Always Friday (14 page)

“Are you sure we shouldn’t ask the lumber company that owns
the property for permission to nose around?” Dan asked.

Tess shook her head. “The clerk said they own acres and
acres in that area. I doubt that anyone connected with the company will even
know that we’re there.” She checked the journal pages again. “According to
Casey’s account, a church had been built on the site a few years before they
found it, and when she and Marsh came through looking for the treasure, the community
had gathered for a week-long revival meeting after spring planting. Some of the
more distant families were camped on the grounds and, since there wasn’t room
to dig under the church even if all those people hadn’t been around, they moved
on.”

Dan stared at her in disbelief. “Do you mean for us to crawl
under an old church and start digging holes?”

She laughed. “The church isn’t there anymore. In my
preliminary research, I discovered that it burned down in 1896 and was never
rebuilt. Turn here,” she said, indicating a dirt road on their right, which was
little more than shallow ruts.

After they had bumped down the road for about a mile and a
half, they pulled to a stop and studied the maps and notes Tess had assembled
in a file folder labeled “Five.”

“The church was somewhere in this area.” Dan tapped a spot
on the map he held. “We should be close if the Bowie brothers buried it south
of where the springs rise to form this branch. I’m surprised that the old
pirate trusted them with so much loot.”

“Privateer,” she corrected automatically. “And apparently he
did. They were longtime friends and business associates. I doubt that he
trusted lightly. Let’s see if we can find the stream and then we can follow it
back.”

When they got out of the SUV, Tess was almost giddy with
anticipation. Dan laced his fingers through hers. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m excited. Have you got the compass?” He nodded and
smiled indulgently. She laughed and tugged at his hand. “Come on. I can’t wait.”

As they walked through the woods, redolent with pine and the
fresh scents of newly leafed sweet gum, sassafras, oak, and hickory trees, Tess
could barely contain her exuberance. She felt like dancing to the sound of the
twittering birds overhead; she felt as if she would have flown over the
treetops if Dan weren’t holding on to her hand. She was close. So close.

Ducking under low-hanging branches, she ignored the vines
and underbrush plucking at their jeans as they trekked over the newest layer of
pine needles and deteriorating leaves. Now and then there was a skittering
rustle in the bushes as if the rabbits and squirrels were clearing a path for
their guest.

Her thoughts were bumping into each other as she hurried in
the direction of what she was sure smelled and sounded like water.

Suddenly, her right foot felt only empty space beneath it.
She pitched forward, but Dan caught her and hauled her back. She had nearly
plunged over the bank of a small creek.

“Hold it, woman,” Dan said, laughing and hugging her to him.
“You almost got a dunking.”

Her eyes widened and her heart was racing like a runaway
train. When she recovered her wits, she squealed, “Oh, Dan, we found it!” She
threw her arms around him and planted a smacking kiss in the general vicinity
of his mouth.

“We’ve found the branch,” he reminded her. “We haven’t found
the spring or the treasure.”

“But we will,” she said, grabbing his hand and charging
upstream. “We will.”

They had tracked only about fifty yards when Tess saw
something and stopped dead still. Not more than twenty feet ahead stood the
distinctive rock and the headwaters of the branch. Her heart was in her throat
and an eerie rush swept over her. “Look,” she whispered, pointing with one
shaking finger to the spot shaded by dense foliage.

The twisted trunk of a late-blooming dogwood tree, its
branches in full white flower, clung to the earth and draped its limbs over a
huge, rust-colored rock. Beneath the rock, which rose from a thick cluster of
deep green wood fern, was an embankment of striated clay in putty gray and rust
brown hues. In several areas along the four-foot bank, shaped by eons of
wellspring erosion, water trickled from unseen crevices and gathered in a
Stream. It trilled, glass-clear, over a bed strewn with pebbles and rippled
from years of washing. So pure and cool did the water appear that it seemed to
invite them to dip their hands in and drink.

Smells of cool, damp clay, warming humus, and the pungent
crispness of verdant growth hung in the sheltered thicket of old trees and
ancient springs, entreating Tess to breathe in their sensual essence.

