Rob
smiled. “No worries. If you like, Alli, I’ll take these back to my hut and
see if I can group them as we were discussing. When you’re ready you can come
and take a look.”
Allison
smiled, grateful to have her attention diverted from Michela’s close proximity
to her. “Not a problem. Let me know when you’re ready.”
The
group dispersed, allowing Michela the space she needed to prepare dinner. She
hummed silently and started at the movement behind her.
Sarah
snagged a biscuit from Michela’s preparation bench. “So, did you see
that?”
Michela
lightly hit her with a mixing spoon. “What do you mean?”
Sarah
munched loudly on her ill-gotten gains. “With Alli just then. She changed
when you arrived, almost as if she wasn’t all that comfortable being near
you.”
Michela
slapped the spoon down on the bench. “And that’s supposed to prove what?
That she likes me? If anything I think that proves she’s not at all at ease in
my presence and that’s damn great.”
“For
a psychologist you really don’t have a clue, do you? Didn’t you ever read that
verse, and I’m paraphrasing here:
I
search for your face in a crowd
and then turn away, afraid of the love others might see.”
Exasperated,
Michela shook her head. “My friend, I think you’ve been on one too many
trips to Antarctica. It’s time you found yourself a woman to waste your
romantic ideals on.”
Sarah
chuckled as she walked to the door. “Mark my words, Michela, mark my
words.”
SARAH
WAVED ACROSS the compound at Michela, who was struggling with several bundles.
“Hey, do want a hand with that?”
Michela
handed half of the bundles to Sarah, relieved to have relinquished some of the
weight. “Thanks. This darned frozen food weighs a ton. Besides, I don’t
know why I’m cooking anyway. No one seems to be bothering eating these
days.”
Sarah
laughed. “Yeah. Things have changed around here with the Ross discovery.
It’s as if those three have gained a new burst of energy.”
“I
know what you mean. It’s a shame half his diary was ruined by water. The
mystery of the expedition’s demise remains unsolved.” Michela nudged open
the door of the mess hut.
They
walked in and Sarah closed the door behind her. “At least the mystery of
his leg’s been solved. Imagine a crate of your own gear falling on your leg.
That must have hurt like blazes.”
“I’d
have preferred they didn’t find out that information. The way Rick carried on
when he found out there was the possibility of another hut around here, I could
have wrung his neck.”
Sarah
chuckled. “You’ll need to get in line with that one. I think Alli would’ve
beaten you to it.”
Michela,
a wistful smile on her face, looked at the small pile of photographic plates on
the table. “She’s really begun to stand up to him and I’m glad to see
that. So what have they been up to this morning?”
“Di
and Rick were bagging and tagging the artifacts they’re taking back to
Australia and then they were going to join Rob and Alli in the hut. I think
they’ve been trying to track a course around the internal walls of the
hut.” Sarah headed for the door. “Are you coming over?”
“Let
me finish here and I’ll be there shortly.”
AFTER
GAINING DIRECTIONS from Allison, Rob skillfully maneuvered around the hut’s
internal walls with his blade. At one place, the blade sunk a little further,
heralding a possible entrance that was plugged by ice. As he peeled away at the
barrier, more evidence of a smaller room came into view, surprisingly free of
all but a few icicles that clung to the ceiling. Despite his growing
excitement, he continued until he’d uncovered a space large enough for a human
to walk through.
“Alli,”
he called softly.
Allison
got up from the wooden bench she’d been cataloguing on and went to Rob’s side.
She was lost for words. Lying within a sleeping bag, his hands calmly folded
over an encased document, was a man, his face weathered by the exposure to the
elements. Unlike the other body, no one had gone to the trouble to sew him into
his sleeping bag. His pose reminded Allison of one of the knights of old.
She
walked quietly across the small confines of the room and peered down at the
encased document he was holding. In bold on the document were three letters:
ERF.
She crumpled to the floor, the shock of the discovery too much to take in.
Rob
rushed to her side, afraid she’d fainted. “Are you all right?”
