Blood Ties (8 page)

"Naturally. I didn't mean that in a condescending
manner."

"Naturally." She unfastened a small folding spade
from her pack and began to remove four-inch squares
of grass and sod from the enclosed spot.

"As an educated man-"

"And a cleric," she supplied. "You doubt the existence of ... of forces we can't readily see or feel."

"Yes, that's correct."

"I find that interesting." She glanced at him. "Hold
the frame steady. I want to sift all of this surface material.
I would doubt that any of this ground has been tilled in
several hundred years, but we can't discount early European influence. There may be buttons or coins, clay
pipes, perhaps even metal objects or pottery."

"Never found any here," Matthew said. "White men
would never have farmed this marsh."

"The original inhabitants may have raised crops
here. And white settlers tended to plant their crops
where the first people raised their corn and beans.
Saved clearing the fields." She carefully shook a section of grass over the screen and combed through the
roots with her fingers. "All those stories about forests
stretching from the Atlantic to the Mississippi is just so
much folklore. There were plenty of trees, but the
original peoples along the East Coast farmed extensively."

"I know that you and your daughter are Indian, but
with your education, surely you-"

"Lenape," she corrected. "Or Delaware, as some
prefer to call us. Abbie's father is Delaware, Shawnee,
and Cherokee. And I do believe in what I can't see, Mr.
Catlin. Some of the sites I've worked have definitely
been haunted."

"Yes, well ..." Matthew cleared his throat. "I'm sure
you believe-"

"You are a Christian, aren't you?" Karen rubbed her
hand over the pile of dirt accumulating on top of the
screen and carefully discarded bits of organic material.

"Naturally!"

"Then your work is built on faith and spirituality."

"Yes, well..." His face reddened. "That doesn't
mean superstition."

"One man's superstition is another man's gospel.
Can you define faith? Can you weigh it or measure it
in any scientific manner?"

"No, of course not."

"But it is real. It does exist."

"Yes, but. . ." He pursed thin lips. "I don't see how
such word games-"

"So everything that's real isn't necessarily visible to
the naked eye? And insight and intelligence aren't
limited to persons with degrees or a certain skin pigment. Much can be learned from other cultures and
from the wisdom of those who lived before us."

Gradually, as she worked, the thick tufts of grass
gave way to raw earth, black with damp, decaying vegetable matter. When the entire rectangle was stripped
of grass, Karen pulled a trowel from her belt and began to scrape away a thin layer of dirt.

Matthew, clearly miffed, continued to sift through the
excavated material. "I'm surprised you don't want to
start with the hillside," he said, breaking the silence that
had stretched between them for more than a quarter of
an hour. "I can show you exactly where Paul Millington
discovered the artifacts. I came here and measured off
the area so that there'd be no doubt when-"

"How long ago?"

"Years. I marked off exactly where Father's source
acquired the torque and the cloak pin."

"Yet, you never dug in that spot."

"No, the trees..." He appeared uncomfortable.
"The roots would have made excavating on the hillside difficult. I assumed the grave no longer existed."

She leaned back, as comfortable kneeling as she
imagined he must be standing at his pulpit in front of
his congregation. "I need a wider picture of the site,"
she explained. "We need to prove without a doubt that
the area was inhabited during the Archaic era and not
just during the Woodland time period."

"You must realize that time is of the utmost importance," Matthew said. "The Onicox Realty Group
promises that they will not intrude on the Indian burial grounds, but if the sale materializes, the extent of
the marina and the accompanying condominiums-"

"Time is always a vital factor in archaeology. But if
you want my opinion, Reverend, you must let me do
this my way." She smiled at him. "I do know my stuff.
I've been at this for years; I imagine as long as you've
been writing sermons."

"Of course. I didn't mean to imply that you were
incompetent."

"Good." Karen removed her hat and wiped the
sweat off her forehead as Matthew rambled on. The
day was going to be a hot one, and she was certain that
her ears would weary of his endless chatter long before
he would tire of talking. She had no doubt that he was
sincere, or that he was filled with a sense of his own importance. A big fish in a small pond, she concluded.

She continued to expand the scraped area, patiently
gathering each handful of dirt to be sifted for bits of
charcoal, shell, or bone. She didn't expect to come
across native material until she was below the plow
zone, but you never could tell. The good thing about
archaeology was that it continually surprised you. She hoped Abbie would arrive soon. Her daughter was an
excellent field technician. And she knew the value of
silence.

11 * .. A section of a dugout canoe," Matthew droned
on. "Cypress, I believe. The wood was in terrible condition, as though it had been burned. Unfortunately ..."

Karen concentrated on the soft earth beneath her
trowel. She'd worked her way from one side of the pit
to another, careful to keep the sides intact, so that she
was now kneeling with her back to Matthew's precious
wooded rise. He had given up sifting and had assumed
a sitting position on the far side of the test pit, facing
her. By the angle of the sun, she guessed that she'd
been working the better part of two hours. Surely Abbie would be here any minute to divert some of
Matthew's enthusiasm.

"... Pardon me," Matthew said. "Call of nature ...
bladder. Not the man I once was." He got awkwardly to
his feet and meandered down the beach to disappear
behind a grove of cedar trees, leaving Karen blessedly
alone.

She sighed in contentment. Not that the peaceful
quietude was really silent. The salty breeze played a
haunting melody through the reeds; she could hear
the harsh rasp of a Virginia rail in the marsh to her left.
From overhead, came a shrill cry. When she looked up
and shielded her eyes from the sun, she saw a blackand-white osprey, a bit of nesting material clamped in
his beak.

Oddly, the sight, which should have given her pleasure, was marred by a ripple of unexplained uneasiness.
"Kenahkihi, xansa, " she murmured in the Algonquian
tongue. Watch over me, brother.

