The Fossil Hunter by Tea Cooper

Author:Tea Cooper [Cooper, Tea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

Bow Wow, 1847

Lightning embroidered the treetops and the rumble of thunder rocked the sky. Needles of rain lashed Mellie’s face as she splashed through the rising creek waters not daring to look behind. The drum of her feet and howling of the wind mixed with her pounding heartbeat, blotting out any other sound.

Slippery fingers of fear twisted her stomach once she began to scramble up the steep incline, her back vulnerable to attack, her eyes blinded by the rain. Up and up she clambered, prickles and twigs scratching at her face and arms. Her fingers clawed around the marlin spike as she hauled herself higher and higher until she collapsed onto the rocky overhang.

Below her the creek twisted and swirled, swollen by the downpour. Easing onto her stomach, she hung over the rock shelf and searched the gorge for any sight or sound, a jumble of Cook’s threats and Baldwin’s description of a leathery-skinned, lumbering beast bouncing around in her head.

But there was nothing. Nothing but the thrashing waters and the plopping of raindrops from the canopy, and above her a sheer wall. Sucking in a long slow breath she straightened up. To her left the series of neatly placed slabs formed a winding pathway up the rock face. A familiar series of steps. Some wide and flat, others narrow and sloped but a staircase nonetheless—Benjamin’s steps.

In her mindless panic, she’d unknowingly followed the secret path back to the house. What had Aunt Anthea said? Benjamin and I used to keep a rope here for the return journey.

With her back pressed firmly against the rock wall she eased along the narrow shelf until she reached the platform, then pushed her hands into the straggly bushes. Her fingers closed around the knotted rope.

She hitched up her breeches, slipped the marlin spike into her waistband and grasped the rope. Gingerly she placed one foot and then the other on either side of the lowest knot. Slippery but still firm. All she had to do was to make her way to the top and over the platform and she’d be in spitting distance of Aunt Anthea’s workroom.

The thought of the little slab hut filled her with a rush of warmth, loosening the hard lump of fear in her chest. Blinking the rain from her eyes she clambered up the rope, hands burning against the rough hemp, hauling herself higher and higher.

No light shone from the house. She slipped inside the workroom and rammed the chair under the door handle. Bent double, her breath burning in her chest, she sucked in great gulps of air then slumped down on the floor, pulled her knees up to her chest and curled into a ball. As the lightning flashed and the rain poured down, the tears that had waited so long to escape found their release.

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