by Nancy M Bell
“There it is!” Peter pointed at an odd formation in the limestone beside the river.
As they drew nearer Annie leaned forward in amazement, the water flowed from the river into an opening in the bottom of the cliff and disappeared. “Where does it go?”
“Into the caves my friend Tom showed me,” Peter said. He moved to join his brother at the oars, grunting with the effort of slowing the forward motion of the boat enough to angle it toward where he wanted to land. Annie saw the wisdom of keeping the boat near the edge of the river where the current was weak rather than out in the middle where the water rolled and moved at a much faster pace.
“George, shove over with your oar, would you? Hah! Got it!” Peter caught an overhanging branch of a maple tree and pulled the boat up against the bank, grounding it in the shallows.
His brother stepped out of the stern, muttering under his breath when he misjudged the depth of the water and got wet to the thigh. He waded to the bow and tied the painter securely to a sturdy sapling at the river’s edge. Without a word, he turned back and lifted Annie effortlessly from her seat and set her firmly on dry ground.
“Leave my shoes,” Annie called when George went back to retrieve his boots. “I’d rather go barefoot any day than wear shoes.”
George sat down and pulled on his shoes and socks before getting to his feet and dusting off the seat of his pants. “Where to from here?” He looked at Peter.
“This way.”
Annie followed him through the screen of bushes and saplings, clambering up the rocks, George behind her ready to catch her if she stumbled.
Chapter Four
“Here it is!” Peter stopped by some cedar trees.
“Here’s what?” Annie peered around him. The lacy branches of the cedars brushed against the silver grey of the limestone behind them.
“There. The sinkhole.” He moved a bit and motioned her forward.
“Oh my, it’s deep!” Annie stepped by him and leaned over to look through the branches at the deep depression gouged out of the soft stone.
“Careful.” George’s fingers dug into her arm. “The edge might not be solid.”
She shook him off. “It’s fine. I want to see how deep it is.” Annie dropped on her belly cushioned by the thick grass and wriggled closer to the edge. “Have you been in there?” She balanced on one elbow and looked back at Peter.
“Sure, lots of times. Me and Tom been there lots. There’s all kinds of stuff you can see in the walls. Fish and stuff, leaves…” Peter dropped down beside her.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea. You two should get away from there before you fall,” George cautioned.
“Don’t be such a spoil sport, George. It’s safe, honest,” Peter replied.
“How did you get down there?” Annie edged closer to the opening. “It looks too far to jump.”
“For God’s sake don’t jump.” George sounded like he was about to have an apoplexy.
“Nobody’s jumping, there’s a rope.” Peter got up and rummaged around at the base of one of the cedars. “Me and Tom got some candles and matches and stuff here too. You game?” He raised his eyebrows at Annie.
“Yes! I’ve never been in a cave before. Can we? You’re coming too, aren’t you?” Annie looked at George.
“If ye’ve got yer heart set on it, I guess I’m coming. I can’t let you two go off on yer own and maybe get into trouble.” The older boy came closer and leaned over to look between the cedar boughs down into the patch of sunlight at the bottom of the hole.
“If we’re going, we need to do it now while the sun is still high enough to light up the floor of the cavern,” Peter advised. He tied the stout rope to the base of the nearest tree and tossed the end into the hole.
George picked it up and gave a hard pull to test his brother’s knot. Taking off his shirt he padded the spot where the rope rubbed on the rocky edge. The play of muscles under the smooth tanned skin of his back fascinated Annie, she found it hard to look at anything else. Peter cleared his throat and elbowed her in the ribs. Heat that was more than the summer sun could account for suffused her body, even the tips of her ears burned. Pete gave her a cocky grin and shook his head.
“Who goes first?” George straightened up and came to stand beside them.
“I’ll go, show you how it’s done,” Peter boasted.
“Then you go, Annie. I’ll come down last, so if something goes wrong I’ll still be up here to pull you up or go for help,” George said.
