Plundered Christmas (9 page)

“It might be too late for whomever that was,” James said when the pair returned to the great room. “But I always feel better about the situation when the entryways are locked and secured.” I smiled a little at that, remembering dear Mr. Folger calling us the “locking-est people he ever knew.” Of course, he had called us that after trying to break into our house.

As far as the shape that ran through the house, I had no idea who that might be. Other than William, everyone on the island was accounted for. And I didn't think William would knock over the old man. Also, he had no cause to be secretive. We expected him here. “I don't know,” I admitted. “But right now, you're more important. Let's get you over to that couch.” By encouraging him to rest his weight on my arm, he stood with as much dignity as he could muster and hobbled over to the couch.

“But the candles…”

I stopped him. “Tell James and Frank where they are, and they'll find them. They should check all the windows and doors, too. I feel quite a draft.” I felt a cold breeze hit my back and wished I'd packed more of my winter clothes.

“It's not the door. Your husband accounted for both of those.” Charlie pointed across the room once I got him seated. “Someone needs to tend to that fire.”

Sure enough, the flames had dropped quite a bit and only a red glow let us know that it was still alive and hungry.

“I'll do that,” I said. With four years of Girl Scouts in my past, I could tend to a fire. “Aimee, can you help Dad watch our two patients?” While she and her aunt were at odds, I couldn't think of anything to keep her from helping Charlie.

“I'll help, too.” Josie announced.

Not to be outdone, Justin informed us that as part of a soccer team he had to know how to handle basic injuries.

Satisfied that all fronts were manned, or “person'ed” as the case might be, I headed over to our current source of warmth and light. It was much warmer on this side of the room, and I wondered why the couches were so far away from the fireplace. Maybe because it was usually too warm for a fire? But still, couches, even huge couches, were mobile and the fireplace was not.

I sat on the slightly raised hearth, opened the grate and reached for a log. I positioned it across the coals and smoldering pieces of wood, careful not to cover any bit of flame too closely. Fire needs air, my Scout leader would drill into us. Without air, you have no fire.

Looking over their supplies, I noticed several logs that looked different from the rest. They were lower on the pile, so whoever stacked the wood intended them to be used later. When I touched the end of one, it still appeared to have a residual dampness to it. But its texture, also, wasn't wood-like. Perhaps this was a palm tree from the island. Whatever it was, its original diameter had to have been at least ten feet based on the sections I could see. Wow. A tree that big could have been hundreds of years old.

I fed some kindling into the fire and wadded up some paper also stored nearby to get a blaze going. Then I added another log, closed the grate and used the light from the very successful fire to examine the unusual wood more closely. As I ran my fingers over the outside of its bark, I felt something odd. A spot, a section on the log's hull that wasn't cohesive with the rest of it. It could have been a piece of bark that peeled off, but it felt too precise, too manmade. I turned the log as best I could, moving some of the firewood above it to relieve some of the pressure.

When I angled it right to the glow of the fire, I could see a gouge cut into the wood. Not a large slit. When the tree was whole, no one likely noticed it. But now, in pieces, the cut was more evident. I tried to reach inside it, but the space was too narrow for my fingers. After our earlier escapade and several broken fingernails, I had put my little fingernail clipper slash multi-tool in my pocket. I opened it to the file and slid it inside.

After three tries, I could feel the file start to pull on something. After seven tries, a piece of parchment, similar in material to the scroll we had found earlier that day, emerged from the crevice.

I couldn't read what was on the square of paper in the dim and flickering light, so I quickly put it into the pocket of my jacket and zipped it shut before heading across the room to the others.

 

 

 

 

7

 

While I had been busy, James and Frank had found candles, matches and flashlights. They were in the process of distributing them to everyone.

James, in his usual officer style, took charge. “Obviously, we can't count on power tonight. In the morning, if the storm lets up, we can look for the plans for the generator and see about fixing it. But tonight will be power-free.”

No one disagreed or said anything, so he continued.

“Miss Margo shouldn't be moved, nor should she stay alone. So the adults should rotate through the evening in shifts watching her.”

“I'll do my part, too, Mr. Talbott,” said Charlie, standing and heading over to his patron. He wobbled a little, steadied himself on one of the pillars and then headed back in her direction. “It is my duty to look after Miss Margo.”

James shook his head. “You just had a bad fall, Charlie. Actually, I'd feel better about things if you slept out here on a couch, too, so we can check you for signs of a concussion.”

“But I'm fine, Mr. Talbott. See, just as sound as ever.” He knocked on his head to prove it, but couldn't help wincing.

My hubby smiled to soften his refusal. I could see the glint of his white teeth in the gloom. “Sorry.” He took the old man by the elbow and led him back to his original place on the couch. “I'll take the first watch while you all get some sleep.”

Dad wasn't buying it. “I'll accept your company, James, but I'm staying by Margo.”

Margo tried to thank my father with an adoring look. I could tell the pain reliever had eased her agony a little, but not enough to take the pain out of her face.

James acknowledged defeat. He knew my father well enough to know quarreling would have no effect.

“Honey,” I said. “How about I get Justin, Josie, and Jelly settled down under the tree? We'll raid our rooms for some blankets and pillows and come right back. You did say it was better if we stayed together during the storm?”

The wind gave a howl to emphasize its presence. He agreed with his earlier wisdom. “Fine,” he said. “We'll all stay here in the great room. But two of us will stay awake at all times, on rotation, to keep an eye on the wounded.”

Dad and James had first shift. Aimee and I looked through all the bedrooms on the east wing, the section farthest from the water, and came back with our arms loaded down with pillows, comforters, blankets, and sheets.

The tree felt like a huge shelter or shadow. I tried to think of it as an angel. As the very center of the house, I assumed it would be the safest place.

