The Seventh Mountain (9 page)

Mr. Newsome turned back to Mark. “I have to
ask you something about the property. I already have a letter of
intent signed to have the timber harvested this fall. Do you want
me to cancel the deal or is it okay for me to harvest the
timber?”

Mark turned to his dad and asked, “What do
you think?”

Steve thought for a moment and said, “You
have to make that decision, son.”

“I know, Dad. I just want to know what you
think.”

“Well, Mr. Newsom has kept his end of the
deal.”

“You can harvest the timber, Mr. Newsom. Out
of curiosity, how much to you think that you’ll make?”

Steve said, “That’s not a proper thing to
ask, son.”

“That’s okay, Mr. Young. There is some
pretty timber in there. A lot of clear oak, really big pine and not
much trash wood. I would guess upwards of six hundred and fifty
thousand. Maybe more, maybe less.”

Mark’s mouth dropped open in amazement. He
thought for a moment before asking, “Would it be too much to ask
you to have a spot cleared for a house?”

“Not at all. I’ll just put that in the
finalized contract with the timber company. They will already have
the machines here that can do that.” Mr. Newsom was smiling. “I’ll
pick out a nice spot.”

Steve interrupted, “Mark, don’t you think
that is a bit much to ask?”

Mr. Newsom responded, “Not at all. It’s
basically free work. The timber company really wants this timber.
They’ll make a pretty penny on that oak. It’s the kind that they
export to Japan. They will agree to just about anything within
reason to get it. Clearing an acre or so of stumps is nothing to
them. It won’t take them more than an hour or two to do it with all
the machines that they have.”

Steve looked at Mr. Newsom. “It sounds like
you have had experience at this.”

“Not me personally. I hired a professional
forester to cruise the timber and give me a report. That’s what he
says. He should know; that’s what he does for a living. He even
told me about the different timber companies that are working in
this area now. I’m going with the one that chips up all of the
debris. That means that I get a few more dollars and there is not
much, if any, trash to get rid of.” Mr. Newsom grinned.

“Another benefit you get is that the timber
company surveys the property. They have to. It’s a really big fine
if they cut even one tree on an adjacent piece of property. They go
to great pains to make sure that they don’t do that while being
able to harvest as much timber as they can.”

“It sounds like you’ve been planning this
for some time.” Steve noticed that Mark was listening intently.

“Not really. It’s just that beef prices are
down right now. Frankly, we need the money. Just wish that there
was some way for me to keep Uncle Sam out of my pockets.” That was
the first time that Steve had seen Mr. Newsom frown.

“You’ve been a big help, Mr. Newsom. I think
that we have intruded on your hospitality long enough now.”

Steve shouldn’t have been surprised by the
Newsom’s hospitality, but he was. Living in the city and on base
all of his life had tainted his opinion of how people acted toward
one another. He was still feeling awkward at being in a complete
stranger’s home.

“Not at all. You folks are welcome to stay
the night. We have two guest rooms.” Steve stood up and Mr. Newsom
smiled.

Shirley and the boys stood up with Steve.
Steve explained, “We still have a lot of stuff back at the hotel.
We also have some more loose ends to tie up.” Steve was thinking
about that account that had kept the property taxes paid up for the
last century. That was a very unusual thing. He wanted to check
into it.

The family left and drove back to the hotel.
It was too late to call the bank. That would have to wait until
morning.

 * * *
 

The next morning came. Steve made the call
after he obtained a toll free number from the operator. After a
long wait and a series of transfers, he was able to talk to
someone, a Mrs. Jenkins, who had access to the information about
the account.

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t discuss the account
over the phone. You need to appear in person. The note in the file
says that you need to bring your staff. How large of a conference
room will you need?”

“A small room will do. I can’t make it
today. I’m in Virginia right now.”

“Please call me back at least a day in
advance to schedule an appointment. You’ll need to talk with me,
personally, to do that.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that.”

Steve didn’t have enough time left on his
approved leave to make it to New York and back. He was due back on
base in two days. He decided to call his commanding officer and get
an extension on his leave. Then he called and booked a hotel room
on the outskirts of New York City. He called Mrs. Jenkins back at
the bank and made an appointment for 2 p.m. on Monday. That would
give them some time to see some of the sights over the weekend.

Mark stopped trying to
figure things out. Now, he was just going with the flow and
watching as things happened. So far, every clue had led to a prize
and another clue
. I wonder if we’ll find
another clue at the bank.

 * * *
 

That Monday, shortly before 2 p.m., Steve
and his family walked into Mrs. Jenkins’ office.

“Hello, I’m Steve Young. I talked with you
on Friday, about an unusual account.”

The middle-aged lady looked at him over the
top of her half moon glasses. She was every bit of what you would
expect an executive at a big bank to be. After a moment’s pause she
said, “Have a seat in the outer office, Mr. Young. I need to make a
couple of calls. I’ll be right with you.”

Mark and his family had barely sat down when
Mrs. Jenkins emerged from her office. “Come with me, please.”

She led the way down the hall and they
followed. She opened one of the very large, ornate, mahogany,
double doors at the end of the hall and waited for Steve and his
family to enter.

They entered a very large conference room
and were overwhelmed by the splendor of it. A large mahogany table
spanned the length of the room. There were chairs along the walls
as well as at every spot around the table. The ceiling had to be
twenty feet high. The room was decorated in old Victorian
style.

Steve heard a voice from the far end of the
table. “Mr. Young, you and your staff can have a seat down here.”
The voice had evidently come from one of the three men in dark
suits at the end of the table.

The Young family walked to the end of the
table and sat down. The three men each extended their hands toward
Steve. Steve shook their hands with a puzzled look on his face.

One of the men said, “By your expression, I
can see that you are as curious about this account as we are.”

