'Not as much as I'd like,' John-Michael replied, strumming a little. 'My old man's been on my case the last couple of days. "Do this, do that. Is such-and- such taken care of?" Jeez, it's enough to drive me crazy. He's dead set against the guitar, too. He didn't seem to mind so much when I started, but now it's "You'll never make a living with that. If you'd spend as much time on your school work as you do on that damn fool guitar, you'd do better." Gosh, Mandy, school's not even in session!'
She smiled. 'Did you tell him that?'
'Yes. He blew up.' John-Michael stared off into space as if reliving the incident. He shifted in his chair and looked at Amanda. 'I don't care, though. It's not hurting anyone if I learn to play.' John-Michael shrugged. 'He doesn't like me much anyway.'
'Oh, John-Michael, I'm sure that is not true.' Amanda was quick to respond. She couldn’t bear that John-Michael felt that way. 'Sometimes parents and teenagers don't get along so well for a time, but it's not for lack of love, just want of a little understanding. I know you have heard of the generation gap. Some of it’s actually based on fact. Different generations look at things differently. It is a function of the time in which you do your growing up.'
'I don't know. He's been especially awful the last couple of days.'
Amanda suspected the incident at the creek had something to do with intensifying Mac's anti-guitar stance. Mac had asked her to refrain from leading John-Michael on with foolish dreams, but had not forbidden lessons. Why be so down on the boy at home? She watched the pleasure on John-Michael's face as he struggled to master the music. He liked it. It wasn't hurting anyone, and she would continue the lessons unless specifically requested to desist by Mac. Or if John-Michael changed his mind.
'It sounds good,' Amanda said a few minutes later. 'Ready for some more chords? Get these mastered and we'll start picking and developing a good repertoire of songs you can play anywhere.'
'Good. I'll like that. Were you playing when I got here?' he asked, eying the papers on the table.
'Not exactly. Jotting down some music. I write a little,' she replied modestly.
'No kidding? How do you think up the tunes?'
She shrugged. 'I just hear them in my head and write what I hear. Do you want to write?'
'Naw. I just want to play for fun. Dad's all worried I'll run off and try to make it big as a singer.' He shook his head again.
'You don't want to try?'
'No, I want to be a rancher like Dad. I don't know if I can, though. He gets annoyed with me so much. I try to do what he wants, but all I seem to do lately is annoy him. I don't know why. But the music business would be too hard, I think. Too much competition, cut-throat dealings. A lot of traveling.'
'It has its rewards,' she said gently. 'But I think you're wise to stick to something you know you’ll like and can be good at doing.'
'I guess. Okay, show me the new chords.'
Amanda enjoyed the time she spent with John-Michael, in spite of her initial disappointment. He was bright, pleasant and enthusiastic. Eager to learn all she could teach him, he was attentive and quick to pick up on all the pointers she gave. They tried several different songs, Amanda playing along slowly with John-Michael. They sang together loudly and with a lot of gusto until John-Michael stopped during one song, watching and listening to Amanda as she finished.
‘You’re good,' he said when she paused, still strumming her guitar.
Abruptly she stopped. Had he made any connection? She wanted to remain plain Mandy Smith. She forced a smile, laying down the instrument. 'Thanks. I got the banjo. Want to see it?' Not waiting for a reply, she jumped up and went inside to get it. Of all the people to guard against, the one person in Timber she knew listened to her recordings, had her songs in his home. She had better watch herself or she’d for sure blow her cover.
As she grabbed her banjo, she wondered if the knowledge of who she was would affect the friendship she and John-Michael were building. Maybe she was making too much of this identity business. Still, it was hard to break old ideas. For the last few years, the only people she really felt comfortable with, felt were her true friends, were the ones she’d known before she had made it big. Before Amanda became a nationally known name.
Still wary, she'd hold off on any revelations for a while.
John-Michael was still practicing the new chords when she went back to the deck. He glanced up and smiled uncertainly, watching her closely as she sat down.
'You want to try it?' she offered.
