. I’m sorry. Something unexpected came up.”

  “Mmhm.”

  Gentry folded her arms. “My virtue is intact, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Rooster snorted. Paused. “Anyone else see you two together?”

  She shook her head, but in the darkness, she wasn’t sure he saw it.

  Rooster walked to the window, the one that had cracked panes from the quake, and peered outside. After a moment, he said, “Winn’s not normal, is he?”

  Gentry’s arms slipped to her sides. “No. He’s not.”

  “I kept thinking Pearl was too old for all these fanciful stories she’s been weaving about him.” He watched the stars, or perhaps the San Pitches. “But . . . that wall. Those birds.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “It’s a good different, Rooster.” Gentry walked to his side.

  “I know. He fixed our wall and saved the crops. What’s left of them, anyway.” He rubbed his neck. “Just be smart about him, Gentry. There ain’t much of a rumor mill in these parts, but,” he sighed, “be smart.”

  Gentry bit her lip. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, so she filled the silence with, “He’s taking me to California.”

  Rooster spun from the window. “What?”

  “He can travel faster than a train, Rooster. It’s . . . magic.” She watched his shadowed features, trying to gauge his reaction. “I could get there and back in a day—”

  “Find Pa,” he interjected, his voice soft.

  She nodded. “Find Pa. We know he’s in California. I’m sure he made it to the company.”

  Rooster slid his hands into his trouser pockets, and Gentry noticed that he still wore his day clothes. The crinkle of paper alerted her to what appeared to be a folded letter slipping behind the fabric. Who was he writing to?

  “I’ve been thinking about that, Gen.” He glanced back to the cracked window. “The way Pa’s been since we got here, maybe—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She spoke a little too quickly. “Winn’s coming in three days. I’ll go, find Pa, and come back. Maybe with him—who knows?” She tried to smile. “A little impropriety is worth that, I think.”

  Rooster paused, then nodded. “Might be better if I went. In case it takes more than a day.”

  “That’s more than a day of no wages.” A frown touched her lips. “Even if we came up with a great excuse for you to miss work.”

  “I’m looking around for something else. Not much in Dry Creek, but places like American Fork aren’t too far. I could come home on the weekends. Willard Hinkle’s got prospects for that printing press.”

  Gentry smiled. “I’m grateful that you try. Truly.”

  Rooster was quiet for a moment. “Be careful.”

  “I always am.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “I know you are.” Took his hand away. “I know.”

  The first yawn of the night pressed against Gentry’s lips, and she stifled it with the back of her hand. “Let’s get some sleep, or we’ll both be useless in the morning.”

  Gentry carried a large cotton bag in the crook of her elbow—it had an orange patch on one of the bottom corners—and tread carefully around the displays in the mercantile. A long counter stretched across its far side, behind which stood Mr. Olson, who helped another customer with the purchase catalog. Luxurious things like maple syrup or women’s shoes had to be special ordered.

  Fortunately for Gentry, she had no need for fancy supplies, just the run-of-the-mill groceries and items needed to run a half-efficient household. She picked up a small bar of lavender soap and turned it over, wincing at the number penned on the back of its simple label. Placing it back, she grabbed the unscented variety and stuck it in her bag before checking her list again: flour, soap, candles and matches, sewing needle, dark thread, salt, butter or lard (whichever was cheapest), preserves, and hay for Bounder.

  Gentry stared at the word preserves. Strawberry preserves would be so nice to have, but her pocket felt so light . . .

  “Oh, Gentry,” said Pearl, who had accompanied her on the trip, “imagine a dress made out of this.” She stood by a bolt of fabric on a shelf against the wall—cotton dyed dark blue with a few white flowers printed on it.

  “It would be too warm in the summer, I’m sure,” Gentry said, and Pearl frowned, reevaluating the cloth. And it would be, Gentry thought, even if it didn’t cost this entire list’s worth for a yard.

  “Miss Abrams?” Mr. Olson looked up as his previous customer exited the store. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes.” Gentry scuffled to the front of the store. Over her shoulder, she said, “Pearl, grab three candles and a box of matches, would you?”

  Her sister dropped the fabric and walked to the other end of the store to investigate the candles.

  Gentry readied her list. “Salt and flour, please—your smallest bags, if you would.”

  Mr. Olson nodded and stepped into a back room, returning seconds later with two too-small bags. He set them on the counter.

  “I didn’t see the sewing supplies by the fabric,” Gentry continued.

  Mr. Olson raised his brows, then rolled his eyes. “That no-good son of mine is behind on his chores, again. Was supposed to stock them after closing last night. What can I get you?”

  “A needle and thread, if you would.”

  He departed for a little longer this time. Pearl brought the candle and matches to the counter, and Mr. Olson returned with a wooden box of spools and a red cloth stuck full of needles. Gentry took the cloth first and found a needle of medium thickness, then browsed the thread and selected a brown spool.