A few hours later, James woke Aimee and me and told us it was our turn. Dad had fallen asleep in a chair next to Margo, so my darling chose the two of us to replace him. I looked at Charlie first, who seemed to be sleeping easy. Then, I held a flashlight while Aimee changed her aunt's bandage. Honestly, I thought that girl was going for sainthood.

Shivering in the dark, I looked over to the fireplace. It still had a glow, so it hadn't completely gone out.

“Can you stay here while I feed the fire?” I whispered to Aimee.

She nodded and took a seat on the far edge of the couch Miss Margo rested on. That put her about halfway between the two patients. And out of striking range should her aunt note the individual on duty.

So as not to walk straight through the slumber zone, I headed to the south wall and walked past the sleeping forms of Anne, Mary, Juliana, and the cook. Though I tried to be quiet, I almost woke someone up. But their snuffling noise and movement shocked me more than I did them. It almost made me jump. But the flashlight on low made it clear that no one else was around.

Of course, though the storm had diminished in intensity since earlier that night, the wind still whistled and made unusual noises around the corner of the house. Sometimes, it sounded like whispers. I could just almost make out the conversation. Treasure, I kept hearing as a declaration, then as a question. More than likely, my overactive imagination kept thinking about lost treasures.

I reached into my pocket. The paper was still there. I couldn't help feeling as if I were violating some historical rules or preservation thing by having it simply in my pocket. But it had been wedged in a tree before that, and I couldn't imagine that offered a whole lot more protection. I wished I knew what it said. I had only had the slightest of glimpses at it before. Why did events always fly together in such a way that you couldn't digest one before another had come upon you?

As I fed wood into the fire, I thought about the scroll I had read earlier. I wondered where Margo had put it. Did it have anything to do with her accident? The dock was on the southwest of the island and that was where the compass seemed to point.

I shivered again, and it had nothing to do with the cold. I was stuck firmly in another mystery. And, to be frank, I hated it.

God, please find a way, Your way to resolve all the puzzles and the problems and help us home.

Another log and a handful of kindling and the fire blazed again with heat and light. Mary, the closest female to its warmth, rolled over when it crackled and popped loudly. She opened her eyes and noticed me.

“Thanks,” she mumbled and rolled back over.

I really didn't know what to think about Margo's daughter. I had come to this island with a preconceived notion of her as a society snob who only bought her clothes in boutiques and talked with people in her daily allowance level. Twice now, she had acted like someone I hadn't expected.

Maybe, one of the puzzles I needed to solve was the root of my own prejudice. I knew what I planned to do to stay awake on my shift. I would pray and ask God's forgiveness for not treating all His children as equals.

 

****

 

Near the end of my two hours, Margo woke.

“Jeanine. I'm glad it's you.” She grimaced. She obviously had a lot of pain.

“I'll wake Mary to get you some more medicine.”

She grabbed my hand with her good arm. “No. Not yet. I need to talk to you.” Margo pulled on my arm with more strength than I knew she had.

“Please, Margo, don't overexert yourself. I'm here. I'll listen.” What if she opened the wound? I had no idea what to do and I'd have to wake James. The poor guy needed his sleep, especially after Frank had kept him awake nearly all night on the boat ride here. Was that just over a day ago?

“Jeanine, I do care for your father.”

I felt my face heating up. I knew this. Wasn't this why we were here? “That's between you and Dad…”

“You misunderstand. I do care for him, but that's not why you're here.”

Now I was totally at a loss. There was no other reason that we were here. I couldn't think of anything to say. It was too late. I was too tired. I waited for her to continue and explain herself.

“You know that scroll that you found this morning?”

“Yes?”

Margo sighed. I could hear the pain in her breathing. “You didn't find it. I did. Back in October when I was looking for something in the cellar.”

Just when I thought things couldn't get more confusing, they did. “What do you mean?”
Aimee and I broke several fingernails getting it out. How did we not find it?
I tried to pull away from Margo, but her grip was like iron.

She sighed again. It sounded as if she tried to sigh a long time, but the pain interrupted it with a sharp intake of breath. “I had to have someone else find it. Someone impartial. That's why I sent you to the cellar.”

I wanted this to make sense. I wanted to understand her. But every word she spoke confused me even more. “So you brought my family here…”

“So that one of you would find it. So that there would be witnesses when we uncovered the family past. As you learned earlier, some, like Aimee's father, have wanted to expose the Banets and uncover all the legends about them. Some others in the family, want to keep our history hidden, hoping to find buried riches silently and secretly. We are not the happiest of families, Jeanine.” She moved her hand from my arm and reached up to indicate her shoulder. “This proves it.” When her hand came into contact with the pads on her wound, she grimaced. It had to be hurting more than she wanted to tell me.

“You don't know that it was William, do you?”

She agreed. “No. But he hasn't turned up since, so it seems like a logical assumption.”

I didn't know what to say to that. Maybe. But there was no sense in accusing someone who couldn't even defend himself. I needed to distract her. With my arm now free, I put my hand in my pocket. While I wasn't ready to show it to her, I could tell her. “I found something tonight when I worked on the fire.”

She raised an elegant brow.

“In the stack of wood, near the bottom, are some unusual pieces, not quite aged enough to burn, but huge. They had to come from a tree of some sort that was over one hundred years old.”

One side of Margo's mouth crinkled slightly. “Almost three hundred years old, actually. Poor Old Moses.”

“Old Moses?”

“One of the oldest palms on the island. He fell over during the summer rains. It was like losing an old friend.” The wind howled around the outside and made her start a little. By some unspoken agreement, we conversed quieter. “Why do you ask?”

“I found some of the same parchment in a niche in the trunk of one of the pieces. It wasn't sealed or rolled, simply slipped into a crevice.”

Margo tried to move to see better and her face contorted with the effort.