Meredith followed Frederick as he led the way to a river running beside a jumble of boulders covering the ground on both sides.
“This way,” Frederick said, gesturing for the group to follow.
He led them along a riverside deer path to cliffs that rose on either side. There the water tumbled over rocky shelves to form a small waterfall. A spruce tree above them grew from a crevice in the rock face, bending in an odd angle as it sought the sun over the years. Beneath that angled tree the trail led to slabs of stone forming a natural stairway. “These steps almost seem manmade,” she commented.
“If they were manmade, I’d wager they were placed here long before Frederick filed his claim,” John said from behind her. “Perhaps an indigenous culture lived in the area at one time, but it’s more than likely they’re a natural geological formation.”
Frederick veered off the trail and stopped beside a ridge of granite protruding from the ground about five yards from the path. “On the other side you’ll see where I chiseled my initials into the stone so I wouldn’t forget. The box is buried at the base directly beneath my mark.”
Meredith relayed what the ghost had said. John placed the shovel on the ground before sliding his arms out of the straps of his backpack. He set the pack down and drew out a pair of work gloves, also borrowed from the maintenance shed. “Guess I’ll get to it,” he said.
Everyone followed John off the path and around the ridge of granite as he searched for the initials. “Here they are,” he said, brushing accumulated dirt from the chiseled letters. “Judy, take a picture with your phone. In fact, video the entire undertaking for posterity’s sake.”
“Spoken like a true historian,” Oliver said. “I’ll record everything for you. Judy is too involved.” He held up his phone, rubbed more of the imbedded dirt from the initials and took several pictures.
Meredith and her cabinmates formed a half-circle around John, leaning close to take a look at the base. It was obvious this was a spot where runoff deposited debris and soil. John put on the work gloves and brushed away a few inches of dead evergreen needles, leaves, and sandy soil.
“I did not bury the box very deeply, but it’s been …” Frederick looked puzzled. “I don’t know how long it’s been. I was murdered in the spring of 1855.”
“Almost a hundred seventy years ago,” Meredith told him.
“Hmm. Might be the box is quite a bit deeper in the ground now.”
Meredith passed along Frederick’s comments as John began digging, and Oliver recorded the event. All eyes were on the shovel and the growing hole. “This is the most interesting ghost whispering experience I’ve ever had,” she said. “I’ve helped families locate a lot of stuff, but never a buried treasure. She glanced around at each of her companions and frowned. Daniel had disappeared.
“Never in a million years did I think I’d be involved in anything like this.” Judy grinned at her. “We have you to thank, Meredith.”
“Glad I could help.” As John continued to dig, she went over the strange conversation she’d had with Daniel. Had that been the reason he’d left? Now she was the one worried that she’d upset him.
The tip of the shovel gave off a grinding, metallic twang, and the Schultes cheered, bringing Meredith’s attention back where it ought to be. Frederick’s ghostly expression was one of relief. Oliver crouched down to continue recording as John swept dirt from the top of a rusted metal box about the size of those used for fishing tackle. He wedged in the shovel to pry the treasure loose from its resting place. He had to shift the box back and forth several times before he could lift it free and set it on the ground.
“Judy, get the hammer and screwdriver out of the backpack. The box is rusted shut.”
Judy hurried to the pack and drew out a small ball-peen hammer and a flathead screwdriver and brought the tools to him. It took him a few minutes to knock away the rust and hardened sand sealing the lid shut. The metal hinges screeched as he pried open the lid, uncovering a sheet of disintegrating canvas wrapped around the contents. Carefully he peeled that away to reveal a leather-wrapped cylinder resting on top of more leather.
“What’s that on top, Frederick?” Meredith asked.
“Proof of ownership and instructions on what was to be done with the money upon my death.”
“Frederick says the bundle is proof of ownership and a will of sorts,” Meredith said.
John handed the wrapped cylinder to Judy before lifting what remained of the oiled leather beneath. A collective gasp went up as piles of coins—some gold, some tarnished silver—were revealed. “Silver and gold dollars,” Meredith whispered.
Smiling, Frederick shook his head. “Twenty dollar gold pieces, some ten and five dollar silver coins, and yes, some are one dollar.”
“This is a fortune!” Oliver cried as he stopped the video and began snapping pictures. He picked up one of the gold coins and studied both sides. “Oh my God! This is a double eagle from 1850.” He took a picture of both sides of the coin.
Seemingly unfazed by the treasure, Judy sat down and unwrapped the bundle. She lifted a small mason jar with a folded document inside for all of them to see. “This is in remarkably good shape, she said as she studied the contents of the jar. John, you might have to break the glass. I doubt we’ll be able to get the lid off.”
“We’ll see,” John said as he took the jar from his wife.
“Air tight. I knew canning worked for vegetables, so I figured it’d do the job for a piece of vellum,” Frederick commented, looking proud of himself.
John
