Braddock's Gold

by Jay Heavner

  I wonder what's biting today and on what? The old Potomac River had become so much cleaner since the big dam was built upstream near the headwaters. Tom threw the worm baited hook into a deep pool. He got a bite soon afterward and pulled in the first of 3 big catfish he would get there. They averaged about sixteen inches long. After that, the river went dead. Nothing was biting. Tom decided to try somewhere else. He walked to the old truck and put the catfish on ice in his cooler on the truck bed. Tom downed a cold bottle of water, Knobley Mountain, of course. He hopped in the old truck, spun it around, and was soon over the low water bridge on Patterson Creek. He parked just on the other side.

  Within a minute, he was wetting a line in the pool above the bridge. Fifteen minutes later, he had two basses, one about 12 inches, and the other approximately 2 inches longer. He fished another 30 minutes, but the creek had gone dead for Tom. So it was back to the truck, put the new fish on ice, and back on the road again. He drove up the hill, and the road took a sharp right. He traveled another three miles to where Dans Run Road paralleled the Potomac. Tom found a place to park and grabbed his gear again. He waited for a passing freight train, crossed the tracks, and walked the short distance to the river. He caught two huge carps and threw the trash fish up on the bank to die. Tom knew they tasted like mud.

  Joann had cooked one for him early in their marriage, and it was awful. He reassured her that it wasn't her cooking. It was usually great, fit for a king. He caught one more carp, the biggest yet, and threw it up with the others. Nothing but carp here. He grabbed his equipment and headed for the truck. By the time he reached it, he had decided to continue up Dans Run Road to Fort Ashby. He had several overdue books to return to the library. He passed the goat farm on the right. They looked like meat goats to him. He did not see any udders for milk on them. At a fork in the road, he took a right. The left fork took you to Middle Ridge over Indian Hollow Road. He believed the area was the site of an old Indian village. The farmers were always plowing up artifacts there he heard. He went by the Wagoner's National Bicentennial Farm and earth-sheltered underground house. It faced south for maximum usage of the sun's warming rays during the winter.

  In the summer, the deciduous trees shaded the exposed south side. Tom figured their monthly fuel bills must be next to nothing. He drove past the church at the corner of Dennison Hollow Road and Dans Run Road. On his right, Tom spotted a crude handwritten sign that read, “Large Brown Eggs, $1.50 DZ.” He looked up the lane to the old weathered farmhouse. The roof was good, but the white painted bricks needed paint years ago. There was only a white hint of paint still covering the red brick. The porch was in bad shape, and vines grew up the house. Tom knew this place. Dan Phares lived here, and Tom had been in school with him. Dan was autistic, and he had a younger brother. When their parents died, Dan got a life estate in the old house, and the brother got the farm, with the stipulation that the younger was to see Dan was provided for. The barns on the farm looked well cared for, but the old house looked run down. Tom drove up the steep farm lane to the house that sat on the south end of Patterson Creek Ridge. Tom could see up the valley into Fort Ashby. Down to the right, he noticed Timmy Miltenberger playing by the cottage surrounded by the tall limbless silver maples and sycamores that he called home by Patterson Creek.

  "Hello," he heard a voice shout. "Hello, need some eggs?'

  Tom turned around and saw Dan Phares standing on the porch of the house. Dan was a sight. He never looked you in the eye, always to the side, and he held one arm, the left one always drawn up to his chest. His looks scared many people, but Tom knew him from childhood.

  "Oh, it's you, Tom," said Dan. "You here for eggs or somethin’ else? I got plenty. Business hasn't been good lately. And they're from free-range chickens too."

  "Yeah, I'll take a dozen," Tom said. "How you been, Dan? I haven't seen you in a while. It doesn't look like your brother is taking good care of the house."

  Dan replied, "What's wrong with it? It's just like I want it. I got all I need, a roof over my head, clothes, and wood for the stove to cook and keep warm. I can't think of much more that I would want."

  "I see your point," Tom said. "You have everything you need to be happy."

  "That's right," Dan replied. "Tom, I knew you'd understand. Back when we were in school, you never picked on me or called me names just because I was different. You were always kind to me."

