The Going Back Portal

by Connie Lacy

  “Yeah, she…”

  “So I’m thinking if she refuses to leave, I have to figure out how to defang that snake in the grass.”

  He yawned loudly.

  “Or,” I said, “if she’s intent on staying, there’s got to be a way to get Jonah to leave.”

  “Hm.”

  “But what would make him want to abandon that little farm where he’s the big cheese dictator?”

  “Um… well… I don’t know. Gold maybe?”

  “Gold?”

  “I haven’t even had my orange juice yet,” he said, his voice husky. “Thinking out loud here.”

  “Yeah, we could lure him away with gold fever!”

  “Ironic,” he said, “that’s one of the big reasons the Cherokee were forced out. The Georgia Gold Rush began in 1828 in Dahlonega. Then the land in north Georgia became so valuable, white leaders were only too happy to steal it from the Cherokee Nation.”

  “So we tempt him with gold nuggets,” I said, “The California gold rush is about to happen, right?”

  “A few years down the road.”

  “I like it.”

  “Now,” he said, “can I go pee?”

  ~

  “We’ll never get this story done if you don’t stop farting around on your phone!”

  Mallory’s sharp tone jolted me from my research. For the five years I’d worked as her producer, she’d relied on me to be a go-getter. Always the one to keep digging until we got the information we needed or the interview that was crucial to our report. But my mind was many miles and a couple of centuries from the newsroom.

  She caught me checking websites where you could buy gold online. After doing some research and checking Nana’s deed to the Madison County property, I figured I’d need enough gold to equal a hundred dollars in 1840 money. Gold was valued at about twenty-one dollars an ounce back then, but the price now was nearly thirteen hundred dollars a pop.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  After sneaking a few minutes here and there, I placed my order shortly before lunch. Which meant I could focus on my work the rest of the day.

  Waiting for delivery turned me into a bundle of nerves. But Friday evening when I signed for the package, there was no feeling of relief. Having them in my possession only increased my agitation.

  To my admittedly untrained eye, the nuggets looked like they’d been dug out of a stream somewhere. Now the challenge was infecting that big, brainless bully with gold fever.

  When I texted Eric to let him know, he called immediately, insisting I jump in the car and drive to Athens. He promised a home-cooked meal when I arrived for our strategy session. I tossed a change of clothes in a bag, figuring I’d spend the night at Nana’s before we took the gold through the time gate in the morning.

  Eagerness was written all over his face when he answered the door wearing a grey apron and brandishing a spatula, his hair a little mussed, looking like a sexy TV chef.

  “Basmati rice, yellow squash and tofu stir fry with Vidalia onions and fresh garlic,” he announced.

  “Smells divine.” I set my purse on the table in the foyer and followed him into the kitchen.

  “Pour yourself a glass of wine while I finish up,” he said.

  There was a bottle of red and a bottle of white on the table and two wine glasses. White plates with blue trim, cloth napkins and silverware were already laid out. I slid into the far side of the booth so I could watch him at the stove. Pouring myself a glass of red, I was curious whether he was responsible for the royal blue and white décor. It had a decidedly clean, masculine look.

  Three minutes later, he set a big steaming bowl of rice and a matching bowl of stir fry on the table. He doffed the apron, sitting across from me and gestured for me to serve myself.

  “So,” he said, filling his glass, “where’s the doubloons, matey?”

  “I can’t believe I bought five gold nuggets,” I said, digging them out of my pocket and setting them on the table.

  “Wow!”

  One at a time, he picked them up, turning each one over in his hand, rubbing the gleaming metal, mugging like we were partners in crime.

  “I’ve never held a piece of gold in my hand,” he admitted.

  “Yeah, feels weird.”

  “Must’ve cost you an arm and a leg,” he said.

  “My credit card actually groaned when I clicked the ‘pay’ button.”

  “Good one.”

