Chapter 1

A new start

Tom closed the door to his old Ford hatchback. It slammed with the familiar sound that said it had probably latched all the way, but maybe not. That meant there would be some trouble opening the thing, although usually the problem existed while you were inside. He hadn't had to roll down the window to use the exterior handle in awhile, though. Such good fortune could not last.

He looked around. He had almost missed it. There was no road here, exactly, leading through the metal gate. No sign. Just a larger than normal flat grassy pull off next to the two lane forest road, a wood post, barbed wire fence, and a padlocked gate. Tom felt the key in his pocket, next to the map. Both were a mystery.

The soles of his sneakers were thin, the rocks hidden in the grass sharp. This must have been a stone covered parking spot at some point, before nature took its course. It probably could be paved, if he was going to...

Tom shook his head. He had to nip that thought in the bud. He was unemployed. Broke. There was no money for this. No money for living. He was here to look at his unexpected property, live on it for a few days to save on hotel costs, and try and sell it. Maybe get enough to get his life together.

If it wasn't too late.

Standing before the gate, Tom reached out to tug on the lock. The metal was rusted, but it held. Maybe the key wouldn't work. Well, wouldn't that suck donkey balls. Come across half the state, up into the Adirondack's, everything he owned stuck in the back of a ten year old car, and not be able to get into the reason he was here. How would he pay for a hotel? He had SOME money, what was left after selling his furnishings and settling the back rent on his old apartment, but it wasn't much. A hotel would eat up everything. Maybe he could just pitch his tent next to the car, in the rocky grass. It didn't look like many cars used this road.

Or he could just try the key. He laughed. It was definitely easy to fall back into assuming everything would go wrong. The idea of life and luck finally turning his way would take some getting used to. If, in fact, it was the case. It didn't pay to get your hopes up. What was the saying? "When God closes a door, he opens a window"? Whoever came up with that never considered that a window is a smaller opening and hard to use, and may be a couple stories up in the air.

Reaching into his pocket, Tom pulled out the envelope. It was addressed to him. That, at least, was certain. The enclosed letter had his full name right. Yet, it did have to be a mistake. Tom had no relative named Shedeur. Certainly not one who would mention him in his will, let alone leave him over two square miles of empty forest in the middle of a state park. Mystery upon mystery.

The silver key fell into his hand. It was shiny. New. So obviously not the key for this lock he had to laugh again. It was stupid. Life was stupid. Grabbing the rusted lock with his left hand, he inserted the key.

It turned easily.

Tom stood there, in shock, as the gate swung silently inward. The rocky grass continued on for ten feet or so, room enough to pull his car in, maybe. Beyond that were trees. Old, yet healthy, with thick underbrush, the green of spring leaves filling the branches. Bird song was everywhere. Where the grass touched the forest ... a path.

Why he had kept his camping gear, two decades after leaving scouts, he had no idea. Maybe he had hoped, in some future time, to be able to go off into the wilderness with a girlfriend, or wife. Or by himself, to just commune with nature. Maybe never to return.

It was getting harder to stave off that idea. Life ... had become a chore. Something he did, without joy. Without meaning. There was an end to it, yes. An end he could move towards slowly ... or quickly. The deals he had made with himself, the goals he had set, which he had to live to see to completion, were no more. Rather than give him hope for a future, they sat there as reminders of past failure, mocked him as a dream never to be fulfilled.

No one would miss him, if he vanished.

With a sigh, Tom settled the shoulder straps, the backpack a bit heavy but the weight distributed well. He had considered going on with just a water bottle, waiting to see what was awaiting him before lugging camping gear in. Something, though, as he had taken a half step though the gate, compelled him to take all he needed now. To enter as if he was to stay.

The car was locked. Whether it could be unlocked, that was always uncertain, but worst case he could go in through the back hatch. He had a metal canteen hung from his shoulder, complete with faded Boy Scout logo on its fabric covering, filled with water from a rest stop restroom some ways back. A second one, newer and plastic, attached to his belt. Both a sleeping bag and dome tent were bungie corded to the metal pack frame. Wishing he had a hat, Tom walked forward through the gate.

Something was different.

