by Jay Heavner
Fool’s Wisdom
Jay Heavner
Canaveral Publishing
Fool’s Wisdom
Jay Heavner
Copyright ©2016 Jay Heavner
Second edition copyright ©2019 Jay Heavner
The song “Fool’s Wisdom” by Malcolm Wild and Alwyn Wall, copyright 1991 by Sound Truth Publishing, is used with permission. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual people, places, or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from the author.
Cover design by Fineline Printing, Titusville, Florida
Mr. Heavner can be contacted at [email protected]
I’d like to dedicate this book to all the men and women who served in Vietnam. All gave some. Some gave all. They were not welcomed back home with open arms and parades like veterans of past wars, which they deserved. No war is pretty. They never are. These men and women were sent to do a dirty job, and they did the best they could without the support of many in our nation or Congress. You defended what you loved, America. Thank you for your service.
And to my pastor, Malcolm Wild, from whom I first heard of Fool’s Wisdom.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Kathleen Nadeau for opening my eyes to the history of the Cherokee people, to Ritchie at PSL for his help on guns, Doc Holladay of Sky Soldiers who took time and told me of his experiences in Vietnam during the Ia Drang Valley battle, and thanks to Sky Soldiers from American Aviation Heritage Foundation for the ride in the Huey helicopter.
Thanks to all the pastors of Calvary Chapel Merritt Island, Malcolm Wild, Howard Davies, who substitutes as the older brother I never had, Logan Dalton, Len Fedorowicz, and a Vielen Dank to Thomas Domajnko for his help with the German language. Thanks for all the years of excellent teaching reflected in this book.
Thanks to Mary Lou Wagoner for the encouragement and being the first reader of my book and to Tim Mace, my second reader.
To the people of the Tri-state area around Cumberland, Maryland, who have welcomed me and my books about the region with open arms.
To the ladies of my home town library at Fort Ashby WV, you’ll never know how much your encouragement helped.
And to all my readers who sent me notes on how they enjoyed my books and then asked for more. Thanks for the kind words.
Any my wife, Vivian, who when I told her I thought I could write a book, said, “Well, why don’t you?” Thank you for sharing the highs and lows of my writing activities and experiences.
Thanks to the late Tony Hillerman, whose mystery books set on the Navajo Nation first gave m the idea of writing a novel.
And to JoAnn and Tom Peterson for their help, JoAnn for her editing and proofing and Tom, for his help with getting the military rankings right. To Space Coast Writers, especially Dr. Valerie Allen and to a fellow writer, Mark Mynheir, for their encouragement and advice. There were many more who gave suggestions and help. Thanks to you, too.
Fool’s Wisdom
Prologue
Autumn 1995
He felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. How he needed his mountain. If he could find peace from his many problems anywhere on this planet, it would be there. The day had a mediocre beginning and then spiraled downward steadily.
It was late afternoon on Friday when Tom Kenney made it to the old field on top of Knobley Mountain. He could look both east and west and see the state of Maryland, but where he stood was a sliver of Mineral County in West Virginia that stuck into the other state like a knife. The Potomac River was the state line, and the linear mountain forced the river to make its long horseshoe detour around it.
Tom was the owner and operator of Knobley Mountain Bottled Water, LLC. He managed the company with help from his son, Doug, but he was the one that got the call when things were stretched thin. Today, that meant working, taking a full load of water on the flatbed to a good customer, White Tails Nudist Park, near Paw Paw, WV. They had some special event this weekend and needed a truckload of bottled water. As usual, they’d waited until the last moment to place the order. Usually, he could take the service road at the resort that avoided the public area, but not today. That road was closed by construction. A new water line and the sewer line was being installed to replace old pipes that failed. Tom knew the old way to the loading dock, so he took it, but when he reached the place on the road where the hard surface was removed because of the construction project, the truck’s wheels sank into the soft dirt and became stuck, very stuck, buried to the axle stuck.
