Fraser has just found a box full of keepsakes from when he was a child; one of the first things he pulls out of the box is a shiny stone...
Iron Pyrite
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1997
He picked up the lump of iron pyrite, and as vividly as if she were there, he could hear his mother's voice on a cold, crisp September morning.
"It's ugly," his mother said, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her jacket. She was staring at the strip mine below their new cabin, her jaw set in restrained frustration.
"Caroline, it's the only place the RCMP has available for us," his father replied, starting down the trail in to town. "I'm sure we'll find something better later, but for now, we have to make do." Robert Fraser adjusted his Stetson and strode off quickly, obviously trying to avoid a losing argument. His wife gazed after him ruminatively, then looked back at the mine below the ridge. A jagged, raw pit broke the healthy landscape with its expanse of grey and black rock; the open ponds below it were tinged a sickly green, and large stockpiles of dirt were piled around the perimeter of the site.
"It's still ugly," his mother said in a quiet voice, then sighed. "Come on, Ben. Help me start unpacking, okay honey?"
The two of them opened boxes and arranged the small store of furniture around their new home for most of the morning, Ben careful not to touch the breakable objects, leaving them for his mother's efforts. But he did his part, collecting the packing material and stacking it neatly in the corner, earning a smile from his mother as he patted the heavy paper down with clumsy five-year-old fingers. By noon, most of their smaller belongings had been unpacked, and his mother made them grilled cheese sandwiches on the hot plate.
She stared around the rest of the boxes as they cleaned up the lunch mess, and suddenly announced, "We need a break. Want to go for a walk with me, Ben?"
"We aren't going to finish?" he asked, looking from the unopened boxes to his mother, then back, feeling a vague sense of surprise.
"No," she responded, a smile curving her lips. "That's for later. Now, we're going to walk. Explore our new back yard."
"Sure," he agreed, curiosity overcoming his confusion.
They picked their way carefully down the slope below the house, his mother pointing out some of the birds and plants his father had already named to him on previous nature walks. He even showed her one or two that she claimed not to recognize, full of a sense of importance at sharing his knowledge. She exclaimed in wonder and approval, holding his hand as they made their way to the bottom of the hill.
They reached the road below their house, and his mother stood still for a moment, studying the mine site and the surrounding fence with narrowed eyes. Worry and sadness rose up in Ben as he watched her almost angry face glaring at the mine. "Dad said we wouldn't stay here for always," he offered, squeezing her hand. "We'll have another house, sometime."
Surprised, she glanced down at him, and squeezed his hand in return. "I know, Benny. I know. I'm not mad at your Daddy."
"Oh. Good." Benton nodded, relieved, but still wondering why she was upset.
Caroline Fraser turned her dark gaze back to the mine. "I'm just kinda mad that the miners are here. Of all the useless, stupid... As if more gold was such a wonderful thing. As if it were worth wrecking the landscape for...." She made an angry noise between her teeth, then smiled down at her son. "But then, I guess some people like gold more than flowers, hunh, Ben?"
"Guess so." He blinked solemnly at her, and she tousled his hair and led him back up the slope of the hill.
Beneath the shade of one of the pines, he stopped, letting go of her hand to scrabble at the base of the tree a moment. "Here!" he said, handing his mother a glittering dark stone, bits of it shiny with gold flecks. "For you."
"Oh, Benny. Thank you." She knelt down next to him, turning the small stone in her hands, making it shimmer in the sunlight. "Gold. All for me, hunh?" she asked wryly, although her smile of thanks was genuine.
"It's not real gold, Dad says. It's iron pyrite," Ben said, repeating the name carefully. "Fool's gold. But we didn't have to dig anything up, so that makes it better than gold, doesn't it?"
She stared at him blank-faced a moment, then grinned, her smile gleaming white and wide, and kissed him on the forehead. "Much better. Thank you, Ben."
They returned to the cabin to find his father already there, unpacking the last of the boxes.
"Where've you been?" his father asked gruffly. "I thought I'd come back at lunch, and help you unpack...." His father's voice trailed off as he glanced from mother to son.
"Looking for gold," Caroline said with an oblique glance at Benton.
"Well, you won't find any lying around out there---the mining company has to smelt the ore down three ways from Sunday to get anything salable---"
"Oh, I don't know." His mother was still smiling, eyes gleaming like the flecks in the pyrite. "I seemed to have an easy enough time finding it."