He angled his head. “But this is what you served me last time.”
She smiled playfully. “I’m not my mother, may her memory be a blessing.”
They had met at a conference a decade ago and become instant friends, bonding over their shared research of artifacts indicating exploration of America before Columbus. In some ways Cam was the son she never had.
He sat and took a bite of matzo ball. He closed his eyes. “Perfect. Just like last time. Not too dense, not too soft.” He leaned forward. “I love my grandmother, but her matzo balls are like paperweights.”
“The secret is to use seltzer water, not baking soda. Matzo balls are meant to float, not sink.” She said the words as if they were written in the Old Testament itself. “Anyway, it’s the least I could do. A small thank you for all the help you gave Zena on her book.”
The recent book by Ruthie’s friend, Zena Halpern, The Templar Mission to Oak Island and Beyond, describing a secret Templar mission to New York’s Catskill Mountains, had become a must-read for Templar historians. And the journal and maps upon which it was based had become integral to the search for Templar treasure on the History Channel show, The Curse of Oak Island. “The book is doing well?”
“Very,” she said, knocking on a wooden chair.
They made small talk for a few minutes, then Cam pushed his bowl away. “So, you said you have a favor to ask.”
“Do you want your cookies first?”
“Work first, treats later.”
“That’s a good rule in life, Cameron. Just make sure you don’t work so hard you never get to the treats.” She leaned back and reached for a manila envelope on the counter. “You found some very important artifacts on Hunter Mountain. And I did as well. But there are things hidden still, things we haven’t found. Things I didn’t share even with Zena.”
Cam raised an eyebrow. The revelation that the Templars had been in America centuries before Columbus was a history-altering discovery. But almost as fascinating was the insight into Templar religious beliefs which the artifacts and journal offered. Central to these beliefs was the understanding that early Christianity recognized the importance of the feminine—whether in the form of the Virgin Mary as a representation of the Earth Mother, or Mary Magdalene as an embodiment of a strong wife. It was this belief that caused the Templars to seek a safe haven in the New World in 1178 and which also later caused the Church to turn on them in 1307. Was it possible there were secrets hidden in the Catskills, and kept by Ruthie, even more explosive than this? “What kind of things are still up there?” Cam asked.
She swallowed. “I don’t know for certain. And they may have been moved and hidden elsewhere. Maybe treasure. Maybe ancient religious teachings and documents. Maybe both. I just know we haven’t found everything yet.” She took his hand. “And I’m too old to look.” He waited for her to continue. She stared out the window. “Like I said, there were things I didn’t share with Zena, things I’ve never shared with anyone, things I thought I would take to the grave with me. A map, documents to help explain it…”
“Why?” he asked quietly.
“Because I feared the world wasn’t ready for them.” She fixed her eyes on his. “You know, I am a child of the Holocaust. I lost my entire family. I’ve seen how religion and dogma can tear people apart, can cause people to do monstrous things. I’m worried, Cameron. I’m worried the things that were hidden may be … destabilizing. Dangerous.” She squeezed his hand. “But at night, before I fall asleep, I feel so guilty. What if I don’t wake up, what if the secrets die with me?” Her eyes clouded. “Do I have the right to make that decision? The right to deny humankind its history?” Exhaling, she shook her head. “I can’t do it. I need to pass it along. And I trust you, Cameron. I trust you to do the right thing.”
“And what is that?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know.” She took a deep breath and handed him a slip of paper. “This is my Dropbox account. Please keep it someplace safe. I scanned all the documents.”
She had always been technologically savvy. “Okay.”
She smiled. “I made the password something you’ll remember: ‘matzo ball soup.’ Three words, all lower case.”
It was Cam’s turn to smile.
She continued. “But don’t log on until I’m gone, until I’m dead. Promise?”
“Of course. Then what?”
“Then,” she shrugged, “just do what you think is right.” She stood, clearing his bowl and ending the conversation. “I feel better already.” She stood tall. “Now, it’s time for those cookies…”
Cam’s phone rang, interrupting his musings. Marcotte.
