ow who was that at the door? He never got visitors. At least not in the past 25 years. "Hold your horses", he said as he ambled toward the door. It was after eight o'clock, who could be calling at this hour. Must be somebody lost. If that was it, he'd give 'em directions and go on to bed.

He thought he might know the man standing outside, but he couldn't really place him. He'd seen that face before, and all the rest looked oddly familiar too. "Good evenin" he started, as he motioned for the man to come in. As they sat down in the living room, he kept running faces and names through his mind. And, as he spoke, (that voice), he'd heard it before. Anyway, he sat and listened as his late night caller started talking business, but not the type of business he'd discussed before. The more they talked the closer he got to remembering. Then, like a dam had burst, with a rush of long buried memories, it came back to him.

It was back in 1909, after the cave-in. He lay half buried under rock, dirt, and fallen beams. About 40 feet of the mine had caved in, and all but six people made it out. At the time it didn't look like he would. He wasn't hurt that bad, he was just pinned down. The other men were lucky, he remembered thinking, they'd gone quick. He knew that the folks, that were probably digging at that moment, wouldn't get to him in time. The air was already starting to get stale. Besides, he never knew anybody that had survived a cave-in. By the time all the debris was moved, (one shovel at a time, one rock and beam at a time), the only thing that really got done was clearing the mine - and making sure the poor souls got dug out and buried proper.

As he lay there, he thought he heard somebody coming from further up in the mine. But he was the lead cutter. There weren't nobody spose to be that far back sept him. When the man got closer he realized he didn't know him at all. The man, an older man, had white hair and his face looked like the sun was reflecting off it. When he talked, he had a strong, powerful, but gentle voice. The old man told him, as he knelt down close by, " don't worry, you've got a lot of work to do yet". The ole man tole him other stuff too, but he sure remembered that statement. He also remembered the little pat on the head. Funny, he didn't know why, but he couldn't remember too much before that day. He figgered it must have been cause the oxgen got so bad. Weren't long after that little pat on the head, everything got dark.

But this.......(he laughed to himself), this couldn't be the same man. That was impossible! Heck, he figgered he was pert near a hunnert - maybe more. That would make this man sitting here......... The night caller leaned toward him and calmly, but with a serious tone, told him, "you've done a fine job, I'm very pleased with your work. But now you work is done, you've earned your rest." It wasn't long after that the night caller left. His parting words, "I'll see you again soon", were barely heard by the man as he closed the door. With the late hour, he just settled back into his chair, where he would finally get to sleep....

The minister stood before a building overflowing with people. It had taken him many hours to prepare what he was about to say. And if it hadn't been for that day, about ten years ago, his task would have been much easier - and his grief much lighter. That day, in some ways, had become a burden for him. He didn't like keeping secrets, especially one this big. He decided he'd tell it, just like he remembered it. After all, it served no purpose keeping it quiet now. And so, he began to tell his story.

"Today I want to talk about a man that we all have seen, talked with, and benefitted from. You probably think you know this man well. After all, many of you have known him all your life. And I believe many of your parents did too. I came to know him, really know him, quite by accident. The man I'm about to tell you about, this man, is a man that likely none of you really knew.

I knew him by accident, I said, because that's really the way it happened. One day, about three weeks after I became pastor here, I found something on my office floor one morning. It was laying there just inside the door. It was an envelope, an envelope with no name or writing of any kind on it. Sitting at my desk, I opened athe envelope. This envelope, a very old envelope, stirred my curiosity. But, to proceed, I opened the envelope. Inside was a bank draft. The draft, on the bank here in town, was made out to the church. But the part that almost cost me a few years of my life, was the amount of the draft. It was for enough to cover all the expenses for the whole month. I see some of you already know what I'm talking about. Well be patient with me, there are many here that don't.

You see, I was so excited, I told our secretary as soon as she came in. To my further surprise, she simply told me they recieved one every month. So, I had to ask. 'How long has the church been recieving them?' The next part was even better. She told me they had been coming, every month, forever. Later she explained that she said forever because nobody could remember when they started. Well, I love a good mystery as much as anyone. And I was determined to solve this one.

The next month, the night before the expected envelope, I spent the night in my office - on a cot, close by the office door. Actually, I barely slept, afraid I'd miss whoever was leaving those envelopes. Just before day, I heard the flop as an envelope hit the floor. I sprang to my feet and looked out the window as I opened the door. I ran out, caught up with our benefactor, and persuaded him to caome backinside with me. I tried for quite a while to get him to tell me how long he'd been leaving the envelopes. As a matter of fact, I asked him many questions that morning. All I got out of him, that day, was that he was just trying to do his part. And he told me one more thing that burned within my heart. He told me he'd do more one day, he promised, but that was all he could tell me then. And he left me with that thought, and a promise I made. I promised to use the money wisely for the church."

