Alvarado Gold Read online

  “All right. Hamburgers, it is but this is the only time.”

  “Excuse me,” I laughed. “I forgot we have a great chef in our presence.” He owned a restaurant at a resort in Arizona where he catered to the expensive tastes of the wealthy. My opinion was if you didn’t need a couple of napkins to keep the grease off your fingers, how good could it be?

  Clay slowed down and turned into the fast food drive-through lane and while we waited in line, quickly jotted down our requests on the back of an envelop he retrieved from the dashboard. After he ordered, he said, “That reminds me. I’ll stop by the market and get something for dinner.”

  “Let’s look at the box first,” Mel broke in. “We have lots of planning to do this afternoon. This week is going to be a short one.”

  Clay down-shifted his van and looked over in Mel’s direction. “I’ll do the yard work and you, Addie and Susan can do the house. Is that fair?”

  “It is more than fair to me,” I answered for her.

  From my vantage point in the backseat, I surveyed the well-manicured lawns in the neighborhood. From my summer visits, a childhood snapshot developed. Grandpa’s precision cut grass carpeted their front yard and Grandma’s tiny yellow roses beckoned me as a seven-year-old as I hauled my suitcase up the walkway. I had felt so much love when I was here. Now secrecy defined my return. There were no secrets then.

  “The yard’s a mess. The next-door neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, told me her two grandsons would be here for the summer starting tomorrow. Maybe we can get them to help you. Did Grandpa even have a working lawnmower?” My question went unanswered as we rounded the corner.

  Once we were around the kitchen table, burgers and fries in hand, I opened the box. “A bunch of old letters.” I let out a sigh of disappointment.

  Susan looked anxiously at the pile in front of me. “Read them.”

  “Okay. I don’t know where to start.” I rummaged around in the box and retrieved one dated September 13, 1946. “This one is addressed to Grandpa from a Bud Barnes, Cleburne, Texas.”

  Dear Addison:

  It was good to see you yesterday at Mother’s funeral. You asked me if I knew anything about Mom and Dad and the family history.

  Mother’s name was Annie Taylor. She married Harold Barnes in Texas on December 23, 1875. The Barnes family owned land around Alvarado. The cemetery is still there. Annie and Harold Barnes had ten children. I’m the oldest and your father the youngest.

  Our grandfather, John Barnes, and his brothers took a herd of cattle to California in the summer of 1867. After being gone over two years, they buried their profit, mostly in gold bars. It was never found.

  In 1889, the entire family including Grandfather Taylor made another trip to Seattle. I remember the trip well. At thirteen, I was thrilled to be considered old enough to ride with the men.

  We came back to Texas, sailing from San Francisco. Your father was born in Barnesville in 1893. Mom and Dad remained there until their deaths.

  Sincerely,

  Uncle Bud

  “What gold?” Clay said.

  “Is that the only part you heard?” I laughed. “Can you imagine being gone three years on a cattle drive?”

  “What gold?” Clay repeated.

  “I’m surprised you don’t know the story. I’ve heard it all my life. Mom said your dad and Uncle Joseph went to look for it as well as Grandpa.” Why did my family keep so many things concealed?

  Mel motioned with one of her now limp fries. “What else is in that box?”

  “Nothing much. More old letters. Here’s one from my mom, a couple from your dad and even one from me. I must have been about six. Look at the printing.”

  Clay furrowed his brow and reached for the letter. “Why is the one letter so important Grandpa would have the box at the lawyer’s?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just family memorabilia. It gives us a little of our history. Oh, well.” I shoved the container to the edge of the table. “Let’s get our plan together for cleaning this place. Clay will do the yards. What about you, Mel? Any favorite place you want to tackle?”

  “I’ll do the general clean-up in the house. After we get out what we want, we might as well sell this place furnished instead of having two separate sales.”

  “Great idea. I’m glad you thought of it.” Mel knew the logistics from her real estate background to make the sale work in our favor. “Okay, Susan, that leaves the attic for the two of us.”