She
looked up at Rob’s concerned face, her eyes glistening with tears. “You’ve
found him,” she whispered. “You’ve found Eric Finlayson.”
“No
kidding? Bugger me.” He stepped out of the small room and turned to the
others, preoccupied in various corners of the room. “Hey, we’ve found the
man himself.” He quickly stepped aside as the group crammed around the
doorway.
Allison
stood and cast her eyes around what had been Eric Finlayson’s final
resting-place. The personal area wasn’t that dissimilar to the others they’d
found. A small shelf contained his belongings; a faded silk sled pennant, half
family crest, half American flag was tacked to the wall. There was a record on
an opened phonograph—possibly the last tune he’d heard before he closed his
eyes forever. She reverently touched each of the items before returning her
gaze to the man laid out on the small bed, his features surprisingly calm, a
glimmer of a smile around the corners of his lips.
Rick
forced his way into the room and attempted to pull the monogrammed document
from the dead man’s hands. “Damn it, he doesn’t seem to want to give this
up too quickly, does he.”
“What
do you think you’re doing?” Allison screamed in outrage at the desecration
of the man whose existence she’d sought to prove for so long.
Rob
clasped Rick’s shoulder with a vise-like grip. “Why don’t you step back,
mate. This is Alli’s find, not yours. Besides, you had your turn with the last
diary.”
Rick
turned and saw the murderous look in Rob’s eyes. Stepping back, he rubbed his
shoulder while Rob calmed Allison.
“That
proves again the ability of man to conquer all he sees. Here we have the
proof.” Rick pointed at the bed.
Allison,
having recovered from the shock of Rick’s attempted theft, laughed. “He
can’t be too bloody skilful. He died in the attempt.”
Sarah
chuckled. “Congratulations, Rob, and congratulations, Alli. He must have
been the last. Otherwise, I’ve no doubt someone would have wrapped him in a
shroud as well.” She looked at the frozen hands that grimly clutched the
prize of what could only be Finlayson’s diary. “How about we see if we can
release that without too much injury to the body itself. Rob, can you tell
Michela?”
“I’m
here.” Michela stepped into the room and stared at the man in the cot. The
words of Charlotte Finlayson echoed across the miles before spiritually
rebounding off the walls of the small room: “Bring my ancestor home.”
His
features, although withered, were as Michela had remembered seeing him in the
painting behind Charlotte Finlayson’s desk. With the exception of the pallor of
his skin, the only thing that was missing were the eyes that had seemed to
radiate from the painting, now in death, forever closed. She glanced sideways
and took in Allison’s shaking figure. Without thinking she stepped closer and lightly
touched Allison’s arm. “Are you okay?” she softly asked.
Allison
looked down at the hand softly stroking her arm and then at Michela. “I’ll
be fine,” she quietly replied, giving Michela’s hand a small squeeze.
Sarah
cast an “I told you so” smile at Michela before turning her attention
to Allison. “So what do you want to do?”
“If
possible I’d like to try and remove the diary. Once that’s done, I think I’ll
take it back to my hut and see what it holds,” Allison said.
“Michela, I know Mrs. Finlayson’s requirements, but do you think it would
be okay if we tried to work out how her ancestor died?”
Michela
nodded, only now able to think coherent thoughts as opposed to the ones that
had rushed through her head at Allison’s gentle touch. “I don’t think that
would pose a problem, especially if we take it slowly.”
Rick
took Dianne’s hand. “If you think I’m going to give you a hand then you’ve
got another thing coming. Come on, love, we may as well continue with the
cataloguing.
“I’ll
give you a hand to move him,” Rob offered.
“First
things first,” Sarah said. With Michela’s help, she managed to carefully
pry Finlayson’s fingers open enough to pull out the encased document.
“Here.” She handed it to Allison.
Allison
held the document as if it was the most precious thing on earth. “Thank
you,” she whispered and smiled at them. “This is a dream come
true.”
ALLISON
ENTERED HER hut and carefully placed the diary on the table.
