Houses of Stone by KATHY (booksvooks .TXT) 📕

eyes fixed on the narrow opening which Bucky (or Jimmy Joe) was digging out.

"How much longer are you planning to stay here?" Bill asked.

"If it rains tonight—"

"I didn't mean here in this wilderness. I meant here in town. Surely you've accomplished what you hoped to do by now."

The urgency in his voice drew her attention away from the excavation. Turning to look at him, she saw he was watching her with an intensity that made her oddly uncomfortable. "Why do you ask, Bill?"

"I can't stay much longer, Karen. I'm going to England next week, and there are a number of odd jobs I ought to finish before I leave."

"Lucky you," Karen said lightly.

"Right. It would ease my mind considerably if I knew you were safe in Wilmington."

Once, only a few weeks earlier, she would have snapped back at him, denying both danger and the need of assistance—especially his. Now it was surprisingly easy to overcome her initial automatic resentment.

"Set your mind at ease, then. I'll probably leave tomorrow."

"So soon?" He laughed then, and shook his head. "Inconsistency is not, as my sex claims, limited to women. I'm glad, Karen. But I had hoped . . . Look, I'll only be gone three weeks. Can I call you when I get back?"

"Why not?"

"Great. I don't suppose you'll feel like going out for dinner tonight?"

"Let's see how we feel at the end of the day." She picked up her shovel. "Peggy is as red as a beet and she's about to decapitate one or all of the boys with that spade; come and help me persuade her to let us take over."

Peggy denied that she was (a), tired; or (b), in danger of committing manslaughter, but Karen finally convinced her that she would be better employed as a photographer. With her out of the way, the others were able to work more efficiently. Bill pitched in with a will, and by noon they had cleared almost half the interior, down to the floor. Bucky (it was Bucky) had determined that the opening in the rock was a tunnel— three feet of one, at least.

"It looks more like a natural fissure than a man-made tunnel," Peggy said, aiming the camera. "The sides are rough and the roof is so low a person would have to crawl ..." She stopped, with an uneasy glance at Karen, and repeated, "It couldn't be man-made."

"You want me to quit digging it out, then?" Bucky inquired hopefully.

"No," Karen said. "I have to see—"

"Not till after lunch," Peggy said firmly. "Make it quick, boys, the clouds are thickening."

They continued to thicken as the day went on, though the rain held off. Even without sun to warm it, the air was hot and oppressive. The boys shed their shirts, Peggy her light jacket. By mid-afternoon they had finished most of the soft drinks in the cooler and Bucky, backing out of the lengthening hole in the rock, showed signs of rebelling.

"There ain't nothing in there," he wheezed, mopping mud off his face with the back of his hand. "It's got so narrowed down I gotta lie flat. You want me to go any further?"

"I guess not," Peggy said. "The air is probably bad, we don't want you passing out while you're stuck in there. Have something to drink."

They were gathered around the cooler finishing the last of the drinks when they heard someone coming along the path. He stood in the opening for a moment, anonymous in the shadows, before proceeding. When he emerged into the light Karen saw he had a magnificent black eye, and he carried himself with a stiffness that suggested other bruises concealed by his clothing. One of the boys said something under his breath, and the others snickered.

"Sorry," Cameron said—as Karen had known he would. "I meant to be here this morning, but I was detained. How is it going?"

Peggy inspected him from head to foot but for once she refrained from tactless comments. "Very well," she said. "Come and have a look."

It was the first time Karen had paused for an overall view. The result might not have looked impressive to one who had not labored mightily to produce it. Most of the floor was relatively clear, but it was far from even; some of the stone blocks, too massive to be moved by a single man, had been heaved and tossed aside by the sullen, steady force of growing tree roots. Stumps and thicker roots, some as big around as her wrist, still protruded.

She picked her way carefully over the rough ground, following Peggy and Cameron to the far wall, where there was a small pile of objects. The excavation of those scraps had taken several hours; when the first of them showed up, Peggy had insisted they use trowels and their gloved hands instead of shovels.

"Rusty nails," she said, indicating them with the toe of her boot. "These scraps are wood, but not branches; they've been sawed and shaped."

"A table?" Cameron stooped awkwardly and lifted one of the longer pieces of wood. It crumbled in his hand, and he quickly lowered it to the ground again.

"Or a chair or a bed. There's not enough left to tell; most of it has rotted away."

"But ..." Cameron turned to face Karen. "But that's evidence of habitation, isn't it? Furniture. That's what you hoped to find?"

"One of the things." At close range his eye looked terrible, half closed and surrounded by purpling flesh. Honesty compelled her to add, "I didn't expect anything like this. And there's no way of knowing how old it is."

"A laboratory might be able to tell you," Cameron said. "You aren't going to leave it here, are you? If it rains tonight ..."

Peggy nodded. "We'll have to move the stuff, much as I hate to risk it; the wood's half rotted already. Do you have a tarp or some plastic bags we could borrow, Cameron?"

"Yes, of course. I'll get them."

"I'll go, if you can tell me where they are." Bill hadn't