Irrefutable Proof: Mars Origin I Series Book II

by Abby L. Vandiver

  Then she saw him. Butterflies fluttered around in her stomach. Her face brightened and she pushed herself off the wall, making herself busy, looking in the store window, nodding at people walking by. Glancing over at him, she watched him walk down the street. She’d stay until he went in the store, she decided, and then she’d hurry off to school.

  And then he waved, a big smile spreading across his face. Did he see her looking at him? Oh no, she thought, trying to hide her face with her hand.

  But then she saw it wasn’t her he was waving at, but another girl, walking down the street from the opposite direction. Who was she? She wore her hair in a short bob and had on red lipstick. She looked more like a woman than a girl. Hannah’s heart quickened, she bit down on her trembling lip. Why was he waving at her? Benjamin trotted past the store, toward the girl. Hannah ran across the street, back in front of the store, and stood in the middle of the sidewalk. Frozen, several people had to walk around her as she watched Benjamin put his arm around that woman and kiss her on her cheek.

  That floozy! What was she doing with her Benjamin? Hannah felt her knees buckle, and she grabbed the side of the building to steady herself.

  It was too much. Too much. How could he have done this to her? Hannah let out a cry, a wail that startled those passing her. She stomped about, screamed and shook her head violently from side to side. Then she turned over the crates of oranges and potatoes that were stacked in front of the store. People ran to her. Even Benjamin, bringing that woman with him, came to see what had happened.

  “Dear, what is it?” someone asked.

  “We were to be married,” Hanna screamed, pointing at Benjamin as he walked up. “But now he’s with this . . . this woman.” The crowd that had formed, all turned and looked toward where she pointed And there stood Benjamin - dumfounded.

  “I don’t . . . I don’t even know her,” he stumbled over his words. He looked at the woman he had just embraced, holding his hand out to her, but she backed away.

  “You do know me!” She spat at him. “How could you say such a thing?” She turned around and grabbed onto a woman’s arm. “We were supposed to be married.” Tears were streaming down her face. “I thought he loved me.” She turned to him and pointed her finger at him. “You told me you loved me.” She hissed at him between sobs.

  His eyes grew wide, and he shrunk back away from her. “I never said that to her. I don’t even know her . . .”

  “We meet every day. Most every day.” She could barely speak, she swallowed hard. “At the market. Ask him. Ask him.” All eyes were on Benjamin. He seemed not to be able to do anything but shake his head.

  “Every day,” she screamed. “We meet at the market.” She was sobbing uncontrollably, her eyes red and her chin trembling. “Every day,” she said between sobs. “Every day.”

  “I work at the market.” He pointed at the store. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. She must have me mixed up with someone else,” he said. His hands were shaking and his face drained of color.

  “He’s lying. He’s terrible to do this to me,” Hannah cried.

  “Yes, dear. He is,” the woman who had been holding Hannah said. “I know. But let’s get you somewhere you can calm down. Come with me. Shh. Shh. Don’t cry now.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  October 30, 1949

  “She followed him around for months.” Levi laid his Borsalino fedora on his lap and, holding his head down, he rubbed his hand through the crease in the top of the hat, smoothing down the black felt.

  “I don’t know what to do.” Levi looked up at his friend. “She pretended that they knew one another. That they were engaged to be married.”

  Samuel grunted. He didn’t know quite what to say.

  Levi Abelson and Samuel Yeoman had met when they were children. And that friendship had held fast over the years. Samuel had been a good friend and comforter when Levi’s wife had died, and he, raising Hannah on his own, had made Samuel her godfather.

  Levi was a good doctor, a good father, and a good man. He had a small practice, kept to himself, always offering a smile and working tirelessly. He never let anyone go without his services, even if they couldn’t afford to pay. But today he appeared solemn. Dressed in a plaid shirt and a gray suit, he wore wire-rimmed, round glasses mid-way up his nose. His ever present bushy mustache was all white as was his hair. Receding from his forehead, it was prickly and short. The front of his neck, right under his chin, sagged and jiggled slightly when he spoke.

  Samuel was the first Editor-in-Chief of the Dead Sea Scrolls Translation Committee. Not giving his complete attention to his friend, he thought of how this situation might help him. He reveled in the spotlight his position had given him. It was a big undertaking he had been put in charge of, and a very prominent appointment. He would surely go down in history. It was probably why Levi sat in front of him today, he told himself. Everyone would soon realize how important he was.

  Both men were short in stature. Levi’s thin frame contrasted with Samuel Yeoman’s stout physique. And that made Samuel feel like much more of a man. But no matter, Levi was a dear and good friend and he needed his help.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t speak with you before now,” Samuel said. “But as you know, one of our interpreters was killed last Saturday. It was a terrible, tragic accident.”

  “Oh no, my good friend, it’s fine. I quite understand. It’s just that it was quite embarrassing. Honestly. I didn’t know what to do. I thought perhaps you could help me.” He found a handkerchief in his pants pocket and wiped the sweat off his forehead, blew his nose on it, and placed it back in his pocket.

