At the End of the Rainbow

By: B W
(© 2013 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

I moved to Georgia after taking a job with a large construction company that had offices in Atlanta, Augusta and Macon.  Since it was possible that I could be assigned to work out of any of those offices at any given time, I decided to try to find a place to live where my commute would be approximately the same, no matter which location I was working out of at the time.  With that in mind, I started driving around until I spotted a perfect piece of property that was located near the center of the triangle formed by the three offices.  After negotiating with the owner of the parcel of land, I purchased several acres and then contracted the company I worked for to build my house, which they agreed to do at substantial discount. 

While the house was being constructed, I happened to be there on the day when one of the local residents dropped by to see who was building a house here.  After we introduced ourselves, he informed me about some information I had not previously known. 

“I lives up da road a piece and jest dropped by to sees wuts a goin’ on,” he stated.  “I don’t knows if y’all realizes dis, but dis here piece of land wuz ackshully part of a large plantation dat stretched ova nearly all of da land y’all can sees while alookin’ in any dreksion.  In fact, da parcel you jest ‘quired wuz war da main house once set.” 

“I had no idea about the history of this place,” I replied, while trying not to laugh at his stiff drawl.  “So you’re telling me that I’m going to be building my house where the old mansion once stood?” 

“Not zactly, cuz I bleeve da main house wuz asettin at da back half of dis here parcel,” he responded.  “Ya sees, I once seed a paint’n of da old plantation and it peered like da house wuz ‘bout fifty or so yards on da odder side of dat tree.” 

As he said this, he pointed toward a rather large oak that stood behind where I was having the house built. 

“Are you sure that’s the same tree?” I challenged.  “I mean don’t all trees sort of look alike?” 

“Iffen it ain’t dat one den it bears a sizable zemblance to da one dat wuz in da paint’n,” he sneered.  “’Sides, dat tree certainly peers to be at least a cuppa hunderd years old, so dare’s a gud chance it’s de same one dat wuz on da old plantation.”

“Even if it is the same tree, maybe the house was on this side of the tree, but still facing it, as it appeared in the painting.”      

“I doesn’t bleeve dat wud be possible,” he disagreed, “cuzin dare wuz udder clues in da paint’n dat hepped me mek up my mind.  First of all, y’all cud sees da late day shadders from da tree and dat tode me da reksion of da sun, plus dare’s da location of da road, dat da house wudda been afacin’.” 

“I doubt the road we use today is the same one that they used back then,” I objected, since I felt the odds of that were quite slim. 

“Acksully, meny of da rool roads is pertty much da same as dey wuz back in dem days, ‘ceptin dey’ve been widened and paved, since dey wudda bin just dirt roads back then,” he replied.  “Da roads wuz ‘riginally set so dey ‘nected all da plantations to one another’s, since da massas offen buyed and selled dare slaves through private deels wid da other massas, as well as gittin dem at da pubbic auckshuns.  Da roads wuz jest dare to ‘lows dem to moves back and forth, and conneck dem to da nearby towns and cities, ware dey went to buys dare supplies or send out dare crops.  Once da plantations was gone, da folks ‘tinued to use da same roads, even after dey started usin’ cars.” 

“I see.  So you think this is probably the same road, just greatly improved,” I agreed. 

“Yep, da plantation wudda been neckted to da old road by a horseshoe shaped drive dat wudda looped ‘round da tree, ‘bout twenty yards ta eeder side of it,” he added.  “It wudda led up to the front stoop and dat’s how da viztors dat showed up in dare carriages or ridin’ on horseback wudda ‘proached da old plantation.” 

“Now that you mention it, the crew working on the foundation for the house told me they ran across what appeared to be the remains of an old road or possibly an old trail that might have been used by farm workers or various farm vehicles,” I informed him, after remembering that small bit of information that had been brought to my attention.  “They said the soil was really packed down and must have been used a lot, so I’ll bet what they uncovered was actually the remnants of the old private drive.” 

“I wud says dare’s a gud chance yous are right in makin’ dat ‘sumption,” he agreed. 

“So the tree merely served an aesthetic function, as part of a little, green island created inside the horseshoe driveway and the road?” I wondered.  “I suspected it would have had a more important function than that.” 

