Rebel Betty

by Michaels, Carla

  Thad shook his head. “Nope, on the rare side is perfect.” He cut a careful bite, layering it on the fork with a mushroom, and popped it into his mouth. A sigh of delight rumbled from his chest. “Christ, that’s good. I haven't had morels in ages.” He scooped up a spoonful of peas. “Are these from your garden?” he asked, nodding to the fenced-in garden area he had passed on the way in.

  She nodded, and took a bite of her own steak. "I try and grow most of our own vegetables.”

  "They are delicious," he said, eating them with obvious enjoyment.

  Dinner preceded quietly, casual conversation interspersed with occasional peeps from Mackenzie. He asked her more questions about the history of the farm, and she gave him an abbreviated summary of her great-great grandparent's settlement of the area.

  “How much of the surrounding land you own?”

  “A little over five hundred acres. I don’t farm it, though. Most of the tillable is leased, and I just have the sheep. Working around here keeps me out of trouble,” she said with a small smile.

  Dusk began to settle on the farm, softening the bright blue of the sky. Kenzie began rubbing her eyes and slumping in the chair.

  “I need to put her to bed,” Lara murmured, rising from her chair.

  “Not tired,” Mackenzie said, and then yawned. .

  Lara shook her head, and then glanced at Thad. “If you give me a few minutes I will put her to bed and we can talk.”

  He nodded, and Lara lifted Mackenzie into her arms. “Say goodnight to the nice professor.”

  “Night,” the words came out on a sigh, the child already half asleep. Blonde curls spilled over Lara’s plaid shirt, and she snuggled in, basking in the contact she would not allow when fully awake.

  Mackenzie’s bedroom was the one room in the house that Lara had decorated herself, instead of using a professional. Unlike many women, she had never planned out details of a wedding, never been enthralled by the details of gowns and cakes and diamonds. But as her twenties slipped by, pictures of nurseries and children's rooms began to hold an unmistakable appeal. When Mackenzie came to live with her, she had taken the opportunity to bring her favorite fantasy to life, indulging in an orgy of decorating that would have given her frugal father a stroke.

  The walls were a soothing shade of light green, and the canopy bed that dominated the room was swathed in layers of purple fabric that glittered, reflecting a thousand tiny lights that formed constellations on the ceiling. Fairies and butterflies had been painted on the walls, and they danced through the room, darting among the piles of toys.

  After helping Kenzie into her pajamas, Lara tucked her into bed, then brought over the picture of her mom and will for a goodnight kiss.

  “Night, Larry,” Kenzie said, turning over abruptly when Lara leaned in for a kiss.

  Lara shook her head and did not press the issue.

  “Good night, Kenzie Bug,” she murmured, and left.

  She walked through the sun-room to the patio, an apologetic smile on her face. “Sorry about that. We keep early hours here.”

  “Not at all.” While she was gone, he had cleaned his plate. “Thanks for the meal. It was wonderful.”

  Lara grabbed the bottle of wine from the side table. “It’s nice to have someone appreciate it, for a change. Would you like a glass of wine?” He nodded, and Lara went into the house to retrieve a second glass. Thad pushed his chair back from the table and sat watching the sun as it sank across the trees, sending pink and orange dappled rays through the forest to the pasture. What he could see of the back yard was a cheerful jumble of sandbox and swings, plastic houses and dolls left in the grass, their blonde plastic hair mingling with the blades of feathery grass.

  Without a word, Lara handed him a glass and resumed her seat. They watched the sun as it sank closer to the horizon, luxuriating in the peace of the moment. Far out in the pasture, the sheep were edging back toward the barn. A feisty lamb tried to leave the flock, only to be brought back in by the interrogative bleat of a ewe, obviously its mother.

  There were few noises. Car traffic could not be heard from the highway. With the notable exception of a diesel pickup that had passed nearby during supper, blaring country music, he had not heard another vehicle.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, turning to look at Lara. In the dim light her face was dreamy, dark eyes filled with a thousand secrets. For a moment, he did not know if he meant her, or the farm, or perhaps both.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Its home, you see. No matter where I have lived, this has always been my home.”

  “You are very lucky,” he said, and meant it. He and his brothers had been raised in a small split level house in the suburbs, but after his parents had died, it had ceased being a home. The house he owned now was not truly a home either. It was the place bought to keep his belongings after the divorce, when figuring out what he wanted from the future seemed an impossible task.

  She glanced at him as she sipped the wine. "May I ask you something?"

  "Sure,"

  "You don't talk like a college professor. At least not when you are out of the classroom. I was just curious...."

  "Why I don't sound like a self-aggrandizing academic snob?" She nodded. "Like I said, I have three younger brothers. If I started throwing around words like transculturation or consanguinity they would have beaten the crap out of me. Hell, they still would."

  "I have no idea what either of those words mean."

  "Precisely." He grinned, and then changed the subject. “Do you know if there ever been any aerial photography done of the farm?”

  Lara tapped her finger against her lips. “There’s a photo hanging in my father’s room, if you would like to see it.”

  Unable to contain his excitement, he stood up. “I’d love to.”

