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.”
Ten minutes later they were all piled into Eli’s buggy.
The depot was easy enough to find. Martha had walked by it a dozen times, and Eli . . . well, he claimed to have played there when he was a young boy and raced his buggy there when he was a teen.
“There has to be something here,” Duncan said.
They’d stomped around the entire train depot and found nothing. Martha’s thoughts were scattered. She found herself thinking of the sadness in her aenti’s eyes, the history of Shipshewana, Duncan’s enthusiasm, and the way mysteries—at least in books—often came together in a way quite different from what the readers expected. She felt a prickling along her scalp.
History.
Tears.
Pots of gold.
“The last clue . . .” Martha could barely contain her excitement. “What if, what if it’s not a pot of gold at all? What if that’s not what we’re looking for?”
Duncan had been studying the map, now he brought it closer to his eyes and then held it at arm’s length. “What else could it be?”
“What if it’s a vessel . . . something to hold a people’s tears?”
“We’re supposed to find a vessel of tears to the northwest of this spot?”
“Nein.” Martha stepped closer and peered down at the faint outline. “But we couldn’t think of anything northwest. Correct? And the map began with the statue of Chief Shipshewana.”
Eli joined them. “Then it took us through the history of the town.”
“And just maybe it ends where it began.”
“With the lake.”
“Where the tribe originally lived.”
Duncan shook his head. “That can’t be right though. We can’t possibly search around an entire lake.”
“If I’m right, we won’t have to.”
Eli smiled at her.
“You two know something I don’t.”
“What year were the Potawatomie Indians forced to leave, Eli?”
“If I remember correctly, it was 1837.”
“And the Amish moved to the area in 1844. I remember the bishop mentioning that to me when I first arrived.”
“What does this have to do with Chief Shipshewana?” Duncan asked.
Eli was already moving back toward the buggy. “The chief and some of his relatives were allowed to return. In fact, legend says he was buried along the banks of the lake.”
It was a two-mile drive to the lake, past fields that had been harvested the week before. Fall’s work was done. All that was left was to prepare for winter. The lake itself was surrounded by homes and vacation cabins and trees. The day was too cool for swimming, but Martha saw several men out fishing.
“Where do we even start looking?” Duncan was staring out the window, an expression of pure misery on his face.
Martha looked at Eli, who nodded his head once and turned the buggy west. Down the road the mare clip-clopped until Eli called out “Whoa” and pulled her into a parking area.
They stepped from the buggy as the sun slipped toward the western horizon.
“Why here?” Duncan asked.
“Makes perfect sense, it’s where the monument of the chief sits.”
Duncan bounced on the balls of his feet. No doubt he had waited for this moment for many years. He had promised his dad he would solve the mystery of the map. “There’s a monument?”
“Indeed,” Eli said. “And I think it might have been dedicated around the time our mapmaker began etching his clues into a piece of wood . . .”
“Which was later affixed onto the back of a wardrobe.” Martha wanted to run to the monument, which she could now make out in the midst of the trees. She settled for a very fast walk.