“Yep, it did,” he answered.  “It wudda bin a place war da family wudda gathered when dey wuz outside.  Da paint’n showed several of da massa’s family asittin’ in da shade da old oak gave off, as dey ‘skaped da house on a skorchin summer day.  Dem big ol’ houses cud git pretty hot and stuffy after asettin’ in the sun fer meny hours, so by da late afternoon da family wudda picked up and gone outside, wares dey wudda sprawled out in the fresh air whiles asettin’ in da shade, with maybe a nice breeze ablowin.”

“I see.  I guess I forgot about what it must have been like before there was air conditioning,” I admitted.  “So what happened to the old antebellum mansion?” 

“Da Yankee guvmint burned it down when da Yankee General Sherman an hisn army marched from ‘Lanta on dare way tuh Savannah,” he confirmed, while looking slightly chagrined.  “Da blue coats torched jest ‘bout everthin’ long da way, so da house, da odder buildings and da crops wuz just a part of da carnage dem Yankees wreaked on dis fine state and da Confed’racy.” 

Seeing I didn’t wish to relive or re-fight the Civil War, I decided to shift the conversation back to the tree. 

“I didn’t know any of this information when I first came to look at this property,” I confessed, “but I immediately fell in love with that sprawling oak tree.  I marveled at how it stood so tall and proud in the middle of the surrounding landscape, so I wanted it to be an integral part of the plans for my new home.” 

Even though I didn’t say anything at the time, because I wanted to keep away from what had happened during the Civil War, I was somewhat amazed that not only had this tree somehow managed to survive becoming a casualty of the fire, but it had obviously also survived many other calamities as well.  I had been informed previously that many of the other oak trees in this region had fallen prey to the devastating effects of various botanical diseases, as well as to the wrath of Mother Nature, so I concluded this tree must indeed be very sturdy and a fine representative of its species.  I had already made plans for this grand old oak to become a focal point of what would eventually become my rather large backyard and provide a shady refuge for us when we spent time outdoors. 

Although my partner, Andrew, and I currently have no children, we someday want to start a family and I figured the tree would be an ideal spot to hang a swing.  I also thought we could build a tree house in its sturdy branches, so the children would be able to play out their fantasies with invisible friends and foes alike, while Andrew and I sipped drinks and watched their activities as we reclined on lounge chairs in the shade below. 

I guess this might also be a good time for me to explain a little about my partner and myself.  My name is Justin Doyle and I first met my partner, Andrew Livingston, where I work, although at first neither of us knew the other was gay.  Due to the nature of the jobs we performed and the macho, womanizing group of guys we worked with, it never dawned on us that the other might prefer the company of another male. 

This was due in part to the fact that we’d each learned while growing up that we had to be quite good at hiding our sexual orientation if we didn’t want to get picked on or beat up, since neither of us was raised in gay friendly families or neighborhoods.  In fact, we only learned about each other purely by accident, when we ended up at the same gay bar in Atlanta one Saturday evening.  We had each gone there because it was a place we could be around others like ourselves, while at the same time avoiding any of the areas where the others we worked with might be inclined to hang out. 

When I first spotted Andrew that evening, I almost fled in fear, because I was worried my long kept secret would get out, but then I realized how silly that was.  If he was at the same bar, then he must obviously be gay too or at least tolerant of those who were, so I plucked up my courage and went over to say ‘hello,’ just to see how he’d react. 

“Hey, I thought I recognized you,” I told him in greeting.  “You’re Andrew, right?” 

“Uh, yeah,” he stammered.  “What uh… are you doing here?” 

He appeared to be as nervous as I had originally been when I’d first spotted him and thought my secret had been discovered. 

“Just here to unwind and have a little fun,” I responded. 

At that moment, his eye grew wide as he arrived at the same conclusion I had come to, and then he began to relax. 

“Damn, you really scared the crap out of me when you first came over,” Andrew admitted. 

“I’ll bet it wasn’t any worse than when I first spotted you in here,” I countered.  “After almost turning around and running out the door, I realized we were probably here for the same reason, so I thought I’d come over and introduce myself.  I’m Justin, by the way.” 

