A trail of cryptic codes sends Ben and Sam deep underground to discover a treasure more valuable than gold.
Ben Coolahan loves his life in Boston in 1873, but when his father passes suddenly, heâs sent out west to the familyâs mine. Benâs father left him only a medallion, coded messages, and a warning to keep them secret. His new guardian, Delilah, an overbearing woman, sends him to work in the mine. Ben finds refuge with Jack, a Cornish miner who shares his superstitions and tales of the knocking. A quick-witted girl, Sam, helps Ben unravel the codes and discover their hidden messages, which lead them into secret chambers and down underground rivers to discover a precious treasure. Faced with protecting it while thwarting Delilahâs foreman, they find refuge deep underground. The miners are blasting their way toward the wall of gold. But gold is not what Ben and Sam are protecting, and theyâll have to risk the mine's fortune in order to save lives.
A trail of cryptic codes sends Ben and Sam deep underground to discover a treasure more valuable than gold.
Ben Coolahan loves his life in Boston in 1873, but when his father passes suddenly, heâs sent out west to the familyâs mine. Benâs father left him only a medallion, coded messages, and a warning to keep them secret. His new guardian, Delilah, an overbearing woman, sends him to work in the mine. Ben finds refuge with Jack, a Cornish miner who shares his superstitions and tales of the knocking. A quick-witted girl, Sam, helps Ben unravel the codes and discover their hidden messages, which lead them into secret chambers and down underground rivers to discover a precious treasure. Faced with protecting it while thwarting Delilahâs foreman, they find refuge deep underground. The miners are blasting their way toward the wall of gold. But gold is not what Ben and Sam are protecting, and theyâll have to risk the mine's fortune in order to save lives.
        Ben Coolahan had been dreading this dayâit was now here. His arms hung long as the tips of his fingers repeatedly tapped his pants. With a shaky hand, he swept his hair from his forehead and rubbed his nose. Next to him, with eyes full of both pity and grief, Aunt Loretta squeezed his other hand reassuringly. He was not alone with his loss.
Benâs eyes wandered up the stately granite columns that rose high above him; the National Bank of Boston was an unfamiliar place, just waiting to swallow him, to devour life as heâd known it. Between the columns, tall windows presented a view of a part of Boston that was foreign to Benâthe financial district. Irish immigrants were not welcome here, but with Benâs family connections, they made an exception.
âDid you know this bank is steps away from the site of the 1773 Boston Tea Party?â his aunt whispered. Probably to distract him, though he doubted anything could do so at this point. Still, he glanced up at her feeble attempt to smile. âThis year will be the one-hundredth anniversary,â she continued.
Leave it to her to somehow find a teaching moment.
Benâs chest swelled; he was proud of Bostoniansâ rebellious nature and his Irish roots. Hard work was in his blood. He knew he was one of the lucky ones, with a life of relative luxuryâa home in the safe neighborhood of South Boston and admittance to a private schoolâprovided by the unlikely success of his familyâs gold mining business.
Now, he stood inside a sterile wonderland where everything was white marble, even the table in front of him.
He swallowed the dryness in his throat, and his bow tie felt tight around his neck. Whatâs taking so long?
           A hefty man appeared from the vault, carrying a long metal box. Benâs pulse quickened as he watched the man slide it onto the white table. The family lawyer, Mr. Marcy, who also stood at his side, reached into his pocket to give the clerk a key. Placing it into the keyhole, the man twisted it back and forth until it clicked. The hinges squeaked as the lid rose. Mr. Marcy grabbed the two items from inside and handed them to Ben, saying, âIn accordance with your fatherâs will, I hereby give you the contents of his safe deposit boxâupon your departure from Boston.â
Why is this happening? His life was here in Boston, but now a court order had changed everything.
           Ben froze for a moment before taking one of the items, an envelope. Tears swam in his eyes at the sight of his name written clearly across the front in his fatherâs handwriting. He shook his head, refusing to cry in front of all these people, and held his hand out for the other item. His eyebrow rose in wonder. The object was cold and surprisingly heavyâa copper medallion. Something heâd never laid eyes on before. Why would his father leave him this?
âMr. Marcy, would you please sign these documents?â asked the clerk.