The minister looked out on the faces, wondering if they were as curious as he had been. He was also calculating how much more he could tell them today. He didn't want to talk too long, especially on this occasion. He wanted them to get the full picture, to know the whole story of this man, just as he did. So he walked out, closer to the mass of people, and continued.

"For several days I considered what had happened. The more I though about it the more curious I became. So I decided to find out who this man was. I first started talking with a few of you good folks, but carefully and quietly. Soon I began to realize nobody knew much more about this man than I did. Generally I heard that he was a very old man that kept to himself. There had to be more, and I was going to find out. So I began looking through records, newspapers, and anything I could find. I searched for months. Slowly, I began to find out who this man was. If you'll bear with me just a little longer, I'll tell you a few things I discovered. And, I believe, a few things that will amaze you, just as they did me.

I found and old Gazette article dated March 17th, 1909. The article chronicled the events of a cave-in at the old Jezzy mine outside town. It told the story of a man, the only man, that survived... 'the day the earth shook and men became entombed in a mountain of rock'. This man, along with three others, came to the town five years before and found work in the mine. The man was described as middle aged, hard working, but quiet. It turns out, according to the last paragraph of the article, that he closed the mine. The mine, which took lives that day, (almost including his), belonged to him! As incredible as it sounds, his father started the mine along with three other men."

The minister allowed these words to sink in as he surveyed the faces before him. He wanted to blurt out everything. He had so much to tell, but the service was beginning to stretch out. Even though every eye was wide open, every one glued to him, he'd only cover the highlights for now. Besides, how could he tell the story of three months of work in the little time left. With silenece in the hallowed halls he continued.

"In 1917, another Gazette article told of two strangers coming to town. Those two men organized a small parade, picnic, barn dance, and beautiful ceremony. In less than two days they planned all the events, with the help of the town folk of course. And, personally went to pick up the guest of honor. They brought him back to town and escorted him to the chair reserved for him in the town hall. First one, then the other brother, told a fantastic tale about flying machines; about a famous flight they had accomplished only eight years before. Then, inviting him to the platform, presented him with a plaque. The inscription was read aloud. It went something like this.....'To the man that helped us fulfill our dream. On behalf of our state, the mayor, and our citizens, we convey our deepest appreciation. From our heart, Orville and Wilbur.' Yes friends and neighbors, the dear soul laid within our midst, helped make that historic flight a reality. Now, there's just one more thing today. And I'll try to make it brief.

In 1926, with all types of electric devices being invented and sold, our little town saw the first electric lines being run. The archives, at city hall, document the first electric lights illuminating the Mayor's home and others here in town. A few pages on, in those same documents, it tells about the last man to recieve electric power in the township. That's right, our brother resting here. But, did you know that he financed the first electric plant here?"

He could have continued for hours, revealing the many unsung accomplishments of this quiet, gentle man. But instead, he concluded the service with a promise. He promised to finish the man's legacy with an article he would write over the next few days.

Late that evening, as the minister sat pouring over the material he'd gathered, the door to his office opened. Through it stepped the grand-nephew of the man they'd laid to rest earlier that day. "Good evening preacher", he began as he waddled over to the desk. "I had instructions to give this to you. My Uncle gave me this a few months ago. He told me to give it to you in the event something happened to him." He retrieved a brown envelope from the briefcase, about an inch thick, and handed it to the preacher. Then he said, "There's just one more thing. The reading of the will will be in my office tomorrow at two o'clock. I'd like for you to be there." With that, and an odd expression on his face, he sat down in the chair by the desk. As the minister picked up the package he considered the lawyer's strange visage. He looked like a child with a secret. Carefully, he opened the package and slid the contents onto his desk. There, laying before him was a letter, a notebook, and a key. As he surveyed the items he noticed the lawyer could barely sit still. Apparently the man's Grand-nephew didn't know what was in the envelope. And, like a child anxiously waiting to open his Christmas presents, leaned closer to gaze at the items. The preacher picked up the letter and began reading, shooting a glance at the lawyer now and then. The letter, which began without salutation, got right to the point. And after reading silently to himself first, he looked up at the lawyer and began reading aloud:

"I give this to you because I know you will know
what to do with it. I considered this the last
part of my promise.
Thank you for keeping my secret."