“So did you really tell Brian where to find me?” Cam regretted the edge in his voice. In his late sixties, tall and cultured, Marcotte reminded Cam of a European diplomat. And apparently he needed those diplomatic skills—his progressive positions on things like reproductive rights, gay marriage and social justice often put him in conflict with Vatican doctrine. Recently he had campaigned for the ordination of female priests and for the rights of male priests to marry, arguing that the policy of a celibate male priesthood was both archaic and unproductive, leading to a dysfunctional and oftentimes predatory group of clergymen. Not that he had made much headway—the newly elected Pope Francis seemed receptive to reforms, even radical ones, but only if they rested on a sound doctrinal foundation.
“He needs you, Cameron.” He had a way of speaking that always made Cam think of sipping an expensive glass of wine. “He has nobody else. Give him a chance. You may find he’s a reformed man.”
Cam shifted lanes. Marcotte liked to simplify things, but of course life was more complicated than that. Maybe Brian had nobody because he had spent his life screwing people over. “You know I’m already going to Ireland next week with Amanda and Astarte during Christmas break.” It was going to be a surprise for Amanda, a way to try to get her out of her funk.
“Exactly. It makes things nice and neat.”
Nice and neat? “Wait, you think I’m going to let Brian come with us?”
“Not with necessarily. But if you’re there at the same time, maybe take a day or two and spend it with him. Amanda and Astarte can do tourist things on their own.” He paused. “Besides, where else can he wear those pants and not get laughed at? You should know, he wears them every day. I think he has more than one pair. Likes to show off his Irish pride.”
Cam squeezed the bridge of his nose with a free hand. He could think of nobody with whom he’d less like to travel.
As if sensing his hesitancy, the priest continued, “He doesn’t have much time, you know. Maybe only a month or two. Pancreatic cancer moves quickly.”
It was hard to say no to Marcotte, mostly because the things he asked for were always for other people. But Cam had no interest in Brian poisoning his family vacation. He shifted the conversation. “What’s up with the sword?”
“All I know is that he thinks the markings on it are some kind of map.”
“How about this: Brian said something about a Templar treasure being connected to Ireland.”
“I know the Templars spent some time in Ireland. But I never heard they brought their treasures there.”
Another dead end. Brian, as usual, was playing his cards close to his vest. “Okay, one more question. Any idea why a guy who is dying would want to spend his last days looking for a treasure? I mean, he can’t take it with him.”
“Hmm. Good question. I remember as a boy looking for buried treasure. As I recall, the allure of it, the thrill of it, was in the chase, in the adventure. I don’t think I ever thought about what I would do with it once I found it. It’s like those brothers hunting for treasure up on Oak Island—they don’t care so much about the money as the adventure. Perhaps that’s the case with Brian. Perhaps he just wants one final adventure before he dies.” The priest paused. “With his childhood best friend.”
Cam shook his head. “Damn it, Marcotte,” he said beneath
his breath. It was hard sometimes to live up to his friend’s standards.
“I heard that, Cameron.” Marcotte chuckled. “But I don’t take it personally. You’re a good man. You’ll do the right thing.”
Cam had swung by his Westford law office on the way home from Newport, then made a stop at the grocery store mid-afternoon. He texted Amanda from the parking lot as he was leaving. Happy Solstice. Missed you at Tower. I’m making dinner tonight. Surprise to follow.
She had replied immediately. Ice cream?
Smiling, he turned the ignition off and jumped from the car, glad to see she was in a playful mood. He should know better than to plan an event without ice cream; it was one of the few foods that Amanda, now almost ten years in the States, conceded the Americans did better than the Brits. He texted as he returned to the store for the desert. Make that two surprises.
Twenty minutes later, Venus greeted him at the door, the tawny Lab licking his nose as he bent to her. Normally he would have brought her with him to Newport, but he wanted Amanda to have some company with Astarte at school. He tossed a tennis ball and watched the lab scurry after it down the basement stairs, then began to unload the groceries. He was still unsure how to handle the Brian situation. But how he handled it was largely predicated on how Amanda reacted to the idea of a family vacation to Ireland, and that wouldn’t be determined until after dinner.
