The Heart's Treasure (Steeple Hill Women's Fiction #44) - Softcover

Palmer, Catherine

Softcover

ISBN 10: 037378581X ISBN 13: 9780373785810

Publisher: Steeple Hill, 2007

Synopsis

The Heart's Treasure by Catherine Palmer released on May 29, 2007 is available now for purchase.

About this title

About the Author

Catherine Palmer is a bestselling author and winner of the Christy Award for her outstanding Christian romance. She also received the Career Achievement Award for Inspirational Fiction from RT Book Reviews. Raised in Kenya, she lives in Atlanta with her husband. They have two grown sons. A graduate of Southwest Baptist University, she also holds a master’s degree from Baylor University.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Kitt Tucker brushed away the powdery brown dust and stared down at the skull. Two gold front teeth, still in place, glittered in the brilliant New Mexico sunshine. She rocked back on her heels and stared at the earthen sides of the unmarked grave. Two gold front teeth...a memory long hidden slipped from the recesses of her mind and struggled forward. She flipped her long brown braid behind her shoulder and leaned over the skull again.

"Dr. Tucker." The voice startled Kitt from her concentration, and she shaded her eyes as she looked up from the sixfoot–deep pit to find the portly Dr. Dean standing over her.

"Dr. Tucker, he's back."

Frowning, Kitt rose and placed one foot in the step she had carved in the side of the pit, which let her stand high enough to survey the old cemetery site. The summer archaeology students were hard at work in the afternoon light, excavating graves and taking out remains that soon would be reinterred in another cemetery—one safely distant from the dam that would flood this area.

"I had to run him out of my tent. He was fiddling with the skeletal material. He's over by number fifteen now." Dr. Dean, self–appointed watchdog for the crew, nodded in the direction of the numbered grave of a small child.

"I'll ask him to leave," Kitt murmured.

The grizzled old man standing in the cemetery had proven to be harmless—though somewhat of an annoyance—since his first appearance at the project site nearly three weeks before. Kitt climbed out of the grave, walked over to him and gently touched his arm.

"Eh?" The intruder glanced at her, his watery blue eyes distant. "What's the matter, young 'un?"

"Sir, I'm afraid you'll have to leave the site. I've told you before, we cannot allow unauthorized people on the project."

"Why not?"

Kitt shook her head. How many times had she gone over this? A young intern listened as he worked quietly in the grave beside them. Somehow, she had to make the elderly fellow understand.

"This is sensitive work...even dangerous. Diseases may be living in the soil. We're all vaccinated." Kitt paused.

"Some viruses can survive hundreds of years in skeletal remains."

The old man gave her a long look. "Even more important," she went on, "the cemetery dates back only to the late 1800s. People in this county have relatives buried here. We're trying to conduct our work in a respectful manner."

"Respect for the dead."

"That's right, sir. We're not allowing the press or anyone else on–site until the project is complete."

The man took off his brown felt hat and looked away. The afternoon sun had sent a rivulet of perspiration down his cheek. Kitt watched it meander into a crease and then slip beneath his worn, yellowed collar.

"Twilight is coming," he said at last. His gnarled fingers twisted the brim of his hat. "Twilight is coming, and I'll be here to see it."

She opened her mouth to object, then she noticed that a tear had escaped the old man's eye. He brushed it away with the side of his finger and put his hat on his head. Kitt cleared her throat.

"It's not long until dusk." She shifted from one foot to the other, unsure whether the man had been talking about the time of day. "I'm sorry, but you do have to leave. The rules are set by the Bureau of Reclamation, and I—"

"I'll stay." He looked at her so matter–of–factly that she realized it was useless to argue. he'd always gone away before, but he seemed too harmless to be a threat to the project.

"Listen, sir—what's your name?"

"They call me Hod." The old man grinned, knowing he had won. "I'll sit under that cottonwood. You'll never know I'm here."

Kitt nodded in resignation. "You can stay today, Hod. But I can't permit you to come back again. If you do, I'll have to—"

"Oh, I'll be back. I'm here to watch the twilight."

Kitt glanced at the student, who had continued working, silent but curious. He winked and tapped his temple. "Guess he's coming back."

Without responding, Kitt turned on her heel and headed back to the grave where she had been working. She could see Dr. Dean watching, and she knew she should come up with a good reason for letting the outsider remain. She had directed a number of similar projects for the Bureau—and she always felt it important to present a professional operation to visiting professors and government officials. After all, she had worked her way into the bureau's top archaeologist position with her no–nonsense attitude and levelheaded dedication.

"Looks like he's here to stay," the anthropologist said with a smile as Kitt approached. "There's always someone loitering around an excavation. Curious children, nosy neighbors, pesky reporters."

