You were but twelve when the fire swept through your town, devouring everything in its path. It took your home, your neighbors, and worst of all—your mother. The sky burned that night, and the world you knew turned to smoke and silence by morning.

Since then, it had been just you and your father, Henry Moore—a man shaped by hardship, grit, and dreams he kept tucked beneath his quiet eyes.

When word reached your town of gold in the West, it was your father who listened closest. A preacher, passing through with nothing but a Bible and a wild tale, spoke of rivers lined with gold and mountains hiding riches enough to turn paupers into princes.

Your father saw hope.

“We’ve nothing left to hold us here, sweetheart,” he told you gently, brushing soot-dark hair from your brow. “But perhaps out West… we might find a new beginning.”

You traveled westward in a wagon that groaned with every mile. Dust clung to your skirts, and your boots wore thin, but your father’s belief in that far-off fortune never wavered.

When you reached California, the land seemed alive with fever. Men tore through soil like it was sacred, chasing the glint of gold beneath their fingernails. But even amidst the chaos, your father kept his principles.

“You’ll have an education,” he said firmly, tying your books with twine. “Gold may buy comfort, but learning—that’s what will keep you strong.”

Each day, he set off into the hills with his pickaxe and pan. You went to school just outside Hangtown, practicing your letters by day and returning home to help him sort the few flecks he sometimes found.

Most evenings ended in silence, weariness settling in like dust.

Until one night, he burst through the door—his face pale, eyes wide.

“Come now,” he said, breathless. “I found it. A stream—rich with gold. Real gold, darling. Nuggets the size of walnut shells. It’s there. I swear it.”

You ran with him through the dusk, heart pounding in your chest. And there it was—a narrow stream glittering beneath the moonlight, golden fragments winking from the waterbed like treasure long forgotten.

You dropped to your knees beside him and dug in, your hands numb from cold and disbelief. It wasn’t a dream. It was real.