When he finished reading, the lawyer stood, preparing to leave. Both men bid each other good evening, and the lawyer left. The minister then opened the notebook and began to slowly read the handwritten pages. Each sentence, the heart and soul of that gentle, peaceable man, began to reach out to him. As he read he became uncomfortable. First his heart began to race. Then his breathing became more rapid. Next, a tremendous sadness began to overwhelm him. Tears began streaming down his cheeks, as the emotion within the pages began to engulf him. He stopped reading, taking a few minutes to compose himself. As he sat there, he imagined the torment that must have inspired these words. That poor old soul, so gentle and quiet, had indeed led a secret life. These new revelations put everything in a new perspective. But, this added yet another task, one he would undertake first thing in the morning. For now, he had to continue to read the journal.

Following a night filled with fitful sleep, the minister rose early. He had to go by the lawyer's office, pick him up, and drive out to the house. He'd never been out there, consequently he needed help finding the house. The lawyer, the old fellows Grand-Nephew, said he was there for him in case he needed anything. Well, he was going to take him up on the offer, probably sooner than expected.

All along the way the minister sorted through the information he had read the night before. Being a student of history, the chain of events he'd read had a ring of truth to them. But, he needed to see some things, and he needed to have someone see them with him. Not that he thought noone would believe him, that wasn't it. He wasn't sure, if it were there, if he could handle this alone. If his suspicion turned out to be true, if the journal was accurate, he and the lawyer could call the police from the house.

As the lawyer sat sipping his coffee, carefully reviewing the contents of a folder on his desk, he saw the preacher pull up. As the preacher drew close he gestured, through the plate glass window, for him to come on in. He greeted him as he entered the office with "Good morning, I figured you'd come by. I just didn't think it would be this soon." As he started to continue, he noticed the disturbed but concentrated look on the preacher's face. He also noticed how tired the preacher looked. With the wave of his hand he said, "Please have a seat, you look exhausted." Carefully he studied the preacher as he sat down and began to explain his early morning visit.

The minister was careful not to reveal his suspicion. He did, however, relate some of the information in the journal. But, likewise, he chose the information carefully. He didn't want to prejudice the lawyer to what they might discover today. He figured this way, that anything they found, anything that supported his supposition, could better be explained by someone -- someone that was experiencing everything afresh. So he explained enough to peak his interest and, together, they headed out of town.

As they crossed the railroad tracks, the lawyer told the preacher that if he remembered right, they were now on what used to be government property. "AS a matter of fact", he continued "I believe this used to be part of a reservation. I think, though I'm not really sure, this was part of some big land deal back in the late 1800's. Sometime around 1890, if I'm thinking about the right thing." The preacher sat quietly, listening, as pieces of the puzzle began falling into place. Maybe, he thought to himself, this lawyer knew more than he originally thought. If he did, what they might find probably wouldn't surprise him that much.

From the outside the house, although fairly large, was very ordinary. But sitting there on that hill, it looked more like a monument than a house. A monument to an era when life in this area was confusing and filled with violence -- one that left deep scars. As they walked inside, the lawyer remembered coming there as a boy. He remembered playing in the yard, climbing the trees out back, and sitting close by as his Uncle told stories. He still remembered bits and pieces of them, mainly the funny parts. To him though, the stories were so mythical, so fanciful, he had dismissed them long ago. As they continued to walk about the house, like children in a toy store, they could scarcely believe their eyes. The house was filled with trinkets, pictures, and odds-and-ends spanning almost a century. Hours passed by as they continued to explore the house, room by room.

Both men, tired and overwhelmed, sat in the main room. As they sat the preacher began to relate some more of the journal's contents. He had jotted down anfew notes, and read from them as an uncanny chain of events began to unfold. The lawyer's great uncle, and town benefactor, had written things he didn't want to believe. If they were true, as they were beginning to appear, the people in town had an awakening coming. And they both began to believe it wasn't going to be pleasant. As the full ramifications of everything began to settle in, the lawyer said, " There's one place we haven't been yet, I played there as a boy. Come on, let's finish it."The journal, now safely tucked away in the minister's desk, was discovered by the old gentleman just months before he died. He was assembling things to take to his Grand Nephew when he found it. He knew the preacher liked history, so along with a note dictated to the young man that kept his yard, and the key, he placed it in a thick package. This he'd instruct his Grand Nephew to give to the preacher. He didn't know what the journal said, not being able to read himself, but he figured with all the dates, it was some kind of history book. He knew his numbers, and could add a long string in his head, but never learned to read. He wasn't trying to be mysterious, but just didn't want to tell the youngster about the key. He trusted the boy, but it was important that the contents of the room was handled properly -- quietly, honestly, and with sound judgement. He knew the preacher was the best man for the task.

