Cross Purposes

by Gina L. Dartt

  “Okay, Lana, ease her into position,” Emily instructed her. “Take your time.”

  Michelle couldn’t see Lana behind her, but she felt herself slowly swing forward until she was suspended directly over the dark pit below. She felt the tug behind her disappear and knew Lana was loosening her hold, providing the necessary slack.

  “Ready?” Emily asked one final time.

  Michelle’s heart thudded against her breastbone, both from excitement and a little fear, which only proved she did possess some common sense after all. “Let’s do this.”

  Carefully, Emily lowered her into the hole, her concerned expression the last thing Michelle saw as the rocky walls of the well came up around her. She bent her head, the beam from her headlamp flashing over the dank surroundings, searching for the etched stone until she had it in her sights again. She kept her gaze on that section of wall until the carving was directly in front of her. “Okay, stop!” she yelled.

  Immediately, her descent paused and she hung there, swaying slightly, staring at the worn engraving. Taking a deep breath, she pulled off her glove and reached out with her bare hand, delicately tracing the outline of it.

  “Shit!” she exclaimed suddenly as she lost hold of her glove, and she watched it spiral down to land on the tangled roots several feet below.

  “What?” came Lana’s alarmed cry from above.

  Michelle reassured her quickly. “Nothing! Sorry! Dropped my glove. I’m fine.”

  “Tell her to hurry up.” Emily’s voice sounded somewhat strained. “We don’t have all day.”

  “I heard her,” Michelle called up, forestalling Lana. “I’m starting.”

  She took the ax from her waist, making sure she had a firm grip on it, not wanting to drop it too, and used the tip to chip away gently at the mortar around the stone, working at it until she’d created a deep groove outlining it, freeing it from the surrounding rock. She tucked the ax back into her waist, suspecting Emily would be more than annoyed if she dropped that too and, with both hands, dug her fingers into the grooves outlining the stone, trying to work it free. Her pulse beat at her temples as she finally loosened it, pulling it from the wall to reveal the dark hollow it had been concealing.

  Inside, she could barely make out the shape of a box—metal, black with corrosion, but undeniably there. She let out a small laugh, the only way she could express the incredible joy that filled her chest. With the stone tucked under her left arm, she reached in and took hold of the box with her right. It was heavier than she expected, and when she pulled it from its hiding place, the stone with the carved cross slipped from beneath her elbow.

  She made an unwise attempt to grab it, not wanting to lose what was essentially an Acadian artifact carved by Beauséjour himself. She missed, the stone rebounding off the walls as it tumbled downward, and her reflexive motion started her swinging. As she clung tightly to the metal box, she collided with the side of the well and immediately heard a grinding sound, the unmistakable scrape of rock moving on rock.

  With what seemed like impossible speed, the walls around her began to collapse.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Oh, my God!” Lana felt the earth shift under her feet, and she stumbled back from the edge of the well. “Michelle!”

  “Help me pull!” Emily screamed, hanging tight to the rope, her heels digging into the snowy ground as she was dragged forward.

  Rushing over to her, Lana grabbed hold of the rope and began to haul frantically on it, heart in her throat as she yanked. Everything slowed down and she felt as if she were moving in molasses, the rope slippery in her grasp like a living thing. Then, they were moving backward, the weight on the other end slowly rising, though with great resistance.

  “It’s okay.” Emily’s voice penetrated as if from far away. “We’ve got her.”

  Feeling detached from her body, Lana seemed to be an observer rather than a participant while they pulled Michelle out of the collapsing pit. As Michelle dangled in the air, Lana saw that she was clutching something, hugging it tight against her chest, and realized that their efforts had borne fruit of a sort, though what kind of fruit remained to be seen.

  It took a few minutes to get Michelle back onto the ground. As Emily helped her out of the harness, Lana could see how filthy she was, covered in dirt and mud, realizing that for a few seconds, the well had actually claimed Michelle before they managed to pull her free. But Michelle showed no fear, no hint that she was even thinking of her narrow escape. There was just an expression of wondrous joy, the same one that had been on Michelle’s face in Grand-Pré, when she’d initially thought she had the prize in her grasp. Eyeing the metal box, Lana wondered if Michelle was right or if she’d be equally disappointed, with the box’s contents yielding no more than another mystery or, worse, nothing at all.

