Healer of Carthage Read Online Free Page B

arranged to his usual meticulous specifications. A Coleman lantern sat upon a wooden trunk wedged between two cots. An extra pair of work boots waited at the foot of Papa’s perfectly made bed, socks pulled over the openings to keep out sand and snakes. Neat stacks of reference books on the Roman Empire took up every other spare inch of space. The warped card table sagged under his selection of brushes, trowels, stakes, and string. She noted that a stack of small brown paper bags designed to hold recovered artifacts appeared untouched. So far, Papa had collected nothing.
    “Papa, exactly what have you found?”
    “A way for you to forgive me.” Had her resentment been so obvious? It must have, because instead of giving her a straight answer like the papa she knew would have, he quickly changed the subject. “We have forever to catch up.” He kissed her forehead. “Rest.”
    The retreat of Papa’s boots upon the sand stirred to life eerie similarities to the night her mother had walked away from this very place and never come back. Papa’s outlandish claims reminded Lisbeth that there was more than one way her father could leave her alone.
    What would she do if she lost Papa, too? If she could no longer access the brilliant heart and soul of a man who had made her feel cherished, despite the empty spot created on that night so many years ago?
    Lawrence Hastings was the only family she had left, and she would fight to keep him.

3
    Cave of the Swimmers
    T HE AROMA OF LAMB kabobs roasting on a spit prodded Lisbeth from a fitful nap. She poured water into a tin basin, splashed her face, and finger-combed her hair into a thick ponytail.
    Feeling inadequate to tackle her father’s possible declining mental health, Lisbeth left the tent and joined Aisa at the Land Rover.
    “Where’s Papa?”
    Aisa alternated between slinging balls of bread dough onto the truck hood and flattening the rounds into tortillas with a jack handle. “Where he’s been since he claimed he saw your mother. At that blasted cave.”
    “Have you seen her?”
    Aisa handed her a pronged grilling fork. “Fry the pitas. Take your mind off your worries.”
    Her question had clearly made Aisa uncomfortable. Had he seen her mother’s spirit drifting among the dunes? Was he worried she’d freak out if he said something? She remembered Aisa’s insistence that the cave was haunted on her family’s first expedition. Considering how upset the little fry cook had been after Mama’s disappearance, she couldn’t believe Papa had talked him into returning. Papa was lucky to have such a friend, someone who’d stand up for him no matter what.
    Just as the sun began to drop behind the plateau, ten armedguards hustled Papa from the cave and back into camp. Guns slung over their shoulders, they eyed her carefully as they shoveled mounds of charbroiled lamb onto the fried cakes. Most of them appeared to be Libyan nationals. If a border war erupted, a few dinars would not keep them loyal to Papa. No wonder Nigel did not consider Papa adequately protected.
    “Join us at the fire.” Papa took the fork from Lisbeth’s hand. “I’m anxious to hear about this doctor who wants my daughter’s hand in marriage.” He cupped her chin. “Another doctor in the family. Your mama will be so proud.”
    Lisbeth cringed at the confusion bottled in his words. Caring for her father seemed a bigger job than she was prepared to handle. She wiped her hands on her pants. “Let me get my sweatshirt, and I’ll tell you about him.”
    “You’ll need a light.” Aisa rummaged through one of the Land Rovers for a flashlight.
    What had come over her? When had she become such a coward? She was five when Mama disappeared. She remembered Papa searching the cave and the surrounding desert night and day, refusing to bathe or eat. The whole camp had feared him temporarily insane, but Lisbeth had not run from her responsibilities. She’d combed his hair, held his hand, packed his pipe,