  “He doesn’t know a thing about her,” Levi said. “He doesn’t know her. He’s so much older than Hannah. And he’s been engaged to another girl almost a year.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose, sat back in his seat and, speaking with closed eyes, he said, “They are to be married this spring. The boy, Benjamin and this girl. Such a nice girl, too. But Hannah sees him with her and she sets off in a rage. She knocks over crates of food and makes a scene the likes of which I’m sure no one has ever witnessed before.”

  He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and put his forehead in the palm of his hands. “And then of course this girl, the girl to marry Benjamin, her heart broken, she’s wondering if perhaps she has fallen in love with a Lothario. Her father came to me to find out how long Benjamin and Hannah had been engaged. And I . . .” he said leaning forward in his chair and looking directly at Samuel. “I had to explain. To tell him that she didn’t even know the boy. I had to apologize to him. To the girl. To everyone on the street who saw it.” He lowered his head. “I had thought of sending her away. But I fear if she goes somewhere that is unfamiliar to her she may not do well. I have spoken to her teachers and they will let her finish the work for this semester when she feeling up to it. I always wanted her to be self-sufficient. I don’t think she has what it takes to be a wife or mother. She does have enough work finished that she can graduate. I’d planned that she would attend the University in the fall, but . . .”

  “Don’t worry, Levi. Women are prone to such outbursts.” Samuel tried to ease Levi’s mood. “I will help you. What are friends for?” Samuel said, getting up and walking around the desk. He patted Levi on his back. “Come now.” Levi rose from the chair. “Let me take care of this for you. Bring her in tomorrow. Bright and early. I will find something here for her to do. I’ll keep her busy enough and in no time she’ll have forgotten about the boy. All this will blow over. She can start her education next fall. Let me take care of it.”

  Dr. Samuel Yeoman sat back down at his desk after seeing Levi Abelson to the door and thought how fortuitous his meeting had been. Although he had written in his journal that he would check the other manuscripts to make sure there were no more like what Dr. Sabir had found, he hadn’t yet. And he needed to put those that Dr. Sabir had given him back into the cave at Qumran. But the task, and the cave, was just too much for h
im to tackle alone.

  Samuel Yeoman thought about that fateful night. October 22. It seemed like more than just eight days ago when he had come in to check on things and found Amos Sabir waiting outside his office door. His initial thoughts when he saw him were that there had been a revelation. A breakthrough. Dr. Sabir, perhaps had found something. Found something that he could take credit for and use to exalt himself even higher up the ladder, and perhaps make him famous. But he soon learned that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

  The thought of him, of that man, even though he was dead and gone, made him sick to his stomach. Maybe if he hadn’t stopped to speak with one of the other translators, he would have missed Dr. Sabir and never have known about the manuscripts he had with him that night. But it was not to be.

  And even though God took action against Amos Sabir, sending that single lightning bolt that took Sabir’s life, it still left him to deal with what that man had found in those manuscripts.

  Those manuscripts that claimed man was from Mars. That he was responsible for mankind’s continuation by moving him to this planet when he had destroyed his home. It was all poppycock, and he would have no part of it.

  He had wrestled with himself whether to destroy the manuscripts. He had taken an oath to preserve history, and the thought of obliterating a part of it didn’t sit well with him. Instead, he decided he would put them back. Back in the cave. He hadn’t quite figured out how he would do it until now. Yes, he thought, rubbing his large, round belly, God again had intervened, and he would have help. He wouldn’t have to go it alone. Hannah Abelson would be his redemption.

  He would hire her. It wouldn’t be unusual for him to hire his friend’s daughter. After all, she was fragile, people would sympathize with her plight. He would look philanthropic for taking her in. It was decided, he gave a nod, she would help him go through the remaining manuscripts to see if there were any other ones like the ones that Dr. Sabir had found, and then he would have her put them back in the cave. If anything bad came from it he could blame it on her. He would do whatever it took, and he knew that God would help him to do it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Baltimore, Maryland

  September, 2011

  Addie came up the stairs from the basement with a basket of clothes she had pulled from the dryer. Zeus was lying on his rug in the kitchen and looked up at her. “Whew. It’s getting harder and harder for me to pull those steps, Zeus. Mommy is getting old.”

  She dropped the laundry basket at the bottom of the steps to the second floor. I’ll take those up later,” she said, still puffing she headed back into the kitchen.

  “Zeus. Did you get Mommy’s coffee ready while I did the laundry?” Zeus, whimpered and looked toward the empty coffee maker. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”

  Addie, oversized but firm, had a bad addiction to coffee and books. She was light-skinned, had thick black wavy hair and dark thick eyelashes. She wore her hair the same every day – in a braided ponytail at the back of her head. And, she practically wore the same outfit every day - a sweat suit. Stretched knit with a hoodie. At least they were in girl’s colors - - pink, light blue, green. If not that, a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt, and she was always in a pair of tennis shoes.

