Veins of Gold

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  “I . . .” Ira’s expression drooped. “I’m sorry, lass. What was your name again? Mary?”

  “Gentry.” Only she answered this time.

  He nodded. “Bit masculine, isn’t it?”

  Winn’s lip quirked at that.

  “Don’t know if you need it, but you’ve my blessing, son.” Ira scrunched handfuls of his blanket. “I don’t know if you want it, but you have it. I don’t suspect you’ll be sticking around, but these bones of mine aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. You know where to find me.”

  Winn nodded. “Thank you.”

  Ira smiled before addressing Gentry. “I hear this is your doing.”

  “Not really,” she said.

  “Modest.” Ira nodded. “If Winn is anything like his boyhood self, he’ll need a modest woman.”

  Gentry smiled. “I don’t have any concerns.”

  They stood there in silence a moment before Winn met Gentry’s eyes. There was a sadness in his gaze, a sort of resignation. Gentry squeezed his hand and eased him toward the door. Best to go while Ira’s wits were strong.

  As she touched the doorknob, however, Ira said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, boy.”

  There was clarity to his voice. He didn’t look at them, but at his aged hands. “Thought I could do something good with the loss.” His voice caught a little, but he didn’t cough this time. “Was heartbroken. I loved her. I thought, maybe, if I could do good with what she’d left behind, I wouldn’t feel so . . . empty.”

  His eyes glistened, and he rubbed them with both fists for longer than what could be comfortable. When he pulled his hands away, he seemed mesmerized by his own fingers—or perhaps by the raised, blue veins beneath them. When he looked over again, his brow scrunched, gaze narrowing in on Winn. “Are you the new doctor? You look like my brother.”

  To her surprise, Winn nodded. “You’re doing well, Ira. Best to get some rest.”

  Ira confirmed the assessment by settling back down against his pillow.

  Twilight encompassed the sky when Winn and Gentry left the house, both of them silent. It was late now and would be even later by the time they returned to Salt Lake City. Hopefully, none of her neighbors would notice. Perhaps it was for the best that Rooster lived in his own place too.

  The earth rumbled again, and Winn paused, taking Gentry’s forearm in his hand to steady her. But, like before, the quake was gentle and ended quickly. Winn frowned, turning west—toward California. It was while watching his taut expression that Gentry had a thought.

  “That’s it,” she whispered.

  Winn turned back to her. “What?”

  “The mining,” she said. “We can’t stop the mining. But maybe . . . maybe we can fix things from the other end.” She considered. Gentry was still unfamiliar with all aspects of magic, but if there was any way to—

  Winn’s knuckle under her chin drew her from her thoughts. “What are you thinking?”

  She was thinking of Ira. “We could make them forget. Not everything is magically awake. The bits of earth upset by the mining are, though. But what if they were to . . . sleep, like the rest of the world? Would the quakes and the storms and the geysers stop?”

  Winn blinked at her, a slew of emotions crossing his face. Confusion, calculation, sadness. She recognized that last one the best. If all the earth went to sleep, there would be no magic left for those who knew its secrets.

  Still, he answered, “Maybe. Maybe, Gentry. I . . . I’d have to talk to the Hagree.” He turned away from her, deep in thought. Gentry didn’t dare interrupt him, even when a minute passed, then another. Finally he said, “I should talk to the Hagree. Soon. Tomorrow.”

  Gentry ached to go with him, but she knew being away another day—possibly more—would hurt Pearl, and likely her own reputation. As they walked away from the town, to a place where distance and darkness would cover the tornado of Winn’s birds, Gentry held fast to his hand and simmered in his unusual silence. Perhaps she should have waited to tell him her idea; he’d had too much placed on his shoulders for one evening, and even now he walked away from a father who, though sincere in his regret, struggled to remember him.

  They reached tall grasses near a winding stream, and once the seagulls flocked and spun them into the air, Gentry held Winn in her arms and kissed away his sorrows, their night-clasped journey illuminated by veins of gold.