“Scaredy cat! You’re just afraid of a little hole in the ground,” Peter taunted his brother.
“Am not! I’m just being careful,” he protested.
“C’mon, let’s get on with it. We still need to get back up river before someone starts looking for us,” Annie urged them.
“Yer right.” Peter grasped the rope and disappeared over the edge. In no time, he called up. “Okay, your turn, Annie.” His voice echoed hollowly.
Taking a deep breath, she tucked the back hem of her skirts up between her legs and tucked it securely into the belt at the front of her waist, effectively keeping the yards of material out of her way and avoiding the possibility the boy below might see something she’d rather he didn’t. “Here goes,” she said, biting her lip to try and hide her excitement and anxiety. Her bare feet found purchase on the crumbly stone of the side and she was glad she wasn’t wearing the new boots with the slick soles. In less time than she thought it would take, Peter’s hands grasped her waist and steadied her until her feet touched the bottom, the sand cool on her bare feet.
“Your turn,” Annie called up to George. She looked up, squinting against the light. George’s head was backlit by the sun his hair burnished gold, face in shadow.
“Get back out of the way, give me some room.”
A small shower of loose dirt and small stones preceded his descent, cascading down to join the debris already on the floor of the hole. Light flared in the gloom outside the sunlit patch of ground directly under the opening above. The candle’s flame threw Peter’s face into eerie shadow. Annie’s breath caught in her throat, it looked like the engraving of Satan in one of Father’s books. The resemblance faded when he moved back into the light.
“Here, see the funny wee things embedded in the wall?” He held the candle close to the limestone and pointed to what looked like a big bug.
“How amazing, what is it? Do you know?” Annie leaned so close her nose almost touched the damp stone.
“Nope, not an idea. Some kind of creature that lived long, long time ago. Tom, he knows about these things, he calls ‘em fossils.” Peter moved the candle and showed her what looked like the imprint of leaves and then a curly something that resembled the top of a turban.”
“Who else knows about this place?” Annie whispered, the dark recesses of the sink hole sending sibilant whispers back like ghosts mocking her. Annie shivered.
“Just me and Tom that I know of. We ain’t told anybody. This is our special place, a hidey hole if we ever need one, unless maybe your brothers know about it too, like you said.” Peter moved further into the shadows. “C’mon, you gotta see this.”
Annie moved toward the sound of his voice, aware of George close behind her. The dirt and rocks beneath her feet were damp and a bit slippery. The wavering candle light threw shadows off the rough walls and ceiling.
“Oh my goodness!” She halted so abruptly George ran into her and caught her around the waist to keep from knocking her over. His sharply indrawn breath matched her own gasp. Peter’s light revealed rock formations hanging from the ceiling like icicles, shining damply in the cool air. Below the odd creations others rose to meet them from the floor. Annie reached out a hand to touch one. Cold slick wet rock met her questing fingers. George’s hand was still warm on her waist and gave her the courage to venture further into the passage after Peter.
Far ahead the sound of rushing water carried to them on the wafts of moving air. “Careful, it’s wet further
on,” Peter called from ahead of them.
“What do you think made this?” Annie wondered.
“The river most likely,” George answered. “Look at the way the rock is carved out, it looks like waves.”
“It does.” Annie was astounded. “Can you imagine what power? It must have taken years.”
“I imagine it did,” George answered. “Peter, I think we’ve gone far enough. Come back.”
“Oh!” The cry escaped her before she could stop it. Icy water lapped at her ankles.
“Careful, Annie. The last thing we need is for one of us to fall and break something. Petey!”
The light bobbed back toward them and Peter’s blond hair came into view, lit from below by candle. “You gotta see this. It’s just a few feet more. It’s worth it, believe me.”
“I don’t think it’s wise…” George began.
“What is it?” Annie was reluctant for the adventure to end.
“You have to see it,” Peter urged her.
