Treasure Map for the Soul

Simon was a man without purpose. Without hope. Since the death of his wife, his grief had consumed him and he found very little capacity for anything else. Not even sleep. He was supposed to be finding a job, but didn’t really know how he was supposed to function in one, given his current state. However, to keep a roof over one’s head - to be able to live at all really - one had to have money, didn’t one? So that was a consideration. He thought more and more these days about the futility of his life, but wondered whether he could actually bring himself to end it.

He sighed, returning his attention to the box he was sorting through. The large cardboard boxes were part of a deceased estate. Was there was no family to do this? Or perhaps they didn’t care enough to sort through the belongings themselves? He wondered about what legacy he would leave behind. Wondered whether his loss would even be noticed.

As he continued sorting, he found his mind creating stories to fit the various items he inspected. It was good to have something else to occupy his mind besides grief. Which was why he had taken the small square of paper from the job board at the Community Centre, on impulse. Sorting through boxes had seemed like something he could do. And he really needed to try doing something.

His hands closed over a black, leather-bound journal. He drew it from the box and examined it. Feeling its weight in his hand. He touched his fingers to the soft cover, feeling the detail tooled into the surface. It was the sort of book that looked like it should be used for something important. Something that he would buy, but never feel worthy enough to use. He cracked open the cover and noted the smell of the thick, velvety pages within. Running his fingers over the surface of the soft paper, he briefly flirted with a twinge of guilt at the invasion of privacy. Before supposing that it probably didn’t count, under the circumstances.

He turned the first page to reveal a neatly printed name. James Edwin Moorecroft. He reverently leafed through the pages, filled with deftly penned impressions. Neat, spidery handwriting was interspersed with confidently inked drawings. He stopped at a photograph tucked between the pages. Staring out was a woman’s face. Neither young nor particularly beautiful, the subject was nonetheless more striking than either of those qualities would have made them. The eyes staring out from the portrait were magnetic and triggered an intense curiosity to know more about the secrets they held.

On a whim, he closed the book and slipped it into his satchel. The journal would require time and privacy to properly take in. And it suddenly felt important that these carefully documented moments should be witnessed by someone. He would read through the journal tonight. Then he would know what value it held.

Alone in his apartment, Simon pored through the journal and began to gain a sense of the man who had written in it. James Moorecroft seemed to be the sort of man who genuinely connected with people. Who took an interest in the world around him. He documented this interest in the form of prose, sketches and delightful observations, and Simon drank all of it up. The book was an homage to the places and people which had filled this life with meaning. Simon felt almost jealous. He had felt numb for so long. So removed from everything in his own life. He wondered what it would be like to be so connected. So present in other people’s lives. He suspected that not having met this man was a missed opportunity and felt a strange sense of loss.

Simon flipped back to the photo of the woman that had first caught his eye. The woman’s name was Minnie and she was sitting by a lake, with the late afternoon winter sun catching the side of her face. She smiled with the wry grace of someone who knew a thing or two about life. There were many pages filled with notes, tiny poems and acknowledgements to Minnie that suggested she may have been sleeping rough. Simon had begun to feel invested in Minnie’s fate, and wondered whether it would be OK to go looking for her? Maybe she didn’t know that her friend was dead?

Armed with information from the journal, a bit of amateur sleuthing found Minnie down at Fairbridge Park, in front of the very lake where she had been photographed. He approached her respectfully and asked if it would be OK to sit down near her. She smiled broadly, revealing missing teeth and gestured grandly with a sweeping arm.

Simon introduced himself and the journal, and began to ask about James. Minnie, with eyes that softened at hearing the name, seemed to accept without question why he was there, and filled him in on what she knew about James Moorecroft. He was a retired businessman with a genuine love for people and a strong connection to the local area. Having made a good living early on, he spent his later years correcting many of the mistakes he had made when he had not understood life so well. He seemed determined to leave the world a little better for his presence, in as many small ways as he could before he left it. From what Minnie could tell me, he had succeeded.

