Authors: Lynne Gentry
Lisbeth gave in and handed Maggie one of the extra tent stakes. “Why don’t you try drawing in the sand?”
An hour later, Papa nudged Lisbeth’s shoulder. “She’s finally a goner.” He scooped Maggie into his arms. “Let me carry her to the tent.”
Lisbeth sprinted ahead and held back the canvas flap. Papa ducked inside with his precious cargo. She watched him gently settle Maggie on top of her sleeping bag. Even in her sleep, Maggie’s face twitched with anxiety.
Papa took Lisbeth by the elbow and whispered, “Better get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
“Do all children inherit their parents’ fears?” she whispered back.
“I don’t like snakes.” He pointed at his extra pair of digging boots positioned neatly at the foot of his bed, a sock pulled tightly over the top of each. Then he pointed at the boots thrown haphazardly beside Lisbeth’s duffel. “But they don’t seem to bother you.”
“Thanks for making me feel worse than I already do.” She kissed his cheek, then bent and brushed a blond curl from Maggie’s face. “Much as I dislike my own claustrophobia, I hate seeing my daughter struggle with it.”
“Parental guilt is one of the immutable laws of nature.” Papa sat on his cot. He rubbed his knees as if massaging some courage into what he had to say next. “After your mother left, I saw the twinkle drain from your eyes.” His palms ironed his faded dungarees. “My fear of never making anything of myself played a big part in your sorrow. Knowing my selfishness had hurt you pained me
more than losing Magdalena.” In the yellow glow of the kerosene lantern he appeared to have aged ten years since they arrived. “I’ve devoted my life to rekindling your spark. Tried everything I could think of, even sending you to the States for an education.” He nodded in Maggie’s direction. “But it wasn’t until the doc put that little one in your arms that the light finally snapped back on.” He lifted a leg and tugged at his boot. “Whatever is down that hole is worth saving. Not just for her, but for you.”
Lisbeth watched Papa climb into his sleeping bag and waited until his snores rattled the tent. Then she rose from her cot, fished his Bible from his rucksack, and searched the lined pages one last time for a definitive stance on meddling with the past.
Second Peter mentioned that to God a day was like a thousand years and a thousand years like a day. The book of Luke had a
story
of Moses and Elijah transfigured from the past to stand beside Jesus in the present. But as far as something exact, the best she could find was the Gospel of John’s reference to God’s presence from the beginning. Obviously God operated in a realm of great complexity when it came to time. Eternity, for example, was one of those complexities. Time without end was a difficult concept to grasp. Especially when everything in humanity’s known realm had an expiration date. Milk. Medicine. Men.
But what if it was possible to delay Cyprian’s untimely end? What if there wasn’t some kind of supernatural force that prohibited such an action? What were the risks if she once again succeeded in crossing the time barrier? Rerouting pivotal events could have far-reaching ramifications. If the bishop of Carthage died of natural causes rather than a martyr’s death, would Christianity advance? Cyprian’s selfless example had rallied a scruffy little band of misfits to look death in the eye. If the movement died because Christians chose to bail rather than sacrifice, history’s entire course would be altered.
Even worse, if by chance Lisbeth found that changing the past
was
possible, would she then return to the same future she’d left? Would Papa and Mama marry in an altered world? If her parents had never married, she would never have been born. And if she’d never existed, as the pages of Pontius’s work suggested, she couldn’t have gone to the third century, and her precious Maggie wouldn’t even be a twinkle in Cyprian’s eye.
She peered into the drug cooler, checking the calibrated thermometer. Forty-two degrees. The ice was melting. At forty-six degrees the vaccine would begin to suffer a rapid deterioration. Her descent through the time portal could not wait for Maggie to warm up to the idea.
Hands shaking, Lisbeth turned down the lantern’s wick and blew across the top of the glass chimney. She crawled in beside Maggie. In the darkness, she listened to her daughter’s peaceful respirations, willing her own breaths to slow to an even match.
Nothing about her plan to leap into the underground darkness had even the slightest degree of reliability. If, for some reason, she pierced some unknown artery in time, no telling where they would end up. She was being forced to simply rely on the slim hope that if God wanted her back in the third century, then God would get her there. And trusting her life to anyone or anything beyond her control did not come easily.