Ten minutes later Amanda and Astarte returned, announcing their arrival by stomping the snow off their boots on the front porch. Venus bounded up the basement stairs to greet them, Cam close behind.
“How are my girls?” Cam asked, trying to judge Amanda’s mood with a glance.
“Good,” Astarte answered. “I think I did good on my math test.”
Cam angled his head. “Lucky it wasn’t a grammar test.” Winking at Amanda, he kissed her, her cold nose contrasting with her warm mouth. It had been a tough few months for them. When she was pregnant and fighting morning sickness, he had felt there was little he could do to share the burden. Now there was little he could do to assuage her grief. Not to mention her guilt. Which was why he thought getting away—away from the half-painted baby room and the stack of Christmas cards with glowing children and all the reminders of the past few months—might be a good thing.
He kept the mood light, putting Astarte to work slicing vegetables and filling Amanda in on his day at the Tower, leaving out the Ireland trip detail.
“Where in the world did he get the swagger sword?” she asked, sitting on a bar stool opposite the counter where Cam and Astarte were preparing food. She pulled her flowing blond hair into a ponytail as he prepared the food. Amanda was part of the Gunn clan of Scotland, which was what had first brought her to Westford a decade earlier (Sir James Gunn being the knight memorialized on the Westford Knight carving). The Gunn clan claimed an even more famous ancestor than Sir James—Queen Guinevere of King Arthur fame, Guinevere meaning ‘daughter of Gunn.’ Guinevere and Amanda were similar types, fair-skinned, green-eyed beauties. Cam recalled that Brian had made an Excalibur quip; did that mean he saw himself as a modern-day Arthur? Would he make a play for Amanda, believing her to be his Guinevere? Cam wouldn’t put it past his ex-friend, not that Amanda would have any interest in a lout like him.
Cam shook the thought away, finished a cut, and looked up. “Brian wouldn’t say where he got the sword. But I’m pretty sure it’s authentic. It has the same markings as that map we used when we climbed Hunter Mountain.” He smiled wryly. “At least from what I remember.”
“Which probably isn’t much,” Amanda replied. They had been searching for artifacts described in the 12th century Templar journals written about by Zena Halpern. Cam had taken a bad fall on their climb and suffered a concussion. He had been barely functional for the rest of the day and was lucky not to have experienced any permanent ill effects.
“I do remember a table rock, like the drawing on the sword. It looked like a pedestal sink, except the sink was flat like a table. From there we paced to another boulder.”
“Where Astarte found the bird carving,” Amanda replied.
“The bird’s peak was like an arrow, pointing to the cave,” Astarte said.
Amanda continued, “Where you found the ancient artifact inside.”
“At first you wouldn’t let me go in the cave.” Astarte chopped down angrily on a head of broccoli. They had made her stay outside and be the lookout. But the opening for the alcove inside the cave was low, tucked underneath, and Cam and Amanda missed it. Only when the four-foot tall Astarte later entered the cave did they find the hidden nook.
Amanda’s voice dropped. “You were so young then, Astarte.” She reached across and squeezed Astarte’s arm. “Only eight. We had just met you.”
The girl nodded. “I was pretty scared. But I remember thinking that hunting for that treasure with you guys was pretty cool.”
Cam replied. “Yeah, well, it may be that we end up going back up there, based on this sword. It looks like there might be some things we didn’t find. I didn’t get a good look at it, but there were some markings on the back side of the blade I’ve never seen before. A cross and an X and some dots connecting them. Maybe another map.”
“Did you keep the sword?” Amanda asked. “Let’s have a look.”
Cam shook his head. “No. With Brian, there’s always a catch. For now, I don’t want to owe him anything.”