The lawyer obliged. âThank you for your promptness on this matter,â he said to the clerk. âWe need to hurry. This lad must catch the 10:40 train.â
Ben pocketed the envelope and the medallion, a million thoughts racing through his head, not one he could say aloud.
They headed for the door in a whirl of commotion as his aunt followed, crying out, âThere certainly must be something more you can do, Mr. Marcy! This is just not rightâ sending a young boy to live with that woman in that sinful, barbaric place. This must be stopped! Patrick would never have allowed it!â
His aunt Loretta had raised him, been more mother to him than any other could. And now they were being ripped from one another, and no one would explain why. Mr. Marcy strode across the polished floor. He nudged Ben through the twirling glass and brass doors, down the steep steps, where he held the door open as Aunt Loretta entered the carriage. Ben sat across from her, avoiding the pain in her gaze, while Mr. Marcy took the space next to Ben.
Aunt Loretta, hankie in hand, dabbed her eyes before saying in a broken voice, âI expected better from you, Mr. Marcy.â
âMadam, I followed every legal avenue. The letter of guardianship is legitimate.â
Ben could not keep silent. âI am twelve. Why canât I choose to stay with my aunt?â
âThe law is the law,â said Mr. Marcy in a flat voice. âThe letter states Delilah is now your guardian.â
 âWhy now? Itâs been a year, and now this letter appears out of nowhere.â Aunt Lorettaâs fist clenched. âThat Delilah, she isââÂ
Mr. Marcy shot Loretta a sharp glare. Ben caught it. She cut her words and puckered her lips.
âDelilah is what?â asked Ben, leaning forward.
âSheâs a fine woman,â Aunt Loretta said with a forced smile. âDonât you worry. She will raise you right well.â
âI donât need raising,â Ben shot back. âIâve learned what I need from you.â
Her face softened.
 Ben sat back with his arms folded, hoping to disguise the shake in his hands. Deep down, he knew they were keeping something from him.
They stood on the platform at the train station, and Ben gave his aunt a last hug. Mr. Marcy ushered him to his seat on the coach, where he knelt and said in a direct voice, âI must tell you, Ben, youâre going to a place very different from here. When you arrive, look up Mr. Waters. He will tell you the details of your trust. So, chin up, and best of luck to you. Meanwhile, Willie hereââhe motioned to the smiling conductorââwill ensure your safety and comfort.â
Rising to his feet, Mr. Marcy shook Benâs hand and left.
Ben sat squarely in his seat, hoping it was all a dream. He just wanted to wake up cocooned in warm blankets at his home. Â Instead, his back tensed, and his head felt heavy. He twisted in his seat to look for Willie. The conductor was at the other end of the car, helping a family get settled.
Benâs body jolted a bit when the train jerked forward. Craning his neck, he looked out the window. His heart sank. Â The two people who cared about him most slowly drifted out of sight. Would he ever see them again?
The train chugged past rows of factory buildings. Tall smokestacks sent billowing clouds of black smoke into a once-blue sky. The train's pace quickened, and the sight of men huddled around burning barrels became a repeating image like a flickering film. Through the rows of dirty windows, he caught glimpses of women hunched over sewing machines, only to be interrupted by the occasional sight of men shoveling coal into smoldering furnaces. He hadnât realized any of this existed.
As the sights drifted by the window, he thought about the journey ahead. He reached into his pocket and felt the medallion. Its cool touch brought an odd comfort. He pressed it tightly between his thumb and forefinger.
The train picked up speed. The ugly sights of the city transformed into the crystal-blue waters of the Charles River. Benâs heart calmed as he caught sight of a cluster of sailboats gliding across the water with full sails. Oh, how he would miss sailing with his friends. It was his true joy, an escape, a freedom, to be on the open water moved by the wind.
The sight was short-lived as the train turned away from the river toward open fields with random patches of dense forests. He was going to a place far away, which he had only read about in letters from his father, Patrick Coolahan. Those letters had ended a year ago, shortly before Ben received word that his father had been killed in a devastating mining accident.