He noticed that immediately. The air felt ... he couldn't explain it. Tom felt refreshed. Awake. Almost like going from a smoke filled room into the clean summer air, yet the air had already been as fresh and pure as Tom had ever breathed. The pack felt lighter, too. Leaving the gate open, he moved across the grass. The rocks weren't as sharp as he had feared, nowhere near as sharp as they had been around his car. The ground under his sneakers actually felt ... nice.

Without hesitation, Tom walked into the forest. The path was virgin, no footprints visible, yet it also was clear and easy to travel. Roots and rocks, where they did cross the path, acted as natural steps. The air around him was cool, comfortable. Shafts of light came through the trees, giving it all a mysterious, almost spiritual air.

All thoughts of the outside world wiped from his mind, Tom continued onward.

The sound of the brook welcomed Tom into the clearing. He stopped, the rays of the sun feeling just as refreshing stepping into them as it had felt stepping into the shade half an hour before. Eyes closed, he raised his face to the sun. It almost seemed to caress him, like the hands of a woman. A sigh escaped his lips.

A splash broke the spell, but only slightly. Eyes opening, he saw a bird, hawk or eagle he was too ignorant to say, fly off with a small fish in its claws. Fish ... he could fish here. Tom had always loved fishing, when his father had taken him. Sensing this was his destination, he let his pack fall to the ground at the edge of the forest, walking forward through the tall grass. The clearing was the size of a baseball diamond, maybe more. It was flat, open. A stream wandered through, flowing east to west. Tom smiled as he remembered an old Scoutmaster telling the boys that all rivers flowed south, so you could find your way home using them when lost. His own Dad had laughed, naming a half dozen that flowed otherwise, including three local ones.

Wisdom did not always come with age, or authority.

He walked up to the stream. It was deep, deep enough for fish worth catching. At its widest the water was ten feet across, although flat stones made a ford where the banks closed in to almost half that. The water was clear. Pure. Looking to his right, Tom saw a flat rock right on the bank. Unthinking, his worn sneakers found themselves in the grass a few feet away, as did his socks. Sitting on the stone, Tom let his feet dangle into the slow moving water. It felt ... Good. Right.

Purifying.

"Come"

The voice came from everywhere. Tom was not startled. Part of him, he thought, had been expecting this. A part of him long hidden under cynicism, and despair. His mind was in a fog, yet he thought clearly. Getting to his feet, the hard rock warm against his bare soles, he looked east. There, not far from where the stream flowed from the forest, lay another path. He walked toward it.

Singing. He heard singing. As soon as his feet crossed under the branches arching above him, song filled his head. It sang of life. Of wisdom. Of obedience. The trees, white birch, seemed to lean over the path, branches entwining. They formed a wall, the pines and maples of the rest of the forest hidden. Tom could feel the ground rise, could see the end of the path, bright white light framed by two trees.

Entering the hilltop, he saw Her.

The Oak tree sat in the center of the circular mound. It rose forty feet, bark pure white. Its branches divided in graceful curves, pointing upwards towards the sun. Its leaves almost sparkled, sometimes green, sometimes silver, always beautiful.

"Come," the voice said again. It was Female. Wise. Tom had no choice but to obey.

As he approached, Tom had enough of his wits still to marvel at the ground under him. His bare feet felt like they were walking on silk, even as his eyes showed just undisturbed grass. Coming before the Oak, he saw a large flat rock before it. Three feet high, maybe four feet long, it was dark with age. With ... power.

"Kneel."

Tom knelt before the altar. He knew that's what it was. And he knew who was before him. Even before she spoke again, he knew ... knew...

"Yes," the voice said, seeming to come from every branch of the Oak. "You know me. Have known me. I have had many names. I was Shaddai, when I changed Abram to Abraham. I was Wisdom, when the world came to me with sacrifice. I was Ashratah, when the profane rejected me from my own house."

"And how may I call you, Lady?" It came out of Tom a whisper, and he wondered that he could speak at all. The Oak pulsed, its leaves singing.

"I am Wisdom. Other names you will learn, if you displease me."

"Why am I here?" He was a nobody. A failure. This was a god. No ... GOD. Why... ?

"I know you, Thomas. Watched you. I will make my covenant between me and you, and your descendants after you throughout their generations for an everlasting covenant, to be God to you and to your descendants after you. And I will give this land, for an everlasting possession. For Wisdom has blessed you, and yours. You will worship me, honor me, as is your duty."