The Diamond of the Rockies [03] The Tender Vine (13 page)

“Don’t break it.” Father Antoine spoke softly. “Nothing we have is expendable.”

Quillan turned, teeth bared. He threw the pole to the floor with a loud smack, then
whama-whama-whama
as it rolled to the wall.

Carina jerked her head up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Her face, still softened by sleep, sent a poignant stab to Quillan’s ribs. He hadn’t meant to wake her. He pressed his palms to the splintered, spongy timbers of the entrance and dropped his forehead to his arms. His chest heaved.

Father Antoine gripped his shoulder. “Be calm. With God all things are possible.”

Quillan tensed. Did he believe or didn’t he? If God was in control, what was his part? He forked his fingers into his hair. He needed air, needed space. The cave. There was more room in the cave below. Thoughts of the spacious cavern set his heart rushing. He turned. “We’ll move down to the cave.”

Carina sat up, pulling the blanket around her. The priest neither moved nor spoke.

Quillan grabbed the candle and held it over the shaft. “There’s more room down there.” He shot the priest a glance. “Room to accommodate needs. I’ll climb up hourly and check the snow.” He hoped no one would argue. He was set on moving them down. If nothing else it gave him something to do.

“How are we for food and light?” The priest gathered his blanket and folded it.

Quillan frowned. “Not as comfortable as I’d like. Two more sandwiches, some dried apples and plums. A dozen candles and a full box of matches.”

“I wonder . . .” Father Antoine hung the blanket over his arm. “Are bats edible?”

Carina missed the humor and shuddered.

Quillan quirked an eyebrow. “Pray that we don’t have to find out.”

Carina watched Quillan bundle together the tarp, blankets, empty sack, and extra coils of rope. How would moving down to the cave help them get out? It was pazzo. But she didn’t say so. Quillan’s tension was visible. She’d been right. Her husband needed to get out worse than she.

But how, Signore? She stood up and realized something much more pressing. Suddenly the cave seemed a very good idea.
Che buono!
“I’ll go down first. You can send the bundle to me when it’s ready.” She took her candle holder from the wall. Its candle was only a stump, but it would give her time to find a private place.

Quillan laid what he’d bundled onto the mat and pulled the rope up. She climbed into the harness, avoiding both men’s eyes. Were their bladders made of steel? With Quillan wielding the rope, she worked her way down the timbered side of the shaft and into the hole at the bottom, almost used to it now, though the dangling still brought her heart to her throat. Then she was down and quickly freed herself of the harness.

She pulled her candle holder from her skirt waist and lit the stump, then started immediately for a far end of the cavern opposite the tunnel to Wolf ’s cave. She and Alex had not gone that way, at least not together, though he had spent time alone taking samples and whatever else he did with his geological instruments. She reached a small alcove and hiked up her skirts. The sooner this was over with the better, and a torn edge of petticoat was better than nothing.

How basic life became. Relieved, she headed back toward the center of the cavern. The rope was nearly down, holding the tied-up mat and blankets and extra rope. She hurried over to catch it. Setting down her candle, she untied the bundle, then jerked the rope. Quillan drew it up. Soon she would not be alone.

Knowing they would have the same need she had upon their descent, she picked up the bundle and candle and started for the tunnel to Wolf ’s chamber. That would give them privacy. Though Quillan had tied it tightly, the bundle was ungainly, and she had to squeeze through one part of the passage. Her candle was very low by the time she reached the chamber.

As she stepped down she realized the light was better, nowhere near the pitch darkness of the outer cavern. She looked up. The opening angled so she could not see the actual hole through which the bats had flown the first time she and Alex found the chamber. But what if—

“Carina!” Quillan’s voice echoed from the cavern.

She shrank immediately into one wall, and a second later the chamber swarmed with bats. She dropped the bundle and held the candle in front of her face. The bats shied away, whirling and frustrated, before flying back to the cavern. Slowly she lowered the candle. Was he pazzo? She stalked back to the cavern.

Quillan turned. “There you are.”

“I’ll thank you not to send the bats my way again.” She tossed her hair back, shivering at the thought of those musty bodies and reptilian wings.

“I didn’t know where you were.” He looked as though every ligament in his body were drawn up short.