  Lara refilled her wine before leading him into the house. He followed her down a hallway lined with a collection of wildlife prints above oak wainscoting that looked to be original to the house. Mellowed with age to a rich golden brown, it was decorated with multiple dings and scratches. Thad could imagine children playing ball there, or riding tricycles on rainy days.

  He looked up to see Lara watching him trace a particularly deep gouge marring the wood with a finger. “I love old houses. They have so many stories to tell.”

  “This place certainly had its share."

  She opened the door, and he followed her into a room that smelled musty from disuse. Cluttered and dusty, it was a stark departure from the rest of the house, which was immaculate, glowing with the luster of polish and cleaner and wood oil. There were stacks of newspapers that rose feet high, and open books occupied every surface. An ash tray overflowing with cigarette butts rested on the desk, illuminated by the light pouring in through large windows riddled with fly specks.

  “My father was a pack rat, or you could say hoarder, that’s the new word for it. He never threw a thing away.” Her voice was wistful and affectionate, like a parent remembering a particularly naughty child who grew up too soon.

  Thad began moving around the room, lifting up newspapers and blowing dust off of the pictures. He spotted the large framed photo of the farm on a south facing wall; a black and white image that looked to be at least 60 years old, given the age of the vehicles shown in the driveway. It had been professionally mounted and framed and seemed out of place amid the rubble of the disorganized room.

  “Someone found a stack of negatives a few years back and came around selling them. Dad wouldn't get one, said they wanted an arm and a leg for them, but I got it for him for Christmas.”

  He leaned in close to the picture, focusing on the mound of earth where the back pasture flowed near the creek. “Could be, could be,” he muttered, and took his phone from a back pocket. “Do you mind?”

  “Go ahead,” she said, turning her back on him and moving through the room. At times she had to edge sideways between the towering stacks. Her hands drifted, touching the pack of Pall Malls and the discarded flannel s
hirt. She brought the shirt to her nose and inhaled.

  “How long has he been gone?”

  Laura dropped the shirt and made a face, looking as though she had been caught. “Almost three years. I should clean it out, it's just…”

  Thad nodded sympathetically. “Losing someone is like a punch to the gut that goes on for months. It took me a decade before I could go through my parent's things after they died. Hell, there are still a few boxes I have not been able to touch yet.”

  She smiled at him, her smile all the sweeter for the grief he could still see in her eyes. "My dad was nuts for anything having to do with Indian history. Take a look at these,” she said, walking over to a huge antique cabinet that occupied almost the entirety of one wall. There were dozens of small drawers, like the library card catalog systems dimly recalled from his youth. Lara pulled out one of the larger bottom drawers. Nestled in a bed of pristine white cotton was a flint tool larger than his hand.

  “A scraper,” he whispered. Thad reached in his back pocket for gloves before remembering that he was not in a museum. “Beautiful,” he said, taking it when Lara offered it to him. One of the better examples of flint work that he had ever seen, the scraper still possessed the keen edge that had allowed it to remove fur from treated hides. “Do you know where he found this?”

  “All of them were found here,” Lara said, taking the scraper back when he offered it and returning it to the cabinet. She opened other drawers, showing him arrow heads, flint axes, and scrapers all carefully preserved in cotton padding. It was a significant collection, rivaling the scope of some found in museums.

  Thad stuffed his hands in his pockets against the urge to begin pawing through her father’s things. He knew graduate students who would have cheerfully traded years of their lives to study such an amazing find. An arrowhead with a Clovis point caught his eye, and he had to bite back a moan when Lara closed the drawer too quickly, almost catching the delicate edge.

  She turned to him with a smile. "So what do you think?"

  His mind was already buzzing with the possibilities. "Let's go back outside. And we definitely need more wine for this."

  Lara sat back down and sipped at her drink. The light from the setting sun filtering through the trees caught her hair, turning it a shade somewhere between auburn and blonde.

  “So is it a burial mound?" she asked.

  Thad dropped his professional composure and allowed the excitement he was feeling to show. He nodded, and could not resist a face-splitting grin. “I think so. It’s amazing, to find something like this. So many of the mounds in this area were plowed under when the land was settled. But this one has remained untouched for a thousand years, maybe even two.”

  “You are like a kid in a candy store.” She poured herself another half glass of wine. “What needs to happen?”

  His mind was spinning. “Testing, of course. And then I will have to get funding for the dig. If I needed to, we could have a full scale excavation set up in two weeks, but I would like longer. You aren’t planning on doing any further development of the field?” he asked, seeing her frown.

  "No, of course not. It's just that I had no idea that digs could be put together so quickly."

  Reaching across the table, he poured a small measure of wine into his glass. He swirled it, becoming lost in thought. "It comes with the territory. Archaeologists are often forced to work fast. Some of most important finds in the last century have been uncovered by developers, and the scientists are only allowed a small window of time to excavate the site before work begins again and the sight is destroyed."

  Lara bit her lip. "But it could be a problem. This summer is not a good time for me to allow a dig here. Maybe next year...or this fall.”

