Chapter 13: Hidden Treasures

April 1, 2029

It was April Fool’s Day and Easter Sunday wrapped up in one. It felt like Easter, a beautiful sunny warm day with a light breeze from the south as everyone descended the mountain to take on the larger task of clearing and preparing the field on the farm.

“Did anyone see my underwear?” Clark asked rummaging through the clothes trunk for the second time.

“Check the clothesline!” Sally answered.

“There’s nothing there except a sock,” he said, returning from outside.

“Oh, oh, I hope that Blue Jay didn’t fly off with them.”

“What do I do now?”

“April fool!” she shouted, pulling one of his tidy whites from her back pocket.

“Humph,” he chuckled and shook his head.

Sally and Katie were anxious to get out of the cabin. It was getting cramped and feeling like a cocoon. They looked forward to stepping into the spacious rooms of the farmhouse. Fifi and Trish sensed they were all going somewhere and were excited to slip into their makeshift carriers. Along the way, their eyes and ears were tuned to the new sights and sounds of the tall forest.

They planned on staying five, maybe six days, including Clark’s visit to the monastery. There was a lot of speculation about what task Brother Matthew had in mind for him. The monks were getting old and weak and surely needed help with the gardens. Or maybe they wanted Clark to help them relocate to the monastery from where Fifi and Trish came. Sally and Katie often wondered how the brothers managed their food supply and heating in the winter. Maybe they were running low on wood and needed Clark’s help to cut a few cords.

Katie and the girls sat on a large blanket spread over a canvass at the edge of the field as they watched Clark and Sally struggle with the plow. According to Katie, the secret of getting straight rows was to fix one’s sight on a stake at either end of the field, then reset it two yards over before starting the next row. The rest was like riding a bike holding the handles of the plow steady and balanced. The first several furrows took forever and were quite uneven. However, with lots of encouragement and cheerleading from the sidelines, Sally soon got the knack of it and by the end of the day was actually enjoying the work.

The most fun part for everyone was dipping into the nearby stream. Although the water was still cold, for Fifi and Trish it was a feast for the senses, splashing around, squishing mud in their hands, touching the pebbles, tasting the water, and seeing leaves float by. What a wondrous world.

ON THE FOURTH DAY, Clark left the farm shortly before noon and when he arrived at the gate of the monastery he expected one of the brothers to come out and ring the bell. No one appeared. Clark waited several more minutes, but still no one. The gate was unlocked and he entered to find the flower garden leading to the front steps in need of care. The steps and front porch were still strewn with dry leaves from the previous fall.

“If Brother Matthew needs help tending the garden and cleaning up around the monastery, I should have brought Sally and Katie with me. Six hands are better than two,” he thought as he knocked on the front door.

Clark knocked again, a little louder than the first time. After several moments, Brother Matthew finally came and opened the door. He was pale, thinner, with sunken eyes, his head and shoulders were slouched forward, and looked like he had aged several years. However, his eyes lit up when he recognized Clark and he mustered enough strength to return a smile.

“Clark, my dear man, you kept your promise. I’m so glad to see you. Sorry I didn’t come right away when you knocked the first time. It’s the arthritis that has slowed me down. You’re all alone? Are the girls alright?”

“Yes, Sally and Katie are well. I left them with Fifi and Trish at the farmhouse. I will bring them here in a couple of weeks for you and Brother Anton to see how much the girls have grown. You know, they’re already walking and talking,” Clark explained.

“That’s nice to hear. But, come, I have to sit,” Brother Matthew said, shuffling over to a cushioned chair with armrests.

“Where is Brother Anton? He didn’t come out to ring the noon bell,” Clark asked.

“Ah, my dear man, I don’t know where to begin or how to say this... , “ Brother Matthew paused to take a deep breath. “Brother Anton was called to be with the Lord.”

He continued describing how Brother Anton’s memory was not only getting worse, but suddenly began declining rapidly day by day. He started forgetting to come to morning prayers, then simple things like how to make tea. The situation became serious when he couldn’t find his bed at night to go sleep. Sometimes he would find Brother Anton curled up on the floor or on the sofa and had to lead him to his bed.

Then, one morning in January, he couldn’t find him anywhere inside the monastery or carriage house. He looked outside and saw tracks filled in by new fallen snow leading from the front porch towards the gate. It had snowed the whole night and was still snowing that morning. He bundled up and followed the tracks to the gate which was partially open.

