by Vicki Delany
Lily’s book: the treasures of Afghanistan. Lost and then found.
Connor was welcome to it. Take the box and leave us alone.
I let the lid fall shut. Connor tore his eyes away. “I can’t leave you two to phone the cops before I’m out of the driveway, so I’m going to have to shut you up for a while.”
The box was heavy enough that I needed two hands to hold it. Should I throw it at Connor? If it fell, broke, scattered the contents, would he stoop to pick up his treasure and we could run for it?
Or would he shoot us first?
He laughed. “I was storing potatoes in the root cellar under the shop the other day. Thought it would be a nice place to hide something. Or someone.” He misread the look of horror that crossed my face. “Don’t worry. Your sister will be home sometime and she’ll let you out. Let’s go. Outside.” He waved his gun hand, telling me to go ahead.
I went obediently. All I wanted was for Connor to take his box and be gone. A night in the root cellar would be cold and damp and miserable but it wouldn’t kill us. We could eat carrots and raw potatoes if we got hungry.
But I knew something lived in the root cellar, be it a ghost or the product of my hallucinating, damaged brain, and I did not want any more contact with it.
I can do this, I said to myself. For Lily, I can do this.
***
May 13, 1788
Maggie placed the shawl and its contents on a tree stump by the front door and went to the root cellar. It had rained in the night and the earthen ramp was slippery with mud. She had not lit a fresh candle, and she left the door propped open with a stone to offer some weak light. She chose several sprouting potatoes, a few wrinkled carrots, and old turnips to take on the journey. Deep in thought, heart pounding with apprehension, she did not hear the snap of a branch or the squelch of mud, and she assumed that when the light faded a cloud had passed across the sun.
“Stealing from us, Maggie?” a voice said.
She whirled around, dropping the potatoes. The black bulk of a man was outlined in the doorway.
Nathanial stepped forward, his face in deep shadow. “I thought it odd for you to be so careless as to forget to lock up the chickens. I came back to check everything was in order. And what do I see outside my front door but your things, all packed to go.”
“I thought it best this way,” she said, keeping her head high. “So as not to upset Emily unduly. My brother has sent a message asking me to return to New York, and I am doing so.”
“That I doubt,” he said. “You’ve received no letters since we came to this godforsaken land.”
She stepped forward. “Nevertheless, I am leaving.”
“This is how you repay me for taking you in, giving you a home, feeding you, clothing you? Sneaking off like a thief in the night?”
Fear struggled with anger and Maggie struggled with both. She must not show fear, and she must not allow herself to waste time arguing with Nathanial. That would be nothing but an expenditure of energy she would soon need.
“Get out of my way,” she said.
The earrings, hidden in a scrap of dress pocket, tucked behind a loose stone, filled her mind. She almost thought she could see them glowing, lighting up the dark recesses of the cellar. She dared not glance over her shoulder to check they were still in hiding. She would leave, set off down the road. Duck into the forest and circle back. Hide in the woods, if she had to, until she could be sure Nathanial had rejoined his family.
“I think not,” he said.
“You cannot force me to stay here. I am…I am a free woman.”
He laughed, the sound bitter and cruel. “We’ll see how far your freedom gets you. How do you think you’re going to live? Another word for a free woman is a whore. Very well, if that’s what you want, time to start working.” He began to unbutton his trousers.
“Do not be ridiculous,” she said in a voice so haughty it would make her mother proud. “I do not intend to wrestle on the floor with you like a rutting beast. Stand aside.”
“If I’d known you wanted to be a whore, I would have put you to work years ago.”
Before she knew what was happening, he lunged toward her. He grabbed the front of her dress and she heard fabric rip and pearl buttons fly. He ground his hips against hers, his lust hard and urgent. He fastened his mouth onto hers and stuffed his tongue into her; he tore at her bonnet and wrapped his fingers in her hair. Maggie pulled back, freeing her mouth. She screamed and brought her hand up to rake her nails across his face and jabbed her knee into his crotch.