'No, maybe later. Play something.'
'Sure--how about Oh, Susannah?'
'Good.'
As Amanda played the familiar tune, John-Michael's face brightened. He softly slapped his hand against his knee in time with the music. From that favorite to others, Amanda played one after the other. Humming along, but not singing. Finally, after a medley of Stephen Foster songs, she lay back in her chair, flexing her fingers.
'Whew, I haven't done that much in an long time.'
'You’re great! How long have you been playing? You ought to try it professionally.'
She smiled. 'I've been playing since I was a kid, younger than you. My cousins and I were always trying to outdo each other. These strings can hurt after a while. You want to try?'
'Yes, though just to fool around with.' John-Michael took the banjo and tried out a few tentative strokes, trying the chords, different strumming rhythms. Looking up to Amanda, he said, 'You're right, my fingers hurt already. When I get better, I want to expand to this, too. I like guitar better, though.'
'Me, too. Want some lemonade?'
'I've got to be going. Thank you for the lesson.' He stood up, a tall, lanky boy. Before many years, he'd fill out and become a man in similar stature to his father. Amanda felt a small pang. Would she know him then? She rose with him and walked him to the top of the steps.
'It's a lovely horse,' she admired.
'Yeah, thanks. He's the one I ride the most. I like him too. He's only seven. Born on the ranch. I've raised and trained him myself.'
'Looks as if you've done a good job. Do you raise anything besides horses? Any cattle?'
Amanda was rather surprised they had a working ranch. The majority of the land she had seen was so wooded she didn't think it would provide enough pasture for horses. Still, she remembered the rolling, grassy hill falling away from Mac's hilltop home. Maybe there were hidden acres of open pasture that she hadn’t seen.
'No, we raise horses, except for the few head of cattle for our own use. We provide the horses mainly to rodeos and mounted police.'
'Umm.' She nodded. The ranch in Colorado where she had grown up was primarily a cattle enterprise. The land was different, too, from this California mountain area. She'd like to see over Mackenzie's Horse Ranch one day. See the differences in the operations. Learn more about how Mac had expanded it from when his father operated the ranch. Find out plans for the future.
Unlikely.
'Thanks again for the lesson. I'll be back.' John-Michael slung his guitar over his back and swung himself lithely up on his horse. Tugging gently on the bridle, he turned and ambled off towards home.
Amanda watched him leave, then turned slowly back to her music. Two Mackenzie in one day would be too much to expect. Slowly she started on her song again.
***
The next day Amanda dressed in shorts and a sleeveless, loose top. Just because she’d had a run-in with Mr Mackenzie a few days ago, she was no longer going to put off her pursuit of fun. She liked panning for gold. The time spent out of doors was a welcome change from recording studios, airplanes and hotel rooms. She wanted to spend as much time in the fresh air as she could while she had the opportunity. The weather was glorious, her duties minimal while on vacation. She wouldn’t let the experience of her last outing affect her going again. Today she'd pan for gold.
She grabbed her hat and the gold pan and was off. While it was warm in the sun, there were several high, puffy white clouds dotting the blue expanse. A sligh
t breeze skipped across the grass; the air in the shade a few degrees cooler than previous days. A cooling trend coming in, she thought.
Going directly to her usual spot, Amanda began the now familiar task.
Time slid by. Unaware of passing minutes, Amanda contentedly washed gravel and grit patiently with pan after pan of water. Twice she thought she spotted gold flecks, carefully claiming them from the pan bottom and placing them in the small vial she carried.
One of the harmless clouds drifted in front of the sun, shading the patch of creek bed Amanda was working on. Immediately, she felt cooler. The mountain air itself was not warm; the sun gave the day the warmth she’d been enjoying. In the shade, the water also felt colder, turned dark gray.
Glancing up, Amanda was reassured. It was a brief interlude; already the cloud was moving on, releasing the sun to resume its warming functions.