The tracks continued over to the other side of the road and down the side about 60 feet. Then, they led back to the road, but off to one side. There were also signs where Brother Anton had lost his footing and fell. When he reached the road and looked into the direction where the tracks continued, he saw a small snow covered mound lying on the side of the road. It was Brother Anton who must have collapsed from exhaustion and hypothermia. He had frozen to death, wearing only his habit and sandals.

“Maybe he went outside to go fishing down at the stream. Over his bed hangs a fisherman’s prayer which may have sparked his desire to go outside. When he realized it was dark and cold, he probably tried to come back inside, but lost his way and collapsed. God rest his soul.”

Clark asked what he did with Brother Anton’s body.

“I dragged him back to the courtyard. I knew I couldn’t bring him inside, nor bury him all by myself. Instead, I put him in a spot where the snow usually stays until mid-April, covered his body with three feet of packed snow and placed an old tarp over it. Can you help me bury him?”

After they had laid Brother Anton to rest next to Brother John and were seated in the kitchen near a warm stove, Brother Matthew began to explain the reason why he asked Clark to come. He had a feeling about Brother Anton, but didn’t think he would pass away so soon and under such tragic circumstances. He was more concerned about not being able to care for his companion considering his own deteriorating state of health.

“I want you to take this key. It’s for the gate. When you leave here today, I want you to lock it. I may not be able to go open it the next time you come. So you’ll have to let yourself in. And, don’t worry about knocking at the door. Just come in and call for me. Understood?”

Clark took the key from Brother Matthew’s trembling hands. It was large and heavy. It looked like something from antiquity and reminded him of an engraving he had seen showing St. Peter holding the keys to the gates of heaven.

Clark asked if there was anything else he could do for him.

“Yes, if you don’t mind, can you go downstairs in the cellar and bring up two plastic storage totes?”

Clark had never been down in the cellar before. The light was not enough to gauge the size of the space. However, the shadowy form of a furnace loomed in the middle of everything. Duct pipes grew out of it like spindly legs of a spider running in all directions along the ceiling and up into the monastery. It stood there entombed like in an underground shrine, probably never to be resuscitated.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, shelves lining the walls came into view. They held countless boxes marked with dates and subjects related to the monastery’s past. There was also a rack holding many unopened, dust encrusted bottles of what looked like sacramental wine.

Finally, he came upon a row of shelves with about two-thirds still stacked with gray plastic totes. He removed the lid from one and was stunned to find that it contained packets of survival food. Based on the number of totes, there must have been enough food to last at least another two years for three people.

Clark said nothing when he placed the two totes on the kitchen table. His silence however was felt in the room.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Brother Matthew cleared his throat. “Many years ago, our Brotherhood came to the conclusion that the fabric of civilization was hanging by a thread and heading towards a great calamity of civil division, strife and violence. The consensus among our most learned Brothers was that a combination of man-made and natural causes would cause everything to unravel. We were told to prepare for the disintegration of society by securing enough food and fuel to sustain each community long enough until its last member. No one ever said anything about the world collapsing.”

Clark listened and nodded. “So what did you and your brothers do about keeping this place warm? The furnace downstairs runs on heating oil.”

Brother Matthew didn’t answer Clark’s question. He pointed to two boxes next to the stove. They were always filled with chopped wood, but now sat empty. “Could you go to the carriage house out back and bring me some wood?”

The carriage house was at one time a small barn and stable where the early monks kept some milk cows and one or two horses. In the loft, hay and other feed were stored for the winter. Part of the structure also contained a small shop where a horse drawn buggy was kept probably like the one Clark saw in a picture hanging in Brother Matthew’s study dated 1893, showing a two-horse carriage with a priest and a nun.

Clark had always been curious to see the inside of the carriage house. He expected to find antiques. Instead, when he entered through a side door he was amazed to see an enormous stockpile of chopped wood that must have taken years of great effort and determination for the monks to accumulate.

Looking around, he noticed they seemed to have all the right tools for their impressive achievement, including a two man log saw and a manual hydraulic wood splitter. If only he had these, too. It would allow him to produce enough fire wood for the winter in less than half the time it usually took him and with less effort.