  Thad’s face took on a guarded expression. “Why did you come and talk to me if you were not ready to allow any form of excavation?"

  Lara looked down and away, her shoulders hunching beneath the plaid shirt. It had the effect of making her look much younger than his earlier estimates.

  "My dad was a really great guy. Even growing up, I knew that I was loved, no matter how much trouble I got into or how much I struggled in school. He never asked for more than I could give."

  "You are lucky."

  "I know." The sun caught the sheen of moisture in her eyes; he looked away, not wishing to intrude on her grief. "But he always told me that if anything remarkable was found on the farm, that it was our duty to have it looked at. The arrowheads and tools are a dime a dozen in this area, but copper? I don't think so. As soon as I dug it up, I knew that he would have wanted me to get it looked at. Personally, I would be happy to let you conduct your research, but I cannot allow a full scale dig to take place, not now. Mackenzie is only just starting to settle down. I won't have her life thrown into chaos.”

  Thad sipped the wine, enjoying the mellow taste of it sliding down his throat. He thought furiously. He needed more time to study the site, and this was far from the perfect time to put a proposal together. There was a conference he had to attend next week in Massachusetts, and his brother was spending some time at his house, celebrating after being accepted into a prestigious firm in Cleveland.

  “Would you allow me to think about it a few days, and run some tests on the core sample so that we know what era we are dealing with? Maybe I can come up with a workable solution.”

  Lara nodded. “More wine?” she asked, pouring herself a second glass.

  He shook his head. “I need to be heading back soon. I will email you in a couple days.” He stood up and held out his hand. Lara rose to her feet, vibrantly aware that he was standing close to her to touch. She could feel the heat coming off his long body.

  In a surprising gesture, he did not shake her hand. He engulfed her smaller hand in his, and rubbed his thumb across her wrist. She felt a frisson of awareness dance between them, and her heart rate speed up, sending her blood racing.

  “It’s been a pleasure, Lara,” He lingered over her name, drawing out the syllables.

  “Until the next time, Professor,” she said, relieved that he did not draw out the moment. As attractive a man as that, he was probably well aware of his effect on women. She had certainly gone all weak in the knees.

  He turned and walked down the path. Lara appreciated the sight of his behind shifting in the worn jeans for a moment, and then remembered something.

  “Hey,” she called. “Is that a dauntless v-6 in your jeep? The timing sounded off when you drove up.”

  The professor turned, his eyebrows disappearing into blonde curls. “I thought something did not feel right. I’ll have a mechanic take a look at it later.” He looked at her curiously. “You know cars?”

  Lara hid a smile at his skeptical expression. “Among other things. Good night,” she dismissed him, returning her gaze to the wine. The roar of the jeep sounded, and he was gone.

  Chapter 5

  Over the next few days they communicated primarily by email, although he did call when the preliminary tests on the age of the site came back.

  “There was a piece of charcoal in the sample that we were able to date to just before the start of the common era, so we are looking at Adena, although it could be early Woodland."

  "Well, that's good, I suppose," she said.

  She had taken the call on her cell phone as she pushed Mackenzie on the swing. The child's hoots of delight kept interrupting the conversation, but the doctor seemed to take it in stride even as he sought to contain his obvious excitement about the potential for the site.

  “Higher!”

  “OK, Kenzie Bug,” Lara said, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder so that she could push higher.

  In the background of the call, she could hear music playing; Pink Floyd, turned down so low that it formed a hum of background noise.

  “Kenzie Bug?”

  “My brother’s nickname for her. She was very premature when she was born, only three pounds. She looked like a baby bug.”

  Lara
pushed a little higher, and Kenzie was suspended, weightless for a split second on the arch of the swing. Her squeal had a note of terror that quickly turned to glee. Her feet, encased in sparkly shoes that glittered like the ruby slippers from the Wizard of Oz, kicked madly. Lara loved moments like this, when she and Mackenzie could just be happy together, enjoying the air of a perfect spring morning.

  “Sounds like she is having a good time. I can call you back later.”

  It touched Lara that he was willing to put off speaking about the site to please a child. “It's no problem; I can talk and push at the same time. So what needs to happen now?”

  “You have said that you could not allow a full scale dig to take place.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I only have temporary custody of Mackenzie right now. There is a hearing in August, but until then…” She trailed off. The world of Children’s Services and kinship custody that she had come to know and loathe was complicated, messy, and so stressful that she had recently found her first gray hair, which had formed the cherry on a rotten day.

  “I understand. Everyone on the dig would have to have back ground checks and the county would be involved. That’s too much disruption for her right now.”

  “Exactly.” It was a relief to talk about it with another person. “And there is the issue of her grandparents.”

  “Oh. Are they trying to get custody?” His voice had changed from friendly to serious. There was a squeak, the sound of a chair protesting under a change in position. Lara could imagine him in a cluttered office, shelves groaning under the weight of books. And Dr. Gilbert, who loved to surround himself with history, would not use a modern office chair. It would be one of those oak chairs with the slatted backs typically seen next to roll top desks. He would be kicked back, with his feet resting on the desk.