A short time later Amanda stood up, stretching. Her back ached a little, her hands were cold. She leaped to the shore, wandering a few feet upstream to an area fairly free of rocks. She sat down, stretching her legs out before her, leaning back to soak up the sun's rays. She took off her hat, using it as a pillow, lay back down. The sun was hot on her face, her arms, her legs. Slowly she relaxed, easing the tight muscles across her shoulders, easing away tension. The creek played a gentle music. Amanda dozed.
A shadow covered her face, blocking the sun's warmth again. She frowned a little. If the cloud blocked all of the sun, she'd start to get cold. Squinting, she looked up to judge how large this cloud was, startled to find herself gazing into Mac's amused face.
'Taking a sun bath?' he asked politely, his eyes taking in her recumbent figure.
She shook her head, scrambling to sit up, feeling decidedly at a disadvantage as he squatted down beside her. She put her hat back on, noticing Mac's horse tethered to a nearby shrub.
'I didn't hear you come up,' she said, scooting back a little, away from his overwhelming nearness. This was twice she had missed his approach. Maybe being by the creek wasn't all to the good if its noisy gurgles drowned out sounds of his approach.
'I think you might have been asleep,' he said gravely.
She nodded. 'I was, I guess. I've been panning and was a little stiff, so I lay down. The heat put me out.'
'Any luck?'
'Only flakes. But I don't care. I love it. I don't really expect to strike it rich.'
'Still a lot of gold in these hills. The mines around Timber produced over two million dollars in their prime. It’s estimated the Mother Lode has more than two hundred million dollars still buried in the hills.'
'Around here?'
'Here to Placerville and north. You're panning for placer gold; lode gold can be found around here too, but not as easily.'
'Lode gold? I thought gold was gold.'
'Placer gold is loose, gold that's been worked up and out by nature, tumbling free in the streams and rivers of the Mother Lode during flood season. Settling out sometimes miles from the vein that produced it. Lode gold is the gold still in veins. In this area, gold is usually found in quartz veins. If you find quartz rocks, examine carefully to see if there are gold traces. Come on, I'll show you.'
Mac rose to his full height. Amanda slowly stood up, a little at a loss for his change of attitude. It had been daggers at dawn before; now, an almost friendly overture. Warily she followed as he headed briskly upstream, his eyes on the creek bed. There was no awkwardness, no time to think about how to react to the man. He appeared to be ignoring their last confrontation. Far be it from Amanda to drag it up. She hurried to keep up with him.
'Here.' He stopped and waited for her to catch up. With long strides, he left the bank, stepping nimbly on to the large rocks and boulders rising up through the tumbling water. Pausing on a large, sloping boulder, he reached into the clear liquid on the lee side of the rock. He drew out two white, translucent stones, discolored along one side.
'See here,' he pointed along a crack in one rock. 'This is quartz, lots of it around here. These veins on the rock are similar to the ones found with gold.'
Amanda peered at the rock, taking it from him to examine.
'See the rust coloring on the side?'
She nodded, conscious of his hands pointing out the traces on the rock, conscious of his shoulder close to her own as he bent to point out the markings on the rock. Concentrate on what he is telling me, she admonished herself, hoping she could continue to breathe. Her heart skipped a beat and then raced.
'It’s from the pyrite, fool's gold. It's often present where gold’s found.'
Amanda looked around the creek, stooping to scoop up a few other white stones, discarding one immediately when she saw it was a smooth pebble, not the ragged, semi-translucent stone she was looking for. The others she examined more closely. Here and there were black lines which cut into the rocks.
'Sometimes you can crack the rock open, finding the gold on the outside has been worn away, but a bit of the vein inside still has some of the ore.'
'Will it be shiny?' She tossed back the rocks, picked up new ones.
'You'll know it's gold, it looks the same in sun or shade. Not polished like jewelry, but definitely gold.'
She nodded, examining the rocks, tossing them away when they did not have what she wanted. Mac also pulled rocks from the stream bed, returning them to the water more quickly than Amanda. Silently they dug up white rocks, looking them over, threw them back. Twice Amanda hesitated, then put the stones in her pan for later study.
