by Lisa Jackson
And still there was the rumor of some Indian curse that occasionally was whispered by the older people of the town.
Roddy Fitzpatrick married a woman of breeding, a woman who was as quick with a gun as she was to quote a verse. Belinda Surrett became his wife and bore him three sons.
Roddy, always a hothead and frustrated at his shrinking empire, was involved in more than his share of brawls. Knives flashed, guns smoked and threats and curses were spit around wads of tobacco and shots of whiskey.
When a man tried to cheat him at cards, Roddy plunged a knife into the blackguard’s heart and killed him before a packed house of gamblers, drinkers, barkeeps and whores. After a night in jail, Roddy was set free with no charges leveled against him by the sheriff, who was a fast friend of the elder Fitzpatrick.
But Roddy’s life was not to be the same. One night he didn’t return home to his wife. She located Kelvin and they formed a search party. Two days later, Roddy’s body washed up on the shores of Whitefire Lake. There was a bullet in his chest and his wallet was empty.
Some people thought he was killed by a thief; still others decided Roddy had been shot by a jealous husband, but some, those who still believed in the legend, knew that the God of the Sun had taken Roddy’s life to punish Kelvin Fitzpatrick by not only taking away his wealth, but the only thing Kelvin had loved: his son.
The older Fitzpatrick, hovering on the brink of bankruptcy, took his own life after learning that his son was dead. Kelvin’s daughters, those legitimate, and those who were born out of wedlock, each began their own lives.
The town survived the dwindling empire of the Fitzpatricks and new people arrived at the turn of the century. New names were added to the town records. Industry and commerce brought the flagging community into the twentieth century, though the great earthquake of 1906 did much damage. Many buildings toppled, but the Silver Horseshoe Saloon and the Presbyterian church and the railroad trestle bridge survived.
Monroe Sawmill, a new company owned and operated by Hayden Garreth Monroe, bought some of the dwindling Fitzpatrick forests and mills, and during the twenties, thirties and forties, Gold Creek became a company town. The people were spared destitution during the depression as the company kept the workers employed, even when they were forced to pay in company cash that could only be spent on goods at the company store. But no family employed by Monroe Sawmill went hungry; therefore, the community, who had hated Fitzpatrick’s empire, paid homage to Hayden Garreth Monroe, even when the forests dwindled, logging prices dropped and the mills were shut down.
In the early 1960s, the largest sawmill burned to the ground. The police suspected arson. As the night sky turned orange by the flames licking toward the black heavens, and the volunteer firemen fought the blaze, the townspeople stood and watched. Some thought the fire was a random act of violence, others believed that Hayden Garreth Monroe III, grandson of the well-loved old man, had lost favor and developed more than his share of enemies when the company cash became worthless and the townspeople, other than those who were already wealthy, began to go bankrupt. They thought the fire was personal revenge. Names of those he’d harmed were murmured. Fitzpatrick came to mind, though by now, the families had been bonded by marriage and the timber empire of the Fitzpatricks had experienced another boom.
Some of the townspeople, the very old with long memories, thought of the legend that had nearly been forgotten. Hayden Garreth Monroe III had drunk like a glutton from Whitefire Lake and he, too, would lose all that he held dear—first his wealth and eventually his wife.
As time passed, other firms found toeholds in Gold Creek, and in the seventies and eighties technology crept over the hills. From the ashes of Kelvin Fitzpatrick’s gold and timber empire rose the new wealth of other families.
The Fitzpatricks still rule the town, and Thomas Fitzpatrick, patriarch of the family, intends one day to turn to state politics. However, scandal has tarnished his name and as his political aspiration turns to ashes and his once-envied life crumbles, he will have to give way to new rulers—young men who are willing to fight for what they want. Men like Jackson Moore, Turner Brooks, Hayden Garreth Monroe IV and Ben Powell. With strong women at their sides, these men are destined to rule.
In Gold Creek, old names mingle and marry with new, but the town and its legend continue to exist. And, to this day, the people of Gold Creek cannot shake the gold dust of those California hills from their feet. Though they walk many paths away from the shores of the lake, the men and women of Gold Creek—the boys and the girls—can never forget their hometown. Nor can they forget the legend and curse of Whitefire Lake.
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ISBN: 9781459244498
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holder of the individual works as follows:
HE’S THE RICH BOY
Copyright © 1993 by Susan Crose
HE’S MY SOLDIER BOY
Copyright © 1994 by Susan Crose
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