“I’m glad you did and I’m glad to meet you.  At least now we’ll both have someone else we can be open with,” he agreed.   

After that little bit of uncertainty had passed, we moved to a quieter corner of the establishment, where we could discuss things in private.  After chatting for a few minutes, we began to open up about our sexuality and the fears we shared about being outted at work.

“Did you grow up around here?” I wondered. 

“Nah, I moved here from Michigan, because the job prospects really sucked there,” he replied.  “How about you?”

“I moved here from Ohio, for the same reason,” I stated, as I released a small chuckle.  “We were almost neighbors.” 

Over time, we discovered a lot of other interests in common as well, so we began spending a great deal of our free time together.  After my new house was finished, I decided to see if he might be interested in something else. 

“Andrew, I just moved into the house I had built and wondered if maybe you might like to become my roommate,” I offered.  “Don’t worry, you will have your own room and this isn’t a romantic proposition, although I’m not excluding that possibility eventually, if we both agree.  I just think it might be nice to have someone I can trust and open up to once in a while.” 

“Yeah, it certainly would be nice to have a place with someone like me, but do you think that would be wise?” he countered.  “If the guys at work found out about this, then things could get really nasty.” 

“Hey, since there are three offices, we probably won’t be working on the same jobs together, so I think it will be safe,” I answered.  “Even if we do, we can just tell them we live close to each other and decided to carpool.  I think even those guys will be able to see the logic in doing that.” 

“Ok, I guess that will work, but won’t we have the same address on our employment records?” he challenged. 

“Yes, I hadn’t thought about that,” I replied.  “What about this?  I can use the address for the house and you could get a P.O. Box nearby and use that.  Then it will look like we live close to each other, but not necessarily together.  If it ever does come up, we can just tell them I’m renting you a room, to make things cheaper for both of us.” 

“I guess they would buy that,” he agreed. 

From the very start, this worked out well and everything was going great.  In fact, it was going so well that Andrew began sharing my bedroom as well, and the more romantically involved we became, the more we contemplated making an even greater commitment to each other.  We eventually began talking about relocating to a state where gay marriage was legal, finding jobs there and then starting a family, however there was one major drawback to this plan.  We were both in love with the house and shared a great many fond memories of the wonderful times we’d had in the house since moving in together, so we were more than a little reluctant to sell the place and move. 

As we considered our options, we decided to wait a little while longer before making such a decision, because we wanted to see how the national political situation played out.  It seemed as if nearly every year another state or two was approving gay marriage, so we hoped this trend might carry over to Georgia as well, although we had to admit this wasn’t very likely.  It was a wonderful dream though and one worth clinging to, but before long we had other, more pressing concerns.  It started when the bottom fell out of the housing market and then took down the entire economy, which meant the construction sector took a big hit as well, since fewer homes and commercial buildings were being constructed or remodeled. 

Suddenly, it appeared as if we had been too cautious in our actions and missed out on a golden opportunity.  Not only was our company struggling to find enough business to keep us employed, but our chances of finding another job somewhere else was also now next to nil.  Instead, we were forced to turn our attention to finding a way to make it through these difficult times, because it was going to be a struggle just to keep our heads above water. 

The first year was extremely rough, because neither of us was working nearly as much as we wanted, which translated into less money coming into the household.  Even though we prayed the situation would improve, it seemed to only get worse and we were eventually laid off from our jobs.  Fortunately, we qualified for unemployment benefits, even though it was only a fraction of what we had been making, but we also had some money set aside for emergencies and this definitely classified as one. 

Since the entire construction industry was similarly affected and the broader job market seemed to be in shambles as well, we prepared for a long dry-spell.  Just before our six months’ worth of unemployment benefits was due to expire, we were fortunate that Congress passed legislation to extend those benefits and the President signed it into law.  Therefore, when our initial benefit package came to an end, we were able to apply for an extension. 

