Lost and Found

He strolled outside to the barn.
The TV show had been pretty good, actually. Some spooky story about boys with witchy powers.
Lighting his smoke, he gazed up at the nearly full moon. It shone brightly this clear April night.
She had come home during the show, not even stopping to say hello before she ascended the stairs to her room.
His thoughts drifted to all the plans he had made; for the land and the barn and for them. How betrayed he felt now. Nearly broke now, thanks to her. His life forward would be rebuilding. Health, life and happiness.
As he took another deep drag, he rested his hand on the old frame of the west barn addition. Slightly dizzy, he closed his eyes for a moment. In his mind’s eye, he could see the west barn. Freshly painted, he heard the sounds of the horses stirring inside; he could smell the hay and feel the cool breeze blowing through. Dreamlike, he could see himself moving through barn, a soft word for the mares, and a small cube of sugar for the stallion in the box stall.
He removed his had from the barn wood, and with a small gasp, the connection was broken. Shaking his head as if to clear the cobwebs, he straightened.
What little he knew of the barn was the north and west additions were added sometime in the 60’s to house horses. Maybe for a riding stable? He wasn’t sure. The central barn with the partial stone walls and the high loft were far older. The property deeds went all the way back to 1820, when James Van Horn bought the property from William Willink, as part of a much larger purchase of farmland. The barn wasn’t that old, for sure. It looked like maybe someone had rebuilt the barn on the older stones, around 1920 when the house was remodeled.
With a final drag, he crushed out the cigarette, hesitated a moment, looking back to the glowing moon, and placed his hand on the cold stone wall.
His eyes glazed as he slipped into a gray world. The barn stood alone, no additions, and something else he couldn’t grasp for a moment. Ah, the barn was sided with vertical barn wood, not the clapboards that it wears today. Instinctively, he knew he was back in time; this was the original barn. Looking towards the door, he could see the house; half the size it is today, with rough-cut wood siding. Smoke twisted up from the chimney. Once again, he could see himself moving through the door and into the barn. Up the stairs to the loft, the air filled with the sweet smell of fresh hay. Indeed, most of the loft was filled. He inhaled deeply and smiled.
Coming down the stairs, he stopped, listening. There were voices in the barn, but he was barely able to hear the words. Peeking out, he could see two men, with a box. They lowered the box into the dirt and reset the brick floor over the dirt.
A deep gasp and the connection was broken. Completely drained and exhausted he slid to sit on the damp ground. The moon was higher now, its beams playing across the floor of the barn through the open door.
Still groggy, his gaze trailed over to the floor. No brick floor now, only cement.
Whatever he thought he saw was a very long time ago, or just a vivid imagination playing tricks with him. Anyways, he was sure any brick was long gone. He watched the moonbeam shimmer on the floor. A faint hint of red, in a sea of gray. His brain struggled to comprehend, still not clear. Then his eyes popped wide.
“Oh my god, they poured the cement right over the brick.” He said aloud.
There was a slight depression where the moonbeam touched the gray floor. Struggling to his feet, he searched out the sledgehammer. A single whack cracked the thin coating, revealing the slightly sunken bricks below. A crowbar made quick work of the old bricks; having settled as the box beneath crumbled.
Pawing through the rotten wood his hands grasped a moldy canvas sack. Out of the sack tumbled a hand full of gold coins.
Holding a few up to the moonlight, he could see the dates, back to the 1860s, and they looked like the day they were minted. These were museum quality!
Echoing in his mind were words from her favorite movie, Gone with the Wind: “Why, land is the only thing in the world worth workin' for, worth fightin' for, worth dyin' for, because it's the only thing that lasts.”
Gerald O’Hara had been right.
He smirked to himself, what a shame she gave up on the land………………..