Page 6 of The Forsaken
“All right,” Emma answered, shrugging. “Whatever.” She enunciated the word, making it sound like an insult.
“Is that attitude I sense?” Phoebe asked Quinn as Emma ran after Buster.
Quinn sighed. “Some days I think she’s already a teenager. By the way, Phoebe, Emma’s birthday is in August, and we’d like to have a party for her. Perhaps we can do something really special, since it’s her first birthday without her mum and she’ll be feeling sad. I hope you’ll come.”
“That sounds like a good idea. I wouldn’t miss it. If you need any help planning, count me in. I feel so restless since Graeme died. I don’t know what to do with my time.”
“What did you do before?” Quinn asked.
“I made him breakfast, lunch, and tea. I bullied him into taking daily walks, and sometimes we watched television in the evenings. I didn’t like the programs he enjoyed, but it was nice to spend time together—companionable. I’m busy enough during the day, but once it gets dark, the house feels so empty,” Phoebe complained.
“It must be very difficult to lose your companion of so many years. My grandmother never got over my grandfather’s death. She always spoke of him as if he were about to return. To her, he was still there, in the room, in her heart. Her Joe was looking after her, and she smiled as she died, knowing she would see him again.”
“Do you think she did?” Phoebe asked.
“I’d like to think so, but the more logical part of my brain says that it’s not very likely.”
“I’d like to see Graeme again, if only to give him a piece of my mind,” Phoebe said. “How could he leave me like that?”
Quinn saw the tears and wrapped her arm about the older woman. “He didn’t leave you, Phoebe. He was taken. He would have never left you. He adored you.”
Phoebe sniffed loudly. “Would have been nice if he said so from time to time.”
“He didn’t need to. It was right there for everyone to see.”
Phoebe nodded. “I know he did. I loved him too. I hadn’t realized how much until he was gone. You and Gabe, don’t ever take each other for granted. He adores you too, you know.” Phoebe looked squarely at Quinn. “Don’t ever hurt him, Quinn.”
“I won’t.”
Phoebe nodded and walked away, going to see what Emma and Buster were up to. Quinn looked after her for a long moment. Why would Phoebe think she’d hurt Gabe?
FOUR
The following morning, with Emma safely out of the way, Gabe and Quinn made their way down to the kitchen, tools of their trade in hand. The hole in the floor wasn’t as large as Quinn had expected, nor was it possible to see the complete skeleton. She supposed the coroner had seen enough to declare it a non-recent burial and left it at that. It would take several days to fully unearth the remains and label and bag all the bones and artefacts found with the body. Quinn settled herself in a kitchen chair with a cup of tea while Gabe went to work. He would use a trowel and brushes once he got closer to the actual bones, but for the moment, he had to remove the portion of the floor that still covered the grave and the layer of earth on top of the skelly.
“Are you sure I can’t help?” Quinn asked as she peered into the dank hole.
“Positive,” Gabe replied as he reached for a crowbar, sporting the look of a man determined to leave no tile intact. “You can make me a cuppa,” he added with a smile. “Demolition is thirsty work. And after you make the tea, you should go take a walk. It’s a beautiful day out, and you can use a bit of fresh air and exercise after sitting in the car all day yesterday.”
“Yes, Dr. Russell,” Quinn replied with a chuckle. Gabe really was becoming a dictator since the incident in New Orleans, but she secretly liked it. He did it because he loved her and their baby, and worried about them incessantly, although, at times, his high-and-mighty attitude grated on her nerves. “All right, I will take a walk before lunch, but for now, I will sit here and ooze moral support.”
“Don’t ooze too hard. I have hours to go before I get to anything even remotely interesting.”
Quinn took a walk, as promised, and then had a lovely nap before returning downstairs in time for dinner. She couldn’t cook anything, since the kitchen was out of bounds, but Cecily hadinvited them to dinner at her cottage as a thank-you for taking her out the night before, and they both missed Emma. Gabe was shoulder-deep in the kitchen floor, his tools laid out on the remaining tiles at the edge of the opening. Quinn could see the gleam of bone as he used a brush to clear dirt from the skull. Most of the skeleton was already exposed, including the folded hands clasped around the hilt of a sword.
“A warrior,” Quinn said as she bent to get a closer look. “An ancestor of yours?”
Gabe shrugged. “I don’t know. Might be. He must have been very young, a teenager perhaps.”
Quinn nodded in agreement. The skull didn’t appear to be that of a grown man and the wrist bones indicated that he had been quite delicate. “I can’t imagine someone with such fragile hands wielding that sword.”
Gabe carefully extracted the sword. “It’s not as heavy as you might think. It’s a common misconception that medieval swords were weighty and cumbersome, but in truth, they were rather elegant and weighed no more than four pounds, on average.”
“Let me see.” Quinn pulled on cotton gloves and held out her hands. Whatever story the sword had to tell, she wasn’t ready to hear it now.
Gabe passed her the sword. He was right, it wasn’t as heavy as it had first appeared to be, and looked to be a fine piece of craftsmanship. This was a sword made for a warrior, a prized possession and a family heirloom. The hilt appeared too thick to fit into the hand that lay exposed in the dirt, but perhaps this boy had inherited his father’s sword and had taken it into battle to honor the fallen.
“Do you think the skelly might be a squire?” Quinn asked, but Gabe shook his head.
