by Oliver, Tess
Chapter 5
The restart on the morning had helped. Professor North had taken a long time with his conversation, and he had remained somewhat flustered or at least more flustered than his usual demeanor, but the remainder of breakfast had been pleasant and I was stuffed to the gills with waffles. And, I soon discovered that whatever Ethan lacked in character, he made up for in knowledge.
The shards of pottery that the professor had made sound so uninspiring were far from it. They were broken remains of a world so far removed from our own it was nearly impossible to believe it had existed. I’d been obsessed with Ancient Egypt since the sixth grade when we’d studied it for social studies, and while my parents had hoped I would follow my dad and brothers into the business world, or at least marry someone connected to that world, I’d followed my head and heart instead.
I lifted the clear bag and held the piece of dried clay as if I held one of my mom’s Tiffany champagne flutes, although her glasses were all replaceable. The rough-edged, dark red piece of pottery I held was not.
Ethan leaned over me and pointed to the broken wall of the fragment. “These layers of red and brown show that this piece of pottery was made from Nile Alluvium. It was a commonly used clay that could be fired at lower temperatures than the Marl clay.” His finger pointed to a tiny sliver of black in the broken wall of the piece. “After washing the clay with water, the potters had to temper the clay to keep it from cracking during the heating process. They added in grass or seed husks to keep it stable.” He lifted the bag and held it up to the light. “See this curve in the wall, this means the piece came from a Restricted vessel.”
I lifted my hand to stop him from telling me. “That means the body of the vessel was wider than the rim.”
He smiled. “Very good.” He lifted the slip of paper that was attached to the bag. “Each piece has been given a number, and, as you can see, there are many categories for each piece to be entered in the data base. This is the year of excavation and the context or area it was found. The rest of the codes signify vessel part, percent, size, diameter, hardness, slip colors and anything else that is pertinent. I’m afraid that’s what makes this all pretty boring and time consuming. There is a great deal of data to input on each piece.” He walked over and read the labels on the boxes. “Wait, here is something you’ll really like.” He opened the box and pulled out several bags. “The decorations or applications on these pieces were mostly done before firing.” He handed me a bag with a nearly square piece of pottery. Thin wavy lines had been drawn in succession to create a design. “The potter used a sharp tool to create this unique design while the clay was still wet. Sometimes the designs, or potmarks, were filled with pigment to make them even more ornamental. The ancient Egyptians were talented artisans. Today’s potters use a lot of the same methods to build clay pots as they did back then. Occasionally, you’ll find a piece where you can still see the clay coils that were used to construct the vessel. Some used potter’s wheels as well.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn to make ceramics on a potter’s wheel, covered to my elbows in wet clay and creating art with my own fingers,” I said.
“We have a potter’s wheel down in the basement, but I’m afraid Dad and I don’t know how to use it. It belongs to my brother. Growing up, it was the one hobby he participated in where he wasn’t getting into trouble. My mom loved it too. The two of them could spend hours down there with the clay.”
“So, you don’t expect your brother to visit for the holidays? Your dad seemed somewhat disappointed when you brought it up.”
His mouth drew tight as if it was a sore topic. “Yeah, Dalton spends most of his life causing Dad disappointment.” He shuffled through the bags of artifacts, seemingly intent on switching subjects. While he’d not seemed the least bit interested in the job assigned us, his love of the ancient treasures was plain to see. “Ah, here is a perfect example of a technique known as fenestration.” Ethan held the sample up to the light. Three tiny diamond-shaped holes dotted what appeared to be the rim of an ash gray bowl. “When the clay is thick and close to dry, a tool is used to cut out the decorations. Then the vessel is fired and the holes are made permanent.”
“I can’t wait to get started.” For a few moments at breakfast, I’d wondered if I’d made a grave mistake by not going to France, but now I couldn’t have been more excited. There were boxes of artifacts to catalogue and it would take hours on the computer, but I looked forward to every minute of it.
Ethan sat down at the desk and logged onto the computer. “I’ll get you started and then you can work as long as you like.” He looked back at me over his shoulder. “Are you sure you won’t mind if I take off for a few hours of skiing?”
“Not at all. Have fun.” While working side by side with Ethan North had been part of the draw to the whole internship, that perk had quickly faded. I knew now that he was one of those guys who was better left to the imagination. He was dreamy to look at and it was easy to see why he captured so much attention, but he was better to admire from afar. And it was obvious from his comments at the breakfast table that he was still reeling from his break up, which actually worked out fine for me. The last thing I needed was a winter break romance, especially after the relationship I’d just freed myself from.
***
Ethan had left around noon after I’d mastered the data program, which took no more thought and effort than tapping the tab button, entering a code, and moving to the next field. Halfway through the afternoon, Professor North had taken a break from grading papers and carried in a tray of tea but I’d declined his lunch invite. The waffles still weighed heavily in my stomach.
The dim light of dusk seeped into the room, and the tall stacks of boxes cast long rectangular shadows on the floral print rug covering the floor. The house was remarkably quiet, almost as if the pack of snow surrounding it had insulated it from sound. While the smell of dust in the air was most likely due to the lack of house cleaning and endless stacks of books that lined the office shelves, I could almost imagine myself deep in a cavern surrounded by the smells of fossilized bones and artifacts.
