by Beth Wiseman
“Exactly. Whoever created the map stayed true to the town directionally, but much has changed since that time. In addition, the person apparently wanted to make it a bit of a challenge, so the map includes clues but not specific locations.”
“It wasn’t too hard to figure out the first spot. Chief obviously referred to the statue of Shipshewana, but at first we thought it referred to the monument at Main and Morton.”
“That monument was dedicated in 2000, many years after your father and Jacob came in possession of the map.”
“But we were close, I guess.”
“Indeed, the original crossroads of the town ran through that section, and so it makes sense that your mapmaker would mark the spot with Shipshewana, the chief, who helped those original settlers.”
“I can’t imagine what it could have to do with a treasure. Unless it’s an Indian treasure.”
“As the memorial explains, Shipshewana, chief of the local Potawatomi Indians, is where our town got its name.”
“But . . .” Martha could tell that Eli was enjoying drawing this out. The question was how much did he know? Had he figured it out to the very end? She didn’t think so.
“But it also speaks of Abraham Summey and Hezikia Davis,” Eli said. “Those two men disagreed over where the town should be built. Amish folks were already settled here by the mid-1800s, so some of this history has been passed down from father to son and so forth.”
“Your father?” Duncan asked.
“He was something of a history buff—a bit odd in an Amish man, but not unheard of.” Eli nodded toward the remains of an old building that sat back from the road.
There wasn’t much left of the structure from what Martha could see. Part of a foundation, a little bit of a brick wall, and a half-crumbled chimney. They began to walk toward it, shoulder to shoulder as leaves crunched beneath their feet, Eli in the middle.
“Not that I listened as much as I should have,” Eli admitted. “But what I couldn’t remember, I found at the local library.”
“I wondered what you were doing there,” Martha muttered.
“Mr. Summey and his wife, Rachel, owned this area on the west side of town. Mr. Davis owned the land to the east. The two men could not agree where to build, and so each proceeded to build on his own. In fact, the east side was once called Davis Town.”
“So the first stop—the one to the statue or the original crossroads—was only to point us to history?” Duncan asked.
“I believe so. Whoever made this map, and we can’t be sure who that was, enjoyed puzzles and knowledge. He, or she, wanted someone with a keen intellect and a curious spirit—” At the last two words he slanted his eyes toward Martha. “To find your treasure.”
“The second stop—why was it so far away?”
“We can’t know for certain, but the location on Detroit Street in La Grange, it’s an important part of our history.”
“Took us some time to figure that one out. The words La Grange and knowledge were rather vague. And a free reading room?” Duncan shook his head. “I’d never even heard of such a thing.”
“Miss Ellison built that room in the late 1800s.”
“Again pointing to the importance of knowledge,” Martha said.
“I think so.”
“We spent several hours there trying to figure where the third stop might be. For that the map only shows a bell . . .”
“Like is found on a school.”
“The librarian was able to figure that out. She directed us back to Shipshe.”
“Today’s school sits on the same site as the original school. The school was built the same year that Miss Ellison opened the free reading room. The area was booming.”
“So why are we here?” Martha stepped under the limbs of a red oak tree. Acorns crunched beneath her feet.
“This is the site of what was once Sunthimer’s Corner.”
“I didn’t read about this when I looked in the archives at our library—maybe a general reference but not the exact location.” Martha stared at the old brick wall, now crumbled. What had their lives been like over one hundred years ago? Certainly they had loved, rejoiced, lost, hurt, and prayed, just as people did now. And what was the point of the map?
“I had to ask a few old-timers,” Eli admitted. “I couldn’t figure it out myself, until Duncan showed us his rubbings from the first three pieces of the map, specifically the last one.”
“It pointed toward U.E. Mast.” Duncan stared down at the sheets in his hand.
“A drug store that was built on this site.”
“And the first mark on the map from the furniture that you auctioned.” Martha brushed leaves and acorns off the wall and sat on it. She studied Eli and Duncan, two very different men who had found a common interest—a mystery. And what of Jacob back at home? And Charity? What would solving the mystery mean to them?
“I didn’t even need the fourth piece then.” Duncan stared around him in frustration. “I have a feeling that if I could just think clearly enough, I could skip all the spots in between and go to the end—to the treasure.”
“Possibly you could have, but I imagine the mapmaker wanted you to follow these steps, to understand the history of Shipshe before you found the treasure. Anyone willing to go that far, to invest that much time and energy, would have earned it.”
“Okay. But it’s almost dark, and we still have your last two pieces, plus the final piece from Charity and Jacob.”
“I think we can find one more tonight.”
“And then?”
“Well, tomorrow is the Sabbath—we’ll rest. And then we’ll begin again Monday afternoon.”
Chapter Fourteen
Rain pounded against the roof of Bishop Abram’s buggy shop. Martha stood near the open bay doors, watching it drench the earth, trying to put some rhyme or reason to Aenti Irene’s recent moods.
