Alvarado Gold Read online

  “That’s Grandma’s wedding dress.” My thoughts went to the photo on my dresser back home in San Jose. Grandma stood tiny and slim, on Grandpa’s arm. Their smiles revealed the happiness they saw in their future together. “I recognize it from Mom’s pictures.”

  “Do you want it, Addie?”

  “No. You and Mel decide which one of you will keep it. It’s beautiful and in fair shape to be as old as it is.” A wedding dress, I’d probably never need one, especially one that size. The last time I fit into a size five I might have been ten-years-old.

  “What else is in there?” I dug into the trunk. I removed more pictures and their marriage certificate, carried each item over and increased the stack under the window. I found a box of old jewelry, evidently costume, but I’d let Mel take a look. I added it to the collection.

  After we emptied the contents of the trunk, we decided the chest itself wasn’t good enough to keep and proceeded to the next set of boxes. This went on all morning. We were almost finished and the stack of things under the window grew larger. Susan lifted the lid of the second trunk. This one was in better shape with tiny roses indented in the top. A small object sat squarely in the middle of Grandpa’s folded cardigan sweaters.

  “Addie. This little box looks a lot like the one from Mr. Darrow’s office.”

  I walked over, knelt beside her, and took the small case from her hand, a miniature of the one in my bedroom. I pushed on the sides and bottom to see if it, too, would come apart. It didn’t. I opened the hinged top to find a brittle envelope almost the same yellow color as the dress.

  Embossed on the outside was the shape of a key. In heavy, thick strokes written with an old-fashioned pen were the date and words –June 12, 1869. Trunk Key. I handed it to Susan.

  “They returned from the cattle drive in 1869, Addie, the one where they buried the gold. Do you suppose ...?”

  Her hands trembled as she opened the envelope. Empty, except for a tiny scrap of paper. Something was scribbled down but the ink was old and barely visible. “I can’t make this out. Can you?”

  “Wait. I brought something with me. It’s in my suitcase.” I scurried down to the landing where our bedrooms were located. As I slid my hand into the side pocket of my suitcase, I found what I was looking for–a portable ultraviolet light.

  When I returned, Susan quizzically looked at the contraption. “What’s that for?”

  “I can decipher old writings with this.” I had to admit, “I also use it for drying my nails.” As soon as I placed the light over the paper the inscription appeared: 32215N 97911W, Near the cave. Ben Barnes, 1869.

  “Addie, what do you think these numbers mean? And near the cave?”

  Suddenly, everything clicked. The map, the letter. Clues to where the gold was hidden. But where was the key? Who had it? And why hadn’t they taken the note? More secrets.

  “Addie?”

  “Susan. Ben Barnes was our great-great-great uncle, Grandpa John’s brother. He was on the cattle drive in 1869. This envelope and those numbers mean something. Get Clay. Meet me back in the kitchen.”

  Chapter Four

  “This better be good.” Clay slammed the door to the back porch. “I want to get the mess cleaned up in the yard while those two boys are willing to work. They want to knock off at noon and go to the movies.”

  The late morning sun filed the kitchen. Except for the repetitive sweep of a circular fan, the air hung motionless. After Mel poured us each a glass of lemonade, we approached the table. We’d claimed our “places” now and fell into our assigned seats.

  I slid the small piece of parchment towards Clay placing the light so he could read the faded ink. “What do you make of these numbers?”

  “I don’t know. Could be almost anything. Near the cave? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  As Mel sat next to him and studied the numbers, I could almost hear the gears meshing in her brain. After a long pull on her lemonade, she set the glass aside. “Where did you get the note?”

  “Susan and I found it in this small box in the attic.” I held the box out on the palm of my hand. “It’s like the one from the lawyer’s office. The numbers were in this envelope. Look at the outside of the envelope you can see an impression of a key.”

  Mel rubbed her fingers over the paper. “It’s a simple key, probably could be duplicated easily.”

  “Aren’t those numbers coordinates? Northing and easting.” I asked.

  Susan looked at me, puzzled. “What are you talking about?” She reached for the paper.