I picked up another bag from the box marked Nile clay, unrestricted vessel, bowls with base. I turned the piece around in my hand. It was tinted yellow and thin black lines bordered the broken edge where the piece had once displayed a row of hieroglyphics. The date on the bag was 2600 B.C., Old Kingdom, and I marveled at the notion that human fingers had held and shaped the piece of clay thousands of years ago. I was lost in the dream world of Ancient Egypt when my phone startled me back to the present. I wasn’t sure how she did it, but my mom always managed to make the phone ring with urgency.
“Hey Mom.”
“Auggie, is everything all right? You never let me know you arrived safely.”
“I sent you a text when I got here.”
She grunted. “This international plan is useless. I never got it. How is everything? It’s not too late to come to France. The weather is fabulous, and we just finished the most elegant dinner. The Beauchamps have a world-class chef. By the way, Margaret’s nephew is quite handsome. I really think you two would hit it off.”
“Mom, you know we both have extremely different definitions of handsome. Besides, I’m having a great time. I’ve been buried elbow deep in Egyptian pottery fragments. I’m in heaven.”
Another grunt. “When will you get out of this Ancient Egypt phase?”
I laughed. “Phase? Blue eye shadow and crushes on boy bands are phases, Mom. I’m studying this. This is my college major. It’s not a phase, so don’t hold your breath about it coming to an end. Go back to the dinner party and tell everyone hello.”
“All right, August. Stay warm and let us know if you need us to book you a flight.”
She was relentless.
There was a soft knock at the office door, and Professor North poked his he
ad inside. “Meatloaf and baked potatoes all right for dinner?”
“Yes, I think I’m finally hungry again.” I twisted in the chair to relieve the tightness in my shoulders and back. “And I think I could use a break from this chair.”
He walked inside. “Yes, I’m afraid it is not terribly posture friendly. My wife bought it for me years ago, and I’ve never had the heart to replace it.”
“No, it’s a wonderful chair, but I’m not used to spending this much time on the computer.”
“I know how you feel. Between phone calls and grading papers my neck, head and eyes all hurt. Dinner will be on the table in thirty. Ethan hasn’t returned, so it will be a quiet evening.”
“After the trip up here and the lovely day surrounded by all these glorious fragments of the past, I’m feeling fatigued enough to climb into bed early.”
Professor North walked over to the box near the desk and peered inside. “You’ve done a lot of work for your first day. I’m sorry Ethan wasn’t here long to help. I’m afraid both of my sons are easily distracted.” His face dropped. “I was hoping Dalton would make it up here for the break, but I haven’t heard from him. He has a hard time being here at Christmas.” The waver in his voice caught me off guard and my throat tightened. “He was very close to his mom.” The lines on the side of his mouth deepened as a faint grin appeared. “He was always a handful, but she knew just how to handle him. After she died, he had some really wild teen years, and there was nothing I could say or do to tame him. But he’s grown up now.”
“I’m sure you did your best. And let’s face it, teen years are hard enough, but having to endure the loss of a parent would make them that much more complicated.”
He smiled down at me. “You know, August, you’ve always stood out as an exceptional student. I’m really glad you’re here to help out.” “Help out—” He chuckled. “That’s rich. With the way Ethan finishes tasks, I have a feeling you might be spending a great deal of time on your own in here.”
“I don’t mind. Ethan has been around this stuff all his life but I haven’t. I find it fascinating.”
“As long as you’re enjoying it. I’ll see you in the dining room.”
Chapter 6
It was only a small sound, but it had woken me from a deep sleep. I lifted my heavy lids and squinted into the darkness. With no city lights or traffic outside, it was impossibly dark and eerily quiet, but I’d definitely heard a sound. After filling my empty stomach with meatloaf and two glasses of wine, I’d meandered off to bed. Once snuggled in my flannel pajamas and socks, a habit I’d developed while living on the east coast and away from the perpetual warmth of California, I’d crawled into the comfy bed with visions of Egyptian pottery floating through my tired head. And I’d remained fast asleep until something had woken me. I pushed it off as the unease of sleeping in a strange place.
I turned over to my other side, and in the silent blackness, my hand brushed something that was neither quilt nor pillow.
Before I could react, a deep voice yelled out, “Take cover!” Strong fingers wrapped painfully around my arms, and I was flipped violently onto my back. A heavy body lay on top of me and a cloud of alcohol assaulted my senses as my attacker stared down at me in the dark.
I finally found enough breath to scream. His grip on my arms loosened just as the bedroom light flicked on.
For a moment, I’d convinced myself that I was only dreaming. It made sense that the face staring down at me had been the face of the man I’d run off the road. The horror of the moment had stayed with me all day. But the entirely too real smell of alcohol and the weight of his body pressing over me assured me I was awake.
“Dalton? What the hell are you doing?”
He slid off of me and landed back on the bed. My heart was still pounding in my chest as I sat up and scooted away from him.