  Clay positioned himself at the refrigerator, door open, making a list. “Hey, SusieQ. Let’s go to the market. We can leave these two alone for a couple of hours. They seem to manage to talk about almost anything. Especially, things of no importance.”

  I bounced an empty Burger World bag off the back of Clay’s head as he went out the kitchen door. I was truly amazed how quickly we’d become family. I did need to talk to Mel. I knew she’d heard the story of the gold before.

  After the screen door banged shut, I leaned in closer. “Mel, what do you know about the gold?”

  “Dad mentioned it, once. He and Uncle Joseph went out to Barnesville and looked for a while. They were in their early thirties. I thought it was just a lark. I urged Dad to tell me more but he changed the subject. Something about the trip bothered him.”

  “How come Clay and Susan don’t remember your dad’s trip?”

  “Clay was in the army at the time and Susan was just a kid. I always hung around Dad, absorbed his every word. I never thought about it until now.”

  “Grandpa went to look for the gold, too. Do you think it’s still there?”

  “Nah. Probably not. Someone most likely dug it up fifty years ago. Speaking of digging, let’s go checkout the living room before they get back.” Mel walked across to the doorway, unbuttoned her jacket and dropped it into a nearby chair. I followed her gaze as it encircled the room decorated with brown mohair chairs with summer cushions turned to reveal an intricate tan and mauve tapestry and crystal lamps topped with silk shades sitting on Duncan Phyfe tables. The lace curtains in the window and the tassels on the lampshades fluttered slightly from an unexpected breeze.

  “This should be the easiest room to work on. It’s small and pretty much the way Grandma left it,” Mel said. “I’ll start here first thing tomorrow morning.”

  We returned to the kitchen where we’d left the remains of our fast food foray. After eating a few cold fries, I mentioned, “I don’t think this is going to be as bad as it seems, but the attic is going to be tough. I peeked up there yesterday. Boxes and boxes of stuff.” As I stood, I hit the table leg with my knee. In an effort to catch my thirty-two ounce diet cola before it rocketed across the table, I knocked the tortoiseshell box to the floor. “Oh! Look, Mel, I broke it. What a klutz.”

  “What about your knee? Sounded like you broke it, too.” Mel stooped down and picked up the scattered wooden pieces. Placing them on the table and rearranging them while she spoke, she said, “You know what? It’s made to come apart, like those Chinese puzzle boxes.”

  Mel turned the slats over in her hand. She took the box completely apart before she reassembled it and discovered a false bottom. “Look, Addie. There’s something else in this box. Something really old.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Smoothing the oilcloth with her hands, she laid down the paper. I saw the pulp marks on the yellowed sheet and reached out to touch it, my instincts keen. Every thing I knew about old documents raced through my brain. I held my breath hoping it wouldn’t be torn. As she gently pulled back the folded corners, an ink drawn sketch became evident. “Addie. Look at this. Is this a map?”

  I bent over the drawing and looked it over closely. “This is the layout of a town. It shows where it’s positioned, south of Alvarado and west of Cleburne. This has to be the land mentioned in that letter.”

  “What’s that down at the bottom?” Mel looked closely at the fading print.

  “Barnesville, 1869,” I read.

/>   “No kidding. Does it say ‘dig here’ anywhere?”

  “We ought to go there and look around; we might find something. At least, some answers to our questions.”

  “And the gold?”

  “Get serious, Mel. No one else has ever found it. Why would we?”

  “Why wouldn’t we?”

  Mel managed to put the box back together just as Clay and Susan walked in. “You’ll never guess what we found while you were gone.”

  Susan squeezed in next to me. “We weren’t gone long enough for you to find much.”

  Mel pointed to the table. “No, but we discovered a map of Barnesville.”

  Clay peered over her shoulder. “Wow. Looks like it’s somewhere south of Alvarado. Clear across the state.”

  “We’re in south Texas now, Toto, anything is clear across the state. Mel and I were thinking we should try to find it. Maybe that’s why the box was at Mr. Darrow’s. What do you two say? Sometime we’ll all get together and go to Barnesville.”

  “And look for the gold?” Clay asked.

