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THE EVENING AFTER THE wedding Glinda was outside getting fresh air and welcoming in the twilight. She was drowsy and had to keep shaking her head, and stretching, to stay awake. Myrtle had spent most of the day in her room watching television and napping. The wedding had taken a lot out of her, though she seemed to have had a good time. She was still recovering from the trauma and injuries of her accident so Glinda let her rest as much as she wanted. It also gave her some private time of her own, which she was used to, and she needed after all the years she’d lived alone.
Lounging on the backyard swing with a cup of steaming hot tea, she sleepily took in the scenery around her. She adored her home. She felt safe within its walls and boundaries. Her flowers were blooming and the grass had come in lush and thick. It was another warm June day and she lifted her face to the fading sun. The day before had been fun and she’d made contact with many new potential clients who would be visiting her for readings in the near future. She never failed to hand out her business cards wherever she went. The personal touch and word of mouth, to promote her business, were better than any ads on the Internet.
She was hungry and thought of going inside to rustle up a snack and check on Myrtle but as her eyes examined the edge of her yard, where the darkness was gathering, she saw something glowing in the distance. It was a figure resembling a man but it was one of light. It beckoned her and she walked towards it. The figure of light shimmered and moved and she followed it across her yard and into the surrounding woods. After trampling through the forest for a time she realized the illuminated creature was leading her towards the graveyard.
Was the figure Masterson’s ghost? Was he at last going to show her where he’d buried the remainder of his treasure? If it existed?
She didn’t mind zigzagging among the cemetery tombstones while there was yet a little daylight, but it was dissipating swiftly. The plot was spooky in the dusk but it’d be worse at full nighttime so she hurried along. Unlike Myrtle, spirits didn’t bother her unless they were malicious entities. In the half-light she could see there were wildflowers growing everywhere, even on the graves. Last time she’d been here there’d been no wildflowers at all. Now that was odd.
A great shadow blanketed the area around her and she looked upwards. There were no clouds anywhere. So where was the shadow coming from? So strange. She paused on the fringe of the cemetery and stared at the surrounding land. In the unnatural twilight it all appeared so eerie. The figure of light had disappeared.
She was ready to pivot around and return home when she heard a voice, as if someone were muttering to themselves, and gazed up to see the man of light coming her way, though as she watched the light dissolved and a real man was revealed. It was Masterson. The elderly Masterson whom she’d followed in her last dream, though now he seemed even older. He was huffing and puffing as he wound his way to the cemetery and lurched between the graves. He halted a few times and seemed to be looking for something. After all these weeks he had appeared to her again. But she wasn’t sleeping, was she? This wasn’t a dream, was it? She pinched her arm. Ouch. What was going on? She’d had visions during the day before yet this one wasn’t like any of them. The world didn’t look real.
The ghost’s speech was a little clearer now and she strained to understand his words as she trailed him through the graveyard. What was he saying?
Here. Here. No. maybe there. There. No. I have to hide it well where no one will ever find it. Oh, oh! Go away you demons! Leave me be! I am sick of your deceits and evil doings. Get away from me! You can’t have my treasure! I won’t allow it. It is mine! Mine! He put the small chest he was carrying down on a grave and waved his hands around wildly as if there were creatures attacking him. He screamed over and over and Glinda covered her ears. It was easy to see Masterson wasn’t in his right mind as he ranted and raved at invisible entities. At the end of his life the poor man had conceivably been insane.
If she hadn’t had seen him in her dreams as his years had gone by she never would have recognized him. He was a walking skeleton in a threadbare robe and one scuffed slipper. There was no slipper on his left foot and the foot was bleeding, leaving a trail of blood wherever he stumbled. He didn’t seem to notice. What had happened to him since the last time she’d seen him? He’d looked ill then but nothing like he did now. His eyes were crimson streaked with fever and his face reflected pure terror as he fought his imaginary foes. He’d been dead a very long time but she still felt pity for the remnant. What he must have suffered at the end of his life to have such anguish pursue him into death the way it had.
The spirit, crying and moaning now, kept moving and she kept following behind. But he didn’t stop in the graveyard but lurched on down a path through the woods and came out by the gazebo. He shuffled up the steps and collapsed on the bench.
She’s poisoning me, he whispered. I know it. I caught her putting something into my cup yesterday and as soon as she left the room I dumped it out. I fired her immediately. But too late. Too late. I am dying. How long has this been going on? Why do they want me dead? Do they despise me that much? What have I ever done to any of them? He lowered his head into his hands and his body rocked in despair.
Glinda felt so sorry for the ghost she wanted to comfort him in some way, any way. But he was a spirit and couldn’t see or hear her. She couldn’t physically touch him.
