“Let’s go!” John said, running for the lake, deftly side-stepping the trees. The forest was thinner here where settlers had cleared them for their nearby homes and farmland. As the tallest and fastest, John arrived first and came to an abrupt stop as he reached Lake on the Mountain. No matter how many times he encountered the calm waters, it always took his breath away. Even though the mountain was more like a very large hill or mountainous ridge, the fact that a lake could be sitting on top was nonetheless extraordinary.
“I don’t see him, John,” said George. “Did we lose him?”
“Here,” said a wobbly voice from behind them. A man emerged from behind a maple tree, more twisted and weathered than the tree that had hidden him. His sand-coloured pants were ripped and dirty at the knees. A long-sleeved, plaid shirt was open, revealing great curls of grey chest hair.
“The name’s Jeremiah Thacker...and I want to give you something.”
Everyone froze. “Sit, now. Sit,” he said, extending his hand to a fallen birch tree. “Old Jeremiah’s not goin’ to hurt you.”
The three looked behind them at the fallen birch and sat slowly, saying nothing.
“I was only fourteen – not much older than you two,” the man said. He sat on a rotted tree stump two feet away and faced them, his eyes hungry and tired.
“Guess it was 1759. Yes – that’s the year. I was walkin’ along the shore ‘bout a mile from here – just walkin,’ lookin for tall ships. Didn’t know what my life held. You see, my father died young. When that happened, my Ma – well, she took off and made a life somewhere. Don’t know where – but it wasn’t with me, that much I can tell you.”
John started to take a breath as if he were about to speak but Jeremiah held up a withered hand.
“So I was tryin’ to figure out what to do with my life. That’s when I found him, just crawlin’ along the shore, leavin’ a trail of blood.”
“Who?” blurted George.
“A sailor,” Jeremiah answered. “Not just any sailor – a French admiral. Back then, the Seven Years War was on, you have to remember. Battles were all down the big lakes and in the port towns. The British were mounting forces in the area for some of the final battles of the war. So I ran up to him and I made him look at me – so I could see his eyes. Even then, I knew he was a goner.”
The old man pointed to his own eyes to explain. “It was as if there weren’t enough life left in the eyes. That admiral, he was tryin’ to say somethin’ to me, before he died.”
“What did he…” John began.
“What did he say?” Lou blurted at the same time.
“Take this,” Jeremiah said softly.
John looked puzzled. The old man grabbed John by the wrist and pretended to force something into his hand. Jeremiah’s eyes were ablaze.
“He said, ‘take this.’ That’s all he said. And that’s when he died – and my life ended.” He let go of John’s wrist. John rubbed it instinctively but didn’t take his eyes off Jeremiah.
“What was it?” asked John.
“What was it? Thought it was everythin,’ that’s what. Thought it was the answer for my life,” said the old man. He scratched one side of his wild, grey hair and caused some of it to stick out.
“Didn’t know it would be the only thing I’d ever come to know.”
“He gave you a map,” John said. He took a chance that the rumours he had heard about the old man were true. “It was a treasure map.”
Jeremiah stood from the stump he was sitting on and cackled. “Map, maybe. Treasure map? My whole life says it can’t be. Can’t be.”
He stood in silence for a moment and John, George and even Lou tried to stay quiet, too.
“But what if it is real?” Jeremiah finally said. “Spent my whole life believin.’ Maybe it just wasn’t for me to find. Maybe it will be for someone else.”
Jeremiah reached into a roughly-sewn inside pocket of his patched shirt. He pulled out a curled scroll of paper, battered and frayed. “Here – take it.” The older man thrust the map into John’s startled hand.
“Don’t know if it’s real,” the man said as John unfurled the map with George and Lou crowded around each of his shoulders. It was roughly drawn, with arrows pointing behind – or into – what looked like lines representing the trees of a forest. It looked like he may have tried to draw a large hill, but the lines could also have been something else, John reasoned.
“Always thought the treasure was on this mountain somewhere here in the forest, near ‘bout where I found the admiral. When I couldn’t find anythin’ I began to explore the entire area between here and Kingston by foot, back and forth, lookin’ for an area that seemed similar. Even went west, past Hallowell, to where the shores are nothing but sand for as far as the eye can see.”
John had heard of the great sand shores west of Hallowell but had never seen them.
“I’m no closer for it,” the old man added. “Maybe it is here but not meant for one like me.”
“Why give it to us?” asked John.
The old man shrugged. “I’ve seen you around, here and there. You seem to have lots of family, unlike me. Hopefully that’ll make all the difference. Give you perspective, maybe. Never had anyone do that for me – never had anyone to help shape me.”
“Did any friends help you search?” asked George. He shook his head. “Likely a mistake. I didn’t want any friends. You see, gold and money does that to a person – sometimes even just the thought of it. Leaves you mistrustful. Makes you do crazy things. I was afraid of what would happen if I let go of this ‘til it became all I knew.”
“Where will you go?” asked John. “What with no family and all.”