Even though this helped and gave us enough money to pay for food, utilities and part of the mortgage, the economy remained in a slump, so we ended up having to file for two additional extensions as well, before our benefits ran out and we were left to fend on our own.  Even though we were eager to work, we couldn’t find any kind of job and used up all of the various resources available to us.  We also burned through all of our savings trying to keep the mortgage current, and once that money was gone, we began missing payments. 

“I got another delinquent notice about the mortgage today,” I told Andrew.  “This one wasn’t even as nice as the last one and that had been threatening enough.” 

“I know, but you can’t really blame them,” Andrew conceded.  “They have given us more time than I had expected.” 

“This time they’re saying that if we don’t bring our payments current within 60-days, then they are going to begin foreclosure proceedings,” I added. 

“What if we take out a loan against the titles on our vehicles?” Andrew wondered.  “The money we get from doing that should be enough to hold the bank off for now.” 

“Yes, but since we’re not working, we won’t be able to pay those loans back either,” I pointed out, “then we’ll just end up losing our vehicles too.” 

“What if we just sell one of them then?” Andrew pressed.  “That should give us enough money to bring the mortgage current and also pay for a few extra months.” 

“Damn, I don’t like that idea either,” I confessed.  “Doing that could prove to be a problem later, once we start working more jobs again, especially if we aren’t assigned to work at the same location.  I also don’t feel we’ll get what either vehicle is actually worth right now, seeing everyone else is also feeling the pinch from the vicious recession the country is in right now.”

Unfortunately, Andrew and I ended up getting into a very heated debate about our current situation, which wound up with us sleeping in separate bedrooms that evening.  Even though we cooled down and apologized to each other the next morning, this wasn’t the only verbal donnybrook we found ourselves engaged in. 

Just when we thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, more storm clouds appeared on the horizon, but this time they were actual storm clouds that had been brought about by a hurricane, which was currently making its way up the east coast.  Even though we were quite a ways inland, we still got hit with a barrage of rain and some very stiff winds, although it wasn’t nearly as bad as it was for those along the coast. 

It was late in the afternoon during the worst part of the storm when Andrew and I heard an extremely loud crash behind the house, so we raced to one of the rear windows and looked out to see what had happened.  When we did, we immediately noticed that our stately old oak had fallen victim to the strong winds and toppled over.  The tree was obviously not as sturdy as we’d once believed, so we were thankful it hadn’t been close enough to the house to land on it.  We were also grateful that we didn’t have children yet, who might have been playing in or around the tree when something like this happened. 

Since it was getting dark out and the rain was still coming down in buckets, Andrew and I decided to wait until the following day before we went out to investigate the severity of the situation.  We did, however, discuss some of the possible repercussions. 

“Just what we needed,” Andrew growled.  “Even if the market was good enough to sell the house before the bank forecloses on it, we’d first need to have the tree removed and then fill in the huge divot it left in the yard.” 

“Worse than that,” I moaned.  “The reason I first fell in love with this property is now gone as well, so now this is just another nice house and there’s nothing particularly special about it, at least for me.  I guess this may work to our advantage though, because now it will be less painful to move away from here.” 

Andrew concurred and we went to bed that evening wondering what else might go wrong. 

The next morning, after a hurried breakfast, we went out to the backyard to inspect the damage.  It appeared that the old oak tree had been totally uprooted and now lay unnaturally across the landscape.  It was really a very sad and pathetic sight. 

“Man, look at the size of the hole it left,” I exclaimed, when I first saw the site.  “The rain must have softened the ground enough that the roots began to give way and then broke apart at one of the weak points.” 

“Yes, it certainly appears to be what happened,” Andrew agreed.  “The root structure seems to have been spread out primarily in a lateral direction and didn’t extend more than a few feet into the ground, so the tree actually set itself up for something like this to eventually happen.” 

I nodded and wondered if the previous few years of drought we had endured might have weakened the roots and made this situation possible. 

While we were walking around the area and conducting our cursory inspection, we both noticed the morning sunlight glinting off something in the ground, about a foot and a half below the outer edge of the large hole the tree had left in its wake. 

“Is it a rock that is causing the light to reflect off of it or is it something else?” I wondered, while pointing toward the area. 

Since neither of us was sure, we walked over to that side of the gaping hole and got down on our hands and knees, so we could lean over the edge and see what was there. 