Then the strangest thing yet occurred. She’d moved to the lowest step leading into the gazebo and was leaning over so she could hear his words better when his face lifted and he spoke directly to her as if he knew she was there.
My housekeeper has poisoned me. She’s killed me. Who has paid her to do such a deed? His eyes were crazed and his face was wracked with pain. I have to hide the last of my treasure...for my child. For my child! And I will leave a letter for her so if she ever comes looking for me she will find it. A letter, a letter. I will draft it as soon as I go back home. Please help me find her.
It was so shocking the way he addressed her, as if he was really seeing her, was really speaking directly to her, she jumped back and nearly fell onto the ground.
Then the ghost staggered to his feet again and, the chest nestled in its emaciated arms, he left the gazebo and started around the base of it. Somewhere he had picked up a shovel and as she watched he found a spot on the side of the structure near a formidable sized rock and he began to dig. It was slow going because he was so weak and kept stopping to catch his breath, to rest. But finally the hole was deep enough, extremely deep by her measure, and tucked beneath the gazebo. He shoved the chest into it and began to cover it with dirt, handfuls of grass and nearby rocks. His body swayed now, his breath was coming in short raspy gasps.
Seemingly with great effort he walked away using the shovel as a makeshift cane. She followed him as he dragged his feet along the edge of the cemetery and tortuously made his way to his house, losing the shovel at the end of the yard. He didn’t make it inside, but crumpled on the porch into a heap. He made a series of guttural groans and lay still. She saw his spirit leave his body and float into the air.
The spirit looked right at her and said, the housekeeper poisoned me. Find the treasure and give it to my daughter. Darcy, my beloved, said she’d name the child Isabel, Izzy for short. It was her mother’s name. Please give it to her. And tell her, as hard as I tried, I’m sorry I never found her mother and her. So sorry.
Then Masterson’s ghost vanished.
My, my, Glinda thought, Masterson didn’t bury the remainder of the treasure in his yard or the graveyard as so many people had believed for so long; he was murdered by his housekeeper and...he never had the chance to write that letter to his wife and child. It explained so much.
And now, she smiled, I know where the rest of Masterson’s treasure is buried.
She opened her eyes in surprise to find herself slumped on one of the gazebo’s benches in her nightgown. Darn, she had to stop doing this. It was morning and the birds were singing in the branches around her. She’d been sleeping all the time, even when she’d been out on the swing drinking her tea and had somehow dreamed everything she’d seen. Somehow, as she’d been dreaming, she’d wandered all the way out to the gazebo. My, my, my.
She got up and made her way to the house.
Myrtle was at the kitchen table waiting for her. “Where have you been?”
Glinda gave her a big grin. “Discovering where Masterson buried his treasure.”
“Hot dog!” Myrtle exclaimed. “I knew he’d tell you sooner or later. I was counting on it. Hey, now I don’t need that new metal detector. Hmm, maybe I can send it back and get my money refunded. I never even took it out of the box.”
“Well, you were right. He showed me. He also told me some other interesting things as well. He was murdered. Imagine that? We’ve been involved in a murder case all along. Besides everything else that poor man went through, in the end, someone killed him. No wonder his spirit was so tortured.”
“Good, tell me the rest of it later. I’ll get the shovels.”
“Let’s have breakfast first. There’s no rush. And I’ll do the digging. You can’t dig with a bad arm.”
“That is true, I guess. Hard to hold a shovel with one hand. I have another better idea. Let’s call Frank and Abigail to go out with us and uncover the treasure. Four more hands couldn’t hurt. Get what we want done quicker and then I won’t have to dig at all.
“So, where is it buried? Under what grave?”
Glinda lifted her chin and grinned once more. “Masterson didn’t bury his loot under a grave, nor anywhere in the graveyard, his yard, in or on the edge of the creek, as you had thought. He buried a small chest with something in it, I don’t know what yet though I suspect it’s gold or jewels of some kind, under the gazebo.”
“What, under the gazebo! Really?”
“Really.”
“Ooh.” Myrtle was rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “I want to run out there right this minute and dig it up! See the gold and jewels shine in the sun in my hands.”
“Soon. It appears that I slept the whole night out in the woods. I need a shower, need to get dressed and we need to eat something before we go stomping out into the forest and start digging.” She patted Myrtle’s wrinkled hand. “But soon.”
“Okay. I’m going to call Frank and Abigail right now and tell them to come right over–”
Myrtle must have caught her threatening glance.
“–tell them to come in an hour.”
Glinda nodded. “Okay. In an hour.”
So as Myrtle telephoned Frank and asked them to come over, Glinda cleaned up, dressed in the appropriate clothing for digging in the dirt, and then the women had their morning meal as they waited for Frank and Abigail to arrive.
