by Angie West
Chapter Eight
Grandview
I stayed home for the rest of the week. At first, I was more than a little bitter about the imposed restriction, but after my first walk around the grounds, I was forced to admit that I did need the rest. There was no denying the fact that I was injured. To top it all off, I was exhausted. I didn’t care to recount the number of miles I had walked in the last two weeks. Africa alone should have put a permanent cramp in my legs. I leaned back in the hammock and stretched to touch a fat yellow rose.
“Oh yeah—now this is what I am talking about.” My sigh was to no one in particular. “Stopping to smell the roses.” It occurred to me that I could not remember the last time I had literally smelled a rose. I truly couldn’t remember; the realization was sad. The worst part was, there was no excuse. To say there wasn’t time in my day would have been a lie. Somewhere along the way, it had simply stopped being important. Truth be told, a lot of things had stopped being important, and that list grew a little every year.
“Well, that changes right now,” I decided. I took a minute to revel in the sound of my own voice. For one thing, I wasn’t hoarse anymore. But more than that, I was comfortable. I thought back to the night in the cave and pressed my fingers to my eyelid. For some reason, whenever I thought about that night, my left eye began to twitch. One thing that continued to stand out about that night was the eerie way my voice had echoed in the darkness. And it wasn’t just that night. Talking to myself usually felt awkward. But not here, I thought as I leaned over to cradle the rose in my hands. Its heady floral scent was absolutely wonderful.
“There you are!”
“Ouch!” I rolled out of the hammock and hit the ground, belly first.
“Annabelle!”
I rolled onto my back and yanked my leg out of the tangled hammock netting.
“Hello, Marta.”
The older woman bustled over to stand in front of me with her hands planted on her ample hips.
“Well? Are you going to lay around in the dirt all day, girl?”
I ducked my head to hide a smile. Even though I had only known Marta for a few days, I already knew enough to know that her gruff exterior wasn’t fooling anyone.
“No, ma’am.”
“What were you doing to that poor flower?”
I looked down and saw that my picture-perfect blossom was now mangled. I had severed it from the stem during my fall. I scooped it up anyway.
“I was stopping to smell the roses.”
“Well, I guess that’s okay, then,” Marta huffed, trying to look stern and failing miserably.
“What’s going on?”
“Lunch; unless you were looking to finish the job on that poor rose bush?”
“No, let’s go.” I linked my arm through hers as we walked across the manicured lawn to the house.
“You still like chicken sandwiches?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. Do you have any big plans for today?”
I shrugged. “I was thinking about going into town. Is it a far walk?”
“It’s far enough, I suppose.” Marta took a small set of keys off of a row of hooks by the door and slapped them into my hand. “Take one of the cars.”
“Take one of the cars? How many are there?”
“Seven.”
“Seven. So which one does this set of keys belong to?”
“The blue car, I think. It should say on the tag.”
“Thanks.”
Marta nodded. “The garage is in the back of the house and to the right. Now eat your food.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I saluted Marta and grinned while she frowned.
“Did I hear you say you are going into town?” Uncle Bob wandered into the dining room, poring over what look to be a newspaper. He set the paper down on a tall hutch and studied me with open concern. “Are you sure you’re up to such an outing?”
“I think I’ll manage.” I smiled as I thought of the past two weeks. Uncle Bob had no idea. A pleasant walk in the town square sounded positively tame. “I feel fine. Good as new,” I promised.
“She’s taking the blue car,” Marta put in.
“Oh, good yes, that’s a nice one too. It’s new.”
“I’ll take good care of it,” I promised.
Bob waved that off. “I don’t care about the car, Annabelle. I can buy more, anyway. Take good care of yourself, you hear? And come back home if you get tired.”
“I will.” I swallowed the last bite of the sandwich and went to put the dish in the sink. I barely heard Bob’s muffled comment.
“Hold on, Uncle, I can’t hear you.”
“I said your bag is upstairs, hanging in the closet.”
“My bag! I thought the guards took it!”
“They did. I had Harold get it back. I thought you might want it.”
“I do. Thank you.”
“I don’t know if it’s all there, but it felt awfully heavy.”
“It did?” That was odd since the gun wasn’t in there anymore. “It’s probably all there. I’ll go check.”
“Wait. Here’s some spending money.” He pressed several bills into my hand.
“Oh, no really…”
“I insist.”
“Thanks, then.” I pressed an impulsive kiss to his weathered cheek before hurrying upstairs.
I shut the door to my bedroom and took a beige sundress out of my closet…or rather, Annabelle’s closet. It was full of dresses and tops and shoes. The dressers were stocked with jeans, socks, hosiery, and underwear. Nearly all of it fit. Apparently—luckily—I was the spitting image of the Bob’s niece.
My bag was hanging in the back of the closet. It was dirty and looked pitifully out of place in such extravagant surroundings.
It was also strangely heavy. I dumped it out onto the bed and gasped. The green gem was huge and impossible to miss. I blinked. It was still there. I sat down hard on the edge of the king-sized bed and poked a finger at the gem. Real…it was real. The dream was vivid in my mind as I gently cradled the emerald in my palms. But there was no mistake—it was one of the many gems that had hung from the trees in the meadow. The stone was a rich, deep green, and it seemed to glow with a strange inner warmth.