Annie followed him for a few feet and around a twist in the passage that cut off any light from the sink hole opening into the upper world. Peter cursed softly and the candle snuffed out. The darkness in the cave was a palpable thing, closing around her throat and smothering the breath in her chest. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound emerged. George grasped her upper arms and pulled her back against him.
“Don’t move,” he hissed in the stygian blackness. “We can’t know where to put our feet. Peter, have you got another light?”
“Aye, just a minute, the matches are damp.”
The sharp scritch of match heads striking brought Annie’s heart into her throat. Finally, a tiny flame flared and Peter touched it to the wick of a new candle.
“Oh, thank God!” Her hand clutched at her throat.
“Enough, Peter. We need to get out of here,” George’s voice was thin and sharp as spring ice.
“But, it’s right here. You have to see this.” He insisted.
“Annie?” George’s hold tightened on her arms.
“We might as well see what it is that’s got him so excited seeing as we’re already here.” Curiosity got the better of her fear. Together they moved toward the candle light. Her gaze was drawn downward as they came abreast of Peter.
Mere feet below where she stood water rushed past, appearing and disappearing out of the darkness.
“It’s the river!” Peter declared. “Tom says this is how the caves were created.”
“What river? The Bonnechere?” Even George sounded impressed.
“The same. You know where the river disappears under the cliffs? Well, Tom says it travels underground through these channels it makes for itself and them tunnels come out again further down.”
“How amazing!” Annie bent down to stare at the dark waters swirling by, running so fast it actually had tiny white crests on the waves where it collided with the walls.
“We should go now,” Peter said. “This is my last candle.” He moved past them and headed back into the smothering darkness.
Annie took one last fascinated look at the water before following him. She glanced up at George, keenly aware of the moisture gleaming off his bare chest. “Hurry,” she urged him. “I don’t want that candle to run out before we get back to the sink hole.”
“I’m right behind you, Annie. Watch your step.”
Peter and his candle disappeared around the twist in the passage, for a moment the total blackness descended on her. It was like a physical weight on her skin. George put a hand on her shoulder and it gave her something to cling to in the disorienting dark. The fingers of her hands clutched at the damp slime of the walls, another few steps brought her to the turn in the passage where Peter waited for them.
“You could have waited before the turn.” George almost snarled at his brother.
“Oh, sorry.” Peter looked startled. “Guess I forgot you didn’t have a candle. Me and Tom always have one each.”
It was only the work of a few minutes to reach the welcome light at the bottom of the hole. Peter stowed the stub of his candle and the matches in some little cubby. He scrambled up the rope like a monkey and peered down at them. Annie tipped her head back. The opening above her seemed a lot higher than it had from up above. She took hold of the rough rope and pulled herself up a bit. George gave her a boost from below, and she hung for a moment before finding purchase on the rough sides with her feet and struggling toward where Peter waited. When she neared the opening, Peter reached down and helped her the last few feet.
Annie collapsed on the soft grass, flat on her back, chest heaving from her efforts. Above her, the blue sky was shot through with the first pink clouds of late afternoon. She sat up and linked her arms around her knees. George’s head emerged from the hole followed by the rest of him. He got to his feet and dusted off his trousers before retrieving his shirt and shrugging into it. The homespun material was smudged with dirt.
Annie rubbed her cold feet wishing she’d brought her shoes and stockings. “We’d best get a move on. It’s getting late.”
“It took longer in the hole than I thought.” George glanced skyward.
Annie hurried along the faint path, branches snagging at her skirts which she’d untucked from her belt. She heaved a sigh of relief when she slid down the bank to the river. George held the boat steady while she clambered in, taking the seat in the stern. Peter settled on the middle seat and unshipped an oar while George untied the painter and pushed off from the shore. He sat beside his brother and took the other oar. Between them the brothers heaved on the oars as the current caught the small craft and tugged it downstream. The boys pulled against the river and slowly made headway back up river.