“How beautiful,” she whispered again.

Dan stood beside her, looking more at her than at the sight
which had enchanted her. “Beautiful.”

Tess smiled. “This is the rock he described. These are the
springs. They must be. The Bowie brothers must have camped beside this very
spot.”

“Think we’ll find one of Jim Bowie’s old knives around?” Dan
teased.

“Not likely.” Tess gave him a little pinch on the belly as
she beamed with excitement, “but I suspect we’re about to find something even
better. Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the rock. “Come on.”

After Dan brushed aside the branches of the dogwood tree so
that she could stand flush against the rock, he broke off a small sprig of the
white blossoms and tucked them behind her ear.

He stood facing her, one arm holding back the limbs that
framed her with delicate blooms, the other hand at her neck. His thumb stroked
the curve of her jaw. “I don’t think you’ve ever seemed so lovely or so
precious to me as you do now, Tess.”

“Because I’m about to be rich with Jean Laffite’s gold?” She
gave him a saucy grin.

“No.” He shook his head slowly.

“Then it must be my fetching outfit,” she said, plucking at
the front of her turquoise jersey, which had an advertisement for the Mermaid
emblazoned in purple across her chest.

“No.” He grinned and dropped his hand to trace the mermaid’s
tail that ended just at the inner swell of her right breast. “Though it is
extremely provocative.”

At Dan’s touch, a rash of goose bumps prickled over her
skin, and she smiled. “Then why?”

He kissed her lightly. “I suppose it’s because each day I
see more of your spirit and love you more. I’ve never known anyone like you, Tess.
You’re unique. And very, very special.” He kissed her again, gently. “Gold or
no gold, purple jeans or Paris silks, I cherish you, love. I don’t want
anything to hurt you, ever.”

Her smile widened. “I think I like being cherished.”

He tweaked her nose and chuckled. “You should.” Reaching in
his pocket, he pulled out the compass and looked down at it. “Are you sure you
want to do this?”

“I’m sure.”

He handed the instrument to her. “One hundred paces, due
south.” Still holding the branches away from her. he stepped aside.

Her fingers closed around the compass and she could feel a
similar constriction in her throat. She was excited and a little scared. Her
insides felt like a sack of agitated bumble bees.

What if the treasure wasn’t there? No. She wouldn’t allow
such thoughts to enter her mind. It was there. It had to be.

Looking down at the needle to get her bearings, she shifted
her position slightly. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“Here goes.” She squared her shoulders and took the first
step. “One,” she said as she began to count her strides. “Two.”

When she had moved away from the branches of the dogwood,
Dan paced beside her, clearing her path of low-hanging limbs and steering her
around trees and bushes while she kept her eyes on the compass and counted.

“Ninety-nine . . . one hundred.”

Tess stopped and looked up. The spot where she was standing
seemed no different from the rest of the wooded area. For some reason she was
disappointed. It was irrational, since the church had been gone for over a
hundred years, but she had expected to find a clearing or at least something significant
to indicate that a fortune rested in the ground beneath her feet.

“I’ll mark the place,” Dan said. He pulled a white
handkerchief from his back pocket and tied it to a bush about a foot to the
right of where she stood.

She didn’t move. “What now?”

Dan smiled and took her hand. “Let’s look around.” They
searched in widening circles with Dan studying the ground and stopping
occasionally to scrape the leaves aside with the side of his boot.

“What are we looking for?” Tess whispered when he squatted down
to examine a pile of rust-colored rocks.

Standing, he dusted his hands on his jeans and chuckled. “Why
are you whispering?”

Tess shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Something about
the place and the occasion seems to inspire reverence, I suppose. What are we
looking for?”

“I’ll show you.” He walked a few yards to another tumbled
pile of rocks and pointed to them.

She looked at the rocks and back to Dan. “So?”

“So, I suspect that these piles of rocks were once used as
piers to support the lumber girders of the church building.”

“Ah,” she said, understanding. “The church was here.” She
grinned. “You’re handy to have around. Let’s get the metal detector and the
shovels.”

