Page 34 of In the Pursuit of Haven
He snapped at his assistant who left to find it while I leaned closer to the cane. It was in Latin. Just like Samuel Cheever’s gravestone in Matthew’s letter.
“Pastoris Reliquiae.”
I read it aloud, trying to translate it in my head—something about Shepherds of the Relics… which didn’t that mean the pastor’s remains?
“Et super lapidem volat.”
It was talking about “rolling away the stone”… well, in really choppy grammar. But if Matthew had cracked the code once, then I could too. Being a historian should give me some kind of advantage.
Rolling away the stone could be a religious reference to the Resurrection. Were we talking about someone’s grave? And yet, Matthew had set sail to reach wherever this clue pointed, so this wasn’t leading us anywhere in Salem.
I took a deep breath, grounding myself while Jude breathed down my neck. The Latin literally said, “He flipped the stone.”
“Dad, I just got off from work. Let’s go!”
I jumped when I recognized that brisk, imperious voice. Ruth took a scornful step back at seeing me. She’d taken her beautiful red hair from the last time I saw her and dyed it a bright pink. Her brows had been colored in about three times heavier and darker than what they were originally, and it made her brown eyes look exceptionally black; it also happened to make her seem harsher than how she’d been as a teenager.
Ruth glared. “Roxy,” she said my name like a curse, just like she’d done all those years ago when we were younger, especially after Jessie and I became inseparable. Ruth and I were forced into each other’s lives when she wanted me gone.
“It’s so nice to see you,” I said.
“What are you doing here?” she spat. Jude’s daughter had never pretended how much she despised me. The irony was that she’d been the one who threw Jessie and me together.
“Work,” I said, hoping she’d buy that I was just researching an exhibit.
Jude’s assistant returned to interrupt our tensely polite exchange. “We’re out of the postcards,” he said flatly.
His supervisor rolled his eyes. “Fine,” Jude conceded. “Go ahead and take a picture, Roxy.”
Wait a minute? Jude knew my name! Ruth glowered behind him. It didn’t take a genius to know that I must’ve become a household name when I came between Jessie and his daughter.
And what did it matter? I was grateful for the permission. Steadying my fingers under Ruth’s condemning looks, I snapped a few shots of the handle, noting the snake-like insignia going down the front of the cane. I studied the section where the handle and cane met.
That’s when I saw what Matthew must’ve discovered all those years ago. My hand froze over my phone. Handles like these were called bourdons and were first used in the Crusades to conceal religious relics and valuables. Once unscrewed, the inside would reveal a hollow cavity. Anything could be inside this handle—French revolutionaries used them to hide weapons, fancy British ladies used them for smelling salts.
That’s what the poorly worded Latin meant: “turn the handle”!
And… there was no way Jude, together with his vigilant daughter were going to let me touch this thing.
Feeling like a first grader with fingers grubby with peanut butter, instead of an experienced archiver, I desperately tried to think of a distraction that might get rid of these witnesses for two seconds. Seeing the vents that had been placed in the witch house from our more modern century, I pointed. “Is there a basement in this place?”
I got a blank look from Jude. I guessed this was like asking for the basement in the Alamo.
Ruth drew back her head with a cruel laugh. “You still knownothingabout Salem!”
“No, no.” Jude seemed outraged at my ignorance. “This place was moved thirty feet to expand North Street. The foundation is somewhere under the street, so yeah… no basement. Are we almost through here? It’s after four. Time to close up.”
“We’re going to a private party held exclusively for the Crowninshields and their most intimate of acquaintances,” Ruth said. Her eyes told me that I wasn’t part of that elite number her family considered their friends. “Such ashameyou’re not invited.” She left on her heel, sweeping her pink hair behind her shoulder. “I’ll be waiting in the gift shop, dad!” she sang out.
Oh brother! Her father crossed his arms, waiting for me to leave. How bad would it be to bump into this cane and pretend tipping it over was an accident?
Pretty awful.
Before I could craft a speech about how I was trained to handle artifacts, more customers flocked through the door.
Jude and his assistant stomped forward to face this new threat. “We’re closed.”
“Okay, guys, I’m trained for this.”I let my unspoken speech ease my burning conscience as my fingers went to the cane, and grasping the handle, I flipped the head over. Instead of a hollow cavity, I saw writing on the back side: “La Concepcion.”
