by Lynne Gentry
Nothing about her plan to leap into the underground darkness had even the slightest degree of reliability. If, for some reason, she pierced some unknown artery in time, no telling where they would end up. She was being forced to simply rely on the slim hope that if God wanted her back in the third century, then God would get her there. And trusting her life to anyone or anything beyond her control did not come easily.
A fretful sleep settled upon her. Dreams of losing Papa and Maggie in the waterslide caused her to bolt upright more than once in the night. Each time, she checked on Maggie, adjusted a thin blanket over her bare legs, and willed herself back to bed. She fell asleep remembering the last time she and Cyprian were together … walking the beach below his villa, holding hands, and making love in the shadows of the vine-clad pergola. Safe. Satisfied. Secure. Yet, somewhere deep inside her, she knew their time together was short. That her time in his world mattered. That even though history believed her never actually there, it was not the truth. Or was it?
When morning finally came, Lisbeth woke with a guilty start. Guilty that she had no better control of her emotions. Guilty that she loved this man so much she was willing to put her family at risk to save him.
Pinholes of morning light salted the tent seams. Soon the sun would turn what now served as their protection from the elements into an Easy-Bake oven. Lisbeth slowly became aware of an arm wrapped around her neck. She lightly stroked the baby-soft skin of Maggie’s arm. Lisbeth had always been such a tomboy; she’d never played with dolls. So it had surprised her how easily she could love a child and how that love would push her to become the mother she never had. The weight of her daughter’s safety and security rested heavily across her throat.
Going to Carthage was the only way to stop another measles outbreak and save Cyprian, but what kind of a mother willingly, and with forethought, places her child in harm’s way? This had gone far enough.
Lisbeth kissed her daughter’s forehead, then extracted herself from Maggie’s tight grip.
“Papa,” she whispered, pressing his shoulder until he stirred, “there’s been a change of plans.”
“Huh?”
“I can’t send Maggie through the portal.”
He slowly opened one eye. “Why not?”
“It’s too risky.” Lisbeth slipped on her boots. “And the confinement will scare her to death. Bringing her here was a bad idea.”
He pushed up on his elbows, blinking to bring her into focus. His eyebrows furrowed. “You go then.”
“Without her? I can’t.”
“You’ve always done what had to be done for her. This is one of those jobs.” He swung his long, bony legs off his cot. “It may have seemed to you like you were gone months last time, but from my side of things you were only missing a few hours.”
“What if this time it’s not the same?”
“Who do you think watches Miss Magdalena when you’re at the hospital? I can entertain our girl for a day or two. You know I’ve been dying to get back to that cave and poke around. Maybe while I’m at it, I can convince my granddaughter to become an archaeologist.”
“She wants to be a painter.”
“No reason she can’t do both.” He yanked the socks off the top of his boots and checked for snakes. “She’s a bit more girly than you were, but I bet I can have her digging in the sand by the time you come sailing out of that hole.”
“But what about Mama? I know you wanted to see—”
“Go.” He waved her on. “Find your mother, then bring her and your brother back, along with that saint you’re always thinking about.”
Lisbeth fingered the ring that hung from the leather cord around her neck. Papa’s suggestions had merit. She could secure Maggie’s safety and proceed with her plan to bring everyone home. She lifted the necklace and placed it in Papa’s palm. “When I bring Mama home, you can give this back to her yourself.”
He slid the necklace over his head and kissed her cheek. Papa suggested she slip out before Maggie woke, but Lisbeth remembered her own terror, wondering what had happened to her mother all those years ago. No way would she leave her baby with the same questions. No more buried secrets. Maggie deserved a proper good-bye, a tangible reassurance that her mother would come back, and as much of the truth as a five-year-old could understand.
After breakfast, Maggie perched on the cot, combing her doll’s hair as she watched Lisbeth seal plastic bags filled with as many emergency medical supplies as she could single-handedly transport into the third century. Acetaminophen. Vitamin A. Syringes. Penlight. Latex gloves. Surgical masks. A new scalpel, a small bone saw, and some decent suture needles for Mama. The three rounds of antibiotics her friend Queenie had called in for each of them. She’d hoped for more, to make more of a dent in the plague, but she’d barely had time to get those prescriptions filled. And the most important piece of equipment, Mama’s stethoscope. She waited until the last possible minute to remove the box of MMR vials from the cooler. Once they hit the desert air, she had less than eight hours to travel through time and inoculate her loved ones.