She’d seemed more bitter than usual as they’d prepared for church and had even thrown out a few disparaging remarks as they’d helped set out the Sunday luncheon. Try as Martha might to resist it, sometimes her own mood plummeted right alongside her aenti’s. Which was all the more reason for her to enjoy the few moments of solitude as she watched the storm and allowed her senses to focus on the sound and the smell of it. Reaching out her hand, water slicked down her palm, and she thought it felt clean.
“Playing in the rain?”
Martha smiled even before she turned to see Eli watching her. “It’s been many years since I’ve enjoyed a walk in the rain, but I will admit, I adore a good downpour.”
“I’m surprised you’re not visiting with the women.” Eli nodded toward the group of mothers and grandmothers and even great-grandmothers.
When she didn’t answer right away, he motioned toward two rocking chairs that were sitting on the bishop’s front porch. “We’ll get wet, but those look inviting.”
And indeed they did. Together they hurried across the yard and arrived on the porch, laughing and shaking water from their clothes. Eli didn’t push her to speak or explain herself. She liked that about him. That he allowed her to just . . . be.
The sermons that morning had been what she needed to hear. The first focused on loving one’s neighbor. She understood that her aenti was her neighbor in one sense and certainly that she should love her. It was liking her that Martha sometimes had trouble with. The second sermon had helped with that. “Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.”
That word devoted, it had snagged her conscience and wouldn’t let go.
“I do care for her, you know.” She didn’t say her aenti’s name, and by Eli’s nod, she knew she didn’t have to. “It’s the devotion that is difficult.”
“In what way?”
“When I think of devotion, I think of a mother’s abiding love for a child.”
“Or a father’s.”
“Yes. I think of the way our youngie fall in love and become devoted to one another.”
&
nbsp; “Certainly that is another type of devotion.”
“There are others?”
Eli rocked for a few minutes before answering. The rain continued to fall, soaking the ground and soothing the prickly points in Martha’s soul.
“It’s true the youngie are very devoted to one another,” Eli said. With his thumb he traced the grain of the wood across the rocker’s arm and finally looked up to meet her gaze. “And yet Charity is devoted to Jacob—that is an entirely different thing.”
“I suppose.”
“What they have is born of years of shared experiences, dreams, hurts, and hopes.”
“I had that with my husband, Melvin,” Martha said softly.
“It’s a blessing that you did.”
Martha pushed her foot against the porch’s wooden floor, setting her chair into a rocking motion. As they watched, one of the young boys dashed out into the rain, and two others followed. She guessed their ages to be between eight and ten. They hurried over to squat under the limbs of a tree, and it was then that she saw they each held a small paper boat, which they attempted to float.
“With Aenti, I appreciate that she has offered me a home, but I don’t understand her bitterness or why she is the way that she is.”
“It’s often difficult to understand one another.”
“Perhaps it is arthritis or some other health issue, but she won’t speak of it. She won’t explain herself.”
“Many times I’ve talked with Englischers who admire much of the Amish life, especially the way we treat our elders—with respect and courtesy.”
“Ya. It’s true that we do.”
“But whether a person is Englisch or Amish, as they grow older they often begin to feel unimportant, disconnected in some ways, even afraid as to what lies ahead.”
Martha considered Eli’s words. Would she feel that way in another thirty years? It was hard to imagine.
“I know that I should be devoted to her.” Now she turned in her chair and studied Eli. She appreciated that he was not judging her. It said much about his character, and that possibly he had endured a similar situation. “I want to care about her. I want things between us to be less scratchy.”
“I think that often devotion looks different in different relationships. It speaks of commitment to one another. There’s no doubt that you are dedicated to Irene. Perhaps you should give it time.”
“But I want our relationship to be better now.” Martha laughed as soon as she said the words. She sounded like a child. Some days she felt like one.
“We can’t always know what has injured a person in life, what has caused them to take the outlook they have.”
Something in his voice caused Martha to think they’d changed the subject. Was Eli talking about himself?
“But if we wait, if we are patient, a time might come when a person will change their outlook. If we’re devoted . . .” He smiled at her, hesitated, and then reached out and covered her hand with his. “Then we will be there on that day when they glance up and realize life isn’t as dark as they had imagined.”
Eli patted her hand, released it, and stood.
“Would you like me to walk you back?”
“I think I’ll stay here awhile.”
He nodded as if he understood.
Martha spent the next half hour watching the rain bless the fields, releasing the dozens of slights she’d committed to memory, and embracing her new life. It would be difficult to maintain a positive outlook—she understood that. In all honesty, life had never been particularly easy. Even with Melvin, each day had brought its share of challenges.
The rain lightened, and she walked back across to the barn. As she did, she couldn’t help thinking that perhaps in the midst of those challenges was where God often set His plan. Like the locations on Duncan’s map, those times—the bad as well as the good—seemed to always point to God and His will for their lives. She could trust that it would continue to be so.
Chapter Fifteen
Monday dawned, bringing even cooler temps and a world washed anew. Martha realized as she dressed that she was looking forward to solving the mystery of Duncan’s map. She didn’t think they would find a treasure, but perhaps they would find some answers for the young man. Hurrying downstairs, she ate a quick breakfast and then gathered up her purse and lunch.
