Page 106 of The Promise
Owen looked up at the mine. "And you think Duncan rehid the silver?"
Michael followed his gaze. "It sure seems that way."
"Crafty old bugger." Owen's eyes narrowed, and Cara could have sworn she saw a flicker of something less than congenial cross his face, but before she had time to examine the thought, it was gone.
Michael dumped the dregs from his cup into the fire and put his cup down on a rock. "You never said what brought you up here, Owen."
"Oh, curiosity mainly." He stretched out his legs, leaning back against a rock. "I had business in Tintown and expected it to take somewhat longer than it did. When I finished early, I felt the need of a little…" he paused, sipping the last of his coffee, "holiday. And so, here I am."
"Well, I, for one, am delighted you showed up when you did." Cara smiled at him and gathered the cups. She pulled herself to her feet, surprised to find that she was feeling almost normal. "I'll just wash these out." She walked to the stream and bent to rinse the cups. The cold water felt good against her bruised hands.
"Owen." Cara could hear Michael's voice clearly even though he was behind her. "There's one thing I haven't told you. There's a note—from my father. I think it's directions of some kind."
"To the silver?" There was a new note of enthusiasm in Owen's voice, not that she could blame him. It was his silver after all, or at least a third of it was.
"I think so."
"Well, my boy, where is it?"
Cara cocked her head to listen. There was something in Owen's voice that bothered her. In fact, now that she thought about it, it was more than that. Something about his reaction to the whole thing was off.
"The note? I don't have it."
"Where is it?" There was a chord of urgency in the older man's voice.
"Patrick has it."
Owen coughed, but Cara would have sworn it started out as a curse. "Really? I assumed of course, since you're up here, that you'd have it."
"Well." She could hear the smile in Michael's voice. "I do have it. Sort of."
She realized he was teasing Owen. Michael had memorized the short note. Just to make sure Amos couldn't get his hands on it. She waited for him to enlighten his friend.
"It's in here." She turned around in time to see him pointing at his head, a boyish grin on his face.
"Well, why didn't you say so. Let's get up there." Owen's face was positively jubilant. Again, Cara had the feeling there was something false about it. She pushed the thought aside. Her adventures were making her cynical. This was Owen after all. Michael's Owen.
"Hang on. Cara's not in any shape to go up there. We're better off waiting for Patrick."
"But we don't know when he'll be here." Owen sounded petulant. He glanced over at Cara, looking quite apologetic. "Do forgive me, my dear, I wasn't thinking."
She stacked the clean cups in front of Owen's rucksack. "It's all right. Besides, I'm fine. If you all want to go up there, I'm game." She paused, looking across the stream at the turning station. "As long as we take the ground route."
Michael frowned at her, his eyes exploring her from head to toe. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine, really. After everything we've been through, a little acrobatics over Shallow Creek is a drop in the bucket." She winced at her own bad pun.
"Very funny."
Owen stood up. "It's decided then. We head for the mine, using ground transportation, of course." He smiled over at Caraconspiratorially. "I never much cared for those ore buckets myself."
They were well on their way over the mountain before Cara realized what it was that had been bothering her. At no time during their discussion of Amos and the silver had Owen asked about Michael's mother. Granted, it probably wasn't as big an issue for him as it was for her sons, but according to Michael, he'd been close to her.
Surely, he should have at least asked about her. Didn't he want to know what had really happened to Rose?
Cara'sfirst thought was that it was amazingly dark. In her time, the historical society had worked overtime to try and make the mining museum in Silverthread accurate. To the point of countless arguments about the lighting. In the end, they'd settled on lighting so low it was sometimes impossible to see the exhibits clearly. Accuracy over practicality. She blinked against the dark. Compared to the Promise, the museum was brighter than a floodlit ballpark.
They stood at the bottom of the mineshaft in the main tunnel of the first level. Cara looked at the candle in her hand. It barely illuminated her arm, let alone the cavernous dark. She shivered, remembering the cave-in at the other mine.