Benâs attention returned to his pocket. He took out the medallion. It was slightly larger than a silver dollar and had a deep copper color. In the middle was a small hole in the shape of an eye. The letters R, S, A, and U were etched randomly around the hole. The medallion's outer edge had a series of notches, which made him think it could be a key. The words Save the Life Within ran around the top edge, while the bottom read, Safety in the Hole. Several irregular lines and a string of numbers were also etched on the surface. In contrast, the medallionâs back was smooth and blank. Strange, he thought. Â
He put the medallion in his pocket and felt for the envelope. As he pulled it out, his breath quickened. It was a letter from his father. It had been so long since heâd received one, and he missed him so much.
Ben held the envelope firmly and carefully removed the letter.
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Dear Ben, my son,
      Reading this letter cannot be easy. I canât imagine or bear the thought of you living without us. You can be sure your mother and I are looking over you from above. I have kept you away from this place, but forces stronger than me are pulling you here. Temptations are plentiful in these parts, and life has little value. I have felt out of place here, and so will you. Everything you need to know is on the medallion and in this letter. Remember what I taught you. It will serve you well. Stay strong and be proud of who you are.
      Keep everything I tell you a secret. Tell no oneâthe key word is trust.
Love,
Your father
P.S. Go to my study. Follow my instructions. Your safety and theirs depend on it.
jerk warmest outcast
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Ben peered out the window. He wiped his cheeks and looked back at the letter. Turning it over, he saw a math equation. His father always included math problems and crazy word games in his letters. It made them fun and exciting.
He reread the letter. What struck him was the last line: jerk warmest outcast. He furrowed his brow and concentrated on the words. In a flash, it came to him: Itâs an anagram. Rearranging the letters and phrases would create new ones. Each one would have a keyword that needed to be found. He would remove the letters of the keyword, which would become the phrase's first word.
The last line in the letter clearly stated that the keyword was trust. Those letters were in jerk warmest outcast. So, Ben pulled them out and worked with the remaining letters. After many different combinations, he ended up with Trust Jack, Waters, Moe. Unclear what all this cryptic communication meant, nervous and excited at the same time, he bit his lower lip.
He pulled a blunt pencil from his pocket and went to work on the math problem next:
7x â 35 = 4x â 8 + 2x â 27
It was odd that the equation came to zero. Maybe thereâs a mistake, he thought. He tried again. First, he simplified the equation to 7x â 35 = 6x â 35 and then added 35 to both sides and subtracted 6x from both sides. Again, x = zero. Ben frowned. Was his father trying to say zero?
***
Four days passed as the train crossed the Great Plains and climbed the Rocky Mountains. With every mile, Benâs longing to be back home in Boston grew stronger, but the train kept chugging westward, despite his wishes.
As they neared the California border, a buzz of excitement filled the train. Passengers peered out the window at the majestic Sierra Mountains looming tall above the desert floor. From the shouts and commotion, Ben sensed this must be the place everyone was headed.
           He listened as three men standing in the aisle with glowing faces gushed, âThereâs gold everywhere, I hearâhills where every other rock is a nugget and streams glimmer with the stuff.â The speaker wiped his brow with the sleeve of his homespun shirt.
A hulking man, his body squeezed into his suit and his dirty white socks showing, chimed in, âI read in the newspaper back in Boston that one man quit his job in Vermont, sold his house for a stake, left his family with his kin, and got in on the early days of the Gold Rush.â
A third man interrupted. âThat be old Kevin McKnight struck gold his second day out. Lucky bastard. Heâs been following that vein of gold for years.â
Another piped up, âYeah, and I heard if it werenât for them Tommyknockers, heâd be a dead man.â
âThereâs no such thing. That be an old minerâs tale.â
âNot what Iâve heard. Them little creatures led him right to the gold. Iâll take any help I can get. Old McKnight is eatinâ at fancy restaurants and wearinâ fifty-dollar suits, and we be scrounging the land for our piece of the Mother Lode.â
A familiar chuckle caught Benâs ear. He glanced over to see Willie standing in the aisle. The man knelt so only Ben could hear. âYou know, these folks are in for a rude awakening, young Ben.â
âOh? How come, Willie?â
           A broad smile filled the manâs face. âWhat the newspapers and the gossip donât tell is for everyone who hits it rich, thereâs a hundred who end up broke, freezinâ all winter, and begginâ for crusts of bread. But what can I say? They been stung by gold fever!â
Willie straightened his posture to continue down the aisle, ordering passengers to take their seats. Ben gazed out the window to the distant mountainsâhe did not share in everyoneâs excitement. Instead, his heart ached. Oh, how he missed his home. Now somewhere in the distance was his new home. He swallowed with a dry throat as he adjusted his collar and loosened his bow tie.
