Veins of Gold

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  “I thought you could use a break.” Winn perched beside her. “That was mostly greetings and the equivalent of small talk. And asking who you were.” He nudged her.

  Gentry smiled. “It’s all very . . . different.”

  “I should have given you better warning. I forget that this is bizarre to other people.”

  Shaking her head, Gentry said, “Not bizarre, just different. I’ve never been somewhere where no one speaks English.”

  “The younger kids do, but we’re not well acquainted.”

  Gentry rubbed her hands together, checking for splinters, before folding them in her lap. She glanced back toward the village. A few Hagree girls clustered behind a hanging pronghorn hide, peering out at her and giggling.

  She turned her attention to Winn before the giggles made her self-conscious. “How long has it been since you lived here?”

  “I left the first time when I was nearly sixteen.” He looked at her hands, then his. “Not this spot exactly; they move around a bit.”

  Gentry studied his face, the line of his jaw and the shape of his nose. One of his studs had returned to his right ear. She recalled Saleli taking his hand. Had she given the stud to him? “The first time?”

  He smiled, but there wasn’t much brightness to it.

  Gentry touched her necklace. “When I first met you—well, the second time—you told me there was a long story about all of this.”

  “Mm,” he agreed, setting his hands on the log behind him and leaning back. “I mentioned my father was a medicinal scientist, yes?”

  Gentry nodded.

  Winn stared out into the trees. “We found this tribe when I was Pearl’s age. My father wanted to learn about the plants around here and the medical practices of the Hagree, see if he could find anything useful for his research, something to study further in a lab. But my mother,” he paused for a moment, swallowed. “She got sick while we were out here. Even now I still don’t know exactly what ailed her, but she passed away.”

  “Oh Winn,” Gentry murmured, “I’m so sorry.”

  A sad smile graced his lips. “We’re similar, there. Though you never told me what happened to yours.”

  “Childbirth.”

  “Pearl?”

  “No.” Gentry wrung her index finger in her fist. “Caleb. He’s . . . my half brother. Hannah, in American Fork, took him in.”

  Winn nodded. They sat in silence for a moment before he continued his story.

  “My father . . . I don’t know what went through his mind, but I guess he turned his grief into work. Cadavers are hard to come by, and he thought he might learn something before we buried her.”

  Gentry’s face chilled as blood drained from it. She pressed a hand to her mouth.

  Winn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I was so angry with him. We had something of a shouting match, and I ran off. Let me tell you, the desert is not kind to the unprepared.”

  Gentry felt she should say something, but words died on her tongue.

  “The Hagree found me after a while, brought me back. By then my dad had left for ‘civilization,’ and I didn’t feel like following him. So I stayed. First with Chief Sequah, then with Waga and Saleli.” His face brightened a little. A warm breeze tousled his golden hair. “They’re the ones who taught me about the earth and the gold.”

  “Magic,” Gentry whispered.

  “I was mesmerized, and I got greedy. It’s all a balance, Gentry, but I didn’t understand that, not really. So I left like the buffoon I was and got into trouble. A lot of trouble. When I wasn’t abusing the earth, making trees and elk and gulls do my bidding, I was pickpocketing in cities and sneaking around trying to get my hands on more gold so I could have more power.” He sighed. “Nearly got myself killed by angry bankers and bears—”

  “Bears?”

  “Oh, believe me,” he watched her eyes, “bankers are much worse.”

  “Winn—”

  He shrugged. “Eventually I came back and got thoroughly scolded by about every Hagree man and woman I knew, and some who I didn’t know.” He chuckled and his eyes unfocused, lost in memory. “They taught me, and this time I listened. Moderation, heart, responsibility. All that good stuff you don’t learn in school.”

  Gentry scoffed.

  “I went out to forage one day after that—after I finally understood—and he showed up.” Winn tilted his head toward a seagull—Turkey—perched on one of the thicker tree branches ahead of them. The bird cocked his pale head and watched them through that faint, magical shimmer. “He took an unnatural liking to me, followed me around like a dog. Eventually the others joined him.

  “I’d once abused them,” he continued, “but once I learned to listen to them, we understood one another.”