I
think
this is going to be a long morning, and my camera’s still in the mess hut. I
better grab that and a coffee while I’m at it.
On
her way to the mess hut, she watched Rob, Michela, and Sarah as they carried
Finlayson. Catching Michela’s glance in her direction, she waved as her
thoughts returned to the interaction in the hut and Michela’s reassuring touch.
She shook her head to bring herself back to the present and entered the mess
hut. She retrieved her camera and a cup of the brew made fresh that morning,
and returned to her apple.
Allison
photographed the document’s jacket. It was made of cardboard, encasing its
contents on all sides bar one. “Hmm, a good way to protect the
contents.” She tilted the open side toward her and the book slid out, its
cover obviously once brilliant deep green leather. “Now that is a
beautiful piece of craftsmanship.”
Only
the gold monogrammed letters of ERF and the gold border that formed a boundary
to the diary broke the green leather. She lifted the book and a small
waterproof pouch fell from the back of the casing.
“SO,
WHAT DID I tell you?” Sarah smugly said as she and Michela removed the
stiff sleeping bag from Finlayson.
“I
still think you’re making things up. She wasn’t thinking. If it had been you in
my place, she’d have done the same thing,” Michela replied.
“You
can say what you want, Dr. DeGrasse, but I think you
know
she likes
you.” Sarah dodged Michela’s soft punch. “Do this like last
time?”
Michela
nodded. “Let me get comfortable.” She leaned against the wall of the
container. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“It’s
a male who looks to be a lot older than the other male, but this could be due
to the exposure of Finlayson’s skin to the extremes over the passing years.
Anyway, if we take that into account, my rough guess is that he’s about the
same age—late thirties to early forties. I’m going down through the layers here
and he seems to be wearing a hell of a lot more clothing than Ross was. Mind
you, if he’s died from the same thing then there probably wasn’t that much body
fat to keep him warm. I’m unbuttoning his shirt and cutting through his
undershirt.” Sarah sucked in a breath. “Shit, it looks as if he may
have suffered broken ribs at some stage. His chest is tightly bound. Are you
getting all this, Michela?”
“Yes,
yes, give me a minute,” Michela replied as she furiously wrote.
ALLISON
PHOTOGRAPHED THE front and back of the pouch and set her camera on the table.
She took a long sip of her coffee, allowing the contents to warm her insides.
She
set the cup down, took up a pair of long-nosed tweezers, and carefully unfolded
the waterproof covering to reveal two photographs, one on top of the other. She
put them beside each other, picked up her camera, and photographed them before
studying them more closely.
The
first photograph was of a woman in a flowing dress of the 1890’s, accompanied
by a small child dressed in a pinafore. From the extensive research Allison had
undertaken on Finlayson, she knew this could only be a picture of Finlayson’s
wife Charlotte, and their son Robert. She smiled at the family portrait of
father, mother, and son in the second photograph. Finlayson stood proudly
behind the seated Charlotte, the smiling child on her lap.
She
carefully picked up the family portrait, turned it over, and struggled to read
the inscription on its back. She turned on the high-resolution lamp, hoping the
light would make her reading that much easier.
SARAH
TAPPED THE floor as she waited for Michela to catch up. “Are you ready
yet?” Michela nodded. “As I was saying, it seems he’s suffered some
sort of rib damage as his ribs are tightly bound. I’m going to cut through the
gauze to see if I can see what the source of the injury is.” She cut
through the icy material and pulled it back.
Michela,
nose in her notes, heard Sarah gasp. “What’s wrong?”
Sarah
looked down at the seated Michela. “Take a look.”
Michela
put the notepad on the floor, went to Sarah’s side and looked at Finlayson’s
body. She blinked twice. “Oh shit, what do we do now?”
THE
HIGH-RESOLUTION lamp allowed Allison to see the fine copperplate inscription
written all those years ago.
My darling Elizabeth may this memory of a happy
day tide you through the cold days ahead. My love and thoughts will always be
with you. All my love, Charlotte.