He released her with a cry of pain. He touched his hand to his cheek and his fingers came away dotted with red blood. “You bitch. I’ll give you what you deserve.”
She made to dodge around him but the space was confined, the ceiling low, the floor uneven. His face a mask of blood, rage, and hunger, Nathanial drew back his arm and punched her, full in the face. She fell to the ground with a cry and the back of her head struck the protruding corner of one of the rocks which made up the foundations of the house.
Her eyes flickered and she saw the small gap in the wall, close to her face. “Hamish,” she said as her eyes drifted closed, the sound but a stirring of the air, heard by no one on this earth.
Chapter Thirty-six
Connor hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights, and the back of the house was wrapped in gloom. We walked into the kitchen, and he said, “Leave the box on the table. I’ll come back for it when I’m done with you two.”
I placed the box in the center of the table. It did not belong here, in a farmhouse, in North America. “You’ve been to Afghanistan. That’s obvious; you know some of the words. But not with the army, I’d guess.”
“Not with the army. Have to follow rules, regulations, march in straight lines, worry about things like human rights and protecting civilians. I want to kill ragheads and make money. Outside, now.”
On the porch, I bent to pick up a shoe, but Connor growled at me to keep going.
We stepped into the night. Dressed only in my flimsy cotton nightgown, I was immediately soaked through. I tried to wrap myself around Lily, give her some shelter, but I couldn’t accomplish much.
The door of the chicken coop was open although all the birds had wisely gone inside. Hopefully, the foxes were also tucked up for the night. The lights over the barn and greenhouse had switched on automatically, and I could see the horses swishing their tails in the paddock.
Gravel pricked at my bare feet, but I scarcely noticed.
Headlights came toward us. I held my breath. Police bringing Joanne home? Wouldn’t that be lovely.
The car slowed and turned into the driveway, the beams lit up rain falling so hard it was as though a giant tap in the sky had been opened.
Connor stood behind me, the Glock pressed into my ribs. I cradled Lily.
The car stopped. The engine switched off although the headlights remained on. The door opened and the interior light came on.
Grant Harrison.
He approached us. I opened my mouth to say something, to warn him. But the look in his eyes stopped me.
“You found it then,” he said.
“Yup,” Connor replied. “The kid had it. It was in this house all along. Like I told you.”
“You miserable slug.” A cold knot of hatred settled in my chest. “You gave Hila sanctuary in your home and then you had her killed.”
“She needn’t have died,” he said. “All she had to do was give it to me.”
“She didn’t like you, you know,” Lily said in a small voice. “She gave it to me. Because she didn’t trust you to look after it properly.”
“Where’s Jackson?”
“Inside. He’s out cold. He’ll live. Probably. Hannah here did a number on him.”
“Not a problem.”
Grant studied me, and I knew the odds had changed considerably. Connor O’Leary, aka Riley, might be able to disappear, but Grant Harrison could not. He had a wife, property, a position in the community, a government pension.
Grant Harrison would have to see me—and Lily—dead.
I wrapped my arms tighter around my niece.
More headlights. Another car turned into the driveway.
How many people were involved in this anyway?
Harrison hissed, and Connor pulled me closer, the better to conceal the gun.
Rebecca Mansour’s sporty little red convertible pulled up beside Harrison’s car.
“Not a word, Lily,” Connor said. “Or I’ll shoot Hannah.”
Rebecca switched off the engine, extinguished the headlights and got out of the car. She kept her head down and started to walk toward the house. Then she came up short. “What on earth are you people doing?”
We must have made a strange sight indeed. A woman and girl in their nightclothes, no umbrella. Two men, neither of whom had a reason to be here at this time of night. The rain teeming down, and Grant Harrison the only one wearing a raincoat.
“Evening, Doctor,” Harrison said, sounding perfectly amiable. “Filthy night, isn’t it? What brings you here?”
“I was at the hospital when they brought Jake in. Joanne asked me to pop by to check on Hannah and Lily.” She looked at me. Then at Lily, wrapped in my arms. A question on her face. “Jake was going into surgery when I left. No damage other than to his leg, and they can stitch that up without difficulty. What are you doing out in the rain? Aren’t you cold? Is something the matter? Hannah?”
