The Broken House

I've lost count how often I'd traversed these woods since (and throughout) my youth. Despite their number, the trees never seemed to grow their trunks thicker as one would have expected. These trees, generally a standard green from moss, always seems just large enough to wrap one's arms around. They grew tall, simply not wide.

But I loved its trails; there was a quiet tranquility as one followed the well worn paths. The most one would hear during the day was the occasional leaf scuffling of a running ground squirrel or two. Bird song seemed to be at a minimum; at night one could hear louder sounds through the brush. If one was quick enough one could get one's flashlight beam to fall upon the reflective eyes of a curious raccoon, or, albeit far more rarely, the face of a cautious doe.

So how was it I had never seen these ruins of a house before? I thought I was on my standard trail... had I made a wrong turn? In my head I felt over the years I'd mapped out all the various trails; I wondered if maybe as this time a single ray of sunshine seemed to fall on it like a spotlight that I saw the obvious man-made beam of wood sticking up from the ground.

I left the trail and headed over, and found not only the large beam of wood, but that apparently whatever building this had once been, had eventually collapsed in on itself into its deep, wide cellar.

I could not estimate how large the structure had been, nor could I figure out how anyone might have accessed it. There was no indication of a car-width dirt-road or even a foot path. Had it been here so long that nature had completely managed to reclaim its territory?

At the edge of the now open air cellar were various thick wooden beams, at such a declining angle that one could carefully walk down into the rubble.

I doubted there could be anything of value, but I'd always been taught that if one did not at least make the attempt, the answer always would be No.

So I made my way down, it only took a few moments. The debris was substantial, but navigable. It seemed clear that anything of value had long been ruined by time and weather, when suddenly my eyes fell on the corner of a dark green metal box. I was able to pull it out and examine it. It appeared to be a very old army box, which would certainly keep dry its ammunition contents. There was no lock, just a closed latch as one might find holding tight a mason jar lid.

I gently pulled on the latch which quickly popped open with a resounding click. At my right I could hear sudden scurrying from some small animal that had been startled by the sudden noise. I could not see what had run off.

Inside the container was a small black leather-bound notebook, which I correctly presumed was a journal of sorts.

The handwriting was still legible, but I could not tell the sex of the author, nor was there a name or date.

But the text conveyed a puzzling story.

"The waiting time finally is over. We have succeeded, and no one has learned of our secret.

"I went to where it was buried, at the place we agreed. I found someone had built on the lot, but thankfully we were smart enough to bury by the property line.

"I had to return carefully, in the early morning hours to avoid being seen or caught. It took far longer than I expected as even the small spade made noise digging into the dirt.

"Finally I recovered our prize, and brought it back. Even if found out, the statute of limitations has long run out. When we meet up, we can have it appraised, and sell or fence them."

I was enthralled. The author seemed to be referring to a co-conspirator of a possible theft of some sort. Had they met up as planned? Did their plan succeed?

The brief text frustrated me. Was there a double-cross, so the author could not enter anything further?

I set down the box, and it tipped over. There was a strange sound beyond that of it hitting the ground. I looked within, and after a quick reach inside I found the metal base was actually a false bottom. There was a small muslin bag with a handful of coins. I realized these were gold coins, and extremely old.

Was this what the black book's author meant? How were they still here after all this time?

I quickly stuffed the small bag deep into my pocket, along with the book, and I carefully climbed back out and returned to the trail.

Eventually I reached the edge of the woods, back to where I'd expected to emerge.

Safely at home I did some research, and managed to learn what sort of coins these were, and learned their collective value for between ten and twelve thousand dollars!

I knew I had to be careful. I couldn't just walk into a police station with my prize and expect them to congratulate me on the find. I was well aware of tales of people mistakenly bringing found money to police, only to have it confiscated (read, stolen), or told it had be stored for thirty days, during which time it would be "accidentally 'lost'."

I contacted my great-aunt who was a lawyer. The anonymous author of the black notebook indicated that the statute of limitations was over, and who know how long it'd been since that had been written, and how long since the buried coins had been recovered, or for how long they had even been hidden. She was able to furnish me with strong enough advice, and was aware of a few wealthy clients who she knew were numismatists. She offered to mediate to see which client might want the coins more.

She was not surprised that the two clients quickly expressed interest. I had provided clear photos of the coins for her to share with them. Without much delay, the two clients kept upping each other, until finally one reached a bid of twenty-two thousand dollars, at which point the other client surrendered.

My great-aunt had initially suggested a ten percent commission. Once the wired payment was received, I gave her $2300, even though she pointed out that ten percent was only $2200. I told her the round up was my gift for her assistance.

It worked for us.

© 2021 Geoffrey Gould