Guarding the Treasure Read online

  Guarding

  The

  Treasure

  J. K. Zimmer

  eLectio Publishing

  Little Elm, TX

  www.eLectioPublishing.com

  Guarding the Treasure

  By J. K. Zimmer

  Copyright 2015 by J. K. Zimmer

  Cover Design by eLectio Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-63213-091-4

  Published by eLectio Publishing, LLC

  Little Elm, Texas

  http://www.eLectioPublishing.com

  The eLectio Publishing editing team is comprised of: Christine LePorte, Lori Draft, Sheldon James, and Jim Eccles.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Publisher’s Note

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Table of Contents

  Front Matter and Copyright Information

  Guarding

  Chapter One Ireland 1810

  Chapter Two Washington State 2012

  Chapter Three Anya

  Chapter Four Anya

  Chapter Five Sophie

  Chapter Six Anya

  Chapter Seven Sophie

  Chapter Eight Kevin

  Chapter Nine Sophie

  Chapter Ten Kevin

  Chapter Eleven Sophie

  Chapter Twelve Sophie

  Chapter Thirteen Kevin

  Chapter Fourteen Sophie

  Chapter Fifteen Kevin

  Chapter Sixteen Sophie

  Chapter Seventeen Kevin

  Chapter Eighteen Kevin

  Chapter Nineteen Sophie

  Chapter Twenty Kevin

  Chapter Twenty-One Sophie

  Chapter Twenty-Two Kevin

  Chapter Twenty-Three Sophie

  Chapter Twenty-Four Kevin

  Chapter Twenty-Five Sophie

  Chapter Twenty-Six Washington State

  Chapter Twenty-Seven Trey

  Chapter Twenty-Eight Three

  About the Author

  Guarding

  the Treasure

  Chapter One

  Ireland 1810

  “It’s gone, all gone!” The man’s dark eyes were locked, fixed forward in disbelief. Anya had never seen such an empty, dreadful look in her father’s eyes before. His cheeks drained of color, and a ghostly appearance like white slate was frozen on her father’s face. It was haunting to the point of hellishness, she thought, continuing to peer into the book-laden room where her parents sat close together. Her strained eyes saw plainly the strong hands of her father shaking as he reached to encase the delicate white hands of her mother.

  Anya held her breath as she slowly closed the bedroom door, blocking the unsettling scene from her eyes. She wished to erase it from her mind forever, leaving no memory, only a small sliver of dull light into the blackened room. She stood unmoving, like a statue. What was gone? Why so much anguish in her father’s voice, she wondered.

  Anya lay back on the bed in the darkness, closing her eyes as she turned to her side, pulling the covers tightly around her neck. The ritual normally brought security, but tonight the blankets felt as if they would strangle her, not providing comfort to her eighteen-year-old body.

  Sean lay collapsed on the daybed in the light-filled atrium. His dark blue shirt was wrinkled and unbuttoned, exposing a fair but well-developed chest. His blond curls were tossed and disheveled, and his green eyes teetered between open and closed. He slowly raised himself from the daybed, planting both feet on the floor as he ran his hands to the back of his neck, pushing his thumbs deep into the swollen cords that seemed to run right to his brain. He tried to rub the knots that had formed, probably from not sleeping in his own bed that night. Where had he slept? he asked himself, struggling to remember. A corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile as he continued to nurse the results of an indescribable night of too much Irish beer and a beautiful woman whose name he wasn’t quite sure of. His grin broadened as he replayed the illicit acts over again in his mind while waiting for Anya to join the family for the morning meal.

  Sean caught a look of her as she opened her bedroom door. He watched the graceful movement of her body down the stairs. “Ah, there you are, my bit of a sister,” he said, greeting her in a semi-chipper voice.

  Anya paused to glance his way. Her green eyes narrowed. “You don’t amuse me this morning, brother.”

  He reached out and took hold of her. A surge of energy bolted through him, and he squeezed hard, leaving deep prints on her bare pallid arm as they walked. “And why might that be, small one? Have you been careless and self-centered as to not have looked out into the gardens yet?” he asked, wanting to tease her with his words. “The bright sunlight is bathing the long stems of the sprouts.” He leaned in close to her. “It truly is an alluring sight to behold,” he whispered seductively into her ear.

  “Do not talk to me in such a way,” she whispered, pulling away from him contentiously. “Mother may hear you and take it that I have the same sick mind that you do.”

  He laughed roughly, but quietly enough that only she could hear. His grip once again tightened on her. “Oh, little sister, do not play your word games with me.” His breath was wet and heavy in her ear. “I may be out of your private school, but do not think for one minute that you can hide behind iron bars and make all people believe that you are innocent.” He pushed her aside to survey her. “Your body may be pure, but what of your thinking?” he whispered, looking from the room, hoping no eyes were upon them.

  Sean saw Anya’s eyes widen at his forcefulness. He tightened his grip at her resistance.

