Evelyn Swift

A contemporary novel set in the Mother Lode of California and based partly on an actual event.

Lostcreek, a quiet, forgotten backwater tucked away in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, attracts Mike Doyle, a geologist. He is eager to reopen an old goldmine that has future potential. He is also anxious to put city life, a failed marriage, and a meaningless job behind him and realize this long-held dream.

Draining the flooded mine seriously affects the town’s water supply, and an impasse develops with the town fathers. Accusations, threats and demands from each side bode ill for the miner and the town. And as Mike continues his fight, tragedy rocks the small community — the apparent suicide of an innocent victim caught up in the escalating conflict.

A man . . . and a community that lost its innocence.
Click book cover for larger image | Read excerpt below

The Lostcreek Legacy
by Evelyn Swift
9″ × 6″ trade paperback, 208 pages
Publisher: Umbach Publishing
ISBN 978-0-6152-0372-0
$15.00 Buy now

Excerpt from The Lostcreek Legacy

Chapter One

“Suits me fine. Five years’ lease on the mine, with option for another five.”

Mike Doyle leaned back in his chair and looked appreciatively at the woman sitting across the old-fashioned desk. Susan Guesso was attractive, no doubt about that, dark-haired, assured, yet with a little-girl kind of innocence. He thought momentarily of Louise; blonde, also attractive, but brittle as they come. A wry smile touched his lips. If she’d lived in this quiet backwater might she still have a touch of softness, warmth, in her makeup? Perhaps. But why think of her? This woman relaxed him, pleased his senses, she seemed so much part of the rural ambiance here he found so appealing. This house, for instance, breathed longevity; a bulwark against time and fashion.

He glanced around him trying to guess the age of the place. Not a large room, certainly not luxurious, and yet elegant in a timeless way with its long, narrow windows, dark-papered walls and carved moldings. The blackened fireplace, graced by a gleaming wooden mantel, dominated the room. A grandfather clock ticked away comfortably between mismatched easy chairs facing an overstuffed sofa beneath the windows. And who played the ancient piano, still with candle sconces? He wondered.

Susan followed his glance. “Bygone age, eh? This house was built almost a hundred years ago. Before that there was only a sort of cabin here.”

“Your people have been here a long time?”

Susan smiled. “Forever. Jonathan Lost, my great-great-grandfather, came to California in 1850 looking for gold. He found his way here, discovered the creek and decided that’s where he was going to stake his claim. He sank his first shaft here, acquired more land. Later on other gold seekers came and eventually the town, if you can call it that, came into being.”

“Jonathan Lost, eh?” Mike grinned. “Seems as though he didn’t though. From what I’ve read the mine was productive for years.”

“Yes.” Susan rested her elbows on the desk, hands under her chin. “My grandfather was the last to work it. World War I came and afterwards, I understand, the cost of gold mining became almost prohibitive.”

“True. The price of quicksilver — which was used in the recovery of gold — skyrocketed, and everything else connected with deep mining rose in proportion.”

Susan’s eyebrows rose. “You obviously know more about that than I do. I have no idea when the mine was abandoned. My grandfather died in the early thirties and as he left only one child, my mother, there was nobody to work it, anyway.” Mike felt her gaze filled with curiosity. “Why do you want to start it up again?”

He had no difficulty with that question. “The mine yielded well in the past. I’m convinced there’s still gold down there, the price is up, and if I can get the stuff out and make a profit, I’ll be well satisfied.” Mike paused. “Besides I’ve always wanted to try my hand at gold mining.” Something in that steady gaze invited confidences. “You see, I’m a geologist by trade — an out-of-work geologist. I’ve done my homework, I know what I’m getting into, and this is the right time to do it.” There was another reason for this venture, but he didn’t feel the need to discuss it with her.

Mike shifted in his chair as a silence fell between them, broken only by the measured ticking of the clock. He watched as Susan straightened a couple of sheets of paper. Better tie up the few loose ends and then depart. He stood up, satisfied he’d completed a reasonable deal and yet somehow reluctant to leave this tranquil room.

From somewhere in the house he heard a door open and close.

“That’ll be mother.” Susan got up and came around the desk. “She wants to meet you. She’s the owner of all the property, not me. Just to be sure we’ve covered everything.” She made a detaining movement with her hand and went out the door.

A moment later a movement behind him made him turn. Susan came into the room followed by a silver-haired lady, not tall, but who carried herself erect as though defying the weight of years. Her gaze was direct and keen, seeming to size him up, and Mike smiled to himself. She had spunk, that he could see, and she’d probably needed it, living out her life here.

“This is Catherine Brittony, my mother,” Susan introduced them, as they shook hands. “Mike Doyle, who wants to lease the mine.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived,” She glanced at Susan. “We didn’t expect you so early. Now . . .” She transferred her gaze to him. “Have you gone over the details? I want to be sure we’re clear on all points.”

“Yes, ma’am. I want to lease ten acres. That includes the mine, the creek and the cabin on the property.”

“You know about the water?”

“Yes. I understand that the creek, fed by an underground river, has been the source of the town’s water for generations. I’ll keep all operations away from that area. My sluice will run from the far side of the mine, into the depression north. That okay?”

Catherine nodded. “It’s a pretty lonely spot.”

Mike grinned. “Exactly what I’m looking for. I don’t want anybody moving in on me.”

“There’s little chance of that. We own most of the land hereabouts.” Catherine paused and appeared to think for a moment. “Oh, and by the way, there are old documents, records, pertaining to the mine somewhere in the house. Would they be helpful?”

“Very. I’d appreciate them.” He couldn’t disguise his eagerness.

“I’ll have them ready when you come to sign the lease.”

“Thank you. Then I’m all set to go.”

Driving back to town he had a moment of misgiving. Was this going to work or was it a foolish escapade he’d later regret? Lord, he’d made mistakes in the past, plenty of them. Would this be another?

He shook off the feeling, bringing his attention back to the road. No, he would make a success of this. All obstacles were cleared, or almost. He was ready to put Sacramento, a failed marriage, a meaningless job he’d abandoned, behind him. Make a fresh start.

Louise. The good feeling faded. She’d made it clear what she thought of him giving up his job, vegetating out in the country, grubbing for gold.

Her words. Her opinion. For a long time now they’d differed on most things. So be it.

Susan looked around the room, her gaze coming to rest on the old-fashioned desk. The chair Mike had occupied sat slightly askew. “That reminds me,” she remarked to Catherine, “we’ve got a lease to make up for Mr. Michael Doyle. He’s hoping to make his fortune. Think he will?”

“Unfortunately I’m not blessed with foresight.”

“Oh well, perhaps it’s a good thing.”

She was to remember those words.