Navigating the roots, pot-holes, and rocks was like running a woodland gauntlet. The wind tangled Brooke’s hair while the creatures of the forest scampered from her sight. She clutched the bike handles, racing down the muddy, bumpy trail; its tires spraying dirt from the wheels. Off to her right, a shimmer sparked through the green foliage. Squeezing the bike’s hand brakes, she stuck out a worn sneaker and slid to a stop. In the quiet of the woods, she straddled her rusty bike and peered toward the creek. It paralleled the rough path she stood on. The babble of water sounded loud quiet of the woods. Sunlight filtered through swaying tree branches, and the bright glimmer flashed once more.
Curious, Brooke left her bike perched against a tall boulder to slip silently through the trees. Beyond the rugged trail, the creek dropped through a series of large boulders into a natural stone basin. The overflow tumbled, plunging over a rocky ledge before racing through a narrow gap. It sought the lake’s cold embrace at the bottom of the hill.
She stood at the water’s edge while raisng a hand against the sun’s glare reflecting from the creek’s surface. On the stream’s far side, near the basin, a tidy dirt pile sat next to a perfectly round hole. Surprised, she stared at the small pit before glancing about. No creature stirred, not sound of a squirrel or bird. Only the water’s laughing gurgle filled the silence of the wood.
Brooke’s brow furrowed; she flicked a hand at a dragonfly hovering near her face. From what she could see, the pit’s existence looked new; the dirt pile beside it was still moist. A branch snapped; the hair on her arms rose as a clump of bushes shifted and settled.
“Who’s there?” she called out in a brave voice.
While she scanned the area, sunlight flashed off of something hidden below the surface of the pit. Curiosity overcame fear, but wet shoes weren’t worth the effort. She had other goals which lay at the beach, not in the woods by a muddy creek’s edge.
Mildly curious, she mused aloud, “Whatever treasure lays within, I guess I’ll never know.”
Time marched on like grains of sand in an hourglass. With only a few hours before needing to be at sister’s side, she squared her shoulders. There were better things to do than stare at a freshly made hole.
“Probably just a squirrel burying an acorn,” she mumbled. A tiny voice in her head replied it would be an unusually large acorn, indeed, if that was what lay in the hole’s hidden depths.
An odd feeling of being watched got her back to her bike in a hurry. She sped down the path as though woodland sprites nipped at her heels. At the hill’s bottom, the small creek emptied into an isolated cove, merging into Lake Superior.
Agate collectors visited the popular spot on a regular basis, seeking the small treasures. Along the shoreline, pinkie-sized pebbles lay in haphazard piles of water-worn gravel. Washed up by the lakes un-endless waves, amber nuggets lay amidst the rocky rubble. A recent easterner had passed through; Brooke hoped the storm’s effort would bring her good fortune.
Big agates were rare, but scouring the shoreline would take her mind off of her twin sister’s terminal illness. During the last few weeks, Brooke had stayed doggedly by Maria’s side. Today, while her sister rested, she’d slipped out for a break with her rock sieve and bucket. They’d always come together to search in the past, but now Brooke was there alone. Leaning the bike against a tree, she made her way to the isolated beach.
Puffy clouds floated above the water, drifting lazily north. Sunlight pierced through the overcast sky. Rays landed on the lapping waves while birds chirped from nearby trees. Brooke relaxed, scanning the idyllic estuary. The creek’s water tumbled over and around boulders at the base of the hill, merging in one final dance into the lake.
With her backpack at her feet, she dug out two water bottles. The first she used to quenching her thirst. Settling aside the second for later, she searched through the bag once more. Out came a rusty pail, a hand spade, and an old cloth bag with a string at the top. The rock sieve was tossed next to the rest of her gear.
Fresh, wet pebbles glistened in the sun beyond where the creek emptied into the lake. She wandered over to the fresh pile and squatted on her heels. Using the hand spade to scoop up a handful of stones, she sifted through them with a forefinger. Would an amber agate appear among the dull grey granite? The stones were the size of the tip of her pinkie. Into the sieve went the spadeful of pebbles.
She shouted out a cry of delight, looking up to summon Marie to her side. But her sister wasn’t there to see the tiny agate amongst the plain gravel in the sieve. The agate went into the collection bag. After pausing to finish off her water bottle, she wiped the back of a hand against her sweaty brow and resumed her search.
Before long, a second treasure appeared atop another thin layer of pebbly grey. Brook blinked in surprise, then picked up a tiny gold buckle between her thumb and forefinger. In the sunlight, it sparkled with a polished gleam.
“That’s mine. Give it to me,” an indignant voice declared.
Her mouth fell open as Brooke gazed at the stranger, not three feet away. No taller than twenty-four inches high, the small man with his curly black beard wore a forest green jacket and trousers. A black top hat and shiny black boots completed his outfit. Beckoning with his fingers, the man held out his hand expectantly.
Brooke studied his diminutive size and odd clothes before answering coolly. “I found it first.”
The leprechaun sputtered and burred, “Lass, it’s a sentimental item, mind you. My mother gave me ‘ere buckle before she passed on. My belt broke while I was digging a hole up yonder near the stream.”
Brooke pursed her lips at the grief itched on his face. “Hmm. I too have an ill sister. Some things are worth more than all the gold in the world.” When she flipped the tiny bucket toward him with her thumb.
The leprechaun snatched it from the air, smiling as he clutched the buckle to his chest. After he slipped it into his pocket, he gave her a grave look. “You could have asked for my pot and it would’ve been yours. Now, I’ll grant you your heart’s deepest wish.”
He picked up the empty water bottle. In his hands, it magically re-filled. A bubbly, sparkling liquid gleamed like a shimmer. The water radiated as though the moon and star’s light had been captured within. The tiny man swept off his black hat and bowed as he set the bottle down. “A gift. Have your sister drink every last drop.”
In a blink, the leprechaun disappeared as though he’d never been there. Perplexed, Brook stared at the sparkling bottle before collecting her items in a rush. The bike ride home was lost in a blur.
Back at the house, she poured the water into a glass; its sparkling essence resembled a liquid gold effervescence. Carrying the bottle and glass to Marie’s room, Brooke ordered her sister to drink every last drop.
The following morning, Marie got out of bed for the first time in weeks. Her face was rosy and full of life. At week’s end, the doctor called the two sisters into his office. The aged physician cleaned off his spectacles with a cloth, then peered at the sisters while shaking his head. With a piece of paper in his wrinkled hand, the doctor smiled at them.
“I’m not sure what’s happened, but your fortune has changed for the better. Tis a miracle, Marie is cured.”
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