âYou mind if I sit here?â asked a man with a jovial voice. âItâs a better view on this side of the train.â
âNo, not at all,â Ben replied.
âWeâll be up there soon,â the man continued as he peered out the window.
Ben nodded and turned to look at him. Small tufts of hair rested above the manâs ears while the rest of his head shone like a bright penny. Like Ben, he stood out, sporting a gray tweed suit with a yellow and gray polka-dot tie.
âLet me introduce myself. Iâm Mr. J. P. Wiggens. Most people call me Wig, as I need one.â He chuckled, reached out, and shook Benâs hand firmly.
Ben instantly liked this friendly, funny-looking man. He wished he had met him earlier. Mr. Wiggens could laugh at himself, and Ben hadnât met many people who could do that.
âWhatâs a young fella like you doing traveling in these parts? You come out west to strike it rich?â He winked.
âNo,â Ben replied tentatively. âIâm on my way to Gold Flat to live with my step-grandmother.â
âWell! How about that? Thatâs where Iâm headed too. My uncle, Abe Turner, asked me to help run his general store. His business has been booming. His biggest client pays him in gold.â He paused. âI decided it was time for a change. Need a little adventure in my life. Know what I mean?â He patted Benâs knee.
âAn adventure,â Ben mumbled to himself.
The train crept deeper into the Sierra Mountains through long tunnels, across tall trestles, and over plunging ravines. On a bridge crossing a particularly deep canyon, Mr. Wiggens leaned over to say, âNow I know how a bird must feel.â
Ben glanced out the window to see nothing but sky. Snapping his head back, he stared at the floor nervously, tapping his knee. Not wanting to appear rude, he nodded in agreement.
âNow, donât you worry; these trains are mighty safe,â Mr. Wiggens assured him.
Ben didnât move until the bridge ended and the jagged hillside reappeared out his window. Glancing up, he followed the wall of rock skyward to spy countless trees perched precariously on top. It appeared a good gust of wind could send them tumbling down. An unsettling thought, but everything in this new world was unstable to Ben like something awful was going to happen at any moment.
Off in the distance, Ben noticed a stark mountain. As the train drew closer, he saw it was entirely strippedâjust tree stumps protruding from the ground. On its hillside stood a tiny, wooden shack with a tall mound of dirt next to it.
           He turned to Mr. Wiggens. âLook! What is that?â
           Mr. Wiggens peered out the window. âWell, Iâll be! Thatâs our first look at a mine.â
           The others saw it as well and jumped to their feet in hopes of getting a better view. Whatâs all the ruckus for an ugly sight? Puzzled, Ben glanced at Mr. Wiggens blissful gaze. Is there something Iâm not seeing?
âWhy did they cut down all those trees?â asked Ben.
           Mr. Wiggens scratched his head. âHmm, I donât rightly know.â He raised his brow and blurted, âMaybe the roots get in the minersâ way.â
A burst of laughter came from a young man seated directly behind them. âAh, donât you know nothinâ about mining?â the young man said. âYouâre a couple of greenhorns! They use wooden timbers to keep the mine tunnels from cavinâ in.â
âBut why the whole mountain? It looks so ugly.â
âYou have to go really deep to get the gold,â the young man chuckled. âYou need lots of timber. Why, in these parts there are more trees down in the mine than above the ground.â
Ben shook his head. âI still think itâs ugly.â
Mr. Wiggens cleared his throat. âWell, Ben, donât worry. There are lots of mountains.â
Their travels took them deeper into the range, where peaks and valleys were cut clean of every tree, and more mine shafts dotted the barren landscape. Some mines were still in operation, while others appeared abandoned.
Hours later, the train descended into a valley lost in a thick layer of gray haze. Low hills flanked it to the east and a towering mountain with a white stone top to the west. The openings to mine shafts covered the low-lying hills as if giant gophers had burrowed into the ground to make their home. Ben caught glimpses of the valley floor, which appeared naked, stripped of all life. Beyond the sea of stumps, he spotted a cluster of buildings.