Soon, Tom and the stuck truck were the centers of attention of about 40 nudists who came to see the excitement. The resort sent a forklift to unload the flatbed where it sat. It took a little less than ten minutes to unload a pallet, run it to the storage area, come back, and get the rest, all nine more. Poor Tom got his eyes full and overflowing. How he wished he had an unsee button he could push for the many unpleasant things he’d witnessed in his life. Why some of them went in the altogether like that, Tom had no idea. Some people had no shame, he figured. Flabby, naked Baby Boomers weren’t a pretty sight. Only doctors wanted to see these people in the altogether, and they demanded a high fee for that.
He got the truck back to the warehouse shortly before noon in time for lunch with his pregnant wife, Joann. They lived in the old farmhouse between the warehouse and West Virginia Highway Route 28. Joann said she was tired and wanted a nap. That was a good thing for Tom. How he desired to go to his thinking place on top of the mountain behind his house. So much had happened lately. He wished he’d never heard of Braddock’s Gold. It seemed to have brought him nothing but trouble.
The question he had for God was, “Why?” He had so many whys he wanted to ask. Why had he ever listened to Johnny? Why had Chris died and not him? Why had his first wife Sarah been killed by a drunk driver? Why had God let his son Brian commit suicide? Why had God ever let him get mixed up with this Braddock’s Gold matter? He’d narrowly missed death three times because of the missing French & Indian War payroll. He feared it would still get him killed. How would all this end? And now, his second wife, ten years his junior, was expecting their child, and it had been and would continue to be a precarious pregnancy. He knew how old Job in the Bible must have felt as he wondered why? Job lost his many children and all his wealth in one day. Why? Would he have the same testimony as Job or not? Even in his dark times, Job could say, “God knows the way I take; when He has tested me, I will come forth as gold.”
Lord, I know You direct my path. You say You delight in every detail of all Your children’s lives. We stumble, but You keep us from falling. You hold us in Your hand. You tell us to cast all our cares on You, but sometimes they feel like a mountain on our backs.
Oh, Lord, I feel like I’m still fighting on a battlefield. I long for the day when every oppression and distress, every tear, suffering, and pain, and every wrong and injustice will be explained. Lord, today I struggle with life’s unanswered questions, but I can find help and hope in Your love and promises even if I don’t understand now.
Lord, let me not be a fool who despises You, but a fool for You, waiting for Your understanding and wisdom. A fool for You has more wisdom than all the wisdom ever whizzed by the so-called wise of this world.
Lord, You provide for us in surprising ways. You’re not bound by my expectations. I don’t know why or what You’ll choose to do. I’ll wait and focus on You and
try to be satisfied.
Lord, help me accept Your provision and the way You choose to give it. I know You care for me and will meet my needs even though I don’t understand it any better than old Job did. Amen.
A calm swept over Tom he hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. He piled up fallen leaves from a maple tree and lay down on them in the warm autumn sunshine. Tom pulled his Pittsburgh Steeler cap down over his face, shut his eyes, and in a few short moments, he was fast asleep and in dreamland.
Chapter 1
Tom had just nodded off. He woke with a start. The cell phone in his pocket was vibrating wildly. Half-asleep, he pulled the clamshell phone out, flipped it open, and put it to his ear.
“Hello?” he asked.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Tom Kenney,” came the ever-changing, mechanical, and evil voice from the phone. “I hope I am not interrupting anything important you may be doing like taking a nap.”
Tom felt like he’d been hit with a brick. The voice was that of the person who called himself The Benefactor, the nemesis who’d kidnapped him and had threatened to kill him if Tom didn’t tell him where the lost payroll was. Tom’s Post Traumatic Stress Disorder condition prevented him from remembering. When Tom could not satisfy The Benefactor with what he had wanted, The Benefactor had tested Tom, told Tom he would give him a lethal dose of morphine, but only knocked Tom unconscious and not killed him. As The Benefactor had told Tom later, “You are no good to me dead. Someday, your memory would return, and you will give me the information I want.”