She lost track of the time when Mac turned to her, hand outstretched to her.
'Here you are, traces of gold.'
She took the rock, white on the one side. Turning it over, she saw a wide band of gray-black mixed with a dull metal. Just traces, but he was right, she did know it was gold. She raised shining eyes to him.
'It's gold!' She held it out for him to take back.
'It's for you. You can keep it.'
'But you found it. I can't take it.'
He smiled. 'Plenty more where it came from. I told you, two hundred million dollars worth.' He flicked the rock, still in her outstretched hand. 'This is probably worth less than fifty cents if you scraped it off the rock even at today’s prices.'
'It's still gold,' she defended happily, looking again at the traces on the side of the stone. All the flakes and grains of gold painstakingly panned from the creek over the last few weeks did not equal the amount of ore displayed on this hunk of quartz.
'Yes,' he said, 'it’s gold.'
She looked closely at the surrounding land. 'Does it come from here, the quartz?' Maybe they could find the vein, the lode gold.
'Probably not. In the spring, when the snow melts from the higher elevations, this old creek swells considerably. It's a raging river then, moving a tremendous amount of material with it: rocks, stones, logs, debris. Over the years it washes the stones down from higher elevations, who knows how far. In the late fall, the water’s so low it's only a small trickle, scarcely moving at all.'
Amanda looked at the water. 'It's hard to believe,' she murmured. Where would she be in late autumn, in October? On tour somewhere? Cutting a new album? No matter, she'd be sure to spend a few days here. This was her home now and she wanted to see it in all its different seasons.
'Are we below the snowline here?' she asked, trying to envisage snow on the trees, piled on the boulders.
Mac stared at her for a moment. 'Didn't you ask about that before buying?'
She shook her head.
'Depends on the winter. Usually we get a few storms through that dump on us. If it's a mild winter, then none.' He moved back to the bank. 'I've got things to do. You keep on with your search, if you like.'
'No, I'm hungry. I'll stop for today.' Tightly clutching her precious rock, she gained the bank, turning for another look at the spot so she'd recognize it when she came again. As they started back, she looked around again, puzzled.
'Mac, is this my land?'
'N
o, your property ends a few yards from where you were napping.'
'Then I can't come tomorrow.' Disappointment coursed through her, was evident in her voice.
'As long as you don't set up dredging operations, you can search for gold anywhere on the creek,' he replied.
Amanda considered this, further puzzled. She glanced at him from under the brim on her hat as he moved casually along. Was this the same man she had met before? The one so adamant to get rid of her, to regain the property he coveted? This the same man who considered her a hippie, a jobless freeloader who should go out and look for work? Whatever had wrought such a change?
Suddenly Amanda recalled their meeting before Dave had come. Mac had said perhaps he could accomplish his goal with kindness. Was he trying that tack? Being kind to her, becoming a friend in hopes of talking her into letting him have the property? She felt a wave of disappointment. She wished they’d met under different circumstances.
They reached his horse, dozing in the sun. Mac untethered him, turning back to Amanda. He regarded her for a long moment, looking at her mouth, reminding her vividly of their last meeting by the creek, of the harsh kiss; and the one filled with delight. Nervously she licked her lips. Would he kiss her again?
'Look for your treasure, Mandy. What you find you may keep. No strings.'
She was startled at his largess. Had she misjudged the man? 'Thank you. I'll ... I'll let you know if I find the big strike.'
'You do that.'
As he rode away, Amanda felt a small loss. Slowly she headed homeward, her spirits rising a little as she realized she and Mac had spent well over an hour together with no altercations. She examined her rock, rubbing gently against the gold embedded on the stone. He had found it and given it to her. It might not be worth much, as he had said, but she'd never know because she didn't plan to take it anywhere to be valued. It was worth a great deal to her just as it was.
She dwelt on the pleasant companionship shared as they both had searched for gold in the cold waters of the creek. Whenever she looked at her 'golden rock' in the future, she'd remember the pleasure of the day. And Mac Mackenzie.
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