She sighed in relief. Dr. Dean had been at the site from the start, but unlike many of his stuffy predecessors, he had proven to be a warm and enjoyable addition to her crew. "His name is Hod, and he rambles a little. He's awfully old."

"Maybe he's got a friend buried here."

"A friend? He couldn't be that old."

The professor chuckled. "Nineties, I'd say. Maybe a hundred. Remember—I'm the physical anthropologist. I'm trained to analyze things like that."

"I suppose we could ask him." Kitt knelt at the lip of the grave pit again. She could see a few rib bones protruding from the dirt. The skull stared vacantly at her. Two gold front teeth. How odd, she thought. Most of the people buried in the cemetery had been impoverished pioneers. The dig had uncovered nothing of value—a few unmatched buttons, a scrap of denim, a wedding band.

"By the way, I took a phone message for you."

She looked up in surprise. In her growing curiosity about the skeleton, she had forgotten the professor's presence. "A message?"

"In my tent."

Sighing, Kitt stood and brushed off the knees of her jeans. What now? she wondered as she followed Dr. Dean. If it weren't some old codger who wouldn't leave, it had to be a broken camera lens or a hailstorm or a new government form to fill out.

Under the large, yellow nylon awning, the professor examined the skeletal remains in order to determine age, cause of death, sex and various other information. Kitt walked into the shaded area and swept the folded message from a card table. Flipping open the note she scanned it as he opened a crate containing yellowed bones.

"Great." Kitt stuffed the note into her back pocket.

"Problems?" Dr. Dean looked up. He held a skull in one hand and a set of calipers in the other.

"I forgot about a meeting." Kitt brushed a wisp of brown hair from her cheek. "A guy named Burton—an Affiliated Press reporter from Albuquerque—is passing through and wants an interview. I agreed, as long as he stays off–site. He's waiting at my motel."

"So take off. These skeletons aren't going anywhere, you know. At least we hope not."

Kitt grinned in spite of her annoyance. She wouldn't have time to change clothes or prepare what she wanted to say. More frustrating, she would have to leave the grave she had begun investigating. The strange skull flashed through her mind again and she lifted her chin.

"I'm afraid Mr. Burton is just going to have to wait a few minutes for his interview," she announced. "I have a more important date—and he's been waiting nearly a hundred years for me."

Dr. Dean chuckled as she set off again into the relentless sunshine. Glancing at her watch, she gave herself twenty minutes to complete a cursory examination. She would have to leave the detail work for a student. Project rules prohibited leaving graves open overnight.

Climbing into the pit again, she picked up her small brush and dusted the skeleton. Soon she had finished cleaning the skull and started on the shoulders. She brushed a filmy layer of dust from the skeleton's scapula and noticed a small protrusion. Taking an old toothbrush and a chopstick—her favorite tools—from her back pocket, Kitt cleaned debris until she could clearly see a knife tip. From the look of the bone, which had calcified around the metal, the man had lived for several years with the blade embedded in his shoulder.

Her curiosity mounting, Kitt carefully worked her way down the remainder of the skeleton. Nothing else unusual turned up, and she was about to climb out of the grave when her eye fell on a folded corner of newspaper. It was always strange to discover what time had chosen to preserve. The buried man's pants had rotted long ago, but in the spot where the pocket would have been, a scrap of newspaper lay in the dust.

Perhaps this held a clue to his identity. Shivering slightly at the prospect, she lifted the paper, climbed out of the grave and hurried to the yellow tent.

"What do you have there?" Dr. Dean glanced up from a microscope. "Looks interesting."

"Newspaper," Kitt said as she perched on a high wooden stool beside the table. With tweezers, she pried open the section of yellowed newsprint. The side folded in revealed a list of books and maps for sale—an atlas of the United States, a geography of the Mississippi River valley and a map of the New Mexico Territory. In one corner, the owner had scribbled what looked like an address. Probably the source for the maps.

She flipped the paper, hoping for something more revealing.

"Cattle market results," Dr. Dean observed, leaning over her shoulder. "Your fellow must have had a few head of cattle. Did you finish his grave?"

She shook her head. "No time. I'll have to let one of the students do the sifting." At the camera table, she photographed both sides of the newspaper clipping. Then she refolded it and set it in the box she would use to store the skeleton.

"It's strange," she murmured, half to herself. "The skull has two gold front teeth."

"Didn't I read about a fellow...Native American who ran with the old scalp ...

About this edition

• Publisher: Steeple Hill
• Publication date: 2007
• ISBN 10: 037378581X
• ISBN 13: 9780373785810
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 304