A voice coming from the phone startled Tom back to reality. “Hello, Mr. Kenney, are you still there?”
Tom found his voice. “Yes, I’m here. You surprised me. How did you know I was taking a nap? Are you watching me?”
The Benefactor ignored the question. “Has your memory recovered anymore? Are you any closer to remembering where the millions of dollars’ worth of gold coins are located? I cannot wait forever.”
“No, I’m sorry to say, nothing more has come back. I’ve tried to make sense of it all and come to some conclusions and answers. You told me earlier in our conversations, I’d been to the old farm off Dan’s Run Road one mile from the village of Patterson Creek twice, and it concerned Braddock’s Gold. Each time you said I nearly was killed. I still can’t remember, but I have this bullet wound scar on my head to prove something did happen. I woke up in the VA hospital after each event. Nothing more has come back to me. All I know is what you filled-in in previous conversations. From the information, I have concluded this; somewhere on that farm is some or all of the gold or information which can lead to it, or possibly both. There’s something big missing in this picture, but I still can’t see it.”
There was silence from the other end of the line, and after what seemed an eternity to Tom though it was only a few short seconds, Tom heard The Benefactor say, “I agree with your conclusion. I have arrived at the same. This is useful, but there is a slight problem. The authorities have also come to the same conclusion, and are watching the farm like a hawk, but give it time. They will lose interest, but only a fool would go there now.”
Tom said, “I’m sorry, but I have nothing new to add to this update.”
“I was afraid you would tell me something like this. Just the same, I wish to thank you for telling me about your ‘friend,’ Morty,” said The Benefactor.
“You mean our friend, ‘Mortality,’ don’t you?”
The Benefactor replied, “Yes, you are correct. My thinking has been rather one track lately, and I had forgotten to look at the big picture. Sometimes, one must stop and review. You might say, smell the roses on your journey.”
“That is very true, but remember, even the beautiful rose has thorns.”
“What are you trying to say?” asked The Benefactor.
Tom replied, “When you look at the big picture, the main thing to make certain is your main thing really the main thing? What is your main reason for living?”
“Very good question, Mr. Kenney,” said The Benefactor.
Tom replied, “I believe God has used all events in my life to bring me to this point.”
The Benefactor said, “You must have lived a charmed life, Mr. Kenney.”
“Hardly, but my God has always been there even when I did not see it. He was guiding me through all of my troubles,” said Tom.
“You are an interesting person, Mr. Kenney. You continue to give me much to think about. It would also be good if you think on remembering where Braddock’s lost gold payroll is. Have a nice day, and I hope you can get back to sleep,” said the Benefactor.
The phone clicked, and the line went dead.
Back to my nap? He is watching me. Well, he’s going to be bored because I am going to lie down and try to finish my rest. My God’s watching too, and nothing will happen to me He does not allow. He will take care of me.
Tom exhaled profoundly and felt some better.
Habakkuk!
Tom jumped! Who said that? Tom looked around, but there was no one there.
Habakkuk!!
There it was again. Tom looked in a complete circle around him but saw no one.
Habakkuk!!!
And then Tom understood. The Old Testament verse, Habakkuk 3:19, flashed in his mind. The Lord is my strength. He makes my feet like deer’s feet and enables me to go in high places.
He remembered seeing the deer and bighorn sheep out West on the mountain ledges so thin it seemed impossible in the natural for them to be there and not fall. Dear God, make my feet as steady as those of the deer, so I can walk in confidence at the great heights when my enemies pursue me. Let me walk in Your strength. Amen.
It had to be a message from God. Old Habakkuk, a little known Old Testament prophet, had pointedly asked God why evil men prosper and threaten His people. God told him to watch and wait. He, God, was using the wicked men to do His work for a season. Habakkuk was to live by faith, watch and wait. His answer would come. Evil would be judged and not prevail. Habakkuk trembled at the words of the Lord. He wasn’t to be afraid, and the Old Prophet jumped for joy before the Lord.