*****
FRANK WAS AS EXCITED as a kid on Christmas morning as Glinda, with Myrtle tagging behind and being helped along by Abby, led him to where in her dream she’d seen the ghost bury the chest. The day had grown warmer and by the time they had trekked to the gazebo they were all hot and a little sweaty. And there was still digging to do.
“Here?” Frank questioned, slamming the blade of his shovel down so it would dig under the base of the gazebo. It wasn’t easy to get to for all around the structure bushes and undergrowth had taken over. They had to whack through a jungle to even start digging.
“I think so,” Glinda replied, inspecting the ground around the blade tip. “There was this huge rock–that one there,” she pointed. “He used it as a marker. Except for being more covered in earth, it looks like the one in my dream.”
“Then here is where we’ll begin shoveling earth,” Frank concluded and the shovel began its work. Abigail and Glinda also picked a nearby spot and began digging as well, as Myrtle, sitting on the gazebo’s steps cradling her wounded arm, observed them.
They dug for hours in the dirt where Glinda thought the chest might be. The holes got bigger and deeper, then merged together into one gigantic pit. Still no chest.
As the three continued to excavate Frank talked about his visit much earlier that morning with Silas and his wife. “I finally made it out there. Silas and I had a nice long heart-to-heart. Old guy seems to be really lonely. But once he got used to me being there he talked my arm off.”
“How was his wife doing?” Myrtle inquired. “When we were there she actually came out to see us and have a snack with us.”
“Not this morning,” Frank answered as he lifted another shovel full of dirt and tossed it behind him. “Silas said she’d been very ill after another round of chemo. She was in bed and I didn’t see her. I took them groceries and offered to help him clean up his yard and do any odd repair jobs in and around the house any time he needed me to and was surprised when he accepted without much convincing.”
“That,” Glinda spoke up, “was kind of you, Frank.”
“I actually enjoyed the visit. We discussed many things over cups of coffee and a cheesecake I’d brought along. You know, he was a college English professor before he retired and he’s an intriguing character in his own right, full of curious stories and life experiences I can appreciate. I asked him why and when he and his wife decided to move to Spookie, of all places. He said it was because his mother had told him his father had lived in Spookie when they were both very young and in love, though they were never married. So thirty years ago when he and his wife were looking for a final home, leaving the big city of New York, he said he remembered Spookie and what his mother had said about it. That it was a quiet little town with colorful people. He said it sounded like the sort of place they wanted to grow old and die in. So they moved here.”
“His father?” Glinda, taking a break from her digging, perched next to Myrtle on the steps, was suddenly intently interested, her eyes on Frank. “Who was his father?”
The hole had grown into a yawning chasm now. The pungent smell of freshly upturned earth hung on the air around them. Frank had commented earlier on how he wondered how Masterson, as ill as Glinda had said he’d appeared to be in her last dream, had had the strength to dig so deep a hole.
“Silas said he’d never known who his father was because his mother refused to speak much about him. All he ever knew was his father had been a sailor who’d abandoned his mother before him and his twin sister, Isabel, who passed away years ago, were even born. A father who’d promised to return but never did. He’d sailed off somewhere searching for sunken ships full of treasure or something and then fell off the face of the earth. Sound familiar?”
“Oh my,” Glinda murmured. “This is way too much of a coincidence if you ask me. Something else is at work here. Fate, maybe, or a higher power.” She sent a glance at the sky. “Did he ever mention his mother’s name?”
“Let me think. I believe he said it was...oh, yeah, Darcy.”
“And,” Glinda repeated, “he had a twin sister named Isabel?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Was she called Izzy for short?”
“Now that I don’t know.” Frank had halted his digging to wipe the sweat off his face. “But I could ask him when I see him tomorrow. I’m going over there to fix a small leak he has in his bathroom. Why do you want to know?”
“Because one of the other things Masterson’s ghost told me in my dream last night was his lover’s name had been Darcy, she’d been pregnant when he sailed away on the ship, and she’d confided in him she was sure she was going to have a girl and if she did she’d name her...Isabel or Izzy for short, her mother’s name.”
Frank, Abigail and Myrtle stared at her, but it was Myrtle who spoke first. “Oh, my. Silas Smith could possibly be Masterson’s son. Darcy must have had twins. Masterson never knew that because he was already sailing the ocean or stranded on that island of his. The girl, his daughter Isabel, is now long dead. But Silas is still alive and he’s Masterson’s only living descendent. Wow. What a coincidence.”
Glinda looked at Frank. “If that is true, if we find the remains of Masterson’s treasure it would legally belong to Silas.”
“Not if,” Frank stated, his voice rising a notch, “when. And that appears to be now.” He plunked the tip of his shovel’s blade against something hard he’d uncovered in the deep hole.
