Veins of Gold

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Rooster shrugged. “Everyone’s going out to California. Not like the companies are desperate for workers. Companies save every cent they can. It’s about profit, Gen.”

  Gentry scanned the numbers and tapped her pencil against her lips. “We won’t have much to harvest that early.”

  Pearl said, “Maybe we can ask Hannah.”

  Gentry shut the ledger. “We’re not going to ask Hannah.”

  Hannah Hinkle, that was. One of the Mormons up north in American Fork. The one who had found Gentry sobbing on the side of the road as she struggled to find a family for the half brother her father didn’t want. Though she was barely older than Gentry, she had adopted little Caleb and had kept in touch with the family ever since.

  Gentry knew that if she asked Hannah for assistance, Hannah would do everything she could to help. Too much, even. But no. They hadn’t come to that. Yet.

  “They’ll take the china,” Rooster said.

  Gentry turned toward him.

  “The Mormons, I mean,” he explained. “Some of the other hands were talking about it. They’re taking ceramics and gold and the like for that big temple they’re building in Salt Lake City. We could probably sell to them.”

  “Ma’s china.” Gentry’s stomach loosened a little.

  “What? No!” Pearl objected. “That was Ma’s. And Grandma’s. We can’t get rid of it.”

  “We don’t use it, Pearl.” Gentry hated the way her voice begged.

  “We do at Christmas,” she protested.

  “We don’t need it,” Rooster said.

  “It’s good china too,” Gentry added, more to her brother than her sister. “It’s gold-rimmed.” Leaf-thin, but that had to be worth something. “Hannah would know where to take it.”

  Pearl’s eyebrows nearly crossed, she scrunched them so tightly. “Why don’t you sell them your necklace too, if we need so much money?”

  Gentry’s fingers immediately went to the empty locket around her neck, its heart-shaped pendant and fine chain. She didn’t know how many carats the thing was, but it didn’t matter. Her ma had given this to her as she lay on the birthing bed, bleeding out her life. Gentry didn’t care if it were made of diamonds, they couldn’t be desperate enough to sell it, even to the highest bidders.

  No, not that. She pulled her hand away. Not yet.

  Gentry sighed. “You can come with me, Pearl. We can head up tomorrow, even. Look around town. Visit Caleb.”

  Frowning, Pearl nodded and went to pull the cast iron cooking pot out of the coals. Cornbread and gravy from yesterday’s chicken tonight. Tomorrow, Gentry would boil the carcass and scrape every last fiber of meat from its bones. It should make enough soup for three.

  “How much do you think we can get?” Gentry asked her brother.

  Rooster shrugged. “As much as you can squeeze out of them.”

  “We can sew,” Pearl suggested as Bounder made her slow trot over the narrow dirt roads north. “Sew some dresses and bonnets, sell them.”

  Gentry tugged the reins slightly right, steering Bounder and their wagon around a depression in the road. “Every woman knows how to sew.” She took a deep breath in an attempt to tame the nerves that had been brewing in her stomach all day. One day to get to Hannah’s, albeit unannounced, and one day to get to Salt Lake City. Would it be worth the trip? “I don’t think there’d be a demand for anything we piece together, not out here.” In Virginia, maybe. But all the women in Utah Territory were homebodies with dozens of children, and they sewed every piece of clothing they wore. “We couldn’t afford the fabric, anyway.”

  “We could open a hotel.”

  Gentry laughed. “Oh Pearl, that’s a wonderful idea, but we don’t have enough money to buy the sheets for one bed, let alone to build an entire building full of them. Someday, maybe.”

  With all the miners heading west for gold, they’d certainly get plenty of customers. She wondered where their pa had slept last night. Had he found a house or barn to lay his head, or did he camp out in the rough beside Rose? Gentry doubted there were many hotels between Dry Creek and San Francisco.

  If only she could muster the same confidence her father had.

  They rode for a few hours in silence clipped by bursts of conversation, stopping once while Pearl relieved herself behind some sagebrush. As they neared the squeeze between the two mountain ranges, Pearl asked, “What’s that smell?”