“Nothing wrong. We’re going to lock up the chickens for the night. That’s all. Thanks for coming around, Doctor. Perhaps we’ll see you tomorrow, at the hospital.”
“I don’t think…”
“You don’t have to think, Doctor,” Harrison said. He gestured to Connor. “Wrong time. Wrong place.”
I felt the pressure of the gun against my spine relax and Connor step away.
Rebecca sucked in a breath.
“Go and stand with Hannah and Lily,” Harrison said. “Quickly now. This is taking far too long.”
Rebecca reached us. She touched my arm but kept her eyes on Grant Harrison. “The answer to all our questions, I suspect.”
“You’re a fool, Harrison,” Connor said. “I told you when I called, I’d meet up with you later.”
“Keeping an eye on my investment,” Harrison replied, sounding as if he were in a board meeting.
“Enough talking. Doctor, you go first.”
“Where?”
“Down there. Under the store. I’m locking you in for the night.”
I dared a glance at Harrison. His right hand was buried in his navy blue raincoat pocket.
“No,” Doctor Mansour said.
“What?”
“No. I am not going to be locked up like a barn animal the night before slaughter. Take your plunder and leave us alone.”
Connor lifted the Glock. My heart stopped beating. Lily burrowed deeper into my side.
Rebecca turned to Grant Harrison. “You are a civilized man, for heaven’s sake. Stop this, now. Can’t you see how far this has gotten out of control? I have no idea what’s going on here and what you people want, but I will not allow it to continue.”
“You think you have a choice?” Connor said. “Typical raghead.” He fired. I screamed and clutched Lily.
Rebecca Mansour crumpled to the driveway. Blood immediately began to spread out from her side. It mixed with rain water to form a pink, swift-moving stream running between pieces of gravel. She groaned, twitched, and then lay still.
“I can be a civilized man, when I want to be,” Connor said. “I coulda taken off her fuckin’ head. But I didn’t. If help comes in time, she might live. I’ve done talking. Move, Hannah. Move.”
Lily was shutting down. I half carried, half dragged her to the back of the shop. Our bare feet slipped in the mud, wet branches slapped our faces and legs. I fell, pulling Lily on top of me. I struggled to stand.
The smell. Meat left to rot. Decay. It was cold, standing in the teeming rain, but far colder down here. A wind carrying the chill of loss drifted around my bare feet and through the thin cotton of my nightgown. There should be no light down here, but I sensed, as much as saw, white trails of…what?
Lightning lit up the dark, and I dared a glance at the men above. Connor was at the top of the ramp, the gun in his hand. Grant Harrison stood behind him, watching.
“You don’t think Grant’s going to let you live, do you Connor?” I said. “You’ve got what he wants. I don’t imagine he’s prepared to share.”
Connor grinned as thunder roared behind him. White teeth in a dark face. “A wooden box of old jewelry and an ugly statue. That’s all he has. I have the contacts who’ll pay for it. Keep going.”
I pulled open the door. Inside, the root cellar was as black as hell. At least it was dry in here, although so dreadfully cold. We’d be okay, until Joanne came home or Liz arrived for work in the morning. But Rebecca? How long could Rebecca live without help? I shifted Lily in my arms and pushed her into the room.
A gun shot rang out. I froze, expecting searing pain. When it didn’t come, my first thought was for Lily and sheer terror ran though me. But she was standing in front of me, staring over my shoulder, her mouth open in a round O of fear. Behind me, a heavy weight fell.
I turned.
Riley, the man I knew as Connor O’Leary, lay on his stomach in the mud at the bottom of the ramp. His right arm was outstretched, still clutching the Glock. The back of his head was missing. Grant Harrison held a gun in his hand. It was a lot smaller than the Glock, but from that distance it had all the power it needed.
“Wrong,” he said to the still body. “I have my own contacts.”
He lifted his head. White mist curled around his legs. The acrid scent of blood, Connor’s lifeblood, mixed with the stench coming from the cellar. Grant Harrison took a step forward, the gun steady, his eyes focused on me.
