The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(32)

Quillan stood and studied the wall of snow by the dim light of the candle. Trying to melt the snow would be futile. And if they didn’t get out soon, they might need to burn the timbers to keep from freezing. What if they pulled the snow inward and pushed it down the shaft? How much would they have to move? And what if it rushed in and covered them?

He turned back and surveyed his father’s mine. Wolf had hewn and timbered these walls. Why? What would he want with a mine? Was it greed, as Leona Shepard claimed, or was he trying to find himself, as Rose suspected? Either way, it had ended tragically, both his parents dying in the flames that left only the burned-out foundation outside.

Outside. Would they ever get out? Quillan paced to the edge of the shaft and back to the wall of snow, to the edge and back again, then stopped as Father Antoine stood up. He looked old. He’d be as old as Wolf would have been or older. Fifty? Sixty? Older?

The priest joined him. “Is it morning?”

Quillan nodded. “I think so.”

Father Antoine carefully tugged each sleeve of his coat at the wrist, then pulled it closed at the neck. His breath formed a cloud. “We need to consider a certain matter of hygiene.”

Quillan glanced at Carina, who had not yet stirred. Now that the priest mentioned it, his own bladder needed attention. “Any ideas?”

Father Antoine shrugged. “We’ve no container, so a space will have to do. Your wife will need privacy. We could hang a blanket.”

The thought was infuriating, that a basic human function would soon make their space unbearable. Trapped and contaminated, like animals. He felt the nerves fuzz up his back and shook his head. “I’m getting us out of here.”

Quillan grabbed a pole and thrust it deeply into the snow outside the opening. Powder still, and something hard. A chunk of ice. But ice wouldn’t pack either. He thrust again and again, harder and harder. Powder flew. He almost lost the pole, pawed frantically at its end and yanked it back.

“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.