Myrtle left the steps and all of them gathered around as Frank finished unearthing and lifting out a small chest covered in moldy dirt and age.
“This chest looks like the one in my dream Masterson buried.” Glinda’s fingers touched the box.
“Open it,” Myrtle said excitedly.
They watched as Frank used the shovel to knock the rusted lock off the chest. Inside they found a jumble of sparkling jewelry and three golden coins. Glinda had no idea what type of coins they were, Spanish perhaps, but they looked to be very, perhaps centuries, old.
“Woo-hoo, we found the rest of Masterson’s treasure!” Myrtle danced around in a circle in a celebratory way, careful not to jostle her wounded arm too much. “All those people hunting, digging up everything everywhere, killing each other off, all those years for it, didn’t find it, and we found it! What do you think it’s worth Frank?”
“I have absolutely no idea, but I’m sure our historian friend and your boyfriend, Myrtle, Richard Eggold might.”
“Not my boyfriend,” snapped Myrtle. “Just a friend.”
Frank ignored her pronouncement. “The gold coins alone, though, as old as they are and in the mint condition they’re in I’d say they’re worth possibly a small fortune. Now what?” Frank was holding the open chest in his arms; staring at it as all the others were doing.
“We do what Masterson asked us to do,” Glinda decided. “We give it to his child. We give it to Silas.”
“All of it?” Myrtle’s mouth had fallen open, but her shining eyes were still on the contents of the chest.
“All of it,” Frank concurred with Glinda. “If Silas is Masterson’s child the treasure belongs to him. Would you really want to keep something which doesn’t belong to you, Myrtle, if you knew who it rightfully belonged to?”
“Nah, I guess not.” Myrtle had plopped back down on the gazebo’s middle step and waved her good hand in the air. “It’s not as if I need the money. I don’t. But Silas and his wife, though, they do need it bad. Their house is falling down around them, they’re starving and their car is barely running. All right, we give the treasure to them. I can live with that.”
And no one disagreed.
*****
AS THE DAY BEGAN TO wane, Frank carried the chest to Glinda’s house and put it on the table where she usually performed her psychic readings.
“I’ll tell you what,” Glinda proposed, “let’s telephone Silas and ask him if we can come over. We have something to tell him. We can ask more about his mother and father and if we think he is who we believe he is, we present him with the treasure.”
“That sounds like a plan.” Abigail leaned forward in her chair. Glinda had given her a wet cloth to wipe off her sweaty face. Abigail’s eyes, as everyone else’s, were fixated on the pieces of jewelry and coins laid out on the table before them next to the open chest. They glittered under the room’s soft lights. A real honest to goodness treasure. The people around the table kept picking up and touching the different items, oohing and aahing over them. There was an exquisitely fashioned ruby ring, an elaborate diamond necklace and a few other pieces. Each piece was uniquely breathtaking.
“If those coins could only talk.” Frank had his cell phone in his hand and was keying in Silas’s number. “Imagine the story they could tell. Who they had belonged to, how they had come to be hidden for centuries at the bottom of the ocean among the silt and fishes, being found by Masterson’s shipmates, the ship wreck and how Masterson survived and salvaged a part of the treasure. I’d love to hear those tales.”
“Me, too,” Myrtle seconded.
Minutes later after getting off the phone, Frank announced, “I spoke to Silas. He was reluctant at first to let all of us come over. He’s a private person. But I told him it was important and after he thought about it he said okay. I also believe as I said before he’s desperately lonely and is hoping to alleviate that situation by opening his life to other people. He did ask, though, that we wait until tomorrow morning to visit. His wife is sleeping now and he was ready to retire himself. They go to bed early. I said we’d see him in the morning.”
“That’s fine with me.” Myrtle covered her mouth as she yawned. “I’m beat myself. It’s been quite a day.”
“That it has,” Glinda agreed.
“We’ll leave the chest with its contents here with you, Glinda. We’ll return tomorrow at ten in the morning or so, if that’s all right with you two ladies?” Frank had come to his feet, his face weary from the digging and the discovery.
“Ten it is.” Glinda was glad they weren’t going over until the next morning. She was tired from the day as well. She glanced over and saw Myrtle dozing in her chair.
Frank took his wife’s hand. “Let’s go home, honey. I need a shower, a couple of strong aspirins and a soft bed. Every muscle in my body is aching. All that digging reminded me that I need more exercise or something. Maybe I should be a little younger.” He laughed, his eyes straying to the treasure on the table one last time.
When they’d left Glinda helped tuck in her aunt and then, after locking the chest with its precious cargo in her cabinet, she retired for the night herself.
She couldn’t wait to see Silas’s reaction tomorrow when he learned his father had never really abandoned him, his mother and his sister but had been lost on an island, had always loved them, had looked for them all his life...and that now he was filthy rich.