The Fox (47 page)

Tim picked me up at the station. “All is well and secure at the site. That chap, Stephen Treadwell, asked for you yesterday. I told him you’d be in tomorrow.”

“Oh bloody hell. I wonder what he wants. Mr. Treadwell told me he’d call me if he got an offer on his land. I hope this isn’t that news. Well, I suppose we’ll find out.”

I really wanted to go see the hill. It felt as if I wanted to go home.

“Who is on site tonight?”

“Matt and the new chap, Larry.”

“Well, I have extra clothes and my toothbrush in my bag. I wonder if they’d mind if I bunked with them. If I remember correctly, we have an extra sleeping bag up there, right?”

“Yeah, and a pad, too. For whoever sleeps on the ground.”

Two cots, three people. Yes, one of us will be on the ground. I hoped one of them was a gentleman and would give in without me having to ask.

A soft glow from the full moon reflected off the mountain and covered the fort in milky light. I was home. I said hi to Matt and Larry and dropped off my bag. I grabbed a torch and a cup of coffee and walked to Jahna’s lodge. I closed my eyes and saw her smile as she stirred a rich rabbit stew, cooking over the peat fire. My thoughts confirmed what my heart felt. This was right. I was supposed to be here. I walked back to the tent, picked up the sleeping bag and pad, grabbed a hat and my labyrinth from my bag, and said goodnight. I wanted to sleep with Jahna tonight.

I settled near the perimeter of her home closest to the remains of the gate. My view encompassed the fields where Mr. Treadwell’s sheep grazed and the bog where his Highland cattle wandered. Oak trees in the distance were silhouetted by the moonlight, throwing shadows across the fields. My finger traced the worn path on the labyrinth and I let my imagination wander. The clan was all around me, talking and laughing. Dogs barked and Jahna called to her goats. I loved it there. I stayed in that thought as long as I could, but the sounds and sight wavered and then were gone. I loved archaeology. It allowed me to live in times past.

It was about 4 AM when I woke up and stretched. The ground was hard, and I was chilled. Everything around me was dark and quiet. My eyes wandered over the outlying fields and bog and stopped on a ball of light.

“What the…?”

The light bobbed just above the ground near the trench where Mr. Treadwell had found the bronze horse harness fittings. I looked carefully. It seemed almost like a torch that was in need of batteries. The moon should cast a shadow of the person carrying it, but there was no shadow. I watched it for several minutes. It seemed to move in a small circle, never going far from the first area where I’d noticed it.

I had to go see what this thing was. I debated with myself as to whether I needed Mr. Treadwell’s permission. If yes, I’d have to go to his home, wake him up and tromp through his fields in the middle of the night. Or…. There was a short cut down the path, around the foot of the hill and over a couple of fences. I could be there in about twenty minutes. I chose the short way, put the labyrinth in my pocket, and prayed there were no cattle roaming the bog.

Fences and small hills sometimes hid the dim circle of light as I walked, but when back in sight, it still bobbed, as if waiting for me.

I came to the last barrier, a rock wall surrounding the bog, climbed it, and stood watching, afraid and nervous about what I might see. There was no reason for this light to be bouncing in Mr. Treadwell’s bog. Was I going completely bonkers? I squatted in place and decided to wait. A sneeze exploded to my left and I jumped, almost falling off the wall. The fox sat there, just out of my reach. It was the same fox I’d seen in the trees the other day, I was sure. There was no mistaking him; he was big. He sat watching the light bounce. He was glorious, even in the moonlight. His bronze fur glistened and his white-tipped, bushy tail wagged, slowly. Suddenly, he stiffened, ears forward and his eyes trained on the spot mine had left a moment ago. I turned back and gasped as I sat down hard, breathless, shocked at the vision in front of me.

Oh my God, he’d appeared out of the ground! He couldn’t have walked here, I’d have heard him or seen him. My eyes hadn’t left that spot except for a minute to look at the fox. He couldn’t be there. But there he stood.