  "That's how I was raised," Tom said. "My folks always told me to treat everyone with kindness, the old Golden Rule, you know."

  Dan shook his head yes. "You still want them eggs?"

  Tom said yes, and Dan motioned for Tom to follow him. He did. They went to the east side of the house where the entrance to the cellar was and went in. It was cool, damp, and dark. Dan pulled a string, and a naked incandescent lit up. "There they are," he said and pointed to the brown eggs.

  Dan put the eggs in a carton and handed them to Tom. Tom took two dollars from his wallet and gave them to Dan. He reached into his pocket with his one good hand and then dropped two shiny coins into Tom's waiting hand. Tom looked at the coins. One was a regular silver Jefferson quarter. The other one was golden in color, and Tom looked at it closely. It was exactly like the one the Padre had shown him. Tom held the gold coin up between his thumb and forefinger. He asked, "Where did you get this?"

  Dan looked at the coin and grimaced. "That's my lucky coin. Can I have it back? I'll give you another quarter."

  "Where did you get this?" Tom asked.

  Dan replied, "I'll tell you because you are my friend Tom. They've been in my family for a long, long time. That's what Daddy told me. He said they were valuable. It's all in that old book there on the shelf. I sell one every now and then to a guy who has a shop in Cumberland. He gives me lots of money for one. It lasts a long time."

  Tom asked, "Can I see the book?"

  "Sure," Dan replied. "I think I lost one last year. I think I gave it a change to a guy I sold eggs to. He didn't give it back. I didn't notice till he was gone. I think he said his name was Michael."

  Tom took the book and read it. He could see it was handwritten by someone barely literate. It was a story of how he had been one of the men that had buried Braddock's Gold in Pennsylvania. He had escaped the massacre. After the last Indian war in this area in 1763, he had settled this homestead and gone back for the gold. He feared it would be discovered here, so he hid it in the old abandoned frontier forts of the area. The gold was placed in swivel guns and buried. To mark the spot, he planted a buttonwood tree. And his name was John Phares.

  Tom looked at Dan. "This book is very important. Don't show it to anyone. Evil people would do anything to have the information in the book. Tell no one, ever."

  For once, Dan looked straight at Tom. "Okay, Tom, I trust you. You know what's best. I won't show it to nobody."

  "Promise?" Tom asked.

  "Yup, promise. Cross my heart and hope to die," Dan said seriously.

  They walked out of the cellar and to Tom's truck. Tom got in and started it as Dan was stood by. Tom said, "Thanks for the eggs. They will make a great omelet. And remember, tell no one and don't show that gold coin around. Take care of yourself, Dan. I need to stop more often."

  "You do that, and I'll do what you say. See ya later alligator," Dan said.

  To which Tom responded, "After a while, crocodile."

  And off he went down the lane to the main road into Fort Ashby. Information like this could be dangerous. He hoped Dan would follow his advice. He wondered what he should do with this knowledge, if anything. Tom hardly noticed any of the road until he got to the old fort. He looked up the hill to the cemetery where Brian was buried. Tom said a little prayer, "Dear God, take care of my son, and give me the wisdom to know what to do with this information."

  He turned the corner at the square onto Route 28. The air was getting colder. It was the first hint of the upcoming winter, and it would be here soon, way too soon. Tom paid the fine for the overdue books at the lib
rary and headed for home. He had fish to clean and business to check on. His sons should have been able to keep things steady for the day. And what would he do with this burdensome new information? Lord, give me wisdom.

  Chapter 40

  Alan was feeling very anxious and stressed as he sat on the porch of the old house. His mother had called his cell phone. It had been off. Her message said his dad had beaten her up again. Damn that SOB. Damn him. He wanted so much to rescue his mom and little brother, but how? The answer was here somewhere, hidden. The grow house marijuana was almost ready for harvest. Would The Voice give him his share of the profit from the operation or not? Alan could not forget the crack Mike had made about maybe having to kill him at the start of this. Would he get his cut, or would he find his reward for services rendered was a bullet to the head? He was afraid. He did not want to die alone on some remote hillside in West Virginia.