Not fast enough for Annie. She glanced at the position of sun where it tipped toward the western trees. The family would most likely have noticed her absence by now. Father would be furious, Mother coldly disapproving, she’d feel the rough side of her tongue for sure and probably the bite of Father’s belt. Rebellion rose in her, she was sixteen, old enough to be married, or at least walking out with a suitable beau, as Hetty so often pointed out to her. Surely, she was old enough to go off on an innocent adventure. I’ve done nothing wrong. I spent a lovely afternoon on the river with friends I’ve known most of my life. She sighed and trailed her hand in the cool water. Father will be sure to make it into something sinful and Hetty will egg him on. And Mother, she never disagrees with Father, ever. But I’m not going to ruin what’s left of the afternoon worrying about that. She caught George’s eye and gave him a brilliant smile that made him miss a stroke with his oar and earned him a scowl from Peter.
Chapter Five
It took longer to get back to where the little boat had moorings. It seemed the river pushed them back a foot for every two feet they gained. Annie kept a watchful eye on the sun as it swung ever westward in the powder blue sky. Golden light slanted across the land, drawing a vibrant greenness from the trees overhanging the river and lending a surreal cerulean glow to the sky.
At last the small grassy point overhung with trees came into view. Subconsciously, Annie leaned forward as if her actions would lend speed to the vessel. Unease knotted her belly, the heat becoming oppressive again the nearer they came to the moorings. It soured her stomach while her vision danced with the spots brought on by light-headedness.
“Are you well, Annie?” Peter kept his rhythm with the oar while frowning in concern.
“I’m fine, thank you. Just a little warm.” She fanned her face with her hand, wishing for the straw hat she’d foolishly left on the bank. The light breeze lifted the heavy hair from her shoulders reminding her of her state of dishabille. Dear Lord, Mother will be distraught if she sees me like this, and Hetty will be sure to egg her on, she never missed an opportunity to paint me as a hoyden. And Father… Well that didn’t bear thinking of. She plucked the loose pins from the tangle of her curls, dropping one into the bottom of the boat. Her fingers fumbled as she retrieved it. The tr
embling was worse while she twisted the recalcitrant tresses into some semblance of a bun, jamming the pins in willy-nilly. At least now it was off her shoulders and could be considered somewhat presentable. As soon as we land I’ll find the dratted hat and it should hide the worst of the damage.
The boat nosed in toward the shore and Peter jumped out to pull it all the way in. He took the rope from the bow and secured it to the mooring. George shipped both oars and then stepped out into the calf-deep water. Before Annie could protest, he scooped her up as if she weighed nothing, setting her feet on the grass.
“Thank you,” she murmured, the feel of his hands burning through her clothes as if he’d branded her. In spite of the cool shade heat flared through her. He retrieved her boots with the stocking inside and handed them to her.
“Let’s get a move on, it’s getting late and I need to be back in time for chores. Old man Miller will skin me if I’m late,” Peter urged them.
“My hat? I can’t find my hat.” Annie glanced wildly around the small clearing. “It can’t have gone far.”
After a quick search it was apparent the hat was nowhere to be found.
“It might have blown into the river?” George suggested. “I can’t think what else might have happened to it.”
“Oh dear, one more thing I’ll have to explain.” Annie shoved the pins deeper into her hair, hoping it would stay up. The last thing she wanted was to show up in more disarray than she could help. Taking a moment she shoved damp feet into her boots, tucking her stockings in her skirt pocket.
“Come on!” Peter was already well along the path back to the village.
“We have to go.” George took her hand and pulled her along with him.
“Fine!” Annie worried her bottom lip with her teeth, agitated over the reception she might receive from her family, but neglecting to pull her hand from George’s grasp. It was a rather enjoyable feeling to have his fingers curled around hers. Safe and comfortable, with a fission of danger. Though what kind of danger she couldn’t imagine.