“I certainly hope you can pick up the items on our shopping list today.” Irene frowned and fidgeted with her kapp. “Though I know you’re busy with your job and chasing down that foolish map.”
Martha heard her aenti’s harsh words, but this time she turned and watched the expression on her face. Her eyes were glancing around the room, and once she’d repinned the already perfectly pinned kapp, she plucked at the apron on her dress. What did Irene do all day when Martha was gone? How did she fill her hours? Was she lonely? Was she . . . Eli’s words came back to her suddenly . . . was she afraid?
Martha piled her things on the counter near the back door, walked across the room, and sat down next to her aenti. “I could pick up our supplies or we could wait until tomorrow and go together.”
Irene looked at her sharply. “You work tomorrow.”
“That’s true, but we’ll be done with the map. Eli and I have agreed that we either find it today or we give up. Something like this—it can quickly become an obsession if you’re not careful.”
“Humph.”
“You and I both have sewing to do this winter. Let’s look for fabric while we’re out. Tomorrow I’ll come back and pick you up at lunch. We’ll grab a bite to eat and then stop by the fabric store.” “You’ll do no such thing. I’ll fix you lunch. No need throwing away our money.”
“All right then. It’s a compromise. Tomorrow have lunch ready, and together we’ll go do a little shopping.” She might be seeing things, but it seemed as if the frown lines around her aenti’s eyes and mouth softened.
Irene nodded and then said, “You should go before you’re late.”
She wasn’t late. In fact she was early and once again caught Eli at his desk eating a caramel cinnamon donut.
“Do you have those every day?”
“I try to.” He motioned to the chair across from him and handed her a white paper bag. “Got you one too.”
“How can a girl resist?”
“Why would a girl resist?”
They drank their coffees, finished their sweets, and discussed the last clue that they had found on Saturday—a place that Eli called No Man’s Land. The strip of land was one hundred and fifty feet wide and separated Summey’s land from Davis’s. “For many years, no one built there,” Eli had explained. “Which is where the name came from.”
The three of them had walked up and down the street, trying to figure how this pointed to the sixth clue.
Martha had thought about it many times since Saturday afternoon, but she’d come up with no solutions. She’d continued to puzzle over it as she drove the horse and buggy to work. “What was there before, in No Man’s Land? In the beginning?”
Eli wiped crumbs from his face and stared up at the ceiling. “Stores, a hotel, and the old train depot.”
“It’s like trying to look into the past with our eyes closed.” She stood and began picking up their trash. “All of that sugar. I should get twice as much work done this morning.”
“Good thing. Duncan is meeting us here at three.”
It seemed to her that Eli wanted to say more. Martha remembered his hand on hers the day before and felt a slow blush begin to crawl up her neck. She hurried out of the room before he noticed.
Did she have a crush on her boss?
Confirmed bachelor Eli Wittmer?
What was it he had said the day before? If we wait, if we are patient, a time might come when a person will change their outlook.
She’d assumed he had been talking about Irene. Had he been talking about himself?
The morning flew by in a flurry of bills to be paid, correspondence, and shipping invoices. Before she
knew it, their office door opened and Duncan stepped inside. As usual, he was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and his Cubs baseball cap.
Clutched in his hand were the sheets of paper with the map rubbings, and a giant grin was plastered on his face.
He tugged on his ball cap and said, “I figured it out.”
“The final spot?”
“No. Not that. But I did figure out clue number six.”
Eli popped out of his office. “Did someone say clue?”
“It’s the Davis Mercantile, or what was the mercantile.”
“But the fire was—” Eli dropped into the chair across from Martha.
“Twelve years ago. I know. I’m talking about the original complex of stores built by the Davis family in 1891.”
“Here we go again,” Martha said, her pulse quickening as she leaned forward in her chair.
“So I Googled the original hotel and its owners.”
“Googled?” Eli scrunched up his nose as if he’d smelled something offensive. “Speak English, son.”
“Oh . . . searched on the Internet. Think of it as a virtual encyclopedia.”
“Virtual.” The idea reminded Martha of e-readers. She’d never had one, but the idea of a library that had a practically unlimited number of books—that was technology she could embrace.
“And you learned something on this . . . Google?”
“I think so.” Duncan placed the sheet of paper on the desk between Martha and Eli. “We thought this clue—Meeting place—meant either a store or church, but what if it meant the hotel?”
Martha had no idea what he was talking about, but Eli had sat back and was running his thumb up and down his suspenders. “That hotel was destroyed in the fire of 2004, and the new Davis Mercantile was built on the site.”
“That’s all completely true, but the hotel was originally near the train depot.”
“They moved the hotel in the 1960s.”
“So you think—” Martha struggled to catch up.
“I think our map is referring to the original location of the Davis shops.”
Eli popped out of his chair. “Our first stop for the afternoon then is the train depot.”