  Gentry hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, but when she sniffed, she smelled it too. Something like rotten eggs. She scanned their arid surroundings. There were no villages or farms here, just a long, horse-pounded dirt road. “I don’t know. A skunk?”

  Bounder shook her head, uneasy.

  “It doesn’t smell like a skunk.”

  No, it didn’t. Sweat slicked Gentry’s palms.

  The smell grew stronger until it filled the air all around the wagon, and Gentry couldn’t turn her nose from it. The air felt hotter too. She inched closer to Pearl.

  They came around a bend, and a burst of steam from the road ahead made Gentry jump in her seat, half a cry escaping her lips.

  “Whoa!” She jerked back on Bounder’s reins.

  Pearl stood on the wagon seat. “What in the . . . ?”

  Gentry stared ahead as another, smaller burst—a geyser—erupted from the road ahead of them. The earth had sunk into small craters, and in many of them glowed bright blue or yellow water. Unnatural colors that weren’t a mere reflection of the sky. The awful, rotting smell wafting from the pits burned her eyes and nose. Bounder hoofed the ground. She’d never seen—or smelled—the like.

  Gentry stood in the wagon seat, careful with her balance, to get a better look. The steaming pools ate up the entire road and stretched out into the wild clear to the Wasatch Mountains on one side and a good mile or so toward the large lake on the other. Gentry had heard stories of acidic geysers in the unorganized territory north of them, but nothing in the Utah lands. And certainly not on this road—Gentry had been up and down its length a dozen times.

  One of the pools began to bubble.

  Pearl, with her sleeve over her nose, said, “We have to go back.”

  Gnawing on her lip, Gentry looked over her shoulder to the box of china sitting in the wagon bed. They were almost to American Fork, but she wouldn’t dare put her sister’s life in peril.

  “No.” She sat down and tugged on Pearl’s skirt until her sister did the same. “It’s all right . . . if we leave it alone, it will leave us alone.”

  “It stinks.”

  “We’ll go around.”

  “There’s no road. What if it goes out to the lake?”

  “I don’t think it does . . . and the ground is flat enough.” The dry earth was speckled with sagebrush, a few trees making their stand here and there. Her eyes found a smooth enough path through it; they’d just need to backtrack a little.

  Clicking her tongue, Gentry turned Bounder around, moving them at a trot until she pulled off the road. She didn’t want to break a wheel or hurt the horse’s legs. This would have to be slow.

  “I wish Pa were here,” Pearl muttered.

  “Me too.” Gentry tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in her gut. “Me too.”

  The ground was fairly level, and both Bounder and the wagon had little problem navigating it. However, to Gentry’s dismay, the safe path was a long one, and the strange pools stretched farther north than she thought. By the time she turned the wagon back toward the road, the heavy sun sat on the Oquirrh Mountains’ peaks.

  Bounder snorted, shook her long mane, and planted her hooves.

  “C’mon girl, just a little farther,” Gentry prodded, snapping the reins. Bounder moved forward a few steps, then stopped again, hoofing the ground. Gentry’s insides twisted into a tight cord that made her shiver. Please, just go. Please don’t make this harder.

  She could do this. They were almost there. She could lead them to American Fork, sell the china, and make it back in good time. They would b
e all right.

  Gentry could be mother and father, just for a little while.

  “She’s tired,” Pearl said.

  “No, it’s not that.” Gentry worried her lip. “C’mon, girl.” She shook the reins, almost whipping them. “Giddyup.”

  Bounder took one step, then backtracked two, straining against her trace.

  Gentry clenched her jaw. Glanced to the sun. They could still make it in time. Going back wasn’t an option anymore.

  She stopped chewing her lip—not in front of Pearl—and handed her sister the reins.

  “But—”

  “It’s fine,” Gentry assured her, sliding down from the seat. “Keep your eye ahead in case there’s a dip or something I don’t see.”

  “What about Indians?”

  “There are no Indians around here,” she promised, though she found herself scanning the Oquirrhs just in case. Everything had begun to grow shadows. Swallowing, she grabbed Bounder’s bridle and tugged her forward.