The man tried to chuckle and re-scratched his head, somehow fixing the tuft of hair that had been sticking out. “No family, true. Too late for that. But I’m going to try to let this go. Maybe explore some new place without thinking of maps or gold. Maybe I’ll head northwest – see what’s beyond Upper Canada.”
“Beyond Upper Canada?” said George. “There’s nothing there.”
“That’s what folks always say ‘til they find something,” said Jeremiah. He wished them well then turned on his heel and abruptly moved deeper into the forest before they could properly thank him.
After Jeremiah left, John huddled around George and Lou. John said, “Don’t you remember hearing any stories about the man who has spent his whole life looking for treasure, somewhere between Kingston and Stone Mills?”
“Yes, but I didn’t think it was true,” said George, eyes wide.
“No one can know about this. Not Mother, not Father, not Colonel Macpherson – no one.” Lou frowned. “What about Moll?”
Another sound made all three friends swing their heads around. John shrugged as a large black bird moved from one tree to another. John let his eye travel the perimeter of the lake.
“Okay, you’re right. No one except Moll. But that’s it,” said John firmly.
“I want to help search, John,” said Lou.
John sighed. “You can help look sometimes. But I’m not guaranteeing you can always come. You’re not old enough to always play with George and me.”
Lou made a scoffing sound and cracked a twig with her bare heel in frustration. John ignored her and looked around. Then his face brightened.
“Before we look for treasure we should peek into the saw mill since we’re already here. Maybe we’ll get to see Mr. Pitman yelling at his employees.” George shook his head. “Let us just stay here…”
But John was already moving.
“John!” called out George in a hushed tone.
“Come on George,” said Lou. “I’ll protect you.”
“That is not funny,” he said, scrambling behind Lou.
The great, wood-framed building rose up o
n the edge of the mountain, dark and hungry. He peeked through a missing chunk of wood in one of the building’s planks to see the monster within. There, hunched over a long plank of wood with one of his employees, was Nathaniel Pitman. Lou bumped him on the arm and whispered, “Let me see.”
Although it was true that they usually stayed away from the saw mill, John couldn’t always resist. It felt exhilarating to be peering through its walls. The mill was the opposite of his father’s flour mill, John realized. The Macdonald mill was a community hub where people came to gossip and share information; this mill was lonely and silent, other than the sounds of sawing and cutting.
The three of them took turns watching from their vantage point at a corner of the mill. John watched the huge saw, held taut on its upward stroke by a spring pole overhead. Nathaniel Pitman and another man, slim and muscular, worked the saw up and down using a wooden beam attached to a crank on the mill wheel.
A few moments later it was George’s turn to watch but he declined. “No, thank you – Lou can have my turn, too,” he said, whispering hoarsely.
“Oh, you really do like me – thank you, George,” she said, patting his thickly-larded hair. George winced. John could see Lou looking perplexed as she stared through the crevice of the board.
“What’s wrong, Lou?”
“I don’t see Mr. Pitman.”
John and George looked at one another, confused. Then everyone lost the warmth of the sun. Finding themselves in a great shadow, John, George and Lou turned around. Standing over them was a great, bearded eclipse.
Nathaniel Pitman.
Lou screamed. John clamped a hand over her mouth.
“What are you doing here?” demanded the towering man. His eyes were small and dark, lost in his deep-set brow. His voice was deep and rumbling and infringed on the solitude of the lake. “We…” began George.
“We were fishing at the lake,” completed John, smiling through his nervousness.
“We were?” blurted Lou, who suddenly found herself with her brother’s hand over her mouth again.
The giant of a man looked around. “Where are your poles?”
“Poles?” repeated George, as if it was the most ridiculous, follow-up question imaginable.
“Oh, we don’t use poles, sir,” said John. “We’re just using our hands – like bears do.” John mimicked the action of a swatting bear in a stream and then glanced toward George who also began swatting in a makebelieve river.
“You’re very close to my saw mill. I don’t like children near my mill,” said the towering man, inching closer while stroking his long, dark beard.
“Yes, we were just talking about that and...oh, do you hear that?” John cocked his head to one side with exaggeration.
The heavy-breathing saw mill operator frowned and stopped. “Hear what?”
“It’s my mother,” John and George both blurted out at once. John glared at George.
“It’s his mother,” they both pointed at one another. In the corner of his eye John saw Lou bolt for the edge of the mountain. John grabbed George by the shoulder and ran after her.
Chapter 6
The Games People Play
The chess game mirrored John’s mood. His queen was somehow trapped, his two knights were floundering, his bishops and one rook had long ago been taken and his pawns were nearly spent. It was not his finest game. Moll glanced up at her brother and didn’t say anything, but John knew she was wondering how quickly to finish him off.
“What’s bothering you?” she asked. They were playing chess in their customary seats in the main living area. A soft stream of morning light sliced across the wooden game board. Today, Lieutenant Colonel Donald Macpherson would arrive. Knowing he was coming reminded John of Kingston, which in turn had reminded him of his recent nightmare.