A fretful sleep settled upon her. Dreams of losing Papa and Maggie in the waterslide caused her to bolt upright more than once in the night. Each time, she checked on Maggie, adjusted a thin blanket over her bare legs, and willed herself back to bed. She fell asleep remembering the last time she and Cyprian were together . . . walking the beach below his villa, holding hands, and making love in the shadows of the vine-clad pergola. Safe. Satisfied. Secure. Yet, somewhere deep inside her, she knew their time together was short. That her time in his world mattered. That even
though history believed her never actually there, it was not the truth. Or was it?
When morning finally came, Lisbeth woke with a guilty start. Guilty that she had no better control of her emotions. Guilty that she loved this man so much she was willing to put her family at risk to save him.
Pinholes of morning light salted the tent seams. Soon the sun would turn what now served as their protection from the elements into an Easy-Bake oven. Lisbeth slowly became aware of an arm wrapped around her neck. She lightly stroked the baby-soft skin of Maggie’s arm. Lisbeth had always been such a tomboy; she’d never played with dolls. So it had surprised her how easily she could love a child and how that love would push her to become the mother she never had. The weight of her daughter’s safety and security rested heavily across her throat.
Going to Carthage was the only way to stop another measles outbreak and save Cyprian, but what kind of a mother willingly, and with forethought, places her child in harm’s way? This had gone far enough.
Lisbeth kissed her daughter’s forehead, then extracted herself from Maggie’s tight grip.
“Papa,” she whispered, pressing his shoulder until he stirred, “there’s been a change of plans.”
“Huh?”
“I can’t send Maggie through the portal.”
He slowly opened one eye. “Why not?”
“It’s too risky.” Lisbeth slipped on her boots. “And the confinement will scare her to death. Bringing her here was a bad idea.”
He pushed up on his elbows, blinking to bring her into focus. His eyebrows furrowed. “You go then.”
“Without her? I can’t.”
“You’ve always done what had to be done for her. This is one
of those jobs.” He swung his long, bony legs off his cot. “It may have seemed to you like you were gone months last time, but from my side of things you were only missing a few hours.”
“What if this time it’s not the same?”
“Who do you think watches Miss Magdalena when you’re at the hospital? I can entertain our girl for a day or two. You know I’ve been dying to get back to that cave and poke around. Maybe while I’m at it, I can convince my granddaughter to become an archaeologist.”
“She wants to be a painter.”
“No reason she can’t do both.” He yanked the socks off the top of his boots and checked for snakes. “She’s a bit more girly than you were, but I bet I can have her digging in the sand by the time you come sailing out of that hole.”
“But what about Mama? I know you wanted to see—”
“Go.” He waved her on. “Find your mother, then bring her and your brother back, along with that saint you’re always thinking about.”
Lisbeth fingered the ring that hung from the leather cord around her neck. Papa’s suggestions had merit. She could secure Maggie’s safety and proceed with her plan to bring everyone home. She lifted the necklace and placed it in Papa’s palm. “When I bring Mama home,
you
can give this back to her yourself.”
He slid the necklace over his head and kissed her cheek. Papa suggested she slip out before Maggie woke, but Lisbeth remembered her own terror, wondering what had happened to her mother all those years ago. No way would she leave her baby with the same questions. No more buried secrets. Maggie deserved a proper good-bye, a tangible reassurance that her mother would come back, and as much of the truth as a five-year-old could understand.
After breakfast, Maggie perched on the cot, combing her doll’s hair as she watched Lisbeth seal plastic bags filled with as many emergency medical supplies as she could single-handedly trans
port into the third century. Acetaminophen. Vitamin A. Syringes. Penlight. Latex gloves. Surgical masks. A new scalpel, a small bone saw, and some decent suture needles for Mama. The three rounds of antibiotics her friend Queenie had called in for each of them. She’d hoped for more, to make more of a dent in the plague, but she’d barely had time to get those prescriptions filled. And the most important piece of equipment, Mama’s stethoscope. She waited until the last possible minute to remove the box of MMR vials from the cooler. Once they hit the desert air, she had less than eight hours to travel through time and inoculate her loved ones.
Maggie tugged a comb through her doll’s ponytail. “After you jump in the hole, will you see my daddy?”
“That’s the plan.” Lisbeth stuffed the plastic bags in a big backpack, dug out a pair of nose plugs, and slid the band over her head. “You can help Aisa cook while I’m gone, right?”