Panic rose in my throat.
After all I’d been through. I was going to die, here in a root cellar in Prince Edward County, Ontario, among the fingerling potatoes and the carrots and my sister’s canning.
Muscle memory. Soldier and cops have it. When their brain shuts down in panic the muscles are trained to simply carry on. To do what needs to be done. Soldiers and cops have it. I did not.
I wanted to roll into a ball and cover my eyes. Let Omar have what was left of me. Let it all end.
Lily whimpered.
Lily.
I shoved Lily as hard as I could and dove after her into the depths of the root cellar. She fell, and I dragged her across the floor until I touched the damp rubble walls. “Stay still,” I whispered into her ear. I felt, rather than saw, her head nod. Her breath was coming in rapid spurts and I could feel the pounding of her precious heart.
The white mist provided me with some illumination. No one else could see it, I knew. No one else seemed to detect the rancid scent of death, feel the icy cold, or hear the soft well-educated voice of the black-haired woman. I scrambled along the wall, moving away from Lily.
I had absolutely no idea of what I could do to save us. I ran my hands across the mud-packed floor. Nothing I could use as a weapon came to hand.
Mud squelched and a black shape appeared in the doorway.
“My, it’s dark in here. No matter, I’ll wait for my eyes to become accustomed to the light.”
I balanced my weight between my knees and dug my naked toes into the floor. I had nothing with which to fight an armed man but my body. It would have to do. To save Lily.
Chapter Thirty-seven
“Hila’s father, Wahid, wrote to tell
me he’d come into possession of a fabulous collection of easily-transportable artifacts, probably from the unexcavated sixth and seventh tombs of Tillya Tepe. They would be worth a great deal of money to the right people. He couldn’t sell them on the open market, unfortunately, not having a silly little thing like proof of provenance, and needed my help.” Grant chatted happily. Waiting for a flash of lightning to illuminate the corners of the cellar. I stayed quiet, not wanting to provide him with a target. I could hear nothing from Lily, not even the sound of her breathing.
“He’d had enough of Afghanistan, the fighting, the ignorance, the corruption, and decided to get out. He needed money, of course, to settle his family comfortably in the West, and asked me to find a buyer for the treasures.
“When he was killed, along with most of his family, their possessions destroyed, I assumed the artifacts were lost. I didn’t much care what happened to his daughter, but Maude wanted to help, and so Maude arranged to bring her to Canada. Lo and behold, I then discovered, through something Maude said, that Hila had saved her Koran and a jewelry box. I offered Hila money, sight unseen, for her box. She refused. She assumed her father was taking it out of the country for safe-keeping and she wanted to take it to the museum in Toronto to be cared for until it could be returned to the people of Afghanistan. Foolish, foolish girl. She wasn’t going to go to Toronto any time soon; she was terrified to be out on the streets of Picton, for goodness sake. I let it go, pretended not to care, bided my time. She never left the bloody house and her only friend was a little girl who liked Maude’s stupid dog. Then she met you and went on your walks. So nice for her to have a friend. I searched her room, that took about two minutes, but couldn’t find it. Realizing I had no further option but to force it out of her, I was compelled to find accomplices. I’d met Riley in Afghanistan. Not a nice man, but he did have his uses. I wanted him close. Maude certainly wouldn’t have him in our home, but she happened to mention how hard it was to find farm workers these days. Riley and his pal kept an eye on Hila and snatched her when she was alone and out of my house. Sadly, they got a mite rough, and Hila died. Stupid, stupid girl, trading her useless life for a handful of trinkets. I assumed she’d hidden her treasure somewhere in my house. But where? Hard to do a proper search with Maude hovering over my shoulder every hour, night and day. You might be wondering why I’d allow those two goons to wreck my collection in search of the box.” Grant laughed. “They didn’t damage any of my possessions. As instructed, they broke some of Maude’s cheap souvenirs, valueless trinkets, the ridiculous Royal Doulton tea set that was her mother’s, but nothing of any real value.”