She reached for his arm. “Are you all right?”

He stiffened. “No. I have to get out of here.”

“Quillan, what about Wolf ’s chamber?”

He stared into her face. “What do you mean?”

“There’s an opening at the top. Could we try that way?”

He looked off toward the passage.

Carina searched the chamber. “Where’s Father Antoine?”

“He’ll be with us shortly.” Quillan caught her arm and pulled her with him.

Some of the bats still circled the ceiling, and Carina shot a glance over her shoulder before entering the narrow passageway. With both their candles it was bright enough, but again she noticed more light in the chamber.

Quillan said, “There’s daylight coming through.”

“Can you see the hole?”

“Not with that angle. Get the priest.”

Carina left the chamber, but Father Antoine was already in the passageway. “Quillan needs you. I think we might get out through Wolf ’s chamber.” Turning back, she and Father Antoine found Quillan studying the ceiling from beneath. Carina leaned against the wall. She could tell it was too high. What was he planning?

“I can’t tell if it’s open up there, but there’s certainly more light. Maybe this exit is not buried as deeply as the other one.”

Father Antoine studied the ceiling. “What does it matter, if we can’t reach it?”

Quillan turned. “Can you sit on my shoulders?”

The priest raised his brows. “Can you hold me?”

For answer, Quillan crouched. Carina crossed her arms, saying nothing as Father Antoine hiked his cassock and climbed onto Quillan’s shoulders. Even with the weight he’d lost, he was not insubstantial, as tall as Quillan and heavy-boned. How could this work?

With the priest sitting on his shoulders, Quillan strained, his muscles roping and bunching as his fingertips left the floor and he straightened slowly. Father Antoine stretched up, but they were still a good distance from the ceiling.

Carina brought one hand to her mouth as Quillan almost lost his footing on the slippery floor, and he braced a leg as they steadied themselves. “Can you see out?” Quillan’s voice was tight with strain.

“There’s a slanted chimney. I can’t see the end.”

“Is it large enough to fit through?”

“At this end, yes. I can’t quite—” he pulled himself taller from the waist—“I’m not high enough to see.”

“Come down.” Quillan spoke with clenched teeth. His face was red and his arms shook.

“Be careful.” It was out before Carina thought. Of course they were careful. But her nerves tightened just watching. Father Antoine was not young. And bearing that much weight, Quillan could be injured. Quillan bent, catching the priest piggyback. Father Antoine slid to the floor, and Carina breathed her relief.

They were no closer to escape, but at least neither man had broken his neck. Quillan crouched, rubbing one shoulder and hanging his head. He breathed heavily, in pain most likely. To hold a man his own weight like that . . . She wanted to comfort him, but his tension kept her back.

Father Antoine stretched his own joints. “Five feet more, at least, to reach it.” He circled beneath the hole. “If I stood on your shoulders . . .”

Still crouching, Quillan looked up. “I couldn’t hold you standing.”

“There’s nothing for it, then. Unless . . .” Father Antoine stopped pacing. “Carina . . .”

Quillan stood slowly, pressed his elbows back and stretched his chest. “Carina can’t do it. She shouldn’t even be in here.”

“Do what?” She stepped away from the wall.

Father Antoine turned. “If you stood on his shoulders, and he—”

“No.” Quillan shook his head. “It’s out of the question.”

The priest didn’t argue, and Carina sighed her relief. Did Father think her an acrobat? She would not perch at the top of a human ladder even if God had healed her fear of heights.

Quillan narrowed his eyes at the ceiling. “Come with me, Father. I’m going back up for the poles.”

Father Antoine followed Quillan out, and rather than stay alone in the chamber, Carina followed, too. Candle raised, she wandered to the edge of the well while Quillan climbed and then pulled the rope up after him. Father Antoine waited at the bottom, and soon the poles of her litter were coming down tied to the rope. How handy that litter was proving to be. A good thing she had decided to ride it. But then if she hadn’t, they would not be there at all.

Father Antoine grasped the poles and untied them. She held the light for him to see, but it was guttering now. They would have to get a fresh candle out of Quillan’s pack.

