She pushed the fern leaf aside and stepped into the clearing. To an observer, she would appear calm and at ease with her surroundings. In reality, she was itching all over, smelled horrific after spending twelve days in the jungle, without the first bath - bathing in any of the rivers was a dangerous pastime because of the crocodiles. She praying for the dig to be over so she could go back to her air-conditioned home in North Carolina. She might have been able to talk herself into feeling better about the bad day she had been having for the last week, if it wasnât for the fact that it was a Monday.
Autumn Grey was the stereotypical Southern Bell. She was stubborn as hell and used to getting her way. Her honey-blonde hair, when let loose from the ponytail braid she always wore on a dig, flowed all the way down to her waist and her eyes were the blue of the sea after a storm. She was petite - just under five feet tall - and her skin was the color of ivory. (The result of a mother who had always been adamant about her not sun bathing when she was a teenager, a fact that she hated at the time but now praised her for.) She had a Ph.D. in anthropology from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and this dig was only the second she had participated in since her divorce three years earlier. She could still hear the disappointment and criticism in her motherâs voice when she told her this time she was bringing her daughter with her. She was afraid Deidre would forget her while she was gone, or that her ex-husband, Charles, would try to use her time away to regain the custody she had fought so hard for. When the judicial review board had dismissed the judge in the original custody hearing, for taking a bribe from Charlesâ family, she didnât think she would ever have to worry about losing Deidre again. But he had filed another custody petition with the court just three weeks before she had left for Brazil.
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Autumn looked around the clearing for her daughterâs face among the workers in the camp. When she spotted her by the food tent with one of the village boys she felt old. After all, her daughter, who was almost fifteen, was flirting with a boy who couldnât have been much older than sixteen or seventeen. It wasnât time for dating yet, she was still a baby!
âTalking about anything interesting?â she asked when she reached her daughterâs side.
âMom! Canât I even have a conversation without you always looking over my shoulders?!â Deidre exclaimed with the usual teenage exasperation.
This was a familiar and comfortable jest between them, though anyone who didnât know them would think Deidre was what her own mother would call âgetting fresh.â Of course, her mother had no sense of humor - it wasnât lady-like, she thought with a chuckle.
âNo,â she replied. âSo, what are you talking about that you donât want me to know? You know how nosy I am, so you might as well âfess up before I find out about it anyway.â
âMooommmm! You are so embarrassing! We were just talking about what would happen if what you found was really an ancient burial ground. Pablo told me that the people in the village donât think you should mess with anything if it is, because the people who are buried there might have put curses on their tombs and that would cause trouble for them, because they have to live here when we pull out,â she said, taking a deep breath at the end. She couldnât believe she had gotten it all out in one breath, she was getting better. With enough practice, when she got home she could beat Bobby Joe - who was the best kid on the block. She could read the first three paragraphs of Stephen Kingâs new book without taking the first breath!
âWell, of course that is a concern that we are looking into. Pablo can go back to his village and assure them that we are not going to touch another inch of the burial ground until an expert arrives from the British Museum day after tomorrow. A Dr. Lugus MacLeod is supposed to be a leading expert in the field of South American burial practices. When he gets here we will not only know if those are curses on the stones, but we will also know what tribe they came from and when.â
âGracias, Senora Grey. Mi madre y padre will be very happy when they hear this news. I will let the villagers know you will not be digging for a while. You are much kinder to Pablo and his village than the others who came before you. We will miss you when you go back to Norte Americana.â
âOh, posh. What you really mean is that youâll miss having Deidre around,â she replied with a smile.
âMooommmm! I canât believe you just said that! I could just die!â Deidre said as her face turned red from embarrassment. âDonât pay any attention to anything she says, Pablo. She hasnât been in her right mind since we got on the plane in Charlotte. Sheâs afraid to fly.â
âDeidre, I told you not to tell anyone about that! I canât believe you just announced it in front of the whole camp.â
âPay back, Mom. Pay back,â Deidre said as she headed off toward the tent she shared with her mother. A chuckled escaped as she ducked into the tent and looked back at her motherâs open mouth.
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For the next day and a half, she kept herself and the others busy sifting through the artifacts they had already uncovered, looking for anything of anthropological value. There wasnât much, some pottery that could have been made in any of two centuries, some stone weapon fragments that, even to her trained eye, were totally unidentifiable as to a time frame and some bones from the only grave they had mistakenly desecrated.
Early Wednesday evening, about 7PM, the expert from the British Museum arrived as promised - much to the relief of the diggers, who had been having to make work for themselves until his appearance. Dr. MacLeod was much younger than she had expected, not much older than herself. She had been expecting someone in their retirement years - after all, what young man would want to spend his prime years in some stuffy old museum instead of out on a dig, where all the excitement was in this field of study.
She had read his biographical folder the night before, which lists only the bare facts - nothing about age or personality. He was from the southern most part of Wales, spoke fluent English, Welsh, French, Spanish and Italian, and had authored several well-documented books and articles about the ancient South American Indian tribes and how they had lived before the Spanish conquered them and choked out their heritage. There wasnât any personal stuff in it, like if he was married or single, or if he had children, or even where he had gotten his degree.