“You stay here and I’ll move the truck closer and get the
things we’ll need.” He gave her a quick kiss and struck off through the trees
to the road.

Tess sat down on the pile of rocks and, elbows on her knees
and chin on her fists, stared at the white handkerchief tied to the bush. Three
feet under the ground were old metal chests which would provide Aunt Olivia and
Aunt Martha their racehorse and Tess with her dream castle.

She closed her eyes and envisioned the way each room would
look when it was finished. She could imagine Dan and herself working on the
plans, watching the changes as the old mansion came to life again, and,
finally, sitting together in the living room beside a fire in the Italian
marble fireplace. The couch was huge and poofy, covered in oyster suede; the
walls were blue watered silk; a magnificent Persian rug covered the polished
wooden floors; a Christmas tree stood in the corner beside a long table where a
gleaming brass samovar reflected the twinkling tree lights.

She could smell the wood burning, and the fragrance of
evergreens and warm cinnamon and nutmeg and potpourri wafted through the
high-ceilinged room. Snuggled beside Dan, she felt totally content. He would
look at her, smile, and say—

“Tess!”

She startled and the image popped like a bubble.

Dan was grinning. “Where were you off to?”

She laughed. “Beside a fire in the living room. Oh, Dan,
everything is going to be so fantastic.” She squeezed her hands between her
knees.

He drew his brows together. “Tess—”

“Yes?”

He hesitated. “Nothing. Let’s check the area with the metal
detector.”

*    *    *

By dusk, Dan had dug four holes and found an old pick-ax
head, part of a wagon wheel rim, a horseshoe, and the rusty remains of what
looked to have once been a kettle.

He pulled off his gloves, stuck them in his back pocket, and
leaned on the shovel. “We have to face it, babe. It’s not here.”

Chewing on her lip, Tess shifted her weight from one foot to
the other as her eyes darted over the area. “You know, Jim Bowie’s legs may
have been longer than mine. Or shorter. We may have missed it by a few feet.
Let’s walk it off again. I’ll take longer strides this time.”

Dan caught her arm as she strode toward the springs. “Love,
we’ve searched the entire area with the metal detector. It’s not here.”

“But it has to be!”

Dropping the shovel, he gathered her to him, hugging and
soothing her with soft words of comfort. “I’m sorry, Tess. I’m sorry.”

*    *    *

By midmorning they had driven the twenty or so miles to Nacogdoches,
a picturesque little place set amid gently rolling hills and red dirt,
reputedly the oldest town in Texas. They checked into a hotel a block or two
off the brick-paved main street.

After he’d tipped the bellman and closed the door, Dan
asked, “Shall we make another trip to the county courthouse?”

“Nope.” Tess smiled smugly. “Everybody knows where the Old
Stone Fort is. It’s on the campus of Stephen F. Austin University on the north
side of town. I had some friends who went to college there, and I spent a few
weekends visiting with them. Would you believe I even toured the place once? I
must have been within a few feet of the spot where the treasure is buried.”

Spreading a sheaf of papers on the bed, she lay down on her
stomach to study them. Dan stretched out beside her and propped his head on one
hand while the other stole under the hem of her red cotton sweater to lazily
stroke her back. When he touched an especially sensitive spot near her right
shoulder blade, she wiggled. He chuckled, leaned over, and touched the tip of
his tongue to her nape.

“Dannn!” she squealed. “I’m trying to read.”

“You’ve read those pages a hundred times,” he said, laughing
as he brushed the papers off the bed and pulled her on top of him. He kissed
her nose. “I’ll bet you can recite them verbatim, can’t you?”

She grinned. “Probably. Jean Laffite had the Bowies bury
this batch behind the fort, six feet out from the center of the back wall. He’d
originally meant it to help finance some of the early settlers. I gather that
he had ‘deposited’ it and was waiting to see if it would be to his advantage to
loan them money. But he got ticked off at James Long, who was”—she tucked her
chin and lowered her voice to speak in an exaggerated French accent—”a
dishonest, land-grabbing thief who proclaimed himself Governor of Texas to lead
his band of robbers.”

Dan laughed. “Wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”