“Hey.” My best friend, Tara Howard, leaned close to peer at my find, her short red hair frizzing in the humidity. Using the tip of her trowel, she gently tapped the loose soil around the bluish-gray stone shaped by an ancient culture centuries ago. “That’s one of the best I’ve seen so far.”
“I know, right?” Excitement fluttered in my belly. Even though this was a routine anthropology dig for second-year students at Barkley University—to me, it might as well have been a mining expedition in search of diamonds. Being able to combine the past few months of book knowledge and using it in the field was like finally being able to open presents on Christmas morning.
With exaggerated care, I bagged the sample, labeled the section it had been in, and hurried toward Professor Smith, standing farther away in the sun examining other students’ bagged goodies.
“I found a fully-intact arrowhead.” Pride flowed through my veins. My mother would’ve said, “Pride comes before a downfall,” but I couldn’t change what I felt.If Dad were here, he’d understand how important this find is to me.
Thinking of my missing father dampened my excitement.
“Nice, Phoebe.” Professor Smith turned the bag in her hand, squinted, then gave me a wide smile. “From the lack of markings or chips on the exterior, I’d say this one probably never got a chance to be used.”
“Yeah, it’s in perfect shape.” Unable to hide the smile curling my mouth, I nodded. “Can’t believe I found one so fast.”
“Well, that’s the advantage of digging in a dry creek bed on private property. Rainwater churns the soil, and over the years, runoff deposits these artifacts into creeks and rivers. Only wildlife has probably disturbed this land over the past few centuries.” Her gaze wandered upward, to the towering oak and cypress trees surrounding the top of the cliffs.
She pointed to the edge. “There’s a network of limestone caves up there I’d love to explore on a future trip. They could have provided shelter for indigenous tribes for hundreds—maybe thousands—of years. It wouldn’t surprise me if there are more of these”—she shook the clear plastic bag—“just waiting to be discovered, along with pottery and tools if we’re lucky.”
With a wink, she returned her attention to the table and placed the bag in a box.
Her words sent a thrill through my blood.
Imagine if I find a stockpile of treasures that haven’t had a human eye on them for centuries.I glanced at the gently sloping walls of the creek bed. The trees blocked any view of what might lie farther up the embankment, darkening the area with the thick canopy. Where I stood, near the creek, sunshine poured down.
The distinct line of dark and light between the different areas sent a nervous tumble of butterflies through my stomach, squashing some of my excitement.
But if there’s a chance there are more weapons or tools up there, and I’m the one who finds them, it would be a sure sign this is what I’m meant to do with my life.
Ever since I’d been five or six, I’d wanted to become an archaeologist. My father had been an anthropology professor, and many times, he’d taken me and Mom to a museum for weekend trips. The old tools, weapons, and dishes left behind by ancient civilizations had always stirred something within me.
Sometimes, after our weekend jaunts, Dad would sit down in the living room, plop a humongous bowl of popcorn between us, and marathon the Indiana Jones films with me.
Mom had always yawned and claimed she had a novel to edit then placed a kiss on each of our cheeks with a smile and warn us not to stay up too late before she’d head off to her study.
Dad’s passion fed mine, and even at eight years old, my career choice had been sealed. He and Mom had gifted me junior science kits and booked camping trips to Dinosaur Valley State Park, where fossils had been discovered and preserved for all the guests to enjoy. If I stood above the river, and the water was clear enough, I could even track the dinosaur footprints left in the bed.
I miss you, Dad.Though he’d been presumed dead for years, Mom and I still struggled with the aftermath of his absence. His disappearance and the grief it brought sometimes hit out of the blue, which was bad enough, but without his additional income, Mom had needed to find a second job and sell what we absolutely couldn’t do without to make ends meet.
At least I’ve been able to help for the past few years.
Several feet away, uneven rocks cut into the embankment, creating a short incline of natural steps.
It wouldn’t take but a few minutes to check out the area, and if I found something awesome, the little side trip would totally be worth it.
Besides, my professor practically gave me permission with her wink and little tidbit about the caves.
I climbed the stony area, grabbing the rough outcroppings of the wall for extra leverage. The porous limestone scraped against my fingertips.
When I reached the top, I glanced over my shoulder to the creek bed below.
Several white canopies, which we’d erected earlier this morning, squished together and sheltered my kneeling classmates who studiously sifted the dirt, their square sections marked by thin yellow strings.
Tara swept away layers of dirt with a brush as she knelt on the soil.
Turning back to the forest, I inhaled the sharp scent of freshly-turned dirt and clean air.
I tried to imagine how Native Americans must’ve felt living here centuries ago.
Who knows? Maybe one of them even stood in this very spot, preparing to go to the creek for water.