  “Ugly,” Pearl murmured, but Gentry didn’t reply. “Salt, eggs,” she hated ordering eggs, but their last chicken had stopped laying and been slaughtered before Pa left. “And a bit of, um, lard, if you would.”

  Pearl frowned.

  “And Mr. Olson? Do you have any preserves in?”

  Her sister’s countenance immediately brightened.

  “That I do. Raspberry and huckleberry. What will you have?”

  “What’s
the price?”

  “Let’s see.” He squatted to the shelves beneath the counter. “Raspberry is twenty cents, and huckleberry is twenty-five.”

  Gentry pressed her lips together, avoiding her sister’s gaze. She pulled her small wallet from her pocket and counted out the bills and coins in it. Her mouth went a little dry. Swallowing against it, she said, “Not today, then. But if I could order four bales of hay for my horse, that would be wonderful.”

  Mr. Olson nodded. “It’s out in the back; I’ll have it loaded up if you bring your wagon around. Let’s see,” he counted the things on the counter—Gentry quickly added the soap in her bag—and said, “one dollar and forty-one cents.”

  Gentry quickly focused her eyes on her coin pouch to hide the flush that crept into her face. She busied herself counting out the money, all of which totaled one dollar and thirty cents. She suppressed a sigh. “Everything but one of the candles, then, if you would.”

  “We have to have light,” Pearl murmured beside her.

  “I can’t make a dime magically appear, Pearl,” Gentry whispered back.

  Regardless of whether or not Mr. Olson heard the exchange, he selected one candle and slipped it under the countertop. Gentry paid him, placing a single penny back into her pouch. She pressed her shoulders back and kept her chin high—some semblance of the confidence she didn’t feel.

  “Do you need help out?” Mr. Olson asked.

  “Oh no.” Gentry slipped the smaller items into her bag. “This is fine for us. But I will bring the wagon around. Thank you, Mr. Olson.”

  He smiled. “Anytime.”

  Gentry and her sister collected their groceries and stepped back out into the hot summer sun. Bounder lifted her head for a second before turning her attention to some shepherd’s purse she’d already gnawed down to the roots. Gentry’s back prickled, waiting for Pearl to say something about the preserves or the candle, but her sister remained quiet, and Gentry offered silent thanks to the Lord. They got into the wagon seat and drove to the back of the store, where Mr. Olson’s “lazy son,” a few years Gentry’s junior, loaded the hay bales with a cross expression. Gentry thanked him and hurried Bounder home, eager to be within her own walls once more. At least there were beans and carrots that survived the desert heat, flash flood, and locusts. At least they had those, however far Gentry could stretch them.

  Gentry pulled the canvas bag over her shoulder after setting the brake for the wagon—they’d leave the hay for Rooster to move when he got home. Sliding to the ground, she said, “Pearl, I need you to dig up the potato bed and see if anything’s salvageable, then replant half of what is.”

  Pearl hopped down from her seat and wiped her brow. “Can I do it tonight? It’s so hot, Gentry.”

  “Please, Pearl.”

  Pearl sighed. “Fine, but I’m wearing your sun hat to do it.”

  Gentry didn’t protest. Patting Bounder’s nose—she’d unhitch the horse and let her graze what she could after putting the groceries away—she hurried into the house, out of the hot sun. She’d only just unloaded the bag when she heard the distinct sound of vomiting behind her.

  Turning around, Gentry said, “Pearl?” But her sister was just coming through the door, right as rain.

  Gentry set down the brown thread and hurried into the bedroom. The smell of vomit pierced her nostrils. Rooster lay on his belly across Pa’s old bed, his head and shoulders off the mattress. A bowl quarter-filled with bile rested on the floor.

  “Oh Rooster.” Gentry hurried to his side. He still had his work pants on, and his shirt was unbuttoned. Sweat slicked back his dark hair, and his skin was white and clammy. “When did you get home?”

  Rooster groaned and rested his head on the edge of the thin mattress. “I don’t know. An hour . . .”

  He jerked back to the bowl and dry heaved twice before sour-smelling bile dripped from his lips. Gentry hurried back to the kitchen, passing Pearl, who stood in the doorway, and filled a cup with water. She offered it to Rooster, who managed a sip.

  “Is he all right?” Pearl asked.

  Gentry put her hand on his forehead. Clammy, but too warm. “It’s not something you ate,” she murmured, “or we’d all be sick. Oh Rooster.” She felt the lightness of the wallet still in her pocket. Her stomach tightened. They had nothing in the house to help him. “Pearl, can you take the thread back to Mr. Olson and get some peppermint water?”

  Rooster blinked heavy lids for a moment before grumbling, “I don’t need it.” He dry heaved again, nearly spilling the cup of water in his hands.