  The gold was here somewhere. Alan knew it. He could feel it. If he found it, he'd take the old bike that had been Mike's uncles, fill the baskets with the gold, and ride to the railroad down by the Potomac at the mouth of Patterson Creek. He'd travel along it until he got to the old towpath on the C & O National Park, and from there, he would take the towpath to Hagerstown. A gold dealer would buy some of the gold. He'd rent a car, rescue his mom and brother, and head for somewhere no one could find them. That was the plan, a shaky one at best, but better than none at all.

  Mike came out of the front door and said, "I'll be leaving now. I should be back late on Sunday. The Voice says he needs me for the weekend."

  Mike had left like this before and always returned when he said he would.

  With that, he was off. Alan watched the truck get smaller as it rolled down the farm lane. Half out loud, he said to himself, "Yeah, he'll probably give you instructions on the harvest and how he wants my body disposed of."

  Alan had concluded from the old books and papers that Mike's uncle had accumulated that the gold, Braddock's Gold, or at least a large portion of it was somewhere here on the farm, but where? He was missing a piece of the puzzle. One old book claimed it was buried at Fort Sellers, and Alan now knew he'd found the fort right in the field in front of the house. Two weeks ago, he had noticed the odd lines the plants made in the field. The lines formed a box with diamond patterns at the corners. It was the shape of old Fort Sellers. It wasn’t out at Old Furnace like the Historical Sign indicated, but right here under his feet.

  There were some handwritten notes from Mike's uncle indicating somewhere he had found information that placed the gold on this farm, but the page with the exact location was missing. Alan was getting desperate. The only thing else he had in the notes was a name and phone number. It belonged to a Tom Kenney. Who was he? Did he know where the gold was or not? Alan decided he would risk calling him.

  It was a slow morning at the Knobley Mountain Bottled Water office. The drivers were out on deliveries. Tom and his son were at their desks doing some paperwork. Tom was exasperated. He let out a loud sigh and said to Doug, "Will there ever be an end to this new government paperwork?"

  "Not till the next election," Doug said. "That clown in the White House and his gang on Capitol Hill have never run a business. If they did, I'm sure they'd crash and burn quick. They don't have a clue what it takes to be successful in running a business, or a county. They shouldn’t even be allowed to play with matches."

  "Hey Doug, get the phone," Tom said. "We've got a call. I smell money."

  Doug picked up the receiver. "Hello, Knobley Mountain Bottled Water. How can we help you? Okay. Dad, it's for you." Doug held his hand over the receiver on the phone.

  "Who is it, Doug?"

  "He wouldn't say. Just says he needs to talk to you."

  "Okay," Tom grabbed his desk phone. "Hello, this is Tom Kenney. How can I help you? What? Why, yes? Yes, I think I can help. How do I get there? Yes. Okay. That's left at the gate? Okay, see you soon. Bye."

  "What was all about, Dad?" asked Doug.

  "Some guy named Alan Grey says he's found old Fort Seller down at Patterson Creek, the town of, that is. Says he found my name and phone number in some notes of his roommate's late Uncle Michael Levy. I think we are about to make an important discovery. I think I know where on his farm Braddock's lost gold is located."

  "Dad, come on. This sounds like another wild goose chase. You told me that was just an old wife's tale," said Doug.

  "I used to think it was till I bought some eggs," replied Tom. "Now, I believe we are on to something big."

  "Okay, pop," Doug said. "Go off and play and leave me to mind the shop."

  "You are probably right," he paused, "but I'm still going. That's one of the advantages of being the senior partner in this outfit," said Tom.

  Doug rolled his eyes. "Okay, popster, get going."

  "But, first, a trip to the bathroom."

  "Why did I know that? Why?" laughingly questioned Doug.

  "Old guy rule number 1," replied Tom. "Never pass up a bathroom."

  Doug just shook his head. He went back to work at the desk. Another call came in, and he took it. A minute later, Tom walked back through the office and out the door. Doug heard his dad's truck start up, and off he went. Doug glanced over at Tom's desk. He noted the crude map of directions Tom had drawn was still on the counter. He'll be back if he couldn't remember them. He'll be back.