  “I do not understand what you are talking about Sean.” Tears formed in her eyes from the pain.

  Sean gazed through her tears, his hand bracing her chin. “Oh, I believe you do, little lass.” His words pushed hot on her face. “I’ve seen your sweet, sultry reaction to men as they give you a second look in passing on the street. And what of that sly little encounter in the park with my friend Aedan? He told me lass of the kiss.” He shifted his eyes darkly upon her. He had her now, and he knew it.

  Anya gave a sudden unexpected jerk, pulling her arm free, and walked straight ahead, away from him, dabbing her eyes.

  “Good morning, Mother,” Anya said, kissing their mother on the cheek as she passed and took her place at the table.

  Sean tipped his head. “Mother,” he said, glancing around the room, noticing his father was not present. He sneered under his breath, laughing inwardly at his father’s grand but empty chair. As of late, the head of the house seemed to have impressive excuses for not eating with the family in the evenings, and now the morning as well? Brazen thoughts came to his mind. And what excuse will he give his wife for his absence? It would not matter. Their mother worshiped her husband and would believe he was God in the flesh if he would state it. Sean reveled in the thought and laughed. “May I ask where Father is at the top of this day?”

  Mrs. Alanna O’Connell motioned for him to sit, smiling warmly as she gazed at both of her children, reflecting
back, as she often did, to when they were young and innocent. Now they were eighteen and twenty-one—young adults—but in her mind still youngsters who needed to be protected. Their eyes were locked on her and held certain expectancy, even at their current age. Alanna O’Connell’s husband provided her only enough information to arouse interest and awaken questions in the children that she could not answer that morning. Daniel O’Connell, her loving husband, had arrived home late the night before. They had briefly discussed business affairs before he left again and headed to the warehouse on the water’s edge. Mrs. O’Connell was in the dark about much of the business dealings of her husband and preferred it that way. “Your father has fallen on hard times with some of the businesses, which has affected…” She stopped, looking down at the delicate hankie she held between her fingers. She searched her mind to find the right words, but she could not. I must wait, she thought. Their father would be able to explain the loss in greater detail. “Children…” Her words came soft and quiet, mirroring her very being. She did not look at them as she spoke. “I’m afraid that I cannot tell you.”

  “Mother,” Sean hit the table hard with his hand, a distinct ring of agitation in his voice. “I can tell this is hard for you, but how can you expect us to go through this day waiting for what seems to be poor news about our father’s business when you will not share what you know? I hope you do realize, my sweet mother that I am not a child, and I have invested time and money of my own into the family business. I have heard nothing of ill report as of the past few weeks.”

  Sean rose quickly to his feet, pulled at his shirt and vest, and then rested his hands on the table closest to his mother’s side. He leaned down, face to face with her, his voice rough. “With respect, I request you tell me about these hard times and tell me this minute,” he said, once again hitting his hand firmly on the solid oak.

  “You will not speak to your mother in such a tone,” a voice cut through the room.

  Surprise fell across each face as they turned to see Mr. O’Connell entering the dining room from the kitchen. Only the servants entered from that set of doors, and they found it odd to see the dignified man of the house swing them open.

  “Sean, take your place,” he commanded in an earsplitting voice. Turning his back on his son, he made his way to the head of the table.

  Sean slowly pulled his chair from its place at the table; his eyes cut in cold slits and fixed hard on his father. He was ready to spew the deep contempt that filled each chamber of his dark heart. He loathed his father’s demands and self-righteous attitude. In times like these, it made him burn with anger to his core, making it almost impossible to hold his tongue. The verbal encounters, much like this one, had been occurring more regularly between the two of them. This was the breaking point. Sean would not allow his father to treat him as one of the poor boggers from the countryside any longer. He held a blatant stare on his father, waiting for his next words. No way would he have the last word this time. Sean was waiting for the moment he would tell his father about how he had been secretly investing, making his own way in the business world, and would be well gone before long. Sean took a long drink of whatever was in the glass at his morning place setting, and then turned his attention to his mother. She certainly did not deserve the commands he had just given her, and for that a twinge of regret lodged in his throat. But he would much worse if she ever found out about the mistress her beloved husband had been keeping for the past two years. Sean smiled in disgust, taking another drink. He knew more about his father and his dealings than anyone realized, and one day he would use it for his benefit. But now his father would stand before his family and with a noble voice tell them what? How failure had come to the O’Connell Empire? Perhaps Mother and Anya would be sucked into his sad lie, but he knew the real man who stood before them, and it sickened him. He was away in the head, and one day Sean would make it very clear to his father just how he felt about him.