The key was given to him many years ago, after he had returned to work in the mine. Although much of his life before the cave-in was a blank, he remembered this much. He remembered his father giving him the key. And, he remembered how shocked he was to get it, especially after his father showed him what the key opened. He was shocked because after leaving the way he did, he never felt he deserved the welcome home he'd recieved. He recalled the argument he had with his father. Filled with pride, he was angry with his father about forgetting their heritage. Although he still cherished his mother in his heart, he was angry that his father had taken her as his bride. His father, once a great man in the Cherokee nation, had taken an Irish woman for his mate. This had caused them to be ostracized by the tribe, at least he thought, and forever shut out from his home and family. That is why he left that day, to find his people and to live the life he wanted so badly. When he returned, years later, he worked in the mine. He wanted to prove something to his father, but didn't realize till much later what it was. He would later learn that there was peace in forgiveness, and consolation through charity. He only used the key once a month, to do what he had to do, what he had promised that day the mine fell in.

Standing outside the door in the basement, the preacher removed the key from his pocket. Then opened the rusty lock and swung the door open. As he and the lawyer stepped inside and switched on the light, you could have knocked them over with a feather. Their eyes darted around and then they stared at each other in disbelief. The room was about 20 feet deep and about 30 feet long. Along each wall was a row of shelves almost eight feet high. The shelves were divided into sections, with each section containing 40 compartments. It looked like a bank vault with over 500 safety deposit boxes. In the middle of the room, running the entire length, was a stack of small crates almost to the ceiling. A quick count of the boxes came to over 1400 boxes. When one of the drawers was opened, they found that it was divided into twelve sections. In each section waere six small leather bags. After almost an hour of opening drawers and checking, they discovered over half of them were empty. Then checking one of the crates, they discovered it was filled with those small leather bags. The preacher grasped one bag, which was very heavy for it's size, and pulled on the leather laces that held it closed. When the contents was then revealed, both men, weak kneed, settled slowly down to the floor. It was gold! A long silence filled the room. Then finallythe lawyer said, This is your department, my uncle made it clear. But, I'll be more than happy to help all I can. Obviously ther is more to do here than we thought." A few seconds later the preacher replied, " There's more than you know. I only told you a part of what I read in the journal. And there are still a few pages I haven't read yet. Let's close this back up for now, we really need to talk."

With the room locked again both men walked back up stairs and settled in the big room again. This time the preacher began, First, I want you to know why I didn't tell you everything up front, And, I have to say, as it turns out, it couldn't have hurt to tell you. I read, in your Great Uncle's journal, an account of some very terrible things. Actually, they chronicled some nightmarish events that started in 1832. Frm that entry up through 1889, I read about more tragedy and heart wrenching events than I could believe. I was hoping to find further proof or some type of document that I could turn over to the police." Before he could continue, the lawyer, fighting back a grin, interrupted with, " I hate to tell you this preacher, but my uncle didn't write the journal you're talking about. He couldn't have. " He hesitated for a few seconds, wondering whether to reveal this to the minister, then proceeded. " My Uncle, preacher, couldn't read or write. He probably gave that journal to you thinking it was some sort of historical document. He knew his numbers, so he probably saw the dates and thought of you. There's only one person I can think of who could have written that journal. It must have been my Great, Great Aunt -- his mother. But what was that about the police?" With mixed emotions the minister responded, " I considered the police after reading all those things, but decided to wait hoping to find proof of the claims in the journal. The author, presumably your Great, Great Aunt, said that there was a big land give-away in 1889. Four people, four Irish immigrants, obtained joining sections of land. If my calculations are correct, it comes out to 2,560 acres. Most of which, now get this, is sitting under our town! So I came here to hopefully find a record, any record, that could prove it."

The discussion continued for some time. Eventually both men came to understand everything, including their roles and responsibilities. The lawyer, who knew the contents of the will, agreed to take care of all the legal issues. But he would do them in accordance with the wishes of his uncle. Where something arose not specifically mentioned in the will, he would try to resolve it in the spirit of his Uncle's character. The minister agreed to continue the monthly custom of delivering the envelopes, and assumed responsibility for the care of the contents in the room.

The house was designated as a historical building, turned into a museum, and dedicated to the memory of the town father.