  “You can’t add lace!” Gentry blurted as Carolyn, holding two pins between her lips, sorted through her basket of sewing supplies for trimming. Hannah, Rachel planted firmly on her hip, grinned and swayed to keep the baby happy.

  “You don’t like lace?” Hannah asked, an amused glint to her eye.

  Gentry turned on the stool she stood on, dressed in her half-finished wedding dress. It was a simple design with long sleeves despite the summer heat and a high neckline that closed with a small white button. Carolyn had just been pinning the hem when Hannah made her extravagant suggestion.

  “It’s too much,” Gentry insisted. “You’ve already done too much for us.” Rooster had been able to purchase the fabric for the dress—a soft white cotton—and the Hinkles had jumped at the chance to help her sew it. Winn was to start work in the quarry this week . . . once he returned. He’d been gone three days already. What if the earth had leapt from its rest and swallowed him up and Gentry was debating the use of lace she’d never get to wear?

  Her heart sank.

  “My goodness, we don’t have to use lace.” Hannah’s amusement died as she took in Gentry’s face. “I just thought it would be nice. It’s not terribly fancy lace. Homemade—”

  “Sorry, sorry.” Gentry shook her worries free. “I was thinking of something else.”

  Hannah offered a sympathetic nod. “They’ll hold the job for him.”

  That wasn’t what Gentry was worried about.

  “Hm.” Carolyn had found the thin strip of lace in question and pulled it from the basket. “I don’t think there’s enough for the skirt, but maybe the sleeves?”

  The door opened just then, and Pearl, her cheeks flushed with exercise, stumbled in. She opened her mouth to speak, then looked her sister up and down. “Oh my! You look like a princess!”

  Gentry half successfully hid a smile. “It’s just like my other dresses, just white.”

  “Is not,” Hannah countered, gesturing to Pearl. “Look at the extra panels in the skirt. Doesn’t it make it look so full?”

  Pearl nodded. “I can’t wait until I’m married.”

  Hannah snorted and switched Rachel to her other hip. “Soon enough, soon enough.”

  Carolyn stepped over to Gentry, holding the lovely off-white lace up to the dress’s sleeve. “What’s got you running?”

  “Oh.” Pearl straightened. “Winn’s back.”

  “He is?” Gentry nearly fell off the stool. Jumping down, she fumbled with the buttons on the back of her dress. “Carolyn, help, please.”

  Hannah laughed. “He’s not going anywhere.”

  But Gentry shook her head. “I have to talk to him. Pearl, can you get my dress? In the corner?”

  Pearl spun around until she located Gentry’s dress. Gentry shimmied out of the wedding gown and threw her old clothes on.

  “I’ll start on the hem,” Carolyn said, “but we need another fitting tonight!”

  “Thank you!” Gentry pecked Pearl on the head with a kiss and rushed from the small apartment in the back of the Hinkle Printing Press, nearly tripping on a loose toddler as she went. Both Carolyn and Hannah had kindly come to Salt Lake City to aid in wedding preparations. It wasn’t until Gentry burst outside into the cooler desert air that she realized she hadn’t asked just where Winn was.

  Probably at her and Pearl’s shared apartment. Unless he’d gone back to the cabin he and Rooster had started building. No, the little apartment. That was more sensible.

  She ran in that direction, absently noting the glimmer in a nearby shrub that whispered of one of her locusts. She offered a brief greeting t
o two women she passed on her way and nearly hanged herself on the clothesline she’d set out that morning.

  Winn sat on her porch eating a peach.

  Gentry stumbled to a stop in front of him, catching her breath. “You’re all right.” He offered her a small smile, then his peach, which she waved away. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Inside.” He tipped his head toward the door. He stood, and Gentry followed him into the small kitchen where they all dined every morning. Winn leaned against the table.

  “They’re taking it to the keepers,” he said once Gentry closed the door.

  “The keepers? Who?”

  Winn shook his head. “I admit even I’m not sure. I’ve heard them mentioned once or twice before, but Waga never took me to meet them and never explained in detail. I don’t know how much he himself knows.” He set the half-eaten peach down and folded his arms. “I’m sorry I didn’t send a bird. They talked for a long time.”