  “You know latitude and longitude.” Mel frowned at Susan. “Remember Mrs. Higgins’ eighth grade geography class?”

  Clay wiped his brow on the sleeve of his once white T-shirt. “How can we find out where they are?”

  Mel, already out of her chair, headed for her room. “I’ve brought my laptop.”

  When she returned, the three of us crowded in behind her as she brought up the Internet. She went to one of her favorite real estate sites and typed in the numbers.

  “It’s here in Texas about twelve miles east of Cleburne, south of Alvarado.”

  “That’s it. It’s gotta be Barnesville.” I felt a rush of excitement. “Maybe the key opens the trunk that holds the gold.”

  Clay stood up and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Okay, Addie. You’re into all this genealogy stuff. Explain to us again who these people are and why no one has ever found the gold.”

  “Our third great grandfather…” I began.

  Clay held up his hand, “Wait. What’s third great?”

  “Our great-great-great grandfather, John Barnes, went on this cattle drive in 1867. We know that from the letter. They came back, buried the gold somewhere around where they lived in Alvarado, then never went back to get it. Several family members have looked for it, including your dad.”

  “Why didn’t Grandpa give Dad the slip of paper?” Clay moved closer to the door so he could keep an eye on his young gardeners.

  “The piece of paper was either overlooked or probably, the ink was faded on it then, too, and seemed to be unimportant. As far as the key, I don’t know. You can bet Grandpa planted that box. It was sitting square in the middle of the chest when Susan opened it.”

  “Near the cave. It’s not much of a clue. Where is the key, anyway?” Clay turned and swerved out the door before we could answer him. “You three mull that over. I need to go make sure those boys are doing their job.” He called over his shoulder.

  Susan gingerly pointed toward the computer screen. “Mel, is there somewhere we could go and find out if this is Barnesville?”

  “Addie’s going to the Bureau of Land Management tomorrow. Why don’t you go with her? I have an appointment in the morning with a Realtor.”

  Susan sat down next to Mel at the corner of the checkered cloth, “What can the land management people do for us?”

  I drew my chair closer to the table and sat down. “The Bureau has records of deeds and land holdings going back to the 1800’s. They’ll be able to tell us exactly where this is and who held the land rights.”

  After dinner that evening, the four of us returned to the living room. I stood near the window and gazed at a moth who danced with the glow from a solitary streetlight. The roads were quiet. No cars, no city noises. Loneliness crept into the corners of my thoughts.

  A time to find and a time to lose. I wanted to hold onto this family I’d only recently reclaimed. We’d been separated long enough.

  I joined the others where they sat cross-legged on the floor. Susan deposited the papers and pictures we’d found in the middle of the circle we’d formed. Mel, too, found a stack of things we needed to go through. The documents turned out to be nothing more than our grandparent’s journey through life marked by records and photographs.

  Mel and I went through the box of jewelry. We would take two pieces with us to an appraiser. Both were brooches. She was sure one was diamonds and the other emeralds.

  I st
retched and stood up. “We will have to decide who wants what of this stuff. Clay is the only one who drove. The three of us will have to go to the post office later this week and ship packages.”

  “I’d like Grandma’s wedding dress, unless you want it, Mel.” Susan sat on the edge of the chair she’d moved to waiting for her sister to answer.

  “No, it’s fine. I ran across some old glassware I’m interested in. I think its depression glass. What about you, Addie?”

  “I’d like the old documents. It will help me with my genealogy and I may find something else in there that will tell us about Barnesville.” I thought for a moment, then added, “Grandpa’s collection of Civil War uniform buttons really interests me, too.” History was such an important part of my life and now our families’ history was being divided up amongst the last of the Barnes family. I felt a soulful pang in my chest, almost one of guilt. We’d lost so much not knowing each other. Tears began to sting at the back of my eyes and I looked down at the floor.

  Clay, eager to let us know what he wanted, made his request. “There are some old tools of Grandpa’s in the garage, and in my room, I found his pocketknife and an old gun. I wanted something for me to remember him by. You know guy stuff.”