  She owned a small, brick townhouse. Two bedrooms, one where she slept, and the other filled with her books. Hers was an end unit, which gave the house more windows - on three walls instead of just in the front and back. She liked that it filled her home with more natural light. Her kitchen was bright with white café curtains at the window over the sink. She had never been married, too headstrong for that, and Zeus was the only “baby” she needed or wanted. Putting on a pot of coffee, she headed into the living room, picked up the remote off the end table and clicked on the TV. Flipping through the channels, she stopped when she saw people running wildly from a building in what looked like ancient Rome or Egypt. It showed their faces streaked with sweat, looking as if their skin had been scorched. She turned the volume up.

  “The Library at Alexandria was one of the largest and most significant libraries of the ancient world. Constructed in the 3rd century BC, it housed an unknown number of scrolls at any one given time, giving an incalculable worth to the value of the library.” Addie pressed the Info button on the remote. It told her that this was an episode of the History Channel’s Ancient Mysteries. This was one of her favorite shows. This episode was the one on the Lost Treasures of the Library at Alexandria.

  “Oh good,” she said as she pushed her feet up on the couch and adjusted the pillows. “I haven’t seen this one.” Zeus scampered around the corner from the kitchen into the living room and jumped on the couch. “Oh. You haven’t seen this one either? Well let’s watch while we wait on the coffee.” She picked Zeus up and put him in her lap.

  “The scrolls were borrowed by scribes from all over the world,” the narrator continued. “Copied and then returned. Almost as well-known as its collections of works, lecture halls, meeting rooms, and gardens was the destruction of the Library.”

  “Surrounded in mystery, the library is famous for having been set afire and burned, and with the tumbling of the walls came the loss of innumerable scrolls and books. Ancient sources differ on the cause of the fire and when it occurred, but the mythology of the burning of the Library at Alexandria became famous. Most believe that the fire was set by Julius Caesar between 42 and 48 AD. Whoever the culprit, the loss of the Library has become a symbol of the destruction of cultural knowledge.”

  The doorbell rang. “Who could that be?” Addie asked Zeus as he jumped off the couch and followed her to the front door.

  She stood on her toes and leaned against the door to peek out of the small square window near the top of the door. “Looks like a delivery.” Zeus started barking and jumping up in the air, all four paws off the ground. “Hush up, boy. I got this.”

  Addie pulled open the front door and found the UPS man with a large brown box.

  “A lot of barking for such a little thing,” he said peering down at the little Maltese. “I thought I might have to run for the truck.”

  “She’s tiny, but she’s fearless.”

  He chuckled. “I have a delivery for Addison Hughes.”

  “That’s me.”

  “Sign your name here.”

  Addie reached for the small electronic pad he offered and scrawled her name across the screen, while the UPS guy picked up the package off the small cement step at her front door.

  “Be careful. It’s heavy,” he said handing it over to her.

  “I got it.” She placed the pad on top of the box and took hold of the bottom of it lifting it out of the UPS guy’s hand. He reached on top of the box, got the electronic pad and stepped back to watch her.

  “You got it? You sure?”

  “Yep,” she said, stepping inside the house and closing the door with her foot.

  “Look what we got, Zeus. A big ‘ole heavy box. Must be something good.”

  Setting the box on the coffee table, she noted the mailing label. “Ha! It is from MW Publishing, Cincinnati, Ohio.” She smiled down at Zeus. “It only took six weeks, but it looks like we got us some books!”

  •≈•≈•≈•≈•≈•≈•≈•

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  1034 Jackson St., Lincoln Heights

  October 19, 2011

  The blaze ripped through the tiny publishing house. A blast ripped out the front windows on the first and second floors of the small bungalow-framed structure. The smoke that filled the air was thick and heavy, mixed with the mist of the water from the fire hoses it swirled up into the darkening sky.

  The fire set in the warehouse garage probably wouldn’t have done much damage if it wasn’t for the flammable ink. The ink, a mixture containing petroleum oil, and the fountain solution used for the printers were kept in a shed close to the back entrance where the fire had been started, both were highly flammable.

  The area was aglow, bathed in the red and whit
e lights flashing from the ambulances and police cars. Firefighters walked around with smut smeared across their faces, their skin hot from the fire. Breathing hard, sweat beaded across their faces, the firemen could be seen ripping off their helmets, gasping, desperately trying to suck in some of the oxygen offered by the paramedics between coughs. Undaunted, after a brief interlude in the less dense air, the firefighters returned, getting lost in the smoke, trying again to push back the flames.

  The blaze, still an inferno two hours after the 911 call, was the backdrop to a buzz of activity. Vans from radio and television stations dotted the corners and down adjacent streets, which were filled with people. The neighbors, standing behind the barriers, watched in horror as a little part of their community’s history burned away.

  One of the TV stations found a woman, covered in soot, standing in with the others in the crowd.

  “Hey. Excuse me, ma’am. Ma’am can you hear me?” A reporter, pulling his cameraman with him, approached her trying to talk to her.

  Her chestnut colored hair was wet, and had separated into ringlets that clung to the side of her face. Her black mascara running down her face made her blank, blue eyes appear as if there was no life force behind them. She was wet like she had been splashed by the spray of water from the fire hoses, and it was difficult to tell whether it was tears or the water from the hose that had streaked her face.

  “Are you alright? Ma’am, were you out here when the explosion happened?”