  “Did they agree?”

  Winn nodded. “Waga believes it will create a rippling effect. With enough gold, we command something to sleep, and the effect will spread outward, eventually covering the entire planet. Faster with elements directly tied to the earth—rocks, rivers, trees. And faster, the more ripples we make. But the Hagree must take it to the keepers—the ones who first gave them the secrets to magic. They’ll have the final call. Until then, we wait.”

  Gentry pressed her lips together and took Winn’s hand. “I’m sorry, Winn.”

  He offered her a small, sad smile. “It won’t hurt them, forgetting. It simply breaks their ties with man.”

  “Your seagulls—”

  “It’s likely they won’t forget before our lives are through, so Waga believes.” He tightened his grasp and pulled Gentry close to him, wrapping her in his arms. He smelled like the desert mixed with butternut. Gentry settled herself against the crook of his neck. “In the end, it will help a lot of people.”

  “I’m still sorry.”

  “I’m not.” He pulled back just enough to see her face. His eyes sparkled with remnants of gold. “There’s too much good in my life to be sorry.”

  She smiled. Kissed him chastely on the lips.

  He kissed her again on the forehead. “I suppose I should report to the quarry. A few weeks there, and I might win the next stick pull.”

  She laughed. And realized Winn was right. They had too many blessings to be sorrowful over the loss of one. Still, Gentry wished she could change the world to fit Winn’s desires. Wished she could show it the unseen wonders that lurked in the sky and the mountains. Wished she could make every last miner in California listen.

  Then again, if they were anything like her pa, they wouldn’t.

  One Month Later

  A seagull squawked somewhere outside—likely perched on the eaves of this house or the next, since there wasn’t an abundance of trees near the small two-room cabin. Gentry rolled over in her bed and pressed her face into her pillow, stray hairs from her braid tickling her cheek. Beside her, the mattress shifted, and a breath later, warm fingers brushed the strands behind her ear. She curled into the touch until lips pressed against her forehead, convincing her to open her eyes.

  Winn loomed over her, propped up on one elbow. His mussed blond hair looked soft in the blue, predawn light seeping through the curtains of their new home. He must have woken earlier, for he wore a loose linen shirt. He hadn’t worn one when they’d fallen asleep yesterday, nor the night before, after their small, blissful wedding.

  He swept more hair from her face, letting his fingers linger on her jaw. Gentry lifted her hand from the blankets and twined her fingers with his, smiling against his mouth when he leaned down to kiss her.

  When they broke apart, he whispered, “It’s time.”

  It took Gentry a moment to understand his meaning. She thought of the seagull outside her window; Winn’s normally didn’t make a peep until well into the morning, per Winn’s request. The sad glint had returned to her husband’s gaze as well, one she hadn’t seen in his light brown orbs in weeks.

  She sat up. The sleeve of her nightgown slipped over her shoulder, but she didn’t bother to fix it. “You’ve heard from the Hagree.”

  He nodded. “I hope you’re up for a little travel. The sooner, the better.”

  Once the birds set her down, Gentry took in the smattering of ponds, their grayish water reflecting the pale blue of the October sky. She wouldn’t have recognized the place had Winn not told her the name. The Egret—the same place the geysers had so angrily lashed out at them, driven to madness by the never-ending gold mining. It looked different in the light of day.

  The waters were eerily calm, the place too quiet. Even the seagulls didn’t rustle so much as a feather. It was as if the place knew what was about to happen, knew Winn and Gentry had come to release it from its magic. At least, any magic that could be manipulated by man. Even the breeze held its breath.

  The Hagree’s messengers, a small herd of deer, had brought with them hewn nuggets of gold, unpolished and uncut, still mixed with the earth from whence they’d been taken. Whether these had been in the Hagree’s stores or taken from the mining in California, Gentry wasn’t sure, but it was enough to bespell the Egret waters and a few more places. They would start here, then move out, causing ripple after ripple until the gold ran out and the earth, slowly, settled into a peaceful slumber.