They fell into such an easy conversation that Simon quite forgot himself. She was quite easily the most alive person that he had ever met. Filled with a vibrant, earthy wisdom, humour, warmth and a kind, calming presence. No wonder James had been taken by her. Though clearly the survivor of a difficult life herself, she had such an air of peace, such an easy grace about her. And a sense of joy that was a lot like being warmed by the sun after a long, icy winter. They talked together for hours. Despite her own circumstances, she took a genuine interest in Simon and drew forth from him things that he didn’t know he had been needing to express. When he left her, he felt better than he had in a very long time. He promised to return with some of the sweets that he had discovered she loved and some warm socks. For his own sake, more than hers, he realised.

Checking the time, he decided to head over to a dog shelter two suburbs over. James had spent time there, helping to socialise and train the dogs, ready for adoption. The joy that leapt from every page describing his time there sounded like something that Simon could use a little of. And the stories of some of the dogs caught his heart. The lady running the shelter hugged him when he told her about James. She led him out to the exercise yard where several curious dogs immediately bounded over. “Mr Moorecroft would have adopted them all if he could. But of course, his health didn’t guarantee him a lot of time, so.. He came here as often as he could and helped out. I think he got every bit as much benefit from being here as he gave.” She asserted. Simon nodded his head. Deciding that he could well understand that. Sometime later, he headed for home with a small stack of paperwork and much on his mind.

The little black book became a sort of touchstone for Simon over the coming days. As he pieced together the various parts of a dead man’s life, he found himself increasingly invested in the people and places that he found. In particular the overgrown Belmarsh Street lot where James Moorecroft had envisioned building a community food garden. Sadly, he had died before he could put anything into action. It had been a while since he worked with his hands. As he looked over the neglected plot of land, he wondered how much work it would actually take to get things set up. Kneeling at a corner of the yard, he began clearing some of the overgrown weeds, to get a better sense of what he was dealing with.

A trip to the local library yielded additional information and saw Simon pressing the buzzer at a law firm, in an old money neighbourhood. An older gentleman with neat, silver hair answered politely and when he heard why Simon was there, bade him to come inside. He patiently listened to his story and answered his questions about the Belmarsh Street lot.

As he prepared to leave, the older gentleman sized him up briefly and asked him to wait. “The weather has turned out there, and your coat doesn’t look up to the job. Why don’t you take this one?” he said, offering him a long, dark coat. “It belonged to James and I rather think he might like you to have it, in the circumstances.” Simon was surprised by the surge of emotion he felt at being gifted this man’s coat. A man whom he had never met, but felt inexplicably connected to. The idea of bringing his garden to life seemed even more important. As he pulled the coat around his shoulders, he gave a nod of thanks and hurried out into the deluge.

On the way home, Simon pulled up at the site where James Moorecroft had envisioned his community market garden. The rain had begun to ease a little and he looked out through the windscreen of his car, making assessments. The plans given to him by the lawyer made a lot more sense of the project. He could see where infrastructure existed, and where the proposed additions would turn this into an asset for the whole community. As the windscreen wipers lazily deflected drops of rain, Simon reflected on the last few days and how much he had been gifted by reading that journal. The sense of connection he had discovered because of the book, the relationships he was forming had been restoring his soul and renewing his will to live. For the first time in a long time, his heart felt light. Perhaps working on this garden could give him a sense of purpose too? What a treasure map that book had turned out to be. Leading him to treasures far greater than gold.

When he got home, Simon gazed at his reflection with the fine coat on his back, deep in a cloud of gratitude. Putting his hands in the pockets and turning this way and that, he noticed a strange, rectangular bulk inside the lining. Curiously, he located an inner pocket and withdrew a packet filled with money. He couldn’t believe what he was looking at. There must be $20,000 here! Simon began to laugh. Well that answered the question of how he was going to do it. “The James Moorecroft Community Garden it is then.” he said to the man whose name was inked inside the cover of the small black journal that had saved his life.