“It looks to be some sort of ceramic container,” Andrew pointed out, as we studied the area more closely. 

“Actually, it appears to be two ceramic containers, side by side,” I corrected, when I noticed a second piece of pottery located beside it, but still partially covered in mud.  “I wonder what they’re doing here?” 

“Maybe it’s moonshine or something one of the slaves tried to hide from his master,” Andrew suggested. 

“I don’t think a slave would have buried something in plain view of the house or in a place his master’s family came to relax,” I pointed out.  “Besides, these aren’t exactly the type of jugs you would use to store liquids, so I don’t think we’re going to find any moonshine in them.  Not only that, but I think the containers have been buried upside down, because I believe I can make out what appears to be a lid on the underside of one of them.” 

Andrew looked more closely at the area and then nodded in agreement.  Once he did that, he made a suggestion. 

“Let’s dig them out and see what they contain,” he offered.  “Maybe they’re some sort of a time capsule and we might find something of historic value inside.  Maybe they contain secret plans to assassinate Lincoln, Confederate battle plans they never got to implement or some other long lost documentation from that time.  The only way we’re going to find out what’s inside is to dig them out of the dirt and open them up.” 

“Do you think we should?” I wondered.  “Maybe we should just report what we’ve discovered and then let the authorities do a proper investigation.” 

“Hey, it’s your property, which you purchased legally,” Andrew stated, “so anything you find here is yours too and you don’t need anyone’s permission to retrieve it.  Besides, those jugs have probably been here for ages, so no one else is going to claim them.” 

He had a point, so we each began to pry one of the containers from its hiding place.  Once I got mine free, I watched as Andrew slowly removed the other one and then we carried the jugs to the house.  We wanted to rinse them off and change our clothes first, since the outer portion of the jugs were all muddy and what we were wearing had gotten damp and quite dirty from our efforts.  Once we’d finished doing that, we sat down on the back patio to open them, so we could discover what was inside. 

As I began to pry the lid off of the first container, I realized the person who had hidden it must have used clay or some other substance to seal the lid into place.  That individual also placed the jars upside down when he buried them, most likely to prevent ground water from seeping inside and affecting the contents.  I think we were both holding our breath as the top began to come loose and we got to peek inside.   

As I peered into the jar, I noticed some sort of cloth had been stuffed inside.  I wasn’t sure if there was something else in with it or if the cloth was the object the person was protecting, so I carefully began to pull it out.  The cloth had a rough texture, similar to a piece of burlap, and once I’d removed it, I looked inside the jar again and gasped at what I discovered.  The jug appeared to contain a collection of jewelry. 

“Whoa, I think you’ve found someone’s buried treasure!” Andrew exclaimed, when I tilted the container so he could peer inside too.  “I wonder who buried it and why?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I responded. 

“Do you think maybe the slaves robbed the house and then buried the valuables here, so they could come back and get everything later?” he asked.  “If the owners knew the Yanks were coming, maybe they fled quickly and left this stuff behind.” 

“It’s possible, I guess,” I answered, “but I suspect the owners would have made sure to take their valuables with them, so they would have something to barter with later.  Who knows for sure though?  This stuff could have been buried here sometime after the war ended as well.   It may have just been a convenient spot for someone to hide their stash until the heat died down and they felt the tree would be a good way to mark the location, so they could locate their booty again later.” 

“Then why wouldn’t they have come back to claim it?” Andrew wondered. 

“Something may have happened to them before they could do that,” I suggested.  “They could have died from sickness or disease, been captured or even killed before they had a chance to return and dig it up again.” 

Andrew must have thought this was a reasonable explanation, because he ended the discussion and began to open the second container.  It had been sealed in a similar fashion as the first, with another piece of cloth stuffed inside, except this jug contained a bunch of coins.  As soon as we saw this, we knew we should take everything inside, before we examined it further.  Although we doubted there were any prying eyes around to see what we were up to, we wanted to be careful, so we continued our inspection of the contents on the dining room table. 

Once we dumped the coins onto the table, we began to study them and discovered they were all dated 1861 or earlier, which gave us our next clue about where all of this had come from and how it had ended up in the ground beside the tree. 