  Gentry took a moment to process the information. “Is that why they follow you around, even without gold?”

  “Or maybe I follow them around.” His eyes crinkled. “The ability to truly listen creates a bond stronger than gold.” He looked at her, and Gentry became aware of how close they sat, of how many breaths lay between them, of the beautiful patterns of gold and brown in his eyes.

  She knitted and reknitted her fingers together. “That is an amazing story. Thank you, for telling me.” She hesitated before adding, “Your father . . .”

  “I’ve been searching for him for a while,” he said. “He’s my only family by blood. He travels for work; he could be anywhere.”

  “I hope you find him.”

  Reaching over, Winn took Gentry’s hand in his. “I hope I do too.”

  The small fox that had trailed Waga around the little village jumped over Gentry’s side of the log, startling her. It landed on noiseless paws and regarded Winn with amber eyes. Yes—there was definitely a shimmer to the creature.

  “Seems like Waga wants us,” Winn said.

  “Is that his . . . Turkey?” Gentry asked. “He knows about magic too?”

  Winn stood and pulled Gentry with him. “They all know about magic, Gentry. It’s no secret, here.” He offered her a lopsided smile. “Few partake in it, though.”

  “Only a few?” Gentry asked as the fox skittered away. Winn didn’t seem bothered by its departure, so Gentry wasn’t either. “If I had magic—”

  “Anyone can use magic,” Winn interrupted softly, “just like anyone can learn to ride a horse or, I don’t know, milk a cow. Hmmm,” he paused, “let’s go with the horse analogy. Anyone can learn to ride a horse, so say everyone does. They all go out and find horses and break them and ride them, and then there are no horses left in the wild. The environment suffers and the animals forget what it was ever like to be free.”

  Gentry mulled the idea for a moment. “You make me feel guilty about Bounder.”

  “Don’t be.” He smiled. “That mare was born broken from her magical ties. I’ve never seen a domesticated animal that wasn’t.”

  “But we’re born with them? Magical ties, I mean.”

  Winn mulled for a moment; Gentry watched his tongue move behind his lips. “Magic exists in and of itself. But when we—humans—try to control it, we become a medium. Like a pump to water. It flows through us the same way it flows through the earth.”

  Gentry nodded. Thus the glowing veins.

  Tilting his head toward the small village, he asked, “Ready for more?”

  She squeezed his hand. “Yes.”

  Winn pulled her back over the log and guided her between the wickiups. She spied the fox ahead before it turned a corner. It had waited for them.

  Two Hagree women watched Gentry as she passed by and whispered to one another. Gentry tried not to notice.

  “Just speak to them in English,” Winn said as they approached Waga and Saleli’s home. “I can always translate.”

  Saleli came out of the house and went straight to Winn, speaking to him in quick Hagree before gesturing for them to follow her inside. Gentry let Winn lead the way.

  The wickiup was larger inside than Gentry ha
d assumed, about twice the size of the bedroom of her house. There were a few slits to let in light. The walls were brown and stitched together between long, bent branches. Bedrolls lay against the walls, along with sacks, chests, pans, and other knickknacks. One large pole stood in the middle of the space, supporting the wickiup’s center. The space smelled like old sweat and leather and something floral.

  Saleli talked for a good long time, Winn responding in turn. She sat at a small stool and took a hammer from her dress pocket to work on something small that Gentry couldn’t make out. At one point the conversation lulled, and Gentry tried, “You have a very nice home,” in a voice far too mousy for her liking. Saleli looked at Winn, who translated. The older woman merely nodded as though the compliment was obvious and got back to work.

  A few more Hagree came into the wickiup—Winn made sure to name each of them, though many of their names were long and strange, and each time Gentry heard one she forgot the last. Each wanted to see Winn, to exchange a few words, or to show off a new rifle, or to make broad gestures about something Gentry couldn’t piece together. She tried to stand to the side so as not to interrupt the foreignness of it all. Winn’s eyes always found her, however, so she knew she wasn’t forgotten.

