“But then I wouldn’t have any self-respect.” As I approached, a frigid wind blew across my face and lifted my hair, but I could see that no one else was affected. Ignoring it, I headed straight for Sophie and the baby. My new-mother status made me a magnet for small babies with soft skin and pudgy toes, and I gently squeezed the baby’s plump cheek. “How is Blue Skye today?” I no longer cringed when I said her name, which was a good thing, since I saw her frequently. Still, I shortened it to Skye often enough that I hoped they’d stop expecting to hear “Blue” in front of it. There was only so much Bohemian I could take.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” I said to Sophie, studying the brightly colored tie-dyed kerchief that kept her curls at bay, and her similarly hued pants and T-shirt ensemble, all worn under a rainbow-striped parka opened at the front to accommodate the baby. I couldn’t see much of the bundled baby except for her face and the tie-dyed knit hat and socks beneath her Birkenstocks, but I had the horrible feeling that they were wearing matching outfits.
Sophie smiled brightly, confirming my earlier suspicions. “Yes, well, I had two classes to teach today, and then Mr. Kobylt called. Seems like he’s found something interesting in your backyard.”
I waited for someone to say the words “dead body,” my gaze moving from Sophie to Rich and to the young woman who kept staring at me as if she knew me.
Instead Sophie said, “I’d like you to meet my new research assistant, Meghan Black. She’s a second-year in the historic preservation program at the college. Her thesis is on this very thing, so I knew she would be the right person to bring over to take a look.”
I introduced myself to the grad student, distracted by the pearls around her neck, the pale green cardigan and khakis she wore, and the Kate Spade flats on her feet. Not the sort of thing one might wear to dig in the dirt. She had pretty brown eyes and long light brown hair she wore in a high ponytail, and had the same kind of enthusiasm Sophie had when surrounded by old things. I wondered absently how long it would take before she began wearing Birkenstocks, too, and how her mother might feel about that.
I focused on Sophie again. “What sort of thing?”
“An old cistern. Right here in the back of your property!” She sounded as if we’d just found Blackbeard’s buried treasure.
“A cistern? As in an old water collector?”
“Exactly!” She beamed as if I were her favorite student. “This thing has been sitting here since probably before the house was built in 1848. I’m thinking it might even predate the Revolutionary War and was the cistern for a previous building on the site.”
At the mention of something even older than my house being found in my backyard, I’d already begun to shake my head in denial before Meghan said, “From what we can already see, the bricks are mismatched and were probably taken from other structures. Could have been from outbuildings that were no longer used from here or different places. I’ve even seen a few cases where bricks were taken from cemeteries when they were moved to make way for new streets and buildings.”
I froze at the word “cemeteries.” That was the thing with old bricks. They weren’t just sand and clay. They also contained the accumulated memories and the residual energy of the people who’d lived in their midst. These bricks had been buried in my backyard for more than 150 years and were now being bared to the light of day. I shuddered at the thought of what else might be waiting to be exposed.
“I promise you won’t even know we’re here,” Sophie said, as if I’d already given permission to use my backyard as an archaeological dig. “Meghan and a few of my other grad students are so excited about excavating the cistern. It’s not just the bricks we find fascinating. Usually things were tossed or dropped into cisterns over the years that can be a real thrill for historians like us.”
I just stared back at her, not understanding the thrill at all. Because digging into the past usually meant unearthing a nasty ghost or two. I didn’t relish dodging falling light fixtures or objects thrown across a room, especially now that there were two babies in the house.
I looked from her to Rich. “How long do you think it will take before I get my garden back? I’d hoped to have a big first birthday party for the twins out here in March.”
Rich pulled up the waistband of his pants, only to let them droop again once he let go. “Filling it in won’t be a problem—no more than a day or two to get it back the way it was. But I have to wait for Dr. Wallen-Arasi to finish first. Hate to think I’d be reburying some artifact if we don’t give her enough time.”
The instruction to go ahead and fill in the hole as soon as possible was on the tip of my tongue. I couldn’t, of course. I wouldn’t put it past Sophie and her students to picket my house until I agreed to let them dig it up again. Saying yes was the path of least resistance to an inevitable conclusion.
I felt the icy wind blow against the back of my neck again, twisting its way around my torso as if I wore no coat at all. “Make it quick, okay?”
Sophie nodded and met my eyes, understanding the reasons for my reluctance. But not enough to ignore the fact that I had a veritable treasure trove of history buried in my garden.