She watched the osprey until he became a tiny speck
against the blue sky and finally vanished altogether, but her sense of something wrong didn't dissipate.
Cold sweat trickled down the nape of her neck, and
she shivered, despite the July heat of the morning.

She rose to her feet and turned to stare at the oak
trees on the low hillock. What was it? Prickles rose on
her arms, and she glanced at her backpack, reassuring
herself that she had protection if she needed it. For
more than twenty-five years, she'd carried a handgun
when she was working on isolated sites, and she knew
how to use it. She'd just taken a few steps toward the
hill when Matthew shouted.

"Hey! Dr. Knight! Your daughter's coming."

Karen turned toward him. Whatever had caused her
apprehension had vanished at the sound of his voice.
She felt a little foolish. All this talk of ghosts and spirits
was getting to her. She took a deep breath and hurried
to meet Abbie. Her apprehension was nonsense, simply the result of too little sleep and the excitement of a
new project.

"Anati!" Abbie called. "Sorry I'm late. But Emma
insisted on sending lunch." She held up a wicker picnic basket. "Wait until you see what's in here. It smells
delicious."

"Good," Karen replied. "I'm starving." She glanced
over her shoulder. Nothing there that shouldn't be.
No ghosts, no angry Indian shamans, and no predators. Maybe Matthew was right; maybe she was giving
too much credibility to superstition.

Maybe, the quiet voice in her head whispered, but
maybe not.

Bailey looked at the clock. It was 7:38, and she'd told
Daniel that she'd have dinner on the table at 6:30
sharp. It wasn't like him to be late, not for a meal.
With a final glance at her shriveled baked potatoes,
she slid the cooling plate of crab cakes into the refrigerator beside the salad and poured herself another
glass of iced tea. Puzzle, her corgi pup, cocked her
head and watched every move.

"If you're hoping for a treat, you're out of luck.
You'll be fat as ... fat as me." Bailey made a face.

Despite her own queasy stomach, she'd wanted to
show off her newfound cooking abilities. Whenever
Daniel arrived, she could heat the crab cakes in the
microwave and serve them as a sandwich. But the baking potatoes she'd picked out so carefully at Dori's
were destined for the compost pile.

Wondering if maybe the phone service was out, a
common occurrence on Tawes, she picked up her
house phone. Hearing a reassuring dial tone, she
checked her cell. It seemed to be working, and she had no missed messages. Daniel had told her that he'd
be finishing trim on the cabin all afternoon, so there
was no logical reason why he should be late. Growing
more frustrated by the moment, she punched in his
number on her cell.

"Hey. This is me. I'm not picking up, so you're out
of luck. Leave a number, and I might call back."

"Funny. Very funny." Scooping up her glass of tea,
Bailey went out onto the screened back porch. Emma
was right. It was time to tell Daniel about the coming
baby. Twice, she'd started to, but each time something
had occurred to make her reluctant to share her secret. She knew that he would insist on setting a date
for the wedding.

The trouble was, she didn't know if she was ready to
be married again. Her first marriage to Elliott had
proved a disaster, both emotionally and financially.
And since she'd come to Tawes, little more than a year
ago, her entire life had changed. She was happy about
the baby ... about having Daniel's baby ... at least
she thought she was. It was the commitment part that
had her scared.

She and Daniel both brought considerable baggage
to their relationship. She loved him, but she just
wasn't sure she could trust her own judgment. Hadn't
she thought she loved Elliott when they'd eloped to
Las Vegas? And hadn't she known him a lot longer
than she'd known Daniel? It wasn't as if she couldn't
provide for her child. She had a home, money in the
bank, a job she was crazy about. For the first time in
her life, she felt whole.

Complete.

Puzzle whined and ran to the screen door, her
round corgi rump bouncing. Bailey set her tea on the
antique sewing-machine cabinet she used for an end
table and followed the now barking dog onto the porch step. "What is it, girl? Is Daniel here? Is it
Daniel?"

But, she saw with a sigh of disappointment, the tall,
lean figure that rounded the house wasn't Daniel. It was
Will. "Come in." She forced a welcoming smile. "You're
just in time for dinner. Supper." It would take forever
for her to remember that the islanders called any meal
served between 4:00 P.M. and breakfast supper.

"No need for that, darlin'." Will stooped to pet Puzzle's head. A silent command sent the three dogs trailing after him down on their bellies on the grass. Puzzle
spun and hopped with excitement, apparently torn between Will and the presence of Blue, Raven, and Honey.

"Bring the dogs inside," Bailey said. "They're better
behaved than Daniel."

"No need. We came by the bay path, and they're all
wet and muddy. The three of them will do fine outside."

Bailey raised herself on tiptoe and kissed his weathered cheek. "I've made your favorite. Crab cakes."

"I didn't come to eat."

She tugged at his arm. "I insist. If I know you, you've
been working on that otter carving since breakfast and
skipped lunch." Will was an artist, and the demand for
his wildlife carvings was so great that there was a threeyear waiting list for one of his pieces.

He removed his baseball cap and smoothed back his
graying hair. "'Spect I could eat a bite, just to be
neighborly."

She laughed as she led the way into the kitchen.
"Wait until you taste my crab cakes. I caught the crabs
myself, off my dock."

"Wouldn't have any blueberry pie, would you?"

"For you, I might." Will could have the slice she'd
set aside for Daniel.

Later, as Will finished his supper and she toyed with
hers, Bailey asked, "Have you seen Daniel today?"

Will wiped his mouth with a napkin, took a sip of
tea, and nodded. "Matter of fact, he went by my place
just before noon. In the skiff."

"He was in his boat?" Daniel hadn't said anything to
her about going fishing or to Tawes. "I expected him
two hours ago, and he hasn't called."