Maggie shrugged.
Lisbeth zipped the backpack. “G-Pa might need some help digging up buried treasure.”
Maggie wrinkled her nose, then returned to styling her doll’s hair. “Will you bring my daddy home?”
“I’m sure going to try, baby.”
Papa paced the tent, adding to the growing unease in the stuffy space. Lisbeth slipped the pack’s straps over her shoulder and clicked the belly straps securely into place. “You don’t have to go inside the cave, Maggie, but I think you’ll feel better about my trip if you stand at the entrance and see me go down the hole.”
“And then you’ll come right back?”
“Fast as I can.”
Maggie tucked her doll under one arm and took Lisbeth’s hand. “Promise I don’t have to go inside.”
“Promise.”
The closer they got to the cave, the tighter Maggie’s little hand squeezed. At the opening, Lisbeth squatted before her daughter. Maggie clutched her doll. Tear-filled eyes searched Lisbeth’s for one last reassurance.
Lisbeth cupped Maggie’s face and ran her thumb over the slope of Maggie’s upturned nose, willing time to stop as she memorized every perfect feature. “Mommy has to go.” She drew Maggie into a tight embrace. Instead of trying to wiggle free, Maggie hooked an arm around Lisbeth’s neck. Lisbeth soaked in the touch, pulling away only after Papa tapped her shoulder.
She stroked Maggie’s hair. “You be a brave girl for your g-pa.”
“It’s dark in there.” Maggie’s wide eyes searched the cave’s interior. “Don’t go.”
Lisbeth looked to Papa to bail her out. Instead he said, “This is something your mother’s got to do.”
Lisbeth kissed Maggie one last time, saying a silent prayer for the Lord to keep this part of her family safe while she went for the rest of them. She clamped her nose plugs in place, then went to stand before the location on the cave wall where the Neolithic swimmer family waited.
A mom. A dad. And in between the parents, a child with outstretched arms. Frozen in a moment of pure bliss. She intended to re-create the same joy for her family.
Lisbeth checked the straps on her backpack, positioned her feet, then blew Maggie a kiss. “I’ll be back before you even have time to miss me.” Lisbeth placed her hand on the picture-perfect child standing in the middle of the swimmer family.
“That’s the family I asked Santa to bring!” Maggie tugged against Papa’s grasp. “I want my daddy!”
Sizzling heat radiated through Lisbeth’s body. “Stay there, Maggie.”
The ground trembled, no more than a tremor in the soles of
Lisbeth’s feet at first, and then a familiar rumble transmitted from the center of the earth and shook her bones. Sand shifted beneath her boots, slipping out from under her.
“I want my daddy!” Maggie broke loose and took a step toward her.
“Go back, baby!” A vacuum-cleaner-strength pull sucked at Lisbeth’s feet, tugging her through a plate-size hole.
“Magdalena!” Papa yelled. “Come to G-Pa!”
“Mommy!” Maggie ignored him and ran. “Wait!”
The portal suddenly opened, and Lisbeth dropped. She stopped her plummet into the abyss by catching the side of the hole with one hand. Her feet pedaled nothing but cool, dank air as she worked to bring her other hand around.
“Go back!” Lisbeth clawed desperately at the crumbling sand. “Papa! Get her.”
“Don’t leave me, Mommy!” Maggie screeched to a halt at the edge of the opening, her face frozen in terror.
“Go back, Maggie!” The chasm groaned, splitting the hole wider.
Maggie teetered on the edge, her eyes wide. “Take me.”
“No, baby!” Chunks of damp sand broke away and pummeled Lisbeth.
Just as she lost her grip, Maggie screamed, “Mommy!” She dropped her doll and leaped into Lisbeth’s arms.
End over end they tumbled through the darkness, a speeding bullet ricocheting off the stone walls. The roar of rushing water grew louder and closer.
Lisbeth held Maggie tightly and shouted, “Hold your breath!”
They hit feetfirst.
The force parted the water. Raging currents sucked them deep into the cold river.
Before Lisbeth could think of what to do, a burst of turbulence ripped Maggie away.
11
The Cave of the Swimmers
C
ASCADING WATER SCOURED LISBETH’S
empty arms and sent her body keeling through a dark tunnel.