  Gentry frowned and tried to rub smooth the tense muscles in her brother’s back. “I can pull threads from old clothes. Pearl?”

  Pearl nodded and hurried back through the house. Moments later, Gentry heard Bounder take off in the direction of the mercantile.

  “I’m sorry,” Rooster grumbled, planting his face into the mattress. “I tried to—”

  “You can’t do anything when you’re sick like this,” she said. “Try to sip some water.” Gentry gingerly picked up the bowl of vomit and walked it outside to the outhouse, dumping its contents down the deep hole there. Rooster was heaving again when she got back, and she barely got the bowl under him in time to save the floor from his retching.

  “Do you want some broth?” she offered.

  Rooster groaned.

  She unclipped his suspenders from the back of his trousers. Rooster slapped her hands away.

  “I’m too old to be undressed by my sister.” Half of his words gurgled. “I’ll . . . survive.”

  Gentry stood and put her hands on her hips. “You’d survive better if it weren’t so damned hot.” She moved to the window and coaxed the pane open, hoping to get something of a breeze passing through the house. She wet a rag and set it on her brother’s head, then placed a pot of water on the stove for vegetable broth, just in case. The beans and carrots would be just right for that.

  Less than an hour later, Pearl rode to the house and, cheeks flushed, delivered the bottle of peppermint water. Gentry handed her a spoon and the broth and left her tending Rooster. Gnawing on a piece of bread, Gentry tidied the house and went through the mending pile, trying to find something not worth salvaging that she might harvest for thread. She ultimately decided on her old dress—Hannah had just given her a new one, besides. The threads were thin and short, but they would do.

  When Pearl emerged from the room with the peppermint water and half a bowl of broth, Gentry said, “Let’s get the bales moved.”

  Pearl nodded without comment.

  The work wasn’t too bad with both of them heaving. Bounder grazed what she could before Gentry got her back in the shade of her stable. She unhitched the small tub from its hook on the wall and brought it inside. She and Pearl took turns fetching water until the thing was filled enough for baths.

  With Rooster occupying the bedroom, Gentry strung two blankets around a corner of the house for privacy. She let Pearl bathe first so she could get supper started. A little early in the day for a bath, but they were both hot and sweaty, and the cool water would do Rooster good when he woke. Gentry set to making the vegetable broth into a heartier soup. When Pearl was dry and dressed, Gentry took her turn in the cool water. Her body ached for her to just sit in it, maybe even sleep in it, but she scrubbed quickly with the new, unscented soap and got out, putting on her other dress so she could wash the first. The table was set by the time Rooster woke. He managed to walk to the tub without emptying the meager contents of his stomach, which Gentry took for a good sign. Uninterested in supper, he went back to bed with a cup of water.

  Gentry stayed up late, wanting to get a start on the laundry since they had the tub ready. The night was warm, so she left the windows open, though the one Winn had made couldn’t close anyway. She thought of him, wondering where he was now. Did he go back to visit the Hagree? Did another earthly ailment demand his attention? He had little to no gold left, unless he returned to the fallen geyser in hopes of retrieving
it. Gentry wondered if his seagulls simply scouted for gold and brought it to him, but then he wouldn’t need the odd jobs he’d spoken of. As far as she knew, all his earrings came from the generosity of his foster family—the Indians dwelling to the west.

  Leaving her laundry to soak and her candle to flicker, Gentry crossed the small living space and rested her elbows on the rock wall of her father’s house, looking into the indigo sky. Crickets amid the crops sang to the warm air. The breeze smelled clean. Not rain clean like Virginia, but clean in the way only wide open spaces untouched by people could smell.

  Closing her eyes, Gentry let herself dream. Let herself reminisce on the touch of Winn’s warm hand against her neck and the taste of his lips. Let her body shiver. Let her heart thrill without berating it.

  For the first time since leaving Virginia, Gentry felt true hope. Hope that things might come around, that her family could be happy and whole, that her future might be bright. Bright as the veins that lit up Winn’s hands. She opened her eyes and let out a breath, wishing on a shooting star she couldn’t see. One of the mountains far off shimmered, and as Gentry’s eyes adjusted, she saw movement above them—shapeless beings dancing and swirling around one another, celebrating the quiet of the night and the music of the insects. She watched them, mesmerized. She didn’t hear Rooster approach until he spoke.

  “Late nights are normal for you,” he said.

  Gentry turned, studying her brother against the single lit candle within their home. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Not great, but better.”

  She smiled, then had a thought. “Come here, to the window.”

  He did. “Something out there?”

  “Look there.” Gentry pointed to the enlivened peak in the San Pitches. She unclasped the necklace from her neck and pooled its chain into her brother’s palm. She held onto the locket. “Keep watching.”

  Rooster blinked, searching. After a moment he said, “What is that?”