  “Addie.” Mel rose and sank into a chair. “How about reading us the account of the cattle drive?”

  I reread the portion I’d read the night before. Then, continued on:

  We crossed over into New Mexico this morning. It’s a dry, dusty land with afternoon thunderstorms that spook the cattle. I was able to make a decent meal for everyone tonight and should be able to for several nights to come. I don’t want to start eating hardtack and jerky too soon.

  “The trip must have been an undertaking, especially with small children along. I prefer planes and trains.” Mel put her head back on the cushion of the recliner.

  Mel, the most sophisticated of us all, owned a large real estate firm in Virginia. She traveled frequently into D.C., working out details for housing for Congressmen during their terms in office. She and her husband, Richard, never had children. At first, I think she wanted to, but her career kept her on the move until she decided her internal clock passed twelve. Mel always said she had so many nieces and nephews she didn’t need children. Clay, on the other hand, had five spread over three different marriages. The only thing Clay was married to now was his business interest in the restaurant.

  “I wonder why they kept going to Seattle.” Susan interrupted my thoughts. “They went twice, didn’t they?”

  “I don’t know. My guess is family. I couldn’t find anything to indicate why they’d gone there. They stayed for a while, though. Must have had some reason.”

  “Well, I have reason to go to bed.” Clay stood and rubbed his shoulders. “I haven’t worked this hard in years.”

  We all started toward the stairs. Clay and Susan were already out of the room. As I reached for the light switch, Mel grabbed my arm. “Don’t turn it off just yet. We need to talk.”

  “Why all the secrecy?”

  “I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up about this gold thing, but I found something in one of the kitchen drawers. Look at this.” Mel thrust a piece of paper in my direction.

  It was a letter from Uncle Joseph. Most of it small talk, except for the last paragraph.

  Dad, Clayton and I looked for the gold as long as we could hold out. We both had jobs and families to get home to. I’ll keep the little key you gave me, if nothing else as a keepsake. I’m going to give it to Donnie one day; maybe he’ll find the trunk.

  “When did you find this, Mel? Before or after we found the envelope?”

  “After. I didn’t see any reason to call everyone back together again.”

  “You found it in the kitchen? Where?” I couldn’t believe something this important had been stuck in a cupboard.

  “It was at the bottom of a drawer with some old bills and receipts. It looked like Grandpa just threw things in there. It must have been his own answer to a filing cabinet.” Mel smiled. Being organized was my personal cross to bear. I kept my mouth shut. She probably used the same system.

  Mel continued, “If Donnie has the key, maybe that’s why he doesn’t want us to find him.”

  I smiled at Mel and clicked off the light. “Yes, but we have the coordinates.” And, I thought to myself, maybe the answer to one of the family’s closely guarded secrets.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, Mel, Susan and I stood on the porch of our grandfather’s house where we waited for a cab. The real estate office, Mel’s partner suggested we use, was two miles from the Bureau of Land Management and we were in luck with Neiman Marcus strategically located halfway in between. Susan and I were going to the Bureau and then meet Mel at the upscale department store. We’d have lunch and get the jewelry appraised.

  Clay backed his van up to the garage to load his treasures. Just as the cab drove up, he pulled his head out of the sliding panel door. “We’re having Lobster Thermador tonight, ladies; don’t eat too much at lunchtime.”

  Mel waved back to him. “Another ten pounds,” she sighed as she slapped her trim hips. We settled into the cab and Mel told the driver, “Williams and Son’s Real Estate, 1526 Darby Street.” He nodded and we jerked from the curb.

  The two major driving components for Houston cabbies consisted of gas pedal and horn. Concerned the twenty-minute ride into town would be an experience, I grabbed the tortoiseshell box as it slid from my lap. We’d emptied the container of everything except the jewelry, the map and the coordinates.

  The cab driver eased in and out of busy downtown traffic like a snake slithering through tall grass. He slammed on the brake a couple of times and shook his fist at the other drivers; however, we arrived at the Realtor’s office safe and sound.