Maggie tugged a comb through her doll’s ponytail. “After you jump in the hole, will you see my daddy?”
“That’s the plan.” Lisbeth stuffed the plastic bags in a big backpack, dug out a pair of nose plugs, and slid the band over her head. “You can help Aisa cook while I’m gone, right?”
Maggie shrugged.
Lisbeth zipped the backpack. “G-Pa might need some help digging up buried treasure.”
Maggie wrinkled her nose, then returned to styling her doll’s hair. “Will you bring my daddy home?”
“I’m sure going to try, baby.”
Papa paced the tent, adding to the growing unease in the stuffy space. Lisbeth slipped the pack’s straps over her shoulder and clicked the belly straps securely into place. “You don’t have to go inside the cave, Maggie, but I think you’ll feel better about my trip if you stand at the entrance and see me go down the hole.”
“And then you’ll come right back?”
“Fast as I can.”
Maggie tucked her doll under one arm and took Lisbeth’s hand. “Promise I don’t have to go inside.”
“Promise.”
The closer they got to the cave, the tighter Maggie’s little hand squeezed. At the opening, Lisbeth squatted before her daughter. Maggie clutched her doll. Tear-filled eyes searched Lisbeth’s for one last reassurance.
Lisbeth cupped Maggie’s face and ran her thumb over the slope of Maggie’s upturned nose, willing time to stop as she memorized every perfect feature. “Mommy has to go.” She drew Maggie into a tight embrace. Instead of trying to wiggle free, Maggie hooked an arm around Lisbeth’s neck. Lisbeth soaked in the touch, pulling away only after Papa tapped her shoulder.
She stroked Maggie’s hair. “You be a brave girl for your g-pa.”
“It’s dark in there.” Maggie’s wide eyes searched the cave’s interior. “Don’t go.”
Lisbeth looked to Papa to bail her out. Instead he said, “This is something your mother’s got to do.”
Lisbeth kissed Maggie one last time, saying a silent prayer for the Lord to keep this part of her family safe while she went for the rest of them. She clamped her nose plugs in place, then went to stand before the location on the cave wall where the Neolithic swimmer family waited.
A mom. A dad. And in between the parents, a child with outstretched arms. Frozen in a moment of pure bliss. She intended to re-create the same joy for her family.
Lisbeth checked the straps on her backpack, positioned her feet, then blew Maggie a kiss. “I’ll be back before you even have time to miss me.” Lisbeth placed her hand on the picture-perfect child standing in the middle of the swimmer family.
“That’s the family I asked Santa to bring!” Maggie tugged against Papa’s grasp. “I want my daddy!”
Sizzling heat radiated through Lisbeth’s body. “Stay there, Maggie.”
The ground trembled, no more than a tr
emor in the soles of Lisbeth’s feet at first, and then a familiar rumble transmitted from the center of the earth and shook her bones. Sand shifted beneath her boots, slipping out from under her.
“I want my daddy!” Maggie broke loose and took a step toward her.
“Go back, baby!” A vacuum-cleaner-strength pull sucked at Lisbeth’s feet, tugging her through a plate-size hole.
“Magdalena!” Papa yelled. “Come to G-Pa!”
“Mommy!” Maggie ignored him and ran. “Wait!”
The portal suddenly opened, and Lisbeth dropped. She stopped her plummet into the abyss by catching the side of the hole with one hand. Her feet pedaled nothing but cool, dank air as she worked to bring her other hand around.
“Go back!” Lisbeth clawed desperately at the crumbling sand. “Papa! Get her.”
“Don’t leave me, Mommy!” Maggie screeched to a halt at the edge of the opening, her face frozen in terror.
“Go back, Maggie!” The chasm groaned, splitting the hole wider.
Maggie teetered on the edge, her eyes wide. “Take me.”
“No, baby!” Chunks of damp sand broke away and pummeled Lisbeth.