  I wasn’t used to being around a man who could cook. Actually, most of the women I knew couldn’t cook either. Me included. I usually ate frozen dinners, cans of soup, the occasional bowl of cereal for supper. Nothing like this impressive meal made from scratch.

  “Okay,” I said. “I think I’ve died and gone to culinary heaven.”

  His signature laughter filled the room. “You’re easy to please. It’s only a quick stir fry.”

  I rolled my eyes with theatrical exaggeration, filling my mouth again.

  “You have no idea,” I said, rice dribbling from my lips.

  He laughed again. Funny, how his laughter made me feel all comfy and warm inside.

  Then we turned to our planning session. It was easy to talk big about luring Jonah to leave with the promise of striking it rich panning for gold. Quite another to make it happen.

  “I think it’ll have to be a man who does the talking,” I said, turning serious. “Besides being a lowly woman in his eyes, he already hates my guts.”

  “How about we pose as a married couple?”

  “I wish I hadn’t provoked him.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I called him a savage swine when I found Amadahy with a black eye. He said it was his right to beat his wife.”

  “And that’s when he hit you.”

  I nodded.

  “I’ve got it – I could apologize to him for my wayward wife’s bad manners,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “I think the gold will soften his attitude. We could offer to buy the farm.”

  “Then we tell him where the gold came from.”

  “The California Gold Rush begins in 1848, which is only eight years later.” He pulled his phone out and searched a moment. “Sutter’s Mill, Coloma, California. The American River.”

  “So, we tell him someone paid us in gold nuggets who prospected for gold on the American River in Coloma, California. And lots of men are getting rich out there panning for gold.”

  “As for why we want to buy his homestead?”

  “We’re looking for a farm along the Broad River because…” but I couldn’t think of a good reason.

  “Because we like to eat cat fish.”

  “Har har.”

  “Because we’re kayaking enthusiasts,” he joked.

  “We could tell him we want to grow a crop that’s water-intensive.”

  “As long as we don’t use the expression water-intensive.”

  We finished our dinner, cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, adjourning to the living room, which I now realized was also tastefully done in blue and white.

  “You either have a decorator’s flair or…” I said.

  “Or I asked my sister to make my condo look sophisticated and masculine.”

  More laughter.

  Which launched us into conversation about his family. We talked about the younger sister, a graphic artist with a talent for interior design, and his parents who moved to Savannah after the kids grew up because they liked the historic vibe. It was fun listening to him talk.

  I was laughing again an hour later when I caught the expression on his face. There was fondness in his eyes. But more than that, there was desire. I could feel a blush rising.

  “I should probably go,” I said.

  “Go?”

  “Nana has a guest room.”

  Carefully setting my wine glass on the coffee table, I started toward the foyer.

  “You’ve had too much wine to drive all the way to your grandmother’s house,” he said.

&n
bsp; “I only had two glasses. Besides, she lives right here in Athens.”

  “Much too far,” he said. Normally full of mischief, his eyes were full of invitation now.

  He moved closer, resting his hands on my waist. I let out a long, shuddering breath as he leaned into me, kissing me lightly. It was the kind of kiss that made me ache for more. Oh, he tasted good. And when he pulled me close, I kissed him back. Rather passionately.

  “I believe,” he whispered, “I believe I’ve fallen for you.”

  Of its own accord, my hand came to rest on his cheek.

  “Is it possible,” he said, flicking his eyes toward the stairwell, “that we might…”

  Kissing him softly in reply, I took his hand in mine and we ascended the stairs.

  We made love as the bedside lamp filled the room with a warm glow. A feeling of belonging bloomed inside me as I lay in his arms as though I’d been waiting for him my whole life.

  ~

  Before heading out of town the next morning, we stopped at a second-hand store. I found a long black skirt that was a little too big for me. Which, when I tucked a white blouse in and cinched up the waist with a cheap belt, created a passable nineteenth century outfit. Eric bought a pair of grey slacks, a white shirt and a cheap sport coat.