  Anya stretched out on a blanket among the multicolored flowers and red rose bushes of the garden, watching flecks of light dance from dewdrop to dewdrop as the sun’s rays caressed the earth with pure warmth. Her lips gave way to a contented smile—how she loved the gardens and the lush life they possessed. She rose and rested on her elbows, the smile fading as she scrutinized the beauty with her now saddened green eyes. The garden is so simple, she thought, considering the stone pathway, and then the exquisite whitewashed statues of beautiful men and women, their detail intricate and anything but simple. Yet even they in all their beauty could not upstage the multiple colors the ground itself produced. Anya closed her eyes. She craved answers to questions that had been suppressed at the morning meal, but she tried to distract all of her senses by convincing herself she could hear the plants grow and smell their sweet aroma as the tender stalks pushed through the soil. Opening her eyes, she surveyed the immediate grounds once again. Nothing had changed. Not yet. Would this all be gone, too?

  That morning, Father’s entrance from the kitchen had been explained. He had let all the servants go. Those who did not benefit from the living quarters provided on the estate, and even those who had a residence on the grounds, would not receive their usual tender each week. Then there were the caretakers and the countless others who served their family. What would happen to them? How would her home of eighteen years change in appearance? Anya’s family had depended solely on others to maintain the look of wealth and affluence her father had built for himself and his family. Would it now be compromised? Could it take on the look of a slacker or one who given over to too much drink and slumber? Her mind grew increasingly troubled with each acrid thought. Anya envisioned the stone walls broken, large gaping holes and beastly, brown thorn branches protruding through and over the defenseless walls. Her chest tightened as she pictured dark green and black leafed weeds twisting around to slowly subdue all the beautiful color. There was so much she did not understand—unlike her brother, who seemed to know much but gave the impression of one unaffected by the plight of family affairs. Just the thought of him made her dark thoughts even darker. It was as if he knew something, something kept hidden from Anya. But how could he? How could he have known that three of Father’s merchant ships would go down in raging ocean waters near the Canadian provinces, everyone on board perishing, the cargo never reaching the merchants they did business with? How could he have known that two of the warehouses sheltering military merchandise would be set ablaze and left to burn to the ground the very night the news came about the ships? Anya pulled out a green satin hankie, tracing the intricate handwork of red roses and splashes of mint leaves that had been needled into its fabric. She wanted calm, but her mind would not let loose of her brother and his intentions. Surely he knew nothing of these life changing events, she reasoned, not wanting to think so ill of him. A sigh escaped her lips. Sean, in recent months, had become more and more difficult to trust. She shivered at the thought of the cold way he looked right through her and then laughed. And his frequent arguments with Father…what was happening to her brother? Had a life with large amounts of money at his disposal hardened him, dulling his compassion toward his family and countrymen? The time she would need to come to an understanding would be too long, she reasoned. Anya stood to consult the sun as to the time. Impatiently, she pushed the petals she’d plucked from defenseless flowers from her skirt. Watching them fall to the ground brought thoughts of the merchant ships. She felt dark for thinking it but was secretly glad the ships went down on the way back from the Canadian Provinces. They were loaded with goods to supply her father’s portside warehouses, but at least the loss of life would have been decreased. Anya surmised that the tragedy was a factor in the poor financial situation her family found themselves in at the present. She also knew very well that the cargo ships—or coffin ships, as they were so coldly referred to—were loaded with her countrymen, immigrants hoping to escape the plagues ravaging her beloved Ireland for so many years. Father expressed little regard for the families boarding his shi
ps to other countries. He considered most of them cowards and deserters, but as long as the fee could be paid for a place to squat, he allowed the boggers transportation, even though he would laugh at times as he recounted of the reports of less than one-fourth of the immigrants ever seeing foreign shores. They would die on the journey, their carcasses tossed into the ocean to feed the biggest of fish. The thought of the unjust deaths and the death of hope brought sudden sadness to Anya’s mind. She wasn’t one of them, one from the countryside, so she wondered why it saddened her so.

  Chapter Two

  Washington State 2012

  A smile parted Sophie’s lips as she penned the last letter grade on a lengthy but interesting research paper. The school year felt unusually long, she thought, but it was finally the end of the last semester, and it had been an enjoyable year at the university. What made this year different than any other? she wondered, tapping her pen against her palm as her mind worked. Could it have been that she had taught some of the brightest students in her five years of employment? Emotion swept over her. Here she was—she had arrived. She had gained a position at the college, which gave her a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, but more than that, she was filled with the sentiment that she had made a difference in the lives of some of her students. Her smile returned as she thought about being named the top history professor at Pullman. It was like icing on the proverbial cake, helping to end the year on a high note. But major success always has a price. And that price was called, sacrifice. As much as she loved her profession, Sophie was looking forward to some time off. She had resolved early in the school year not to teach a summer class as she had the past four years, needing the time off to fill her mental tank, she reasoned. Her professional career was right on track, but there was still something she couldn’t escape, a gnawing in the back of her mind, a suspicion that her personal direction was off course. Where was her life heading, and what roads did she need to take to get there? Then there was the intrigue of the diary she had found which had entered the mix. Maybe that’s why this weekend was like an invitation, an invitation to at least explore the possibilities for answering some of those pressing questions.