He lifted an arm and covered his eyes to block out the light. “Just trying to find a fucking place to sleep. There’s a bunch of shit on my bed, so I crawled in here.” Without lifting his head from the pillow, he turned and looked at me. “Didn’t know it was occupied.”
“Those are the papers I’m grading. We’re using the office to catalogue artifacts and since you weren’t home, I was using your room as a second office.”
Ethan appeared in the doorway behind his father. “What the heck did you do, Ton? She looks pale as a ghost.”
Dalton pushed to sitting and swayed forward a few inches before catching himself. “I was dreaming and— never mind, Ethan, you wouldn’t understand.” Dalton’s cool green gaze shifted to my flannel pajamas, and with one fleeting glance he made me blush as if I was naked. “No one should look that tempting in flannel pajamas,” he said quietly, as if the words had only been meant for me. But it was clear that his dad had heard.
“Get out of that bed, Dalton. I’ll move my stuff to the floor in your room.”
Slowly, he slid his long legs off the bed. His walking stick was leaning up against the night stand, and he used it to stand and steady himself. Out in the snowy landscape and then again in the vast interior of the emporium, he had looked large, but in the small bedroom he was positively giant. He teetered a moment as if he might fall back on the bed.
“You’re drunk,” Professor North said angrily.
“Yep, and you can stop pretending to be shocked.” Every step took effort as he made his way across the floor. He stopped and glanced back at me. “Sorry, Sugarplum, I guess we’re even now.”
I nodded my acceptance of his apology.
He pressed his free hand against his thigh and winced as he continued toward the door. He brushed past his dad and nearly clashed shoulders with Ethan as he reached the doorway.
“How’s the leg?” Professor North asked.
Dalton didn’t turn around, but his response floated out into the dark hallway. “Hurts like hell. Why do you think I’m so fucking drunk?” And, as he disappeared into the hallway, all the energy in the room sucked out behind him.
***
Loud, deep voices rolled down the hallway. After the shock of being pinned down in my bed, it had taken an hour or more to fall back asleep. The whole thing had been rather surreal, and I was still having trouble deciding whether or not it had actually happened.
The smell of frying bacon prodded me from the warm covers, and I tiptoed in my socks, hoping less contact with the floor would keep my feet warmer. I stripped down for a hot shower and noticed that each of my arms had a slight bruise from where my midnight intruder had held me. I’d convinced myself that my horrible and embarrassing moment on the road was behind me and that I’d never have to see the guy again, and now my only solace was that he’d embarrassed himself as well. I rubbed my fingers over the bruises. We were definitely even.
Suddenly, finding myself in a house filled with men, I was even more pleased to have a job to do in the office. I pulled on my favorite sweater and jeans and tied my long hair up in a ponytail. If I hadn’t been hungry and lured by the fragrance of hot coffee streaming down the hallway, I would have preferred to go straight to the work. I was relieved to find only Professor North in the kitchen.
At the sound of my footsteps, he glanced up from the stove. Smoke streamed up from the frying pan. “I’m afraid I’ve overcooked the bacon. Hope you don’t mind if it’s slightly charred.”
“I’ll eat bacon in all stages except raw.” I poured myself a cup of coffee.
“I think you can expect a great deal more help from Ethan today. I’m sorry he left you so early yesterday.”
“I didn’t mind at all.”
“See,” Ethan walked around the corner of the kitchen and, like me, headed straight for the coffee pot. “You worry too much, Dad.” He sat at the table with his cup.
“Auggie, would you please pull down four plates from the cupboard. I’m not sur
e if Dalton is joining us or not.”
“Not. Just coffee.” His uneven gait was not supported by a walking stick, and his bad leg slid across the floor to catch up with his good one. He guided himself along using the tall backs of the dining room chairs and the kitchen counter to guide him. Even with his obvious handicap, and with the sympathetic expression on his father’s face, there was nothing weak or vulnerable about Dalton North, and his presence jolted the quiet, dull atmosphere of the kitchen.
He stopped in front of me and stared at my face. A silent breath caught in my throat and for a second it felt as if the oxygen in the air had thinned.
“So, do you have a name or should I just keep calling you Sugarplum?”
“This is August Stonefield. She’s interning for me during the break.” Professor North’s voice startled me almost as if I’d forgotten he was standing in the kitchen too.
“August?”
I nodded, shocked at how tongue tied I’d become. I finally managed to croak out a few words. “Call me Auggie,”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “There is absolutely nothing about you that looks like an Auggie.”
“Have a seat, Dalton, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” Professor North reached quickly for the pot. He seemed slightly uneasy in his son’s presence, especially strange for a man who rarely seemed unsettled.
Dalton shuffled back to the table, yanked out a chair across from Ethan, and sat down hard. His gaze shot straight to me, and he watched as I carried the plates to the stove.
Professor North placed a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. “Are you sure you don’t want some bacon and eggs?”
“Couldn’t be more sure. Still digesting a bottle of tequila.” Dalton slumped down in the chair and stared at the black coffee in his cup. “Hey, what’s that saying? Hair of the dog?”