  Winn’s hand pressed against the small of her back. She turned to him, but his eyes—burning gold from the magic that had brought them here—watched the waters. Leaning into him, she asked, “Do you want me to do it?”

  He blinked, the spell between him and the ponds broken. “No, I should.” He offered her a small smile, then retrieved two larger nuggets from their bag of gold. Gold that could buy them a great deal of comfort, if they wanted it.

  Winn approached the first pond, one of the largest. A locust landed on Gentry’s shoulder, buzzing a peculiar song.

  “We won’t forget,” she whispered to it. “I promise.”

  Its antennae tickled her neck.

  Winn dropped the nuggets into the pond, and Gentry saw magic tint the air: a shimmer of knowing, almost pearlescent.

  “I command you to rest.” Winn’s voice carried on the whist air, strong and clear. “To recede from the minds of mankind. To recover from your wounds and your strife. Forget your bonds and your oaths, and be at peace.”

  Even in the bright morning light, Gentry could see a faint gold glow tracing Winn’s arms. The pond shimmered as if in response, and the glow died away, first from the pond at Winn’s feet, then the one to its right, its left, until Gentry could see no trace of magic from the waters, only that which hovered around the gulls and her locust companion.

  Pressure laced the air to the east. Gentry turned, scanning the endless sky. Something else was upset. Something beyond this territory.

  Winn’s fingers laced with hers. He seemed to be at peace, just as the waters that surrounded them.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  Gentry nodded, and the seagulls leapt to the air around them, flying in unison, building a torrent that would whisk them to their next destination. But regardless of where they would go or when the earth forgot its ties to man, Gentry knew one thing for sure.

  With Winn beside her, she would never be without magic in her life.

  Author’s Note

  There’s an old writing adage that says write what you know. This time around, I took that advice to heart. Having been born and raised both in Utah and as a Latter-day Saint (LDS or Mormon), I determined my own home would make a good setting for the type of story I wanted to tell. Fiction revolving around the California Gold Rush is not rare, but telling it outside of California makes this novel a little different (that and the birds that turn into a house).

  I strove for more historical accuracy in this book than in others I’ve published, but to make the story I want to tell work, I played around with a few things. One of these is the yea
r the story takes place—or, rather, the vagueness of the year. I intentionally left the year off the letters in this book so I wouldn’t have to nitpick between things that happened in 1851 versus 1852, and so on. The California Gold Rush spans the years of 1848–1855; this book nestles within that time period.

  Another sleight of hand in this tale is the city names. Originally, Gentry’s story happened in the town of Fountain Green. However, after finding some contradicting information, I determined to make her town fictional and name it Dry Creek—an apt name for the home of anyone who’s ever lived in the second driest state in the nation. The second is American Fork, which during this time period was called Lake City. However, having both a Lake City and a Salt Lake City in the same book got to be confusing, so while American Fork was not called such until 1860, for the sake of simplicity, I pretended that was the name it was originally incorporated as.

  I also want to take a moment to discuss two cultures alluded to in this novel, the first being the “Hagree.” I have always loved Native American culture; I studied Native American literature during my undergrad at Brigham Young University. Given that Utah Territory was vastly unsettled by Westerners, I knew Native Americans were to be part of this story, and I wanted to tie them to Winn’s past. I did not, however, want to assign fictional lore to any real Native tribe, and so I created my own. The Hagree are entirely fictional and are not intentionally based on any existing Native American peoples.

  The other culture referenced is that of the early LDS Church. Some pioneer history is intertwined in Gentry’s hope to sell china to the Mormons for their temple (which was completed in 1893 and took forty years to build). The first LDS temple, built in Kirtland, Ohio, before the pioneers’ journey to Utah, used broken glass, pottery, and (mythed) fine china in the building’s stucco. Kate Ensign-Lewis’s article “3 Myths About the Early Church You Thought Were True” on LDS Living does a great job of describing what may or may not have been used in the building of the Kirtland Temple.1