  I nodded my head and smiled. “And look for the gold.”

  ****

  Later in the evening, after a delicious prime rib dinner, I headed up to bed. “My compliments to the chef.” I saluted. Then, as almost a second thought, from one of the living room’s cherry-wood tables, I scooped up the box. Sitting near it was an old Bible. “If no one else cares, I’m going to read the rest of these letters tonight.” Since I wanted to look up the verse used at Grandpa’s funeral, I took the Bible, too.

  Everyone waved me on, absorbed in his or her own thoughts. Susan was on the phone with her husband, Brad; Mel, her nose in her daily planner, probably mentally making her next sale; I could hear Clay whistling some unknown tune as he cleaned the kitchen.

  I climbed into the old feather bed. I loved those things. I’d had one as a kid. It brought back memories of Mom and how she used to fuss over me before we traded rolls and I became the caretaker. The bed surrounded me in its soft warmth. I opened the box, shuffled through letters from Grandpa’s children and found nothing more than family news. I laughed at the childish print on my letter and a picture I’d sent. I’d made a rainbow and asked Grandpa to come see me in California. I wondered why but was pleased he’d chosen to keep it.

  I quickly resolved there was nothing more of interest in the box and turned my focus to the Bible. My grandparents were strong in their faith, their beliefs passed down through the family; however, when it came to the grandchildren, none of us were churchgoers.

  I thumbed to Ecclesiastes to find the text. I read beyond the verse the minister used to, A time to weep and a time to laugh. A time to mourn and a time to dance. The phrase fit my life perfectly. I’d wept over the passage of my elders. Grieved over their loss and the path my mother’s frail state had taken my life down. Now it was time to laugh. Time to dance.

  I marked my place with a worn, hand-crocheted cross. I sat cross-legged in the middle of the cloud of feathers. The verses jumbled together in my mind and brought everything back in full force–the stories my grandpa had told me and the teachings from my childhood Sunday school lessons, where I’d learned cause and effect–good and bad. I hadn’t thought what I did was bad or wrong but it definitely had an effect. A time, at what time did I quit listening? Quit hearing? Quit praying? Long before my mother had died. I’d tried one more time and my request went unanswered. Then, I was alone and shut out. I decided to shut people out of my life before they, too, could hurt me. My secret settled in my heart where most of the time it simmered quietly, hidden in the corner. I do want to dance. I do want it to be my time.

  The verses had been important to my grandparents; my grandmother had stitched a sampler from them. Where was it now? I’d seen it in Eric’s daughter’s bedroom. She said that it was some old song, implying it belonged to another generation. A time and a place for everything. Was it really that easy?

  As I flipped through the tattered pages, I could tell by the feel and smell the book was old. Turning to the center section, I found a record of the births, deaths and marriages of my family. The entries were of my great-great-grandparents and their children, and then the handwriting took on the tremble of age to record Grandpa and Grandma’s marriage and listed the births of my mother and her brothers. Thumbing back to the first page, I discovered, this was great-great-grandmother Annie’s Bible. The records stopped but I knew the reason. My own grandmother’s Bible picked up from where this one concluded. As I’d felt many times before, the past reached out.

  When I added another pillow behind me, several pieces of paper fell to the floor. The missive, written on personalized stationery. Annie Barnes, Barnesville, Texas, embossed across the top. I propped myself up and began to read.

  May 1, 1889

  We left Barnesville at dawn this morning. Harold insisted I come along and bring the children. We’ll be gone for several years. Moses will be able to help the men but the others are too small. Eva can help me cook and care for the little ones.

  The first day out was exciting for all of us. A great adventure for the children. We should be in Oklahoma Territory tomorrow night, then we’ll cross over into New Mexico.

  I ruffled through the pages and realized I’d found her entire account of the trip. I couldn’t keep this to myself. Knowing I’d share it with the others, I placed the papers on the nightstand. Shutting my eyes, I could see my great-great-grandmother, Annie, standing by a wagon train in the middle of open, barren land, her children at her side. I let out an audible sigh. Even though I was a fervent genealogist, there was so much I didn’t know about my family.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, I awoke to the buzz of a lawn mower. Clay had either found or borrowed one. The sweet smell of newly cut grass greeted me as I peeked out the window. Two young, teenage boys coaxed the weeds from the dehydrated flower beds as Clay marched behind the revolving scythe.