  “Come on, it’s safe.” Gentry gave it a few good tugs. Bounder took a step forward, then another, at least somewhat content to use Gentry as a shield against whatever had spooked her. There were no wolves in these parts, and she heard no rattlesnakes, but maybe the mare had smelled a mountain lion . . .

  Gentry tugged harder, urging the horse back toward the road.

  The sky betrayed her, and the sun set faster than it ought to. The mountains cast their great lumbering shadows over the desert. If Gentry reached the road, they could make it to Hannah’s before too long, even if they had to ride in the dark.

  Pearl lit their lamp and hung it off the side of the wagon as the last dregs of sunlight guided their path.

  Gentry tripped, but when she looked back, the ground was smooth, free even of weeds.

  Hot air puffed from Bounder’s nostrils. Gentry rubbed her nose before grabbing the noseband of the bridle and tugging the horse forward.

  Gentry stumbled again.

  “Gentry—”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No. I think,” Pearl squeaked, “I think it’s moving.”

  “What’s moving?”

  But then Gentry saw it—saw sagebrush bob like kelp on the sea, the soft movement before a wave came in. The brush farther out bobbed first, then closer, closer.

  Bounder tore her bridle from Gentry’s hands and reared. Pearl screamed.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” Gentry cried, sidestepping to avoid dancing hooves. A soft cracking like a newly fed fire reached her ears, and the ground waved beneath her feet and the wagon. She faltered and grabbed Bounder’s trace.

  “Gentry!” Pearl cried.

  “Hold on!” The ground rippled. Gentry’s heart lodged against the back of her tongue, hammering, mad. The earth gurgled. She groped for the wagon. She had to get to Pearl.

  Bounder whinnied and reared again. She teetered to one side. The trace bowed as the wagon tipped.

  Pearl screamed and grabbed the wagon’s side.

  A loud crash sounded as the box of china slid from the wagon bed and toppled to the ground.

  “No!” Gentry cried as Bounder found her footing, righting the wagon. Gentry leaned hard into the horse, the ground bubbling more and more, bucking as though water boiled beneath it. Gentry scrambled for the back of the wagon. “Hold her!” she shouted.

  “I’m trying!” Pearl scrambled for the reins.

  Pieces of gold-rimmed china lay scattered over the earth. Gentry lunged for them, picking up the shards.

  The desert opened a fist-sized mouth and swallowed one of them.

  Gentry’s eyes bugged. Her pulse radiated in her skull.

  The ground bucked again and sucked on her knees.

  She screamed.

  “Gentry!” Pearl called.

  “Get off me!” Gentry cried, swiping at the rippling dust. She tried to stand, but a new wave hit, knocking her onto all fours. Her fingers slipped into the loosening earth. Bounder whinnied in her ears.

  More pieces of china sank into the soil.

  Then the soil reached up and grabbed her.

  Cool tendrils like uneven fingers scraped across her neck, wrapping around the necklace there. Gentry screamed and beat at it, turning the earthy limb back to dust. A new hand came up, grabbing the heart-shaped pendant. The chain snapped under the weight.

  Pearl screamed. The wagon shot toward Gentry—

  Another arm wrapped around Gentry’s waist, but when Gentry struck it, it remained solid. She lurched backward as the wagon rolled over the spot where she had been, crunching another china plate under its wheel. The dirt claw around her necklace disintegrated, raining earth over the front of Gentry’s blouse, leaving the broken chain in her fist.

  Finding purchase beneath her feet, Gentry pulled from the new grip and turned to see a man—a man who shone, gold, lightning-shaped lines tracing his neck. She blinked, and the patterns vanished.

  He looked down at her with gold eyes and smiled. “You’ll be all right. Hold on.”

  “My sister!” she cried.

  He released her and grabbed the back of the wagon, stumbling over the rocking earth. He stretched his left hand out toward the ground, and for a moment Gentry thought she saw it again on his forearm—zigzagging lines of golden light—but they vanished as quickly as they came.

  The earth belched and stilled.