Her candle went out, leaving only Father Antoine’s candle sitting on the floor to light the enormous cavern. Strangely, it didn’t frighten her. She thought—no, she believed—God would get them out. Hope had grown from the comfort of their first prayer, and she had added others since. Father Antoine laid the poles down, and Quillan came back down the rope.

Carina wanted to tell him it would be all right, but she saw he was working it out in his own way. Physical and mental exertion. He and the priest started for the passageway. She called, “Wait. I need a new candle.”

Quillan half turned, and she dug into his pack. Father’s light was low and guttering, and she did not want to be fumbling in the dark. Quillan seemed unconcerned, almost oblivious now, his one focus the opening in Wolf ’s chamber. “Come on.” He started on, not bothering with a candle of his own. But he carried the poles and coils of rope.

Inside the chamber, he lashed the poles together, then fixed a rope at the center and knotted it tightly. Then he eyed the ceiling, circling as Father Antoine had done earlier, though when Quillan paced there was almost an animal tension in the motion. He held the tied poles like a javelin, but she could see frustration in his features. Finally he lowered them. “It’s no use. That angle blocks my throw from any side.”

The priest merely nodded, no doubt having reached the same conclusion. Though still very dim, the chamber had brightened even more, taunting them with hope. Quillan looked ready to snap. Carina sucked her upper lip.

He turned to her abruptly. “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine, Quillan.” She wouldn’t add her own fears to his.

“Do you hurt?”

She shook her head. What was his intention?

Once again he displayed that intensity that had frightened her before she knew his true nature. “Can you do it, Carina?”

“Do what?”

“Stand on my shoulders as Father said.”

She backed away. “That’s pazzo.”

Quillan drew himself up. “It’s the only way, or I wouldn’t ask it. I’ll do all the work. You only have to stand up and get the poles into the chimney. I’ll hold you.”

He couldn’t be serious. But he was. As serious as she’d ever seen him. He spread his hands. “I won’t let you fall.”

Her head swam. She could almost believe she wasn’t healed of that old fear. But surely anyone would dread what he proposed. How could he ask it? She could tell him no, she wasn’t strong enough. “If I don’t?”

“Then we wait.”

The priest folded his arms. “The snow cover is thinner up there, or we wouldn’t have this much light.”

“I already know that.” She waved her hand. “So I perch on his shoulders like a monkey and . . . and what?”

Quillan demonstrated with the poles. “Push them up through the chimney, hard like this. Throw them even. They have to get all the way through the opening so they’ll catch on it and we can climb the rope.”

Carina only stared at him.

“I will bear all the weight. Try to grab that jut beneath the opening and balance yourself.”

She looked upward, finding the jutting edge of the ceiling he meant for her to hold on to. Why wasn’t this small chamber wet like the outer cave? The she might have stalactites to hold instead. But then the ceiling might have towered above instead of rising just out of reach. Oh, Dio . . . Why couldn’t the opening be in the lower part? Why the very highest point?

As though he’d read her thoughts, Father Antoine folded his hands. “Maybe we should pray.” He began,
“Pater noster, qui es in caelis . . .”

Soothed, Carina murmured in Italian,
“Sia santificato il tuo
nome . . .”

Quillan joined in. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done . . .”

Their voices rose, joined, and strengthened. And when they finished, Carina looked up at her husband. His eyes were already on her. Could she trust him to hold her safely? She knew his strength, had seen it when he worked. She looked from him to the priest, then sighed.

Quillan took that as acceptance. He crouched.

“What do I do?”

“Step here.” He patted his shoulders.

“Wait a minute.” She unlaced her boots and tugged them off, trying not to step in the guano, then hiked up her skirts and stepped where he told her. “What do I hold?”

“Hold my head to get on.”

She remembered Father Antoine doing the same, but he hadn’t been standing. She put her second foot up and perched, froglike, on his shoulders, gripping his forehead. “Now what?”

“Hold on.”

He grabbed her ankles and started to stand. She felt Father Antoine’s hands holding her steady on her waist. She fought the urge to jump off and focused on not falling. When he was fully upright, she said, still clinging to his head, “Now what?”

“Now you stand and reach for that jut.”

“Madonna mia. I don’t think I can.”

“Carina, if you could slide down that mountain after your wagon goods, you can stand up now. I won’t drop you.”