Chapter Thirteen // Cryptic Walls

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The car pulls the landscape past, shoving the Hawksley Manor farther and farther away. It sinks below the horizon, and my heart sinks with it. So much time, so much hope poured into that search, only for it to come to nothing. How am I supposed to pay for Eva’s surgery? And that’s without mentioning the weeks of hospital stay.

Her words mingle with my thoughts from just minutes ago. This was never the right way. But what is the right way? Am I supposed to sit and let the debt build up while I do nothing?

The journey passes in silence, the city passing in a blur. Austin still appears to be out of words, staring with glassy eyes out the windshield. I mirror his gaze, my mind floating away, staying focused only enough to avoid crashing.

But as my thoughts tumble around, the disappointment fades. Didn’t Eva say I get to be surprised by God’s plan? It’s obvious now, a mythical treasure is not the answer. So what could it be?

A worry pops into my head. What if the money doesn’t come in at all? What if I have to get another job and work for years just to pay for the medical bills? It reminds me of a story my parents used to tell me about three teenagers and a huge furnace. Perhaps the money will come from nowhere and deliver me from an added burden. Or perhaps it won’t. But either way, my responsibility to trust God doesn’t change.

“Hey, did Hawksley ever say who gave him that piano?”

My thoughts are shattered, and I return to the present. “Uh…yeah. He said it was a slave Arthur Hawksley helped to free.”

“But did he say the slave’s name?”

I replay the moment in my mind’s eye. “I don’t think so.”

“Gimme your phone. I want to check something.”

Picking up my phone from the center console and hand it to Austin, who swipes it open and pecks away at the screen. He mumbles with each movement, narrating the entire process under his breath. More time slips past in silence. What might he be on to?

“Aha!” Austin raises both fists—my phone clasped in one—and punches the ceiling. He grins sheepishly and pulls my phone back from the roof, brushing it off. “Sorry. But I just hit the jackpot.”

“I don’t think we should—“

“Hear me out. This is big. So, you know the slave who donated the piano?”

“Sure.”

“He was a mega-famous pianist. People would pay top dollar to hear him perform. If he played that piano, it could go for millions at an auction. We just might have our treasure after all.”

I shake my head. “You don’t understand. We’re not—“

“Not sure how we’re gonna sneak a whole piano out of that house, though. Maybe we could break a window. Or…spray anesthetics into the house and wait ‘till they’re all knocked out. We could hire a piano mover, which would take the blame off of us…”

“No. Listen. We’re not going back.”

“You’re right. You could go back, since I’m banned from the house. I don’t feel like going to jail.”

“Neither of us will take that piano. And we’re not hiring piano movers. Or professional thieves.”

The suggestion dies on Austin’s tongue and his shoulders slump.

“It’s not ours to take. It belongs in that house.” An idea falls into place. “At least…the money does.”

“What do you mean?”

We pull into the parking lot of the apartment complex and I stop in a parking spot, turning off the car. “I’m going back tomorrow. Hawksley needs that money more than we do, and he needs to know the piano could save the manor from crumbling.”

“He probably already knows. He was just saving it for us to take.”

“They’ve resorted to selling the doorknobs from the secret rooms. Do you really think they wouldn’t sell a million-dollar piano?”

“Well…”

“I’m going to tell him he needs to auction it off.”

He stares at me in disbelief.

I sigh. “I’ve been stealing from everyone this whole search. Trying to steal money from Mr. Hawksley, stealing glory from God by trying to solve things myself. This is one thing I can do to set things right. I know you don’t understand, but…I have to do it.”

Blinking several times, Austin stares at me, then at the floor, then out the window. “If you really want to give it all up just like that, fine. I always say God helps those who help themselves, but it looks like you disagree. I hope you find whatever good feeling you’re looking for.” He pushes the door open, stands, and walks away without a backward glance.

I stare after him. Regret creeps in, but I know I did the right thing. I can only hope he sees things differently.

The walk to my apartment is cold and lonely.

---

The next morning, I park directly in front of the Hawksley Manor. No need for secrecy now. Walking along the perimeter of the property’s fence, I come to the tree Austin and I used to scale the barrier. Only, my purpose in using it now is quite different.

I drop on the other side and trudge around the house’s side toward the imposing front doors. A few last doubts rear their heads, but I smack them down. This is the right decision. I’ve never been more sure of my actions than I am now.

After ascending the steps, I grab the heavy lion knocker and send several pounds into the dusty hallways.

I’ve come so far since the first time I swung that door knocker. So much has happened.

My mind wanders back over the whole adventure, and I barely notice when the door cracks open a few minutes later. “What do you want? You’re not supposed to be here right now.”

I blink and look toward the servant who opened the door. It’s one of the men who chased us yesterday.

“I have something to tell Mr. Hawksley. Will you get him, please?”

The servant frowns. “He won’t be happy to see you after yesterday.”