  We refined our story on the drive over, deciding to stick as close to the truth as possible. We were Eric and Kathryn Murray. He was a college professor and I was his wife. We decided I shouldn’t hold a job outside the home, although it rankled a bit.

  As before, we cut across the field to avoid being seen, and into the woods, our anxiety level rising the closer we got to our destination.

  “We don’t have to do this,” he said once we reached the clearing. “I mean, think about it, Amadahy’s been dead for…”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Even little Betsey…”

  “…is long dead. I get it!” Although I didn’t mean to sound so irritated.

  He shifted from one foot to the other.

  “You don’t have to go,” I said. “I realize it’s a lot to ask.”

  “I’m all in.”

  “You’re right – she’s long since turned to dust. But I can’t live with myself if I don’t try to help her. You stay behind!”

  “Not happening,” he said. “It’s the chance of a lifetime for a historian with a specialty in Southeastern Indians.”

  “Something to put in the bio for your next book?” And I gave him a smirk.

  He grinned and yanked his polo shirt off, baring his bicyclist chest as if to remind me he was a real man.

  After changing into our 1840s duds, we gave each other an approving once-over, although he looked nothing like my image of a nineteenth century man. He was apparently having similar thoughts.

  “You look way too pretty and too independent to pass for a nineteenth century farm wife.” He leaned in to give me a sweet kiss on the lips. “But there’s no one else I’d rather travel through time with.” Said with a mesmerizing look that made me tingle ever so slightly.

  Once we were in place, we ate our figs, crossing the invisible doorway. When the buzzing and dizziness subsided, we realized no one was inside the hut. But I noticed a pair of women’s shoes on the blanket. They were actually low-rise lace-up boots, the black leather scuffed and faded.

  “Wait,” I whispered, removing my own flimsy shoes, setting them to one side and slipping Amadahy’s boots on my feet. Not a perfect fit, but they looked much more authentic than my ruined black ballet flats.

  We exited through the rear door and hurried to the woods behind the hut, zigzagging through the trees until we reached the trail. Only then did we walk toward the small wooden house nestled by the river as though we’d come by foot from town. The sun was directly above us when we knocked on the door.

  Amadahy opened it, Betsey on her hip.

  “Who is it?” Jonah called out.

  Her face betrayed her consternation.

  “I said, who is it?” he barked.

  We heard a chair scrape the floor, then heavy footfalls before Amadahy was unceremoniously pushed aside and Jonah’s tall frame filled the doorway. He squinted as though he was shocked to see me.

  “Figured you drowned in the river,” he said, sounding like he wished it were true.

  “I nearly did.”

  Then he looked hard at Eric, using a dirty fingernail to pick food from his yellowed teeth. “You her husband?”

  “That’s right,” Eric said, putting on a touch of a southern accent. “I’m Eric Murray and this is my wife, Kathryn.”

  “We done met,” Jonah said, hostility mixed with curiosity showing on his face.

  “I want to apologize for my wife’s behavior last time she was here,” Eric said. “Sometimes she forgets herself.”

  Jonah’s eyes were full of suspicion. “Why ya’ll knocking on my door at dinnertime?”

  “Well, Mr. Barnes,” Eric said, “we heard you might be interested in selling your farm if the price is right.”

  “The price would have to be damn right,” he said. “Come in the house so I can finish eating.”

  The house was one big room with a four-poster bed on the left. A rough wooden table and benches sat near the fireplace along the back wall. A cast iron Dutch oven rested on the floor in front of the hearth.

  “Pour ‘em some a that stew,” Jonah said to Amadahy as he lowered himself onto the bench facing the door.

  “No need,” I said, overwhelmed by his body odor.

  “You too good for my table?” he replied.

  “Stew sounds great,” Eric said. “That’s very hospitable of you.”

  Jonah resumed eating, dipping a large spoon into his bowl and slurping loudly.