Yes, Habakkuk. I’m to be like Habakkuk. A pleasant smile came to Tom’s face. I must not be afraid. With that, Tom lay back down on the bed of leaves and closed his eyes. His breathing became rhythmic, and he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 2
April 1965 At the Kenney home place along WV Route 28, Short Gap, WV
Tom Kenney sat at the table in the old farmhouse he’d known as home his whole life. He was having a hard time sorting out all of the information his father had just given him. When his father told him he needed to talk, Tom’s heart sank lower than whale dung in the deepest ocean. His worst fears were realized. His father knew about the events of last Saturday, and he was a dead man walking. He knew his father was going to read him the riot act. Tom was dead meat and about to be grounded for life, or longer. And worse of all, Tom had let down the man who cared for him and raised him after his mother died when Tom was small. He couldn’t bear the look of disappointment he knew was coming. Still, there’d been something thrilling about what he’d been a part of. It had to feel similar to what a drug high must be like. That both frightened him and thrilled him.
His father sat down at the table and had a manila folder in his hand. He laid it in front of Tom and told him to open it. Tom was sure it was evidence of his misdeeds. Instead, the first thing he saw was a picture of his mother at about age sixteen. My, she was a beauty. He could see why his dad was attracted to her at first sight. She had long dark hair, light olive skin, and dark, almost coal-black eyes that shone like two embers in her head. And at the bottom in the margin, someone had written in ink, Goodland Cherokee Orphanage School. Surprise, he looked up from the picture. His dad said, “Tom, it’s time I told you about your mother. I know you don’t remember much about her. You were so young when she passed. It was hard for both of us. There never was a better woman created on this earth. Cancer took her from us
way too soon.”
He stopped and wiped a tear from his cheek. “I still miss her dancing eyes and that sweet smile. How she ever kept those in that hole they called a school, I’ll never know. But she did, and that’s what first attracted me to her. I had just got back from military service with Uncle Sam in Europe after WWII. One of the soldiers I had fought alongside of through France and Germany told me of his home in North Carolina, and he asked me if I wanted to have some R and R time in the mountains there. It sounded like a pretty good idea to me, a cot and meals and no one shooting at me. So, we went from the port in Norfolk, Virginia, by bus to the hills, I mean the mountains of western North Carolina.
“I thought we had mountains here in West Virginia, and we do have them all over the state, but those mountains there seemed like they went up to the very face of God. My buddy got us jobs working at the Indian Orphanage. He was a good talker. He could sell refrigerators to the Eskimos. He told them that we were all-around handymen, and soon we were fixin’ up that old place best we could and learning how to do it as we went. It didn’t take me long to see this place was no paradise. The government’s policy with Indians at that time was to de-Indian the Indian out of the Indian to save the Indians. I saw some of the kids beaten if they spoke Cherokee or did anything that had anything Indian attached to it.
“It was there I met your Mom. She told me she was dropped off at the orphanage when she was just a baby. She never knew who her parents were, but from what little records she found, she was either full blood Cherokee or at least half. To make a long story short, we fell in love. She was sixteen at the time. With the money I saved up, I bought an old rattletrap car, and we used it to make our escape from the orphanage. No one ever looked for her. They were happy to be rid of another mouth to feed. She’d have to leave anyway as soon as she came of age. With her looks, she could pass for a white person, and that’s what we did when we got home here. Your grandpa, I think, suspected something was up, but he never did say anything. We lived in this old house with my maw and paw for many years. When they got old and feeble, she was the one who took care of them. She was a good woman. You came along in 1947, and she now had three besides herself to care for. I don’t know how she did it, but she did. She was a fine woman, like one of those virtuous women they talk about in the Bible.