  “This should only take about an hour. I’ll meet you two at the jewelry counter about eleven?” Mel retracted her head from the window.

  “Sounds good to me. Hope we get there in one piece,” I laughed. The cabby glared at me in the rearview mirror and we lurched back into traffic. Shortly thereafter, I located the Bureau building, handed the cabby thirty dollars and waved his offer to return the change. The extra deemed a bonus, which freed us from his feeble attempt at driving.

  Mel and I had discussed what I should ask once we reached the office. Susan and I went into the large building, found the floor for the Bureau and walked to the creaky, old elevator. Thankfully, the ride to the tenth floor was far less bumpy than the one in the cab.

  B.L.M., Houston Branch, in bold brass letters, marked the door. We entered a typical government office, no fancy furniture, nothing upscale just a field of tiny cubicles. I approached the receptionist. “We’re looking for Gary Wright.”

  Pointing to a row of hard blue, plastic chairs, she droned in a monotone voice, “Please sign the registry and then have a seat, I’ll get the specialist to help you.” We dutifully obeyed.

  “Do you have an appointment?” she droned.

  “No.” I finished signing my name and looked up at her from the counter that separated us. “My grandfather’s lawyer, David Darrow, gave us his name.”

  She picked up her phone and in the same monosyllable voice she spoke with Mr. Wright telling him we were waiting. Mr. Wright, I’d like to find a Mr. Right. He’ll probably be sixty with a soft paunch, just wait.

  A man, not sixty and decidedly minus a paunch, came out of cubicleville, then swung through the gate-like door marked employees only. I imagined him ready to head out of the office when, instead, he walked straight to Susan and me. He extended his hand. “Gary Wright.”

  “You?” I sputtered recognizing him from our jarring encounter in the lobby the day before.

  “Yes. We collided yesterday at David’s office.” He smiled.

  “I remember.” I felt the heat rise on my cheeks. “Here.” I handed the map to him. “We need to know where this is. We’re looking for a land grant for some family property.” I studied
his profile. He was no Adonis but not unattractive either. The chiseled features of his face and his sun kissed skin made his blue eyes more noticeable. This dark haired, blue eyed man didn’t quite seem to belong in Texas. But what did I know, I didn’t belong here either. He looked more California or New York. I wondered if he had on cowboy boots with that suit.

  We followed Mr. Wright to a consultation office and showed him the numbers I’d copied onto another piece of paper. He examined them carefully and added more information 32.21.5N -97.9.11W. I noticed his hands. Hands tell a lot about a person. His were big and tanned. Not rough or callused but they weren’t unaccustomed to work, either. Strong hands.

  “There, I think that will help.” He smoothed the paper he’d written on and stood. “I’ll be right back.” I leaned over and my gaze followed him as he walked away. Wingtips.

  Susan poked me in the ribs. “What do you think of him? Did you notice the color of his eyes? They were an amazing shade of blue-violet.”

  “Susan! You’re married,” I teased her. “You’re not supposed to look.”

  “Married, not dead. You should be the one who’s looking.”

  “I haven’t dated in a while.” I screwed up my face and shot back to her, “I’ve sworn off men so I’m not starting anything now.”

  “Don’t give up on them.” She winked. “They can be pretty nice to have around.”

  As he entered the room, I whispered to her, “No. I’m not interested.” At least, I don’t think so.

  He returned with several leather bound books, each measuring two by two feet. “These are the listings of the land holdings in the area of your coordinates. Most of the entries were made between 1860 and 1875.

  “May I, Mr. Wright? I’m a conservator of old documents. I’d love to look at these.”

  “Sure. I don’t need to ask you to be careful, and please, call me Gary.” He smiled and his eyes turned to pure violet.

  I opened one of the books and caught the old, musty smell. Running my hand over the paper, I touched the crumbling edges. The adrenaline rushed through me as it did every time. The book, over 150 years old, let me touch the past. I could feel it. I’d done this hundreds of times and it never changed. But this time, I looked for something for myself.