  Amadahy gestured for us to sit on the bench across from him, then ladled stew into bowls, setting them in front of us along with a couple of spoons. Then she sat down on a stool at the end of the table closest to the fireplace. She held Betsey on her lap, mashing the stew on her plate before sharing it with the baby.

  “Where ya’ll from?” Jonah said between slurps.

  “Atlanta,” I said.

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It’s a little crossroads on the other side of Athens,” Eric said.

  “How come you interested in my property?”

  “We want to grow some crops that need a lot of water,” Eric said. “Planning on digging some irrigation ditches from the river to the fields.”

  “Irrigation ditches.”

  As Eric engaged the enemy, so to speak, I did my best to mind my manners as I ate the gamey stew. I could tell Jonah had already decided we were naïve city slickers. But his accurate perception might work to our advantage if he thought he could make money off of a couple of easy marks.

  “We’d like to make you an offer,” Eric said. “And I brought along a bottle of whiskey as a gift.” He slid the bottle from the paper sack he was carrying and set it on the table.

  Jonah belched as he eyed the whiskey. “How much you offering?”

  “We’ve got some gold nuggets my brother gave me to pay off a debt he owed me.”

  Talk about eyes bugging out. We definitely had his attention.

  “My brother’s been very successful panning for gold in California,” Eric continued. “Coloma, California on the American River near Sutter’s Mill. You ever heard of Sutter’s Mill?”

  Jonah shook his head.

  “My brother says there’s a lot of gold in that river,” Eric said.

  “Let me see.” Jonah pushed his empty bowl aside.

  Eric reached in his pocket and pulled out four gold nuggets, placing them in the center of the table.

  Our host snatched them, holding them up to the light. Suddenly, he placed one in his mouth and bit down. He did the same with the others, inspecting each one afterwards for bite marks before returning them to the table.

  “The land is worth more,” Amadahy said, taking Jonah – and us – by surprise.

&nb
sp; She’d been listening intently as she fed the baby. We hadn’t anticipated she might throw a monkey wrench into our little gambit.

  “Reckon my squaw’s right,” Jonah said, the corner of his mouth curling slightly as he reached for the whiskey bottle.

  “How many acres you have?” Eric said.

  “A hundred,” Jonah replied.

  “Seventy-five cents an acre for one hundred acres comes to seventy-five dollars,” Eric said. “Each of these four gold nuggets weighs about an ounce. Since the price of gold is about twenty-one dollars an ounce, all together, they’re worth a little over eighty dollars. I’d say that’s a fair price.”

  “This land is not for sale,” Amadahy announced.

  Jonah gave her a sidelong look, apparently a little conflicted about his “squaw” speaking out of turn. To his credit, he seemed to be weighing her comment’s impact on bargaining with the greenhorns sitting across from him.

  “You ain’t considering the house,” he said. “and the barn, the smokehouse, that shed out back. And it’s right here on the Broad River. A dollar fifty an acre might be more like it.”

  “I’m not as dumb as I look, Mr. Barnes,” Eric replied.

  Jonah laughed out loud, showing off his gap-toothed mouth. Then he lifted the whiskey to his lips.

  “A dollar an acre,” Eric offered.

  “Them four gold pieces ain’t worth that much.” Jonah wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “As it turns out, I was holding back another one to use for supplies,” Eric said, reaching in his pocket to retrieve the last piece of gold, setting it on the table. “You’ll find it’s pure, like the others. That’s exactly what’s coming out of the American River. In fact, my brother says many of the nuggets are much larger than these. Men are getting rich out there in California pulling gold from the shallows.”

  Jonah bit into the fifth nugget, examining the bite marks as he’d done before. Meantime, Amadahy cleaned Betsey’s mouth with a rag, casting suspicious eyes at Eric and me.

  “Not for sale,” she repeated.

  This time Jonah glared at her. “Why don’t you take Miz Murray outside for some womenfolk talk.”

  She paused for an instant before rising from her stool and placing the baby on her good hip. I followed her into the yard and toward the river, an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I watched her rock from side to side.