  “Easy, girl.” The man jogged to Bounder. Gentry moved to stop him—the mare was still spooked—but he uttered something under his breath that pricked the horse’s ears. She held still, and he pressed his nose to hers, speaking in low tones Gentry couldn’t decipher. The mare huffed but was content enough to listen.

  Gentry clutched her necklace and stared at him. Stared at the quieted desert. In the distance, a cricket chirped.

  “Pearl,” she whispered, running on shaky legs to the wagon seat. “Pearl, are you all right?”

  Her sister still held the reins, her knuckles white and hands quivering. She met Gentry’s eyes and gave a firm nod.

  “Thank you,” Gentry said to the man by Bounder. The light was dim, but he appeared young, though older than her by a handful of years. “I—”

  A seagull squawked, avoiding her feet. Gentry started. A seagull out here, at night?

  It wasn’t alone. Several of the large, white-and-gray birds lingered around the site, their wings folded back, their webbed feet clumsy against the rocky earth. Many of them studied her, cocking their heads this way and that. There had to be at least two dozen of them.

  “You’ll be fine now. Though I highly recommend taking the road.” The man patted Bounder between the eyes.

  Gentry studied him—what features she could see between the twilight and the lantern. He was about Hoss’s height and had golden hair swept back from his face. His eyes weren’t as golden as she’d thought, but close. The color of browning butter. He wore a simple white shirt and black slacks, but she noticed gold studs in his ears—three in one lobe, four in the other. She’d never seen someone with piercings like that, and certainly not a man.

  He grinned at her.

  “I-I was,” she stuttered, “but . . . the road. There are pools all along it—acidic pools that steam and spray water—”

  She thought he’d think her mad, but he merely rubbed his chin and looked toward the Wasatch Mountains. Toward the road. “You don’t say? That’s quite a problem. Best be on your way before full night falls. The road is just ahead.”

  “It’s—” Gentry began, but as her eyes moved past her savior, she saw the road. Downhill a little, but she saw the two lines formed by wagon tracks and a few lights in the distance—American Fork.

  “But I swear it wasn’t so close.” She jumped as the seagulls around the wagon all took off at once, a spray of feathers and squawks. Gentry shied from them, watching their ascent into the indigo sky. When she looked back, the man was gone.

  She turned on her heel, scanning the shadowed area.

  “Where did he go?” Pearl asked, relaxing her grip
on the reins.

  “I . . . don’t know.” Gentry held her broken necklace in her shaking hand for a moment before pocketing it. Taking several deep breaths, she tried to piece her thoughts together, but they were as broken as the china.

  The china. Gentry returned to the back of the wagon and frantically began sifting through the dirt for fragments. How many of the plates had broken? She thought she saw a shadow move in the corner of her vision and started, but when she turned, there was nothing there.

  She needed to get Pearl to Hannah’s.

  Dropping the china fragments into the box of plates, she gritted her teeth, forbidding herself to cry. Not now. Not in front of Pearl.

  “All right,” she said, but the word was airy against the lump forming in her throat. She hefted the box back into the wagon. “Let’s go.”

  As she came around to the wagon seat, she looked back into the bewildering darkness and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Lanterns, lamps, and candles alike chased away darkness in clumps from American Fork. The hum of people moving between homes and talking low buzzed like tired insects. It made Gentry nostalgic for Virginia and its fireflies.

  “They must have felt the shake,” Gentry murmured to Pearl, leading Bounder and their wagon up a dirt road. Her hands trembled, but she tried to still them for her sister’s sake.

  She saw a man being carried from his house by two others, who supported one of his legs. The glow of a lantern shimmered on wetness on his trousers. Blood.

  Gentry urged Bounder forward. Oh God, please let the Hinkles be all right. Please let them be unscathed. If they were hurt, or worse . . .

  Gentry held her breath. Caleb.

  The house appeared quickly, and Gentry pulled Bounder before it and threw the brake of the wagon. The lights were on within. There was no damage on the outside that Gentry could see through the dark, but that did little to settle her.

  “Pearl, hurry,” she urged, trudging to the house. She knocked on the door until her knuckles hurt.

  Carolyn Hinkle, Hannah’s sister-wife, answered. No sign of injury. Gentry sighed.