“I only have two-hundred dollars in cash on me. That won’t get us far. We should hold out another hour or two and see if the treasure turns up before we do anything like you’re suggesting,” Damien said.

“Okay, but the longer we wait the less time we’ll have to fake our deaths.”

Damien whirled around and faced the house. “Did you hear something?”

Colette shook her head. “The only thing I hear is noisy bugs.”

“I heard something back at the house: a clattering noise, like metal against metal.”

“It’s probably just Arcadias exiting the crawlspace.”

“Come on, Colette, we should probably go check it out real fast,” Damien said and trotted off for the plantation house.

“What about the dog?” Colette asked.

“We’ll resume the hunt as soon as we determine what caused that sound.”

Chapter 18

Like a drunken or accident-prone chimneysweep, Rafter’s head emerged from the chimney. He looked around, sucked fresh air into his lungs in big gulps, and gripped the chimney edges. Annie waited on the iron rungs just below him.

Rafter tilted his head so the flashlight in his mouth played its beam briefly off the underside of the chimney cap. The space between the chimney and the chimney cap proved narrower than he thought. It looked like maybe eighteen inches in all. Fortunately he and Annie both possessed lean bodies or they’d surely get stuck like Mr. and Mrs. Claus on Christmas Eve.

Rafter took the flashlight out of his mouth, turned it off and put it in his pocket. They would have to operate in the dark from here on out. They couldn’t risk someone on the outside seeing the flashlight beam. Rafter pulled himself up with his hands and pushed with his feet off the second rung. Once his stomach balanced on the chimney lip, he pivoted and dragged his right leg up and over the chimney lip. His left leg followed, and he was free.

Rafter peered back into chimney and saw Annie climbing up through the black maw. When she neared the top, he reached down with his hand. She latched on and he assisted her as she awkwardly exited the chimney, landing on her feet on the slate roof. “It worked, Annie. I can’t believe it. How do you feel?” Rafter asked, speaking in a low voice no louder than a mumble.

“Like a convict escaping a prison, only the prison is our house.” Annie handed him the clothesline rope. She’d been unable to find ordinary rope in the attic, but did manage to locate 50 to 60 feet of clothesline rope.

With the clothesline rope in his hands, Rafter headed for the widow’s walk, the longbow and quiver hanging over his right shoulder. If the chimney was on the side of the house he would simply tie the rope onto it. But the chimney cut through the middle of the house.

Rafter took careful steps on the slick slate. Annie followed close behind him.

Originating on 19th Century New England houses, a widow’s walk was a rooftop platform used by the wives of mariners to watch for their husband’s safe return. It was simply a decorative feature here on the plantation house, although Rafter thought Rutherford Whitcomb may very well have watched his slaves work his sugar cane fields from up here.

At the platform, Rafter tied one end of the rope to the railing of the widow’s walk. He almost threw the remaining length over the front side of the house, but reconsidered.

“What’s wrong?” Annie asked quietly.

“If we go over the front we’ll drop right in front of the parlor window.”

“So what’s the alternative then?”

“I stretch the rope to the back of the house. It may not be long enough if I do. And we may have to drop a ways to the ground.”

Annie shrugged. “I’ll land with my knees bent, and then tuck and roll. I’m not staying up here.”

Rafter smiled. “I’m with you, Babe. Let’s get off this roof.” He carried the rope over the roof’s peak and down the backside. He stopped at the edge and flung the rope over the side. It uncoiled, stopping about ten feet shy of the ground. “Who should go first?”

“Normally the protocol is for women and children to go first. But I think I’ll defer to you this time,” Annie said.

Rafter couldn’t see her smile in the dark, but knew Annie grinned back at him. He hoped to see her dazzling smile again and again for many more years. But that scenario hinged primarily on him. When he said his wedding vows, he promised to protect her. “Okay, I’ll go first. We’ll just have to slide down like we’re fast-roping. After I go, wait at least ten seconds before you go. I’ll need time to get out of your way.” Rafter reached into a front pocket near the hem of his paint shirt. He withdrew a paint rag. He tore it in half and handed the two pieces to Annie.

“What are these for?”

“Hold the rag pieces in your palms. Grip the rope with them. They’ll protect your hands from rope burn.”

“What about you?”

“My hands are so calloused I don’t think it will matter.”

“Okay, if you say so, Jon.”

Rafter gripped the rope tightly. He told himself the clothesline rope would hold his weight, that it was nearly as big in diameter as a climbing rope. “Here I go,” he said to Annie, and stepped off the edge of the roof before he had a chance to chicken out.

Chapter 19

As soon as his feet cleared the roof, his falling momentum sent him careening toward the house. Rafter’s left shoulder and hip thudded against the lap siding that covered the house on three sides.

Despite his desire for stealth, a grunt escaped his mouth. Out of fear, he clutched the hissing rope tighter. The thin rope slithered through his hands much faster than he expected, burning his palms as he slid toward the ground. He bumped into the house once more. And then he ran out of rope.

Rafter’s stomach lifted into his chest. He managed to bend his knees just before he hit the ground. He rolled onto his shoulder, taking out a peony bush before tumbling to a halt in the grass. The trip down had been more hair-raising than he imagined. But he didn’t feel any pain anywhere on his body, and counted it a blessing.

From on his back he looked up, saw Annie’s silhouette poised on the roof’s edge. She hesitated for several seconds there on the edge. Rafter wasn’t sure if Annie was counting off seconds like he requested or if she was freezing up.

Rafter scrambled to his feet. He checked the longbow and quiver of arrows draped over his right shoulder, determined they made it through the house dismount unscathed. And then he watched Annie step off the roof.

The rope hissed in her hands. Rafter grimaced as he watched Annie smack into the house like he did. She managed to somehow realign her descent, and seconds later her feet hit the ground. Annie rolled through the beaten-down peony bush, stopping a few inches from Rafter.

Rafter squatted down. “Are you okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Annie flopped over onto her back and looked up at him. “I’m fine. But I don’t ever want to do that again,” she said quietly.

Rafter squeezed her hand and helped her up to a seated position. “Trust me, I’ll never ask you to step off the roof again.”

Annie brushed dirt and plant debris off her arms. She looked at her mangled peony bush. “It took me over a year of babying these peony bushes along to get them established. And now we just destroyed one of them.”

“It’s only a flower, Annie. What matters is we’re alive and we’re out of the attic.”

“I know. But it’s such a struggle to get peonies to grow this far south. They don’t like the heat.” Annie sighed and caressed his face. “So what’s the next step in your plan?”

“Well, I was hoping we could sneak over to the car and drive away with the lights off.”