“Happy Winter Solstice,” Cam announced as he marched in off the deck with a platter of steaming food, pleased that the evening was going well. He had surprised Amanda by not only making dinner, but grilling salmon and vegetables outside on the grill, which was how she liked it best.
After dinner they poured hot chocolate over strawberry ice cream, then took Venus for a walk on the frozen lake as a light snow fell. At 7:30, as they kicked the snow off their boots at the back door, Astarte reminded them she was going to the basketball game. Amanda looked at her watch. “Didn’t it already start?”
“Yes, but I told Raja I only wanted to go to the second half.” She smiled. “Didn’t want to miss the ice cream.”
“Wait,” Cam interjected, “who’s Raja?” Astarte was almond-skinned with long dark hair and cobalt blue eyes. Not to mention fit and funny. It was only a matter of time before the high school boys came sniffing around.
“Just a friend,” Astarte said nonchalantly.
“Sorry, Cam,” Amanda said, “I forgot to mention it. Astarte asked me earlier if it was okay.”
Cam shrugged. “Okay.” He put his jacket back on. “I’ll drive you.”
“Actually, Raja is going to pick me up. He called an Uber. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
Cam tried to keep his voice even. At least an Uber was better than the boy driving. “We’d like to meet him. And you can go to the game, but then straight back home, no other stops. Okay?”
Amanda watched Raja and Astarte drive away, remembering what a monster she had been at that age. The lies she told, the risks she took, the stupid decisions she made.
Cam mulled apple cider, added a cinnamon stick and some spiced rum, and invited Amanda to join him in an oversized chair in front of the fireplace.
“So it starts,” he said. “The teenage years.”
“If she’s anything like I was, we’re in trouble.” She sighed. “At least he seems like a nice boy.”
“A nice boy two years older than her.”
She curled into the nook of his arm. “Well, it’s good to have some alone time.” She kissed him lightly. “Dinner was a sweet surprise. Wonderful, actually. Thanks.”
He grinned. “That wasn’t actually the surprise. That was just the prelude.” He reached under the chair cushion and pulled out a manila envelope. “For the third time, Happy Solstice.”
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She stared at the flyer Cam had made, comprised of scenic images of Ireland—the Cliffs of Moher, Newgrange, the Giant’s Causeway, the Hill of Tara. And
the dates December 26 through January 2. “Next week?” she stammered.
“Yup. Six days, back the day before Astarte’s winter break ends. My cousin will take Venus. You told me once you went as a girl and loved it.”
“Yes. I did. It was the only family holiday I ever remember taking.” She lowered her head. “It’s just … I’m not sure I’ll be such good company.”
“Of course you will be. Getting away will do you a world of good.”
“No, Cam, I don’t think it will. There’s such a heaviness in my chest all the time.” She repeated, “I’ll be terrible company.”
He turned and took her hand, looking deeply into her eyes. “Amanda. Sweetheart.” He paused for effect and lowered his voice. She felt her eyes begin to pool. He had been so patient, so kind. “We’re not bringing you for your company,” he said, the hint of a smile on his face. “We’re bringing you because you’re the only one who knows how to drive on the wrong side of the road.”
Amanda hesitated, as Cam knew she would, but eventually he made some headway, arguing the change of routine would jar her out of her funk. He tossed a log on the fire and sat on the hearth, facing her, and played his trump card. “You know, this is important for Astarte as well.” He took her hand. “We promised to do all we could to teach her how to fulfill her prophecy, how to be a messenger of the Goddess.” When she had first come to live with them at the age of eight, after her uncle died suddenly, they decided the best way to deal with the odd prophecy was to accept it matter-of-factly, expose the girl to as many spiritual experiences as they could, and let the prophecy play out as it may. “The ancient sites in Ireland are a huge part of the old Earth Mother worship rituals. Newgrange, Carrowmore, Knowth, Tara. She needs to see these sites, to really feel them for herself.”
Amanda bit her lip. “I suppose you’re right.”
“And one more thing.” He chose his words carefully. “I’m worried Astarte might be taking your … somber mood … personally.”
The Swagger Sword Page 3