A man of about Marc’s height stood straight and proud in front of me, at the edge of a cut trench. A faint aura of golden light shimmered around his body. He wore long pants, a tunic top tied with a cord, and a plaid cape, fastened at his neck. His loose red hair hung below his shoulders. One arm hung to his side, behind the cape. The fox stepped across the trench and sat next to that hand as if waiting to be petted. The other hand rested on his upper chest. His eyes looked into mine. I knew they were blue; the same blue Marc’s eyes were.

He stared at me for a minute and then dropped the hand that rested on his chest. I saw the medicine bag. Healers and druids wore them to ward off evil spirits. He turned slightly to the left and moonlight highlighted its design. It was a labyrinth!

“Oh, gods above,” I whispered. I suddenly thought I should show him my labyrinth and slipped it out of my pocket.

He smiled, and his hand dropped, palm up. He slowly waved it over the bog around him. Our eyes connected and he nodded as if he knew me. My heart stopped beating.

A cloud slid over the moon. I blinked, and the man and the fox had disappeared. They were both gone.

I sat on the damp ground, trying to figure out what I’d seen. As hard as I tried not to admit it, I finally concluded that either I was dreaming and sleepwalking, or Mr. Treadwell’s ghost was roaming the fields in the moonlight. I pinched myself. “Ouch!” I was awake and left with one strong thought. There was something here I needed to find. To do that, I needed to speak to Mr. Treadwell.

“Good morning! Mr. Treadwell!” I was sure he rose with the sun hours ago. I didn’t hesitate to knock hard on his door and call out. “Mr. Treadwell, it’s me, Aine MacRae.”

“I’m in the barn. Stop the yelling or ye’ll wake the dead! Or my son, whichever first. I don’t know where he learned to sleep so much.”

I stepped into the frame of the barn door and peered inside. The sun shined brightly outside but didn’t penetrate the dark interior. Bits of dust floated around the doorframe, reflecting sunlight like miniature flying fairies. “Hello, Mr. Treadwell. Can I speak with you for a moment?”

A striped yellow cat walked out of the darkness, rubbed against my legs, and purred. She looked well fed. Lots of mice in there, I guessed.

“Come on in, lassie.”

I stepped inside, and my eyes grew accustomed to the shafts of light slipping in through the spaces in the barn walls. He stood over a workbench, so I headed his way. The cat followed me in, meowing.

“She’s about to have kittens and begs all the time. Just pay her no mind. She’ll go on a hunt in a bit. You’re up early on this fine day. What can I do for ye?”

“Good morning, Mr. Treadwell. I hope you and your son are well. Stephen called and wanted to talk to me earlier in the week, but I need to talk to you first. I just returned from London last night.”

His back was to me but I could see a motor in pieces on the table in front of him. He intently twisted a screwdriver, the strain showing in his stance.

“Ach! This blasted thing! I would’ve a new one if I were sure I would be on the land for a few more years.”

My heart jumped into my throat. I hoped he’d not made a deal to sell yet. I hadn’t told him yet about wanting to get the hilltop registered and protected. Registering it as a landmark might not restrict the sale of the rest of the land so I didn’t want to upset him or his son needlessly. “Mr. Treadwell. I am here about your bog.”

“My bog. What the bloody hell…. What do ye want with my bog? Oh hell. I give up. I’ll have to take this into town.” He turned to me. “Aye? What does my bog have that brings ye here?”

“Well, Mr. Treadwell. Remember the horse fittings you found? I think there may be more to find there, and I’d like the chance to bring a crew down and do some digging.”

“Lassie. You want to dig holes in my bog? My cattle have a hard enough time as it is. Why would I want to be letting you dig more holes?”

“Mr. Treadwell. The bronze fittings are beautiful. And as I told you, it was not uncommon for the druids to throw other sacrifices into the water. I think there may be more in the bog. That it was once a lake that was sacred to the local ancient clans. I would like to be the one to find whatever else is there. Before it’s gone or covered over.” I heard a commotion in the corner. The yellow cat came out with a mouse in her mouth and laid it at my feet.

“Ah, she’s laying a sacrifice at your feet, lassie. She only does that for those she likes. She will na even come near my son.”

“Oh. Well. I’m honored.” I reached down, petted the cat, and gently shifted my foot out from under the warm mouse body. She picked up the mouse and slowly walked to a dark corner. I expected to hear crunches soon. My stomach rebelled. Only coffee for breakfast seemed like a smart move right now.