  Tom traveled two miles north on WV Route 28. It was at that point, he remembered the directions. No, he wasn't going back. He could remember them. Down the crooked Old Furnace Road, he went. He took a left on the road to the sleepy town of Patterson Creek. Once there, he turned right on the unmarked road that led to the low water bridge over Patterson Creek, the stream. He followed the road up the hill and soon found the gate that blocked the road up to the old farmhouse where Alan waited. The chain was dummy-locked, just as Alan had said. Tom shut the gate behind him. Was this going to be worth his while or merely another disappointment as Doug expected? He would soon know.

  Chapter 41

  Mike stopped the truck at the gate to the main road. He unlocked it, drove through, and locked it again. He wondered what the special job was that The Voice had summoned him for. Just like The Voice. Everything you need to know and less. Still, The Voice had treated him well over the years. He slowed for the low water bridge. It was a beautiful view. Soon, he was on the winding Old Furnace Road. He'd heard road engineers in WV that laid out the roads were paid by the mile, and this road seemed a testimony of that.

  He pulled into the parking lot that served the Old Furnace Restaurant, better known as Linda's, and the grocery store. He went in and purchased a soda, chips, and some gum, cinnamon. As he walked out the door, he noticed the black and white historical sign along Route 28. It was for Fort Sellers, the old fort that was active during the French and Indian war. Mike thought Uncle Michael was sure interested in all that old Colonial war stuff though he couldn't imagine why. History didn't interest him, but Alan had sure taken to Uncle's old books. That was good. It would keep his mind active and him out of trouble.

  Mike pulled the truck out on the Route 28 and headed for Cumberland. There he picked up Interstate 68 going east. He went past Rocky Gap State Park and over two mountains, Polish and Martin's. Soon the road joined I 70 East. Forty minutes later, he passed Hagerstown. He noted the road sign, 17 miles to Antietam-Sharpsburg National Battlefield. This area was so full of history, the French and Indian War, the American Revolution and the Civil War, but that interested Mike only a little. He neared the top of the second hill before Frederick. He went under the footbridge where the Appalachian Trail crossed the interstate and pulled into the rest stop just past it. Here he remembered that the D.C. sniper was captured. Nut case. Why did he kill people without a reason?

  Just then, his cell phone rang. "Hello?"

  "Mike." It was The Voice, "There's been a change of plans, I won't be needing you."

  "Understood, there's been a change of plans, I'm not needed today," said Mi
ke.

  "That is correct. Have a nice day," The Voice replied. Then click, the line went dead.

  Mike thought that's so like The Voice, to the point, then gone. "Have a nice day," what a guy, this Voice. I guess I have the day off and can go back to the house, but then, Saturday was the day I usually visited Flossy, I'd just be early. Mike could see her in the stewardess outfit, Fly the friendly skies united, as they had many times.

  After using the facilities at the rest stop, he grabbed a Maryland state tourist book and headed to the truck. What luck, ten minutes from the rendezvous point, and his job was canceled. Have a nice day. I will. He turned the truck around at the next exit and headed for Ned's Place and Flossy.

  Before long, Mike was back to Hagerstown. Three minutes later, he pulled into the empty parking lot of the bar. Ned's Place, Drink Old German Beer, said the sign out front. He got out of the truck and walked to the front door. There was a closed sign on it. He tried the door. It was unlocked, and he went in. Mike heard a male voice, "Sorry, we're closed."

  A tall, big man came into the room. "Mike, what are you doing here?" The big man asked. "You usually don't get here till later."

  "Well, there was a change of plans, and I was in the neighborhood, so I decided to stop in to see Belle and the girls."

  "Okay," replied the big man. "Go right on back. You know the way."

  Mike walked through the door marked 'Private,' turned left and stopped at the door with the buzzer and intercom. A closed-circuit camera was on the wall watching. He rang the buzzer and waited. Soon a female voice said, "Why, Mike come on in." Mike heard the door click open, and he went into the room. There stood Belle, the Madame. "Mike, I know why you're here, but why are you so early?"

  "Change of plans," he said. "Where's Flossy?"

  "I hate to disappoint you, Mike, but there was a death in her family, and she won't be back till Tuesday."