This area is probably where Chief Shipshewana lived out his last years, once he was allowed to return.”
“From Kansas.” Duncan walked around the monument as if he were looking for a secret compartment.
“Correct. The forced march took sixty-one days and twenty-seven of their people died.” Eli studied the inscription. He sensed that they were on the right trail. Maybe it was just Martha’s enthusiasm. He had to admit that her eagerness to solve the mystery was contagious.
Duncan wasn’t so sure. “Feels like a stretch.”
“It could be that we’re completely off base,” Martha admitted.
The three stood in front of the monument, reading the words inscribed there.
THE CHIEF WAS REMOVED FROM THIS RESERVATION SEPTEMBER 4, 1838 AND WAS ESCORTED TO KANSAS BY A COMPANY OF SOLDIERS. HE RETURNED IN 1839 AND DIED IN 1841.
“I don’t see any pots—of gold or tears,” Duncan muttered.
Martha took the map from his hands. “But a receptacle like the one drawn on this map—it can hold many things and it can take different forms—a box or a saddlebag or a pot. As to what it might hold, I suppose the owners could use it to store treasure, food, or even tears.”
“How do you store tears?” Duncan asked.
“Memories. You could store memories.” Eli stepped back, trying to see the monument with the eyes of a visitor in 1931. Finally he shook his head, unable to spot anything out of the ordinary. But what Martha was suggesting pricked his memory. “In Revelation there is a verse . . . something to the effect that John saw twenty-four elders kneeling before the Lamb of God, and each had a harp and a golden bowl.”
“I don’t remember hearing that in church,” Duncan said. “But then I never did understand the book of Revelation.”
“The bowls were full of incense,” Eli explained. “And the incense were the prayers of the saints.”
When Martha looked at him curiously, he shrugged and said, “Bishop Abram enjoys the book of Revelation. He’s preached on it several times in the past.”
Duncan leaned forward, his fingertips now touching the monument. “So you think the map was made by an Amish person?”
“I think it was made by the father or grandfather of the person who owned the original wardrobe.”
For the next fifteen minutes, they each walked in different directions. It wasn’t until the sun kissed the western skyline that Martha admitted to herself they might not be able to solve the mystery. But they were so close . . .
An older man was walking past them, leading a small dog on a leash.
After Eli had greeted the man, he explained, “We’re on a bit of a quest.”
“A good way to spend a fall evening.”
“Indeed, it is. At the moment we’re stumped. We think that we’re looking for something pertaining to Chief Shipshewana, which is why we’ve come to the monument.”
The old man nodded and pulled a pipe from his pocket, though he didn’t light it. “Then you know that the Potawatomie Indians once lived along these shores.”
Martha and Duncan had joined the two men.
“Yes, we know their history—or at least a part of it. Are there any other plaques or memorials to the chief?” Martha asked. “Something that is very old.”
“Probably as old as the monument,” Duncan added.
“I can’t think of anything like that.” The old man slipped the pipe back into his pocket. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help.”
Eli thanked him for trying. He turned to Martha, shrugged his shoulders in a time-to-surrender gesture. Suddenly he wanted to take her hand in his, like he had on Sunday. In that moment, as the sun blazed orange and the sky filled with streaks of purple and red, he knew that he didn’t want to be alone any longer. His life was fuller, richer with the woman standing in front of him. She was a blessing that had been brought into his life almost against his will, and she was more precious than any treasure they might or might not find.
All those thoughts flashed through his mind quickly, so that at first he didn’t realize the old man had turned and walked back toward them.
“There is one thing, but I doubt it holds a treasure.”
Duncan was sitting on a park bench, his elbows propped on his knees and his head in his hands. He didn’t bother looking up.
“There’s a round metal plaque of sorts—impossible to read the words. It’s old, that’s for certain. For some reason, the grounds crew keeps the grass around it trimmed. My dog Flash is always sniffing around it.”
Duncan had stood up, and Martha was now standing right next to him.
Eli said, “That sounds like it might be what we’re looking for. Can you tell us where it is?”
“Take this road to the end. You’ll see a pasture and then the banks of the lake. There’s another small park there—nothing much but a trail and a few benches. The metal plaque is on the west side of the bench farthest from the water.”
They thanked him and decided to leave the mare and walk the short distance.
Though the sun had disappeared below the horizon, there was a little light left. A slight breeze rustled the leaves that remained on the trees. As the man had described, there was a round metal disk, approximately the size of a dinner plate, surrounded by a metal rim. The place had sunk slightly over the years, but the area was well maintained nonetheless.
They knelt around the piece of metal.
“Certainly looks old,” Martha said.
“And this word, it could be Shipshewana.”
Eli pulled his pocketknife out and opened the blade.
As Martha and Duncan leaned even closer, he worked the tip of the knife into the recess between the piece of metal and the rim, which held it in place.
Duncan looked suddenly nervous. “Should we be destroying public property?”
“Not destroying it,” Martha said.
Eli paused to wink at them. “We’re just looking.”
The metal did not yield easily. Years of rains, floods, and sun had effectively sealed it shut. But eventually the blade won. Eli lifted off the round plaque, which they still couldn’t read, and set it carefully on the ground. And then they were all three looking into the dark recesses of a metal container, their heads bent together as one. The light was now nearly gone, but there was enough.
Eli reached down and pulled out the ancient wooden box.
Duncan snatched his cell phone from his pocket and took a picture. It showed Eli’s hand, the box, Martha’s fingers on the edge of the container, the lid lying in the grass.
Unlike the metal, the wooden box opened easily.
Inside was a cheesecloth, and inside of that an object covered with waxed paper like Eli’s mother once used to wrap his sandwiches. He placed it on the grass and together they turned the object over again and again until they’d completely unwrapped the thing the owner of the map had hidden.