Just as she lost her grip, Maggie screamed, “Mommy!” She dropped her doll and leaped into Lisbeth’s arms.
End over end they tumbled through the darkness, a speeding bullet ricocheting off the stone walls. The roar of rushing water grew louder and closer.
Lisbeth held Maggie tightly and shouted, “Hold your breath!”
They hit feetfirst.
The force parted the water. Raging currents sucked them deep into the cold river.
Before Lisbeth could think of what to do, a burst of turbulence ripped Maggie away.
11
The Cave of the Swimmers
CASCADING WATER SCOURED LISBETH’S empty arms and sent her body keeling through a dark tunnel.
Maggie.
Lisbeth thrashed against the angry swells. For every stroke of progress, she was pushed several hundred yards farther downstream. Strength draining, the last of her composure dissolved. Raw awareness tingled in every cell of her body.
I’ve lost Maggie!
She screamed as she felt her body slip deeper into the depths.
Cool liquid swamped her gaping mouth and muted her terror. She tried to close her lips, but her activated cough reflexes forbade it. Within seconds, a viselike pressure crushed her chest and threatened to snap her sternum and spinal column. She was drowning. If she was drowning, so was Maggie.
I can’t let my baby drown alone.
Desperate for air, Lisbeth fought to stop the spinning. Arms flailing, she kicked frantically. Her hands struck rock. She thrashed the sandstone, searching for rungs of a nonexistent ladder. Just as she latched onto a jutting shard a sharp slice across her palm caused her to quickly release her grip. In an instant, she was sucked deeper into the cramped darkness.
Faster and faster she twirled, a pebble tossed about in a polishing tumbler. Excruciating force ripped at the straps tethering the heavy weight of the pack to her back and tore her boots from her feet.
Her waterlogged lungs swelled with unexchanged gases. Her brain felt hot. She knew if her body’s demands for oxygen were not met in minutes, her chest would explode.
Maggie!
Entombed in darkness, Lisbeth gave up her fight to regain her wits. In the fog settling over her, memories of Maggie floated before her like a desert mirage. Not the terrified Maggie who hated tight spaces, but the towheaded, round-faced two-year-old toddler afraid of nothing. A child too young to fear the things parents teach them to fear. Phantom Maggie peered into a toilet, her tiny hand on the flushing lever, her white hair floating around her like a dandelion blowball.
Ariel swim, Mommy. She tugged on the handle at the exact same moment “Nooooo,” left Lisbeth’s mouth. Ariel’s plastic fin swirled around the ceramic bowl, then disappeared from sight.
Maggie’s pleased face vanished. Noooo! Come back, baby!
Incredible energy flushed Lisbeth’s exhausted body. As she kicked against the current and struggled to lift her arms, a sudden trajectory change whirled her around and hurled her toward a shimmering beam of light.
A few seconds later, Lisbeth broke the water’s surface, sputtering and frantic. “Maggie!” Her shredded voice echoed off the well’s towering sandstone walls. High above her, a full moon poured out a circle of light.
Her eyes quickly cast about the coal-black liquid for blond curls. “Maggie!”
Nothing.
Oh, God! Oh, God!
Sucking in small gulps of dank air, Lisbeth filled her lungs and dove. Her outstretched arms pawed at the zero visibility. On one of her crazed sweeps, her fingers brushed tiny, cold fingers. She snatched Maggie’s hand and kicked desperately toward the surface.
“Maggie!” Her daughter’s beautiful little face had been bleached of healthy color. “Hang on, baby. I’ve got you.” Lisbeth hooked her arm under Maggie’s chin and swam to a two-foot-wide ledge jutting from the smooth cylinder of hewn stone. She hauled Maggie from the water and placed her limp body stomach-down on the slippery outcropping.
Oh, God! Help me!
How long had they been submerged? Time was everything when it came to near drownings. Four to five minutes without oxygen, and her daughter could have suffered permanent brain damage. Longer and … no! She couldn’t let her mind go there.
Unsure whether Maggie had sustained other injuries, Lisbeth opted to risk moving her and gently rolled Maggie onto her back. “Maggie!”
No response.