“It’s very important. And I think he will be happy to hear what I have to say.”

His frown only deepens. “If this is some joke, I’m calling the police. You already broke a law or two by getting past the fence, however you did it.”

My head bows. “I know. I’ll make it worth the trouble.”

The door clicks shut.

I watch the entrance and pray that he’ll come out. This is the least I can do to make things right.

Just as I’m about to turn and walk to my car, the door swings open again with an annoyed-looking Mr. Hawksley staring at me. “Yes?”

I swallow. “I…I’d like to apologize. For breaking into your house. Twice.”

He grunts.

“And I want to show you something.” I withdraw my phone from my back pocket, turning on the display, and spin the screen to face Hawksley. His eyes glance over the website page I have open—an article summarizing the life of the slave-turned-pianist.

He looks back at me. “Why show me this? I know who that is.”

“Sir, you told me yourself, you have no money. Your family fortune is on the brink of ruin. But I know how you can save it.”

The old man only continues boring into me with an unfriendly gaze.

“I think you should sell the piano.”

Silence.

“I did some research, and it could go for a couple million if you can prove he played it. It could give you enough to live on for the rest of your life. And you could leave an inheritance for Shane.”

Now his eyes turn downward. His brow furrows. A minute passes with no word from his mouth.

I clear my throat.

He looks into my eyes. “I appreciate the information.” His voice carries no tinge of thankfulness. “I will consider it. Now please leave.”

Nodding, I begin the walk back to the tree and then the car. At least I tried.

---

ᴛᴡᴏ ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ

A buzzing phone interrupts my lunch. The number is unfamiliar. Probably a scam call, but something stops me before I reject the call. Instead, I frantically chew my bite of sandwich, swallow, and answer.

“Hello?”

“Cannan Gable. This is William Hawksley.”

My brain blanks. Hawksley? “Oh, uh, it’s nice to—“

“Someone came to look at the piano. They confirmed your claim on the price and said I was sitting on a fortune all these years. Yesterday it sold at an auction for three million dollars. I thought you’d want to know.”

I only blink, unable to think of words.

“And…we bought a cheaper piano for Shane to continue using. You’re welcome to return for lessons. Thank you.”

He hangs up.

---

“I think this is the first time you’ve ever listened to me.” Eva smiles, sitting cross-legged on my bed, back against the wall.

I swivel my desk chair back and forth with my foot. “What do you mean? I listen to you all the time.”

“Sure, you hear my words. But you never do what I say.”

“In my defense, the sister I left was nowhere near as wise as the sister that sits on my bed. I don’t know what you did with her.”

She laughs, free of pain, free of tubes and machines, once again healthy. “I could say the same about you. Ever since I finally left the hospital, I’ve been wondering what you did with Cannan Gable.”

I return her laugh. It’s the first time since I left our grandparent’s house that we’re able to talk without a worry about time. After giving up the treasure once and for all, I started working overtime to support Eva temporarily living with me, and slowly chip away at the mountain of medical expenses. Now it’s Sunday afternoon, an hour after we returned from church.

“I’m really proud of you, Cannan. You worried me for a while, obsessing over that man’s fortune.”

“You worried me for a while, too.”

Her face grows serious. “I know all that money is weighing on you. Just keep praying. God will work something out, I’m sure of it.”

The story of the fiery furnace returns to my mind. “But if not, I’m happy with this.”

A ringtone blares out—Eva’s. She picks up the phone from the bed, checks the caller ID, and brightens. “Hello!”

Chatter comes from the other end of the line, and Eva nods. “He’s right here.” She holds out the phone, whispering, “You’ll want to hear this. It’s Grandpa.”

Curiosity provoked, I raise the phone. “Hello?”

We exchange pleasantries for a minute, but he gets straight to the point. “I won’t keep you waiting. Listen, we heard about what happened to Evangeline. Everyone at the church is talking about it. They wanted to help, but since she was so far away, we couldn’t do much.” A deep breath. “This morning, Pastor Busche took an offering to help pay for the surgery and everything. We’d like to send it to you.” He gives the amount, and my mouth drops open.

It’s a hundred dollars more than what we need.

The rest of the conversation passes like a dream. I scrape together enough words to respond and wrap up the conversation, but I’m only barely paying attention.

A hundred dollars more.

I keep the phone near my ear for another few minutes after Grandpa hangs up. Eva stares at me, tears brimming in her eyes, beaming like the sun. “I thought they might do that.”

Setting the phone on my desk, I drop my head back and watch the ceiling. “Unbelievable.”

We both sit in the quiet room, buried in our own thoughts and thankful prayers. The air conditioner hums in the background.

“Come on.” I stand from my chair and step to the bed. “Let’s pray. And then I’ve got to tell Austin about this.”

Eva slips off the bed and kneels beside me.

I pray with tears and a gratefulness I can never truly express.

---

I have been young, and [now] am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.

Psalm 37:25

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