  “Are you all right?” she demanded, fear making her tone sharp.

  Michelle beamed. “I’m great! We’ve got it, Lana. We’ve finally found it!”

  “You sure?” Emily said as she packed the climbing gear into the backpack. “Did you look inside?”

  “I didn’t dare.” Michelle put the box down on the ground and crouched over it. Lana noticed she didn’t have any gloves anymore, her hands smeared with mud and what might even be blood from scratches and cuts.

  “We can wait until we get back to the car,” Lana suggested weakly. “You need some Band-Aids.”

  “No, we can’t,” Michelle said with utter conviction. She fumbled briefly at the latch and then opened the lid, revealing an oilskin packet.

  Lana thought she’d throw up if it turned out to be more letters. Carefully, fingers trembling visibly, Michelle unwrapped the contents, spreading the oilskin out on the ground to reveal the contents.

  It could never live up to their expectations, of course, but it glinted dully in the weak winter sun, the gold catching the light as it had always done throughout history, sparking the age-old allure and avarice. Lana’s breath caught, and she clenched her hands into fists, happiness welling up into her throat and bringing tears to her eyes, not for herself, but for Michelle, for whom this clearly meant everything.

  “Huh,” Emily said shortly. “Nice.”

  Lana smiled, shaking her head a little. Apparently, it took a lot to impress Emily. Or maybe she was right to be unimpressed. On its own, it wasn’t that significant. It was just a cross—made of gold, yes, but not particularly ornate or decorated with rubies or sapphires or diamonds. Approximately six inches long and three-and-a-half inches wide, a tiny engraving was displayed in the cross piece, and peering closer, Lana could see it was a coat of arms.

  “Louis the XV.” Michelle touched it lightly with her fingertip, her voice a mere whisper in the cool air. “The only acknowledgement he would make that Gaston Beauséjour was his son.”

  “We’d better get back to the car,” Emily said, her tone gentle, as if afraid to disturb the moment that followed Michelle’s pronouncement. “It’ll be dark soon.”

  It took a few minutes for them to put on their snowshoes and begin their long trek out of the woods to the road, following the trail of their tracks leading in. Michelle seemed to have a lot less problem maneuvering this time, or maybe it was just because she wasn’t thinking about it. She waddled steadily through the snow behind Lana and Emily, hugging the metal box close to her as if it were a cherished child, an expression of beatific peace on her face.

  Lana looked over at Emily, who returned the glance with a smile. “Now what?”

  “There’s actually a Minister of Acadian Affairs,” Emily said. “Can’t remember who it is right now, but he or she is the one we should call and try to explain all this.” She exhaled, almost a sigh. “It can wait until tomorrow. We have a long drive ahead of us this evening.”

  “I know you have to work tomorrow,” Lana said, and added wistfully, “I don’t suppose you could call in sick?”

  Emily looked at her sharply, though her expression grew pleased when she saw Lana’s ent
reating expression. “Wish I could,” she said and took Lana’s hand, squeezing it through the glove. “I do have some time off next week. Would you like to do something?”

  Lana felt a ripple of desire. “Oh, yes. I would very much like to do something with you,” she murmured, and the tone of her voice was suggestive enough to make Emily’s cheeks grow pink.

  The shadows were growing a bit long as they approached the road, the days short this time of year, the sun generally setting by half past five. They were anxious to get to the car and didn’t immediately see the dark-blue sedan parked behind the red Challenger as they emerged from the woods. At least, Lana didn’t, and by the time Emily had spotted it and stopped, it was too late to duck back into the cover of the trees.

  The two men who got out of their car when they saw them were quite large, one with dark hair and eyes, somewhat handsome in a swarthy fashion, while the other was completely bald, a decorative tattoo running down the side of his square features and onto his thick neck. This was undoubtedly Juan and Pierre, Lana thought, fear lancing sharp and fierce through her chest.