Steve nodded. “Yes, I thought it unusual
that an account would be set up to pay the property taxes on a
piece of property for more than a hundred years.”

The man in the middle of the three men
spoke. “That’s not all it did. The account was set up to pay the
taxes on six pieces of property. That was until the rightful heirs
came forward to claim them. This is the sixth and last. It seems
that your great, great, great, great, that’s four greats isn’t it,
grandfather was quite a far-sighted man.”

Steve broke in. “He was my great, great,
great grandfather. Three greats. I think you want my son, Mark.” He
pointed at Mark.

The men looked surprised. They whispered to
each other. The man in the middle asked, “Is Mark your
firstborn?”

Steve nodded. “James is my oldest but he’s
adopted. Mark is my firstborn.” Steve pointed to each of the boys
in turn.

The man in the middle leaned toward Mark.
“Mark, you come and have a seat up here.”

Mark stood up and leaned the staff against
the wall before sitting next to the three men.

The three men conferred again. The middle
man said, “I think that we should see some identification.”

Steve stood up and removed his driver’s
license and military identification from his wallet. He laid them
on the table in front of the three men. The one in the middle
looked at them. “Was Mark born in North Carolina?”

Steve nodded again. “Yes.”

The man in the middle picked up the handset
to a telephone that was hidden from view. “Mrs. Jenkins, would you
call The North Carolina Bureau of Vital Statistics and verify that
Mark Young is the first born of Mr. and Mrs. Young?” He turned to
Steve and said, “We just have to be sure.”

Mrs. Jenkins came into the conference room.
She jotted down the answers to a few questions she asked about
Mark’s birth and left the room.

“We can continue with the preliminaries
while we wait for her to check on that.” The man in the middle
opened a file and laid it on the table. “It’s interesting how we
came by this account. As you may or may not know, Chase Manhattan
Bank bought out a lot of small banks back in the early part of the
nineteen hundreds. One of the banks that we acquired had this
unusual account. As we are bound by contract and by law to honor
all of the accounts that we acquired, we had to honor this one. It
was set up to pay the property taxes on six parcels of land in
various places in this country, the United States. Once a piece of
property was claimed by its assigned heir, according to birth
order, that piece was to be removed from the list. The rightful
heir was to be identified by authenticating a certain set of
artifacts obtained by that heir. The sixth and final heir will
receive custody of the account. The last heir is the first born of
the first born of the first born of the first born of the first
born of the first born of Joseph the Younger, formally the youngest
son of Joseph Von Schnill and later known as Joseph Young. And that
would be you, Mark Young.”

Mark nodded that he understood.

The man in the middle
picked up an envelope that was old looking and yellowed. “We will
start by verifying your artifact.” He opened the sealed envelope
and removed two pieces of paper. One was a photograph and the other
was a hand written note. He raised his eyebrows and smiled.
They
realized that the
information about bringing the staff had not referred to employees,
as he had originally thought. It had referred to the staff that now
stood against the wall. “I believe that staff is the artifact that
we need to examine. May we examine it?”

Mark retrieved the staff and handed it
toward the three men. He kept his hand on it. The man in the middle
smiled at Mark.

“Son, I have to examine this staff.”

“Yes sir. Can you do it while I hold
it?”

“I don’t know. Let me see.”

The man read the note that had come from the
envelope. He pressed the top most small golden circle, then turned
the crook on the top of the staff about a quarter of a turn and it
slid off into his hand. This revealed a wooden finger that the
crook had been seated on. He examined the protruding piece of wood,
which had writing on it. He looked at the note and said that the
visual inspection looked good.

He read the note again and said, “Can you
describe the place where you found this?”

Mark said, “It was inside of the top of a
mountain, Mystery Mountain. It was like a big cave that you could
only get to from under a big rock on top of the mountain.”

“Was anything with it?” The middle man was
still looking at the note.

“Yes sir. There was a pocket book kind of
like…” Mark paused to think. “Like the kind they used to use in the
Pony Express. It had a deed, a lease and a note in it.”

The phone buzzed. The middle man answered
it. After listening to the phone he said, “Thank you, Mrs.
Jenkins.”

The middle man stood up. “Mark, it looks
like you are the one, the rightful heir. This account is now
yours.”

Mark grinned. “How much is it?”

The middle man answered,
“Well, your four greats grandfather bought some shares of some new
companies back in the mid and late eighteen hundreds. Let’s see
here, Eastman Kodak, Edison General Electric, now General Electric,
Westinghouse, Rochester Bank which we bought, and many more. Some
of the other companies went
under,
bankrupt
. At the beginning of this month
the account was worth, let’s see here… five hundred
ninety-six-million, six hundred fifty-eight thousand, four hundred
twenty-seven dollars and seventeen cents.”

Many search for the magic. Some find it.
Few have it thrust upon them
.

The elevator descended. Mark’s head was
swimming with questions. What does all this mean? Is there more to
come? Where is this special school I’m supposed to go to?

The doors slid open and he found himself
looking way up into the bluest eyes that he had ever seen. They
were the eyes that he had seen in his dreams. A huge grin beamed
through the man’s immaculate ebony beard. He had his long black
hair pulled back into a topknot and his cloak hung like a
full-length leather coat. He had the look of someone important.

“I know you. Your name is Tim. You’re here
to take me to school.”

“Yes, indeed, and to let your family know
where you have gone.” Tim’s voice seemed too gentle for a man of
his size. “I know that you all have a lot of questions. We can walk
while I talk.” He gestured to the glass doors that led to the
street.

The family assembled on the bustling
sidewalk outside of the bank. People, going in both directions,
bumped past them on either side, taking no notice of the colossal
man wearing a full length, black, hooded robe covering a black
tunic trimmed in silver.