Mr. Wiggens, who had dozed off, jerked awake at the sight. âBoy, oh boy, there sure is a lot of mining going on around these parts. We must be getting close.â
âGold Flat! Gold Flat!â yelled the conductor.
Mr. Wiggensâs face brightened. âDid you hear that? This is it. Yes, sir! Smoke in the air gotta mean lots of activity.â
Ben nodded. He couldnât believe it. This was his new home? Why, why did it have to be this place?
Mr. Wiggens glanced at Ben. âWell, what do you think?â
âItâs ugly,â Ben mumbled.
The train crept to a stop in front of the station. Behind it lay the town, where crowds of rough-looking miners filled the main street's boardwalk. Visions of Boston came back to himâthe tree-lined avenues and brick buildings with their swept sidewalks. This was another world, a world covered in dirt. The buildings, made of rough-sawn wood, looked so flimsy that a healthy gust of wind might take them down. Only one was made of stone. He squinted to read the sign; it was the bank.
He watched the people moving about, not in the orderly fashion he was accustomed to, but pushing and shoving as if something were about to happen. Their faces were worn and weathered like the stark land.
âGood luck, Ben,â said Mr. Wiggens, grabbing his bag. âNice chatting with you. Look me up when you get settled,â
âGoodbye, Mr. Wiggens. I will, and I wish you the best.â
Ben could see him serving customers with his gracious manner and kind heart. A warm feeling overcame Ben as he watched Mr. Wiggens disappear into the crowd. Then the pit of his stomach turned cold.
This was my fatherâs home? Ben shook his head in anger. It will not be mine.
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Armed with nothing but a medallion, an envelope, and the weight of a tragedy on his heart, Ben Coolahan leaves his familiar Boston life with his aunt Loretta to live with his step-grandmother, Delilah. Arriving in the mining town of Gold Flat, Ben is faced with the life his father had once lived, but never really fit into. As a thirteen-year-old heir to a lucrative business, Ben needs to keep his wits about him if he is to keep his property and his life. Who is friend, and who is foe is something he needs to learn fast if he is to reach his eighteenth birthday.Â
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Iâm not going to lie; I was taken in by the cover. I knew from the blurb that I was being transported back to the late 19th century. Cover art coupled with the late Victorian era, albeit in the US, I was sensing strong steampunk vibes. As I started turning the pages, what I actually got was recollections of The Goonies and Raiders of the Lost Ark meets Dickens. I knew within a few pages that I was going to enjoy the adventure ahead.Â
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Despite his inheritance and his boarding at the grandest house in town, Ben finds himself trying to blend in with the townsfolk attached to his family business, many of them poor and abused. I found it interesting watching him grow up but indulge in childish pranks with a dash of smarts all at once as he stands up for the injustices he encounters. I found myself wanting to skip ahead and see what becomes of him in the future.
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For a fairly reasonable-length childrenâs novel, the characters are well developed, although as a mature reader I would have liked to have had a bit more background on a few of them. This is probably my overriding thought about Sam. Having experienced her own share of tragedy, I was surprised at the flippant way it was introduced and quickly glossed over. As much as I love her, there was a turning point where I lost belief in the character she was and the character I thought she should be.Â
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In general, the characters are explored through their actions and interactions with each other. There is also a good balance of characters to love, and ones to love to hate. I certainly had a few favorites picked out early on that included Benâs friend, Sam (as mentioned above), Molly the housekeeper, and âcousinâ Jack. That said, I enjoyed many scenes that involved Mr. Baxter. Trigger warningâŚThis character is associated with adult themes such as physical violence and alcoholism. I would, therefore, recommend this book for youngsters aged thirteen and above that are able to process mature concepts even though they are not hugely graphic. Other topics explored include death, murder, and greed.
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Overall, I think Hunter Malone has served up a wonderful tale of adventure with a welcomed sprinkle of magic and suspense. Malone has effortlessly made history cool and captured a thirteen-year-oldâs viewpoint rather brilliantly. Readers of the same age are sure to appreciate the parallels in the lives they live whilst also being able to relate to Ben as a person. Boys and girls alike will take great pleasure from this text and learning whether Ben is able to succeed where others have failed. I think they would find it just as page-turning as I did.