  Gentry’s attention returned to the new stud in Winn’s ear, wondering where the gold had come from. A coin, maybe? Or a filling? She’d heard rumors about Indians raiding graves, but quickly dismissed the idea. She’d get nowhere fast thinking ill of strangers. Her ma used to tell her that.

  She wondered what Winn’s mother used to tell him.

  Waga entered with a long pipe and spoke to Winn in French, gesturing toward the door. Winn glanced to Gentry and shook his head. Waga argued with him for a minute before leaving with a grunt.

  Winn pushed the flap to the wickiup open. “Let’s get some air.” The fluid English sounded wonderful to Gentry’s ears.

  They stepped outside, the air feeling cooler than it had in the wickiup. Women built fires outside their dwellings, many of which had spits and pots over them. Gentry peered to the sky. The sun’s descent marked the start of evening. Had so much time passed?

  “I should get back soon.” She noticed a seagull hopping around the back of a wickiup.

  “Not yet,” Winn replied, though the words sounded like a plea. He pressed his hand to Gentry’s back, right between her shoulder blades, and Gentry felt the heat of his touch rise into her cheeks. She looked at the ground in hopes that he didn’t notice, wishing she had remembered her bonnet. Winn continued, “After their smoking ring there’ll be supper, and I want to show you something later.”

  Supper . . . Rooster would be back by then. What would he think of Gentry’s absence?

  Would it be so bad to not be the parent just for one night?

  Giving into her curiosity, Gentry asked, “What?”

  He grinned so easily. Gentry’s stomach fluttered—it was such a strange, relieving feeling to have after so many days of cramping. “It’s a secret.”

  Gentry’s mouth copied the smile—she couldn’t help it—and noticed the magical shimmer around a few sun-dried shrubs. She could explain everything once she got home. Rooster knew her too well to think she was doing anything disgraceful. “Smoking ring. Is that what Waga was talking to you about?”

  Winn nodded. “It’s a men-only venture, however.”

  “You should go.”

  “And what, leave you to Saleli’s devices?” He snorted. “Hardly. I want to stretch my legs. We’ve been sitting around all day.”

  Sitting around all day. While Pearl did all the housework. Was it foolish of Gentry to be here? Would she come home to find Pearl in tears and Rooster fuming the way her Pa surely would have if he hadn’t left?

  Winn’s hand on her shoulder brought her back to the present. “I know that look,” he said.

  “What look?”

  “That look you get when you’re worried,” he answered.

  “I have a look?”

  “Relax, Gentry.” He slipped his hand from her back. He offered the crook of his elbow and she looped her arm through it, energized by the gesture. “Everyone needs a day off.”

  “I just had a day off. In American Fork.”

  “That doesn’t count.”

  “Oh?” She cocked an eyebrow and looked at him. “And why not?”

  He chuckled. “I’ll think of a reason. Give me a few minutes.”

  Gentry managed a smile. They walked in a comfortable silence, tracing the circumference of the little Hagree village. Gentry estimated there were about thirty wickiups in it, perhaps ninety to one hundred people total.

  “Winn,” Gentry said when he didn’t come up with his reason, “How do you . . . get by? You travel so easily, but what about everything else?”

  He slipped his free hand into his trouser pocket. “A little of everything, I suppose. The Hagree taught me how to live off the earth, even in a place like this,” he tilted his chin toward some sagebrush, “and the seagulls make it easier. The rest is just temporary work.”

  Gentry tried to imagine such a life, spiriting from place to place, sending out bird-servants to find . . . what? Grubs? Tubers? Seagulls didn’t hunt, except for fish. “Like what?”

  “Hmmm.” He paused, thinking. “The last job I had was on a dairy farm in Missouri, mucking stalls and cleaning up after the animals. I did that for a few weeks.”

  Gentry’s stomach began to tighten again. “Before that?”

  “A lot of dirty jobs people are willing to hire out to strangers.” He laughed. “I worked on a fishing boat in Maryland once, farmhand a couple of times. Never stayed longer than a month or so.”

  Gentry’s steps slowed a little. “Why not?”

  He looked at her. A few strands of golden hair dangling before his forehead shadowed his eyes. Gentry had the urge to smooth them back, but she kept her hand at her side.