She heaved herself out of the water and perched on the slippery edge. She ripped the nose plugs from her nose. Palm to her daughter’s forehead, she tilted Maggie’s chin toward the moonlight. With Maggie’s airway open, Lisbeth lowered her ear close to the tiny blue lips. No escaping air warmed her wet cheek. She pinched Maggie’s nose and blew two rescue breaths into her child’s mouth. She lifted Maggie’s T-shirt. No chest movement. She pressed two fingers against the artery in Maggie’s neck. As the seconds ticked by, she prayed for a pulse.
Finally, a faint beat rippled beneath her touch. “There you are, baby. Stay with me.” Lisbeth delivered ten more rescue breaths with a five-second-eternity wait between each.
Maggie’s body jerked, and she suddenly began coughing. Water spewed from her mouth. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave an irritated shake of the head.
“Thank you, God!” Lisbeth rolled Maggie on her side and patted her back. “Spit it all out, baby.”
After a few seconds of productive coughing, Maggie’s lips and cheeks began to pink. “That was scary,” she sputtered. “But I was brave.”
Lisbeth laughed, relieved Maggie’s response sounded so clearheaded. “Yes. You were very brave, kiddo.” Even though all she wanted to do was hold Maggie’s quivering body forever, she instead began checking her extremities. “Are you hurt?”
Maggie shook her head, her eyes growing wider as she took in their surroundings. “Where’s my daddy?” Maggie lifted her chin toward the light streaming in from above. “Daddy!”
“Brave and a one-track mind.” Lisbeth tugged Maggie’s T-shirt down over her belly. “You are your father’s daughter.”
“I want my daddy.”
“Me, too.” Lisbeth kissed Maggie’s cheek. “Let’s go get him.”
Her gaze scrambled up cement-covered walls. Ancient trowel marks gave her hope they’d arrived at the same Phoenician cistern Mama had pushed her down six years ago. Protruding stones every few feet offered a way of escape, but she doubted she could manage Maggie’s weight and a ten-foot climb. At the same time, she couldn’t stay here and do nothing.
“Help!” Lisbeth’s plea bounced around the cylindrical tunnel. “Somebody, please help us!” Her eyes sought the rim and a plan B. “Help!”
Nothing … but the echo of her own regret and stupidity for allowing her daughter anywhere near the Cave of the Swimmers.
If no one came for them, what
would she do? They’d freeze to death down here. It would take a miracle to convince Maggie to brave that wild water ride again and try for a return to Papa.
“What if my daddy doesn’t come for us? It’s tight in here.” Maggie threw her arms around Lisbeth’s neck, knocking them both from the ledge. Lisbeth frantically treaded water to keep Maggie’s struggles from forcing them under again. “Mommy, I can’t breathe.”
“You’re breathing, baby. Hang on.” Clutching the ledge with one hand, Lisbeth wrestled Maggie back onto it. “Try to sit still for a minute.”
For the first time since their traumatic arrival, she felt the extra weight on her back and remembered the backpack. Thankfully, she’d not lost her medical supplies. Once they climbed out of here, she’d figure out a way to pump all of the dirty water from Maggie’s lungs and start her on a serious round of broad-spectrum antibiotics to ward off pneumonia and kill Lord only knew what other bacteria were swimming around in her waterlogged lungs. But between the waterlogged backpack and Maggie’s weight hanging from her neck, Lisbeth didn’t know how much longer she could tread water.
“Baby, I need you to try to stay calm while I get us out of here.”
“I can’t breathe.” Maggie thrashed her legs.
“Baby, we need to make some noise. Remember how G-Pa taught you to say help in Latin?
“Adiuva.”
“Good. When I count to three, yell Adiuva!”
Maggie nodded, her teeth chattering. “I’ll try.”
“One. Two. Three. Adiuva!”
Muted voices sounded above.
“Mommy, someone’s coming.” Maggie squeezed tighter. “It worked.”
“I think you’re right.” Lisbeth scanned the well’s rim. “Help!”
“It’s adiuva, Mater,” Maggie said matter-of-factly.
“Fetch some fresh water, but we must be swift about it,” a male voice ordered in Latin.
A dark object hurtled toward them and whacked Lisbeth’s arm before she could get out of the way.
