The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(35)

“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.”

She closed her eyes for a quick moment, drew two deep breaths, then tried to push herself up from his shoulders. Her legs would not straighten. Oh, Dio. She drew up her chest and balanced her fingertips on Quillan’s head, then pressed again with her legs, wobbling as her hands left their rest. Under her skirts, Quillan’s hands came up her calves, strong and steady as she straightened her legs, then unbent at the waist.

Arms stretched upward, her fingers found the jut in the ceiling, enough to balance with, if not hold on to. Quillan swayed slightly, and she gasped. “Don’t move!”

“I’m trying not to.” He slid his hands behind her knees and tightened his grip. “Give her the poles, Father.”

Father Antoine lifted them, thinner end first. Wobbling a little, she reached with one hand and grabbed the poles. They were heavy and awkward. She gripped them tightly, trying not to hit Quillan in the head.

“Now get them through the shaft, Carina.”

Oh sì. Throw them in the shaft. She’d be lucky if she held on to them at all. She raised the poles, but the angle would not allow them in. She was too low. Signore, why did you make me so short? She tried raising the poles over her head as high as she could stretch, but it wasn’t enough. “I can’t get them in. We’re not high enough.”

“On your knees, Father.” Quillan’s voice was tight, and she realized he was straining worse than she. Physically, he had the worst of it, though it was no picnic balancing. But he thought Father’s prayers would raise them two more feet?

Glancing down, she stopped her breath completely as Father Antoine dropped not only to his knees, but to all fours. They couldn’t mean to . . . But they did!

She gripped the jut with all the strength in her fingers. Quillan raised one foot, leg shaking as he lodged it onto the priest’s back. She couldn’t watch, focused only on clinging to the rough ceiling. With a rush, she rose a couple feet higher and the poles swung at her side.

“Ow.”

The thump told her she had done as she feared and bumped the ends into Quillan’s head. What did he expect? Her own head was bent against the top of the cave now. She could see through the shaft to the snow. But how deep was the snow?

She drew the poles up nearly parallel to the ceiling. Her arms shook. So did her legs. Quillan shifted his hold, and Father Antoine gasped, “Quickly, Carina.”

She gathered herself. With all her might, she thrust the poles into the shaft. The motion threw her forward to the edge of the shaft. She caught it and held on.

The poles had lodged in the snow. What if it were too deep? “Can you move one step forward, Father?” What was she saying? Move? They would fall!

But, uncomplaining, he slowly inched forward, and she clung to the edge of the shaft. She pulled the poles back, then reaching deeper, shoved the poles as hard as she could. Daylight. She saw blue sky. “They’re through! The poles broke through the snow!”

“Can you get them all the way through?” Quillan’s strain was evident in his breathless tone.

“I can’t reach them again. They’re in too far.”

“But they’re not through? Not all the way to hook over the shaft?”

She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her. “No. They’re still lengthwise in the shaft.”

“We need them all the way through. Father?”

Oh, Dio? He couldn’t be thinking . . . Carina clung to the opening as Quillan moved again beneath her. Slowly he began to rise, and she knew Father Antoine now had Quillan’s feet on his shoulders. He couldn’t manage more than that, but it was enough to raise her halfway into the shaft.

She gripped the poles and shoved. They flew out the end of the shaft, and snow fluttered in around her face. She blew it from her mouth. “They’re out.”

Catching her legs in a new grip, Quillan grunted with the strain. “Now’s the tricky part.”

Now? What did he call the rest of it?

Quillan said, “Pull on the rope. Slowly. Don’t let the end of the poles come back in. They have to catch sideways.”

And how was she to manage that? He wobbled underneath her as she reached for the rope. Per piacere, Signore . . . She pulled more rope. So far no ends of the poles. She pulled again and it caught fast. The poles must have turned on their own. She gave it a tug to be sure. “The rope is tight.”

“Great! Good. Now come on down.”

“Down?” Carina’s legs watered at the thought. “You think I’m pazzo?” She took hold of the rope and drew her knee up into the opening. “Push.”

Quillan shoved her into the shaft, cushioned with leaves and debris. She was only thankful the freezing temperatures would have killed any insect or other life. The chimney wasn’t long, and it slanted so to require little strength. If it had been straight up, she could not have done it. But as it was, she braced herself and crawled the last couple feet, then pushed her head through the snow, chilling her neck with frosted crystals. She shook it free, blinking in the brightness. The air was keen and brittle. She pushed with her elbows, brought one knee out and then the other, and crawled onto the mountainside.