  “I don’t know,” he finally answered. “I’ve been lots of places. Guess I didn’t feel like I belonged in any of them.”

  The distance between them and the wickiups gradually increased. “Where do you belong?”

  “I wish I could tell you,” he said. “Maybe Dry Creek.”

  Gentry stumbled, and Winn tightened his arm around hers to keep her upright. “Whoa there.” He laughed. “That flat ground will get you every time.”

  “Oh hush.” Gentry touched one of her cheeks to cool it. “There was a rock,” she lied.

  Her eyes did spy a large, black cricket underfoot—a locust—and with a garbled shriek she brought the sole of her shoe down hard on its body, crunching it flat.

  “Wiki taimo!” sounded harsh Hagree words.

  Releasing Winn, Gentry turned and saw a Hagree woman of perhaps thirty walking nearby, toward the village, with a dead grouse dangling from her hands. She eyed Gentry, her clothes, and said, “Kind. Kind.”

  Gentry tried not to cower. “Excuse me?” Her fingers clutched her necklace.

  The woman pointed to Gentry’s feet. “Be kind to it.” Her English carried a heavy accent. She glanced to Winn, then back to Gentry. “It is earth. Be kind to it.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” Gentry said, and it was enough. The Hagree woman turned away, her expression unreadable, and trekked back to the village. Gentry pressed the pads of her fingers to her heart, willing it to slow. That woman had just killed that grouse, hadn’t she?

  But she plans to eat it, Gentry thought. Lifting her shoe, she examined the split pieces of the locust underfoot. Had it had a shimmer, like the ones that had attacked Dry Creek? Gentry hadn’t noticed. If it had, the glow was gone now.

  Winn’s hand rested on her shoulder. “It’s all right.”

  “No, I . . . suppose she’s right.” Gentry sighed. “I’ve never considered bugs anything more than . . . bugs.”

  “Most people don’t.” Winn offered the crook of his arm once more. “Supper?”

  Winn taught Gentry how to say thank you in Hagree, so with a broken accent and flushed
cheeks, she thanked Waga and Saleli as the sun began to set. Many of the Hagree began to gather toward the center of the village, where several youth began building the skeleton for a bonfire. Gentry wondered at it, as well as at the drums being pulled from wickiups, but she imagined the Hagree’s festivities would be much different than those had in American Fork. Still, part of Gentry wished to hide in the shadows of night and dance with Winn again.

  Looking at the darkening sky, Gentry’s mind flew back to Dry Creek. Pearl and Rooster would have eaten by now. Were they waiting up for her? Were they worried, or did they trust Winn enough to bring her home all in one piece?

  Had the post arrived today with news from California?

  “That look, Gentry.”

  Gentry tried to smooth her expression over with a smile. “Sorry. I should probably be getting back home.”

  “Not yet,” he whispered, a sly, almost feline grin dancing across his mouth. He clasped both of her hands. “Not until I show you the stars.”

  Gentry tilted her head to one side. “Mr. Maheux, I’m well aware of what the stars look like.” That was the one bonus of living out west. The stars somehow seemed brighter here.

  “Please,” he whispered, drawing his head closer to hers so their foreheads almost touched. Gentry’s ears burned as she gazed into his eyes, which grew more golden even as she watched. “Just for a moment.”

  She let out a long, shaky breath, hoping Winn didn’t hear the tremble in it, and nodded.

  Winn pulled Gentry away from the Hagree village—if he had made any goodbyes, he must have done so following supper, for he made no effort to bid anyone farewell now. One white bird, then another, sprung up over the nearest hill. They multiplied like popping corn and rushed toward them. Gentry’s body grew light in anticipation of them. Just before they surrounded her, Winn squeezed her hand and pulled her close, wrapped one arm around her waist, and lifted her just in time for the seagulls to slip underfoot and harden into the floor of the mystical bird house. Gentry laughed, and her stomach lurched as the still-forming house hoisted her skyward. Wings pieced together into a semblance of marble until the deep blue of the sky vanished overhead, and the west-facing window glowed with the blushing horizon of twilight.