“My guess would be that the plantation owner or members of his family buried these things for safekeeping,” I conjectured.  “I suspect that once they heard the Yankee soldiers were coming they decided to flee, but they didn’t want to leave these things for the slaves to steal or the blue coats to loot.  I would guess they also didn’t want to have much on them, in case they were stopped, because they might have thought anyone stopping them would confiscate these items.  It looks as if they must have put everything of value in these two jars and then buried them, but for some reason were unable to come back and retrieve their valuables later.” 

It was obviously very bad luck on their part, but extremely good fortune for us.  This might even be enough so we can keep our heads above water a little longer, at least until the economy improves and we’re able to find work again. 

As we sat and looked through the coins, we separated them into piles next, according to their denomination.  We ended up with a stack of Indianhead pennies, some three-cent pieces, which I had never heard of before, some half-dimes, dimes, half-dollars and silver dollars, but there was also a twenty-dollar gold piece in there as well.  Most of the coins seemed to be of the seated Liberty or Liberty head varieties and when we added up their value it came to slightly more than $100, which would have been a substantial sum at the end of the Civil War.  Hopefully, the various coins will be worth much more than their face value to a collector, which would greatly benefit us. 

Now that we had inspected the coins, we spread the jewelry out on the table next, so we could take a closer look at what was there.  In this pile, we discovered a gold and diamond necklace, with a matching bracelet; a diamond and sapphire ring; a gold, diamond and ruby broach; a cameo broach; a cameo necklace on a gold chain; a silver heart-shaped locket; a gold man’s pocket watch and a gold man’s belt buckle, which was probably used for formal occasions, rather than everyday use. 

We had no idea what any of this was worth, so we decided to find someone who would be able to appraise it all for us.  Fortunately, Andrew had a friend who was able to give us the name of an appraiser the insurance company he worked for often used.  We called the man and made an appointment to see him, which wouldn’t take place for a couple of days.  When he finally had a chance to inspect what we’d discovered, he advised us that not only was this a tremendous find, but it should also prove to be extremely valuable. 

“Do you intend to sell the items or keep them for yourselves?” he asked next. 

“We’d prefer to sell everything, but do you think this is a good time to do that?” I asked in return.

“Although most people are currently tightening their purse strings and trying to hold on to as much money as they can,” he replied, “those with the big bucks are still spending it on things they believe are good investments and the items you have here are the sort of things they are looking to buy.  Therefore, I don’t think the current economy will limit what these particular items bring in at an auction.” 

“In that case, I’m eager to sell,” I concurred. 

Once he understood what we wanted to do, he agreed to contact Christie’s Auction House in New York City and make appropriate arrangements for their sale.  He then made sure that everything got there in plenty of time, so Christie’s could create a catalogue of the various items and send it out to their clients interested in such things.  The auction house also publicized the event by other means as well, such as placing advertisements in several appropriate publications, and the lead-time for the auction was set at two months. 

We were a bundle of nerves as we waited for this to happen, but since everyone agreed we were going to make out well from the proceeds, we were able to take out a 90-day note to cover our current expenses and prevent the bank from foreclosing on the house.  Even though we weren’t as attached to it now, as we had been before the tree fell, we still wanted to recoup the equity we had already built up in it. 

When the auction was finally held, the results far exceeded our expectations.  The item that brought in the least amount of money was one of the Indian head pennies, which sold for a bid of $90, and the value of the remaining items varied, up to the most expensive piece.  That honor belonged to the $20 Paquet double eagle gold piece, seeing there were currently only two others known to exist, so it garnered a bid of over five million dollars.  Needless to say, we would now have enough money to survive, no matter where we decided to live. 

Although we still have a lot of decisions to make about our future, we are now in a much better situation to do so.  For some reason, the gods must have decided to take pity on our situation and used Mother Nature to uncover the leprechaun’s pot of gold, which he kept hidden at the end of the rainbow.  I believe it’s safe to say that the night the old oak tree blew over and exposed the long hidden treasure from the Old South will be something Andrew and I shall always remember.

THE END. 

Posted: 05/31/13