  “What do we do?” she squeaked.

  Emily, watching them warily as they approached, slipped off the backpack so that she could be unencumbered by its bulk and dropped it on the ground beside her. “Stay calm,” she instructed them softly.

  Behind them, Michelle belatedly became aware of the changing situation. “Oh, Jesus Christ, you’ve got to be kidding me!” She sounded a lot more annoyed than afraid.

  Emily held up her hand. “Stop right there,” she said in an authoritative tone that made Lana quiver and the two men actually pause in their approach. “I am RCMP Constable Emily Stone. Please identify yourself and state your purpose for being here.”

  “Damn,” one of them muttered. Juan, Lana guessed. He looked more Hispanic than French, though his accent wasn’t dissimilar to Michelle’s, that Southern flavor so out of place in the frosty climes of a Cape Breton winter. As was his clothing. Both he and Pierre were dressed in jeans, western boots, and hoodies beneath black leather jackets that Lana doubted were at all suitable for this kind of weather.

  Pierre’s beady eyes narrowed, and he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a nasty bit of black metal. “Too bad for you,” he said coldly as he pointed it at her.

  “No.” Lana didn’t think. She just took a step between him and Emily.

  “Lana, step away,” Emily said firmly.

  “Let’s all just calm the fuck down, shall we?” Michelle said sharply. She shuffled around Lana and Emily, waving her finger at Pierre as she shuffled toward him. “Are you nuts? She’s a cop!”

  “So I heard,” he said. He frowned at Emily. “I won’t use this unless I have to,” he added, as if that somehow made a difference.

  “You’re not going to use it at all,” Emily responded in that calm, reasonable tone. “We’re just going to talk about how we can resolve this peacefully. You’ve already violated several laws just by possessing an unregistered weapon.”

  Michelle turned and made a motion, a sharp wave indicating that Emily should be quiet. Emily’s face darkened. Lana was conscious of a certain dismay blunting the edge of her fear as Michelle spoke. “Constable, let me handle this.”

  “Nothing to handle, Michelle,” Juan said, spreading out his hands. They were scarred and very big, Lana noticed. “Hector wants to see you. He’s very disappointed.”

  “Well, we all hate disappointing Hector, don’t we?” Michelle said. Lana swallowed hard, aware that Michelle’s tone wasn’t fearful, just sarcastic, as if people waved guns at her all the time. Or if she actually knew Pierre and Juan as more than just a couple of bad guys chasing her.

  Pierre motioned with his gun, making Emily tense and Lana feel a bit weak. “Enough,” he said. “I’m hungry and cold and fuckin’ tired of this. I’m ready to go home. You two, give me your phones and car keys.”

  Lana glanced at Emily, hesitated, and, at her brief nod, reached into her pocket for her cell even as Emily did the same, handing over the keys to the Challenger.

  “Okay, you three get in the backseat,” Pierre said, motioning to the sedan. “Michelle, you get in last.”

  “May we remove our snowshoes, first?” Emily asked with steely politeness.

  “Hurry up.” Juan came over and took Michelle by the arm, appearing to notice the box in her arms for the first time. “Is that it? Did you actually find it?”

  Michelle, expression furious, her chin stuck out pugnaciously like a young child, grudgingly nodded. “It is,” she said shortly.

  Juan smiled unpleasantly. “Maybe Hector won’t be so disappointed, after all.”

  After tossing the snowshoes into the ditch, Pierre forced the women into the back of the rental car. Lana found it difficult to move, so afraid that she could barely breathe. It was only Emily’s calm, if intense demeanor that enabled her to keep functioning, to keep obeying their instructions, when all she really wanted was to drop down in the snow and curl up in a ball.

  “What do you plan to do with us?” Emily demanded.

  “Shut up,” Pierre snapped.