“Something’s wrong. Is it the treasure map?” Moll asked. She looked toward the front door. However, Helen and Lou had not yet returned from the general store. John continued to sit with his head in his hands.
“No – it’s not that. But thanks for sewing that inside pocket,” said John, instinctively feeling the slight bulge in his vest where the map rested.
“You’re welcome.” Moll didn’t press any further. Instead, she calmly killed another pawn with a swoop of her dark bishop.
“Moll, do you ever think of James – I mean, still?” He glanced into her sky blue eyes and saw her flinch. “Of course I do.”
John nodded. Reaching over he moved one of his knights in retreat. “Once in a while – quite often, really – I have the same terrible dream. I can see us in that tavern…James and me. With Kennedy.” His eyes stared at the chess board.
“Kennedy’s gone now,” said Moll. John raised his head. “So is James.” “I know that.”
John sacrificed a pawn to her waiting queen. “What I mean is,” said John, “I should have done more. That’s why I think I keep dreaming it over and over again.”
“John, you were young yourself, only a year-and-ahalf older. You mustn’t ever think that.”
“I was still the eldest brother.”
“You were seven-years-old John!” She looked at him with caring eyes. “Do you know why you keep dreaming about it?”
John felt his eyes begin to well as he shook his head.
“Because you were there!” she said. “You were the only one, out of all of us, who can carry James inside of you that way. You couldn’t have done more than you did.”
Using his shirt sleeve John absorbed a stray tear that had gotten through his resolve. “I won’t forget him, Moll. Mother and Father may. But I won’t.”
Her eyes moist, she reached over to give him a hug. “I’m still going to wallop you in this game you know.”
“I know,” said John, grinning.
***
It was the pain in his head that he felt first. It was as if a great boulder was resting on top of it.
Anson Rightmyer awoke, sitting. He was on a slim, splintered chair in a mud-dark cabin. He couldn’t swallow. Not the way he wanted. A piece of dark, green cloth was tied tightly across his mouth and around his head. As he tried to move, Anson felt like he was a part of the chair. In a way, he realized he was. His arms were tightly bound behind him. In turn, his ankles were tied to the chair legs.
The last thing he remembered was seeing a shape in the lake. An impossible shape. Had he been attacked by…that thing? No. He had seen something...but it was from behind that he had been grabbed. He remembered the strong hand over his mouth.
Anson’s eyes began to adjust to the pain in his head to see beyond the chair on which he sat. He squinted and saw three shapes. Two men were standing in front of him, a third figure on a chair, further back. The two men who were standing were impassive, stiff and soldier-like.
The man on the chair, though, was different. He was round-faced and stared back at him. Smiling. It wasn’t a warm smile, though. Not at all. In fact it didn’t seem like a smile at all – more like a twitch around the mouth. The grinning man gently stroked the back of a tiny, brown sparrow with his index finger.
Anson blinked. He knew this man – it was his neighbour! He had been found and would soon be going home! The rag in his mouth wouldn’t allow him to work his tongue properly. But he moaned at the smiling man and tried to call his name. “…ar-i-uhh…ar-i-uhh….!”
“Shhh,” the voice came back. “It’s too late for talking, too late. You’re just too curious of a Brit you are. Just too curious.”
Darius Marshall rose. He set the sparrow on a small table and swaddled it in cloth. On his belt Darius wore a long knife. He slowly drew it from its sheath and then selected an apple from a bin in the corner of the room. Then he moved within inches of Anson’s face.
Anson drained of all colour. Going home was far from certain, he realize
d. Something was wrong. Darius palmed the apple for a moment and then began to peel it directly in front of Anson’s eyes. Each puncture of the apple’s skin caused Anson’s heart to tighten.
“I’m sorry. Is this bothering you?” asked Darius, nodding to the knife and apple. Anson nodded, unsure. The twitching face of his neighbour laughed. Then Darius raised the knife to the bridge of Anson’s nose. Anson felt the cold touch of the knife’s blade trace along the bridge of his nose and down its slope. The last thing he thought of was Mary Ann, just moments before he fainted.
Chapter 7
The Colour of Oppression
“Mother, when will the colonel be here?” asked John, bursting into the house for the second time. The smell of baking bread wafted through the room and John immediately felt like he could eat a second breakfast.
“Any moment,” she said, sweeping the kitchen for the third time. Moll and Lou were polishing silverware and smirked at John. “If you’d just stay down by the bay instead of poking your head in here every five minutes, you just might be there to greet him.”
“Is Colonel Macpherson travelling with Cornelius?” asked John.
“Yes, but don’t you talk his poor ear off. And if being there to greet him doesn’t sound like something you’d like to do, you can head back to the mill.”
“No, no – I should be there to say hello! Bye now!” John fled from the house. Although it would be nice to see the colonel again, it would be even better to have time to hang out with George. But he wouldn’t be avail able until this afternoon to explore, since the Cloutier’s had family visiting.
John could hardly stand it, considering the map in his inside pocket. He had been up late, staring at the strange markings on it in the fading light of his room until his eyes bulged.
The Legends of Lake on the Mountain Page 4