  I brushed my long hair back into a clip and slid into jeans and a T-shirt. Grabbing my tennis shoes I headed downstairs, a glimpse of myself in the mirror stopped me. There I stood, twenty-eight years old. The last time I remember seeing myself in that mirror I was seven. My life was uncomplicated and my days were unworried and free. Addison Nicole Brown. I was teased about that moniker my whole life. It had opened a few doors for me, though. The interview for my last job as a conservator at Docurestore offered because they thought Addison N. Brown was a male. Good conservators were hard to come by. Ones who knew the ins and outs of the scientific techniques to restore old documents were few. And even fewer of those were female. I’d quit my job days before the funeral, much to Eric’s dismay.

  Maybe he was right. Making decisions too quickly was one of my faults, just as I’d done with my relationships with men. My last boyfriend, Jim, and I dated for five years. Time, now, I feel I wasted. I thought we were meant to be together until I realized we had totally different goals. I always found myself fighting with Eric. He knew exactly where all my buttons were and he continued to push them. Would we ever be close?

  I reached the bottom of the stairs to find Mel in the kitchen. Dressed in white shorts and a blue tank top, she looked as if she’d just stepped out of a television commercial. She consigned each dish to yesterday’s newspaper before she placed it carefully into a packing crate. “Hi, sleepy head. Did you stay up all night reading those letters?”

  “No. Just tired I guess. I did dream about the cattle drive, though.”

  “We left you some breakfast there on the plate. Stick it into the nuker and warm it up.”

  “Thanks. What I really need is coffee.” I sat in my spot at the table and heard thumping noises over my head. “Susan already in the attic?”

  “She and Clay woke up early and started their assigned tasks while I’ve finished the living room.” Mel put the last of the Waterford glasses in a box. “The lawyer called.”

  “What did he want?” I asked. “Do we have more papers to sign or is there
something else?”

  “He wanted to know if we’d found the map.”

  I shook my head. “He knew? Grandpa must have told Mr. Darrow about the false bottom in the box.”

  “He gave me the name of an agent at the Bureau of Land Management.” She pulled down a stack of dinner plates, set them on the counter and crossed the room to the phone. Quickly tearing a page from a notepad, she read, “Here’s his name, Gary Wright.”

  “The BLM,” I said. “I thought of going there myself but at least now we’d have a connection.”

  “Addie. There’s one more thing.” Mel looked at me pensively. “Mr. Darrow has a lead on Donnie.”

  “Really! It would be great if we could find him. I haven’t seen him since I was eight.”

  “Well, you probably won’t now, either. I guess Donnie doesn’t want to be found.”

  “Oh.” Deflated, I drank my coffee, set the cup in the sink and climbed the stairs to the dusty expanse about the same size as the house below but without walls. Old, torn cardboard boxes brimmed over. There were two large dome trunks with patterned, hammered tin lids. Susan knelt in front of one of them.

  “Sorry. I slept in. Have you been working long?”

  She looked up at me and grinned, dirt smeared across one cheek and her hair pulled back into a ponytail that took several years off her face. She looked like a teenager and not the mother of two young boys. “About an hour is all,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Well, I’m here now. What are you doing?”

  “I’m just going through this stuff to see what it is. If it’s important, I put it under the window there.” She pointed to a slated vent. A pile of papers were illuminated by a shard of light where dust motes danced. “Otherwise, we’ll have Clay and the boys cart it down to give to charity.”

  A time to keep and a time to cast away. I felt as if we were invading our grandparent’s memories. Their life stored aside, now exposed. “What did you say was over there?”

  “Mostly old papers but things I thought you should see.” She continued to rummage through the old trunk. “Addie. Look at this.” Susan pulled a yellowed, lace dress up to her size five frame and it looked as if it would fit.