“I’ll tell ye what.” His face brightened with an idea. “I’m going to cut peat there tomorrow. Ye can come and help. I can do with a few more spades working.”

I wanted to start now and had to convince him to let my team into the bog today. I decided to tell him what I saw.

“Mr. Treadwell. I was outside, on the hill last night. I saw something. Remember the ghost you told me you saw?”

He stepped closer. I smelled his breakfast bacon on his breath.

“I do not talk about that to everyone, lassie.”

“I haven’t told anyone your story, Mr. Treadwell. I saw something down there. A bouncing light and a fox.”

He stepped sideways so the sunlight silhouetted him. I couldn’t see his face.

“Aye. A fox. He’s a big one he is. The fox that doesna’ eat the farm chickens.” He paused. “What does the fox mean to ye, lassie?”

“I’ve always loved foxes. One followed me around when I was a kid. I think of them as my good luck charms. When I saw the big one last night, Mr. Treadwell, he was standing next to a man.”

“What? What man was in my bog last night? What did ye see?”

“Well, Mr. Treadwell, to tell you the truth, I don’t know what I saw. I think I saw a man, petting the fox. He was tall and wore brown with a cape slung over his shoulders.”

“He showed himself to you.”

“Was that what you saw? Was that your ghost? When you saw him, did he look at you?”

“No, he was pacing, walking over and over the same ground. He didn’t look up at me. He seemed to be looking for something.”

“When I saw him he was standing still. I think he was trying to tell me something. Mr. Treadwell, I have to go see why he came last night. Why he showed himself to me.” I paused to think for a minute. “I have an idea. I have a whole group of young people with strong backs who would be a boon to you. We could dig rows of peat, look through them for relics and then transport the peat wherever you like.”

His hands came up and rested on my shoulders. “I’ll be lifting the peat alongside them. If there is something to find, I want to be there. The ghost.” He slowly shook his head; his eyes never left mine. “He honored ye, too.” He turned and walked back into the dark of the barn. When he returned he had four peat cutting shovels in hand. “We shouldn’t let any more time pass, lassie. I’ll go tell my son where I’ll be, and you call your team here. We start today.”

My team, Mr. Treadwell, and I dug trenches and poked through each piece of muggy, sticky peat and bog mud we dug up. I thought the dirt would never come out from under my nails again. We dug for hours, finding nothing except mud and goop. My biggest fear was Mr. Treadwell losing faith. I knew that I would stay and dig up the whole bog alone if needed. But I couldn’t do it without his permission. Later, toward evening, his son Stephen tripped into the field where we were, carrying papers in his hands. I prayed it was bills to pay or some such.

“Da,” he called. “Da. You need to see this.”

My heart sunk. I knew what it was.

Mr. Treadwell carefully slogged his way to him and they spent their time together talking and leafing through the folder. Stephen quickly shook his head, and Mr. Treadwell seemed to agree by nodding. I knew we were in trouble.

“Aine,” Mr. Treadwell called. He motioned me to come to him. “Lassie,” he said when I stood next to him, knee deep in a furrow. “Stephen brought news of an offer from the hotel. It seems they want me to sign this week. I’m required to go to London to meet with the purchasing company. I’ll spend time with my solicitor and bank tomorrow. Stephen says I shouldn’t allow ye on the property while I’m gone.”

“But I know the land, I could have my team dig without your being here.” I wanted to throttle Stephen and was ready to get on my knees to beg Mr. Treadwell to let us stay.

“He says we’re too close to the deal to have anything happen to any of you. I told him, I’m still making the decisions here as long as the land is in my name. And I give ye permission for one more day. But girl, ye have only one more day. Now, the sun is setting and we will quit for today.”

“Please! If we’re to have only one more day, I want to dig in the moonlight!” I silently cursed the ghost for not being more specific with his sign. Why couldn’t he have planted a flag where I was supposed to dig? I also cursed myself for not starting the process of getting the property listed. Now there was no way I could stop Mr. Treadwell from going. Maybe in time, time I didn’t have, the hilltop would be protected, but I could lose this bog.