  He kept the gun pointed at them, half turned in the passenger seat as he watched them, while Juan settled his bulk behind the wheel. To Lana’s surprise and, evidently, Emily’s from the way her brows lifted, they made a U-turn on the narrow dirt road and headed north, toward Enragée Point. On the other side of Emily, Michelle was conspicuously quiet, her expression more furious than frightened. Her eyes kept darting back and forth between the men in the front, and her jaw kept flexing slightly, either because she was grinding her teeth or because she wanted to say something and was continually swallowing it back. She still held the metal box close to her, protectively, and the fierceness in her eyes indicated that she was willing to die before giving it up.

  Lana, on the other hand, couldn’t be more willing to trade the box for their lives. If she thought for a second any such deal would be accepted, or more importantly, if she could somehow manage to get the words out with a tongue that was glued to the back of her throat, she’d offer it up in a heartbeat.

  Lana felt Emily’s fingers close over hers, squeezing tight, as they drove along the dirt road, conveying what little comfort she could. Through her side window, Lana could see Cheticamp on the other shore, so near and yet so far away. There was nobody on this side of the channel, no other vehicles on the road, no more houses to pass. She was terrified that they were about to die, that they were being taken to the most remote part of the island where they’d be shot and their bodies dumped in the icy Gulf of St. Lawrence. She’d just found the sweetness in life again and bitterly regretted the past years, not because mourning Sarah had been wrong, but because she’d allowed so much time to pass without appreciating what she had. Glancing over at Emily’s strong profile, she was sickened by the thought that they would never have an opportunity to find out what could have been.

  Enragée Point was flat and exposed to the ocean beyond, with a single automated lighthouse and a low, squat building beside it, probably a maintenance shed, both painted white with red trim, surrounded by a chain-link fence intended to keep out the public. As Pierre forced her and Emily to get out of the car, Lana prayed that someone in Cheticamp would happen to be looking their way, though she doubted it would make a difference even if it were true. The area was too isolated, too remote. There weren’t even any boats on the water.

  “Take care of it,” Pierre said, handing the gun to Juan. “I’ll stay with Michelle.”

  The fence had been cut and pulled back, creating a significant opening. Juan herded Emily and Lana through it and across the meadow toward the shed. Tears welled in Lana’s eyes, stinging them, and she knew her face was twisted as she struggled not to cry. She wanted to be dignified like Emily, competent and brave, showing little expression as they stumbled through the snow. When they reached the door of the shed, which had clearly been forced open, Juan motioned them inside.

  Emily didn�
�t obey, instead looking at him and then at the cement step that had been cleared of snow. A heavy chain and shiny new padlock lay on the gray concrete. Probably purchased at the same hardware store in Cheticamp where Emily had bought their supplies. “You set this up ahead of time,” she said flatly.

  “Yeah, we knew we had to get Michelle off by herself, because she wasn’t going to come with us peacefully,” Juan said shortly. “She’d make a scene and complicate things. But y’all coming out to the middle of nowhere was perfect. All we had to do then was find a place to stash you.”

  “I warn you, if Miss Devereaux is harmed in any way, either by you, your friend, or your boss, you’ll all be charged equally, not only by American law enforcement but by Canadian, as well,” Emily said as she and Lana were pushed inside the cold, dark interior of the shed.

  “You don’t have to worry,” Juan said. His expression softened, making him look more human and less a thug. “As soon as we’re back in the States, we’ll let someone know you’re here. As for Michelle, no one’s going to hurt her, especially Hector.

  “He’s her dad.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Michelle glared at Pierre, who reached over and turned up the heat. He was obviously suffering from the cold weather.

  “Are you crazy?” she demanded. “Kidnapping a police officer?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said shortly. “And we’re not kidnapping them. Juan’s just going to lock them in the shed. By the time anyone finds them, we’ll be long gone.” He looked back over his shoulder at her. “So you found it? Really?”

  Defensively, Michelle hugged the box to her chest. This wasn’t going at all the way she’d planned. Instead of taking the cross back to New Orleans in triumph to receive the academic accolades she so richly deserved, she was going to be hauled back home like some wayward child, and Hector would add the cross to the private collection he kept in the basement of his mansion, visited only by himself and a few of his cronies. Not only would the world never know the cross had been found, but also no one would ever know she’d been the one to discover it.