by Beckers

***

He found it easy to ignore the chatter behind him, the jovial stratagem coming from the treehouse’s common-room supper table. The participants, consisting of his own friends and their three visitors, appeared to be immersed in an amicable but significant conversation. Roxton sensed, however, a grudging acceptance from Veronica of both their company and what they had to impart.

They were all leery of strangers these days. More times than not the unknown wanted to do the treehouse dwellers great harm. They had been fooled too many times by friendly faces with seemingly good intentions.

Nonetheless, this time it did appear different. Not only had these visitors saved Marguerite’s life but Roxton knew at least one person on the mission quite intimately. This time there seemed to be no doubt. They were who they said they were, saviors from beyond the plateau, friends who could show them a way back home.

On the corner balcony, peering over its side, Roxton watched her from above.

Marguerite, excusing herself early from their company, paced back and forth on the jungle floor just inside the electric fence. The idea of someone arriving to take them home normally brought an over-eager joy to the woman but this time Marguerite had grown moody. Her arms were folded, wrapped tensely around her upper body as if she were cold. No, Roxton knew, the weather had no connection with the woman’s current disposition. If anything Marguerite was very warm, heated by the sting of a presumed betrayal and disappointment.

Roxton did not blame the brunette beauty for turning from him, departing the treehouse when he could do nothing but acknowledge the truth. Roxton thought he would never see Lady Monique Jameson again. He had actually counted on it after their last parting. But here she was on the plateau -- the girl a handsome young Lord John, in his confused and naïve youth, had married.

Marguerite and Veronica brought Lady Jameson and her two male companions, Fredrick Balloch and jungle native Tancua, back to the treehouse just after they saved Marguerite from an attack.

Not many of the ape men foraged around their area anymore but every once in awhile a family or small group would show by the lakes and display aggression if they felt their territory was being encroached upon. One of the bigger females got the drop on Marguerite while she was washing a blouse near the creak. Fortunately, the beast was quickly dispatched by Lady Jameson and one well placed bullet.

Roxton’s reaction, upon seeing Monique, was a near affirmation of what Marguerite perceived as a nightmare. What the woman had told her was true. She and Roxton had wed, however briefly, and when she learned of his disappearance in South America felt it important - along with others in their affluent circle - to pull together their own search party and attempt a rescue. Monique did confess to an ulterior motive, something for the history books she said, but ultimately The Challenger Expedition - particulalrly Lord John Roxton - was the reason for their journey.

Then, when an excited and affectionate Lady Jameson saw Roxton, walking up the steps from the lower level of their treehouse home, she sprinted to him. Her arms extended then wrapped around the well muscled shoulders of her one time husband in an enthusiastic greeting. “You haven’t changed a bit, love!” she called.

“You have.” Roxton replied with a nervous smile. She was no mere slip of a girl anymore but a fully grown, charming - and quite lovely - woman. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

God, how it must have looked to Marguerite! Roxton knew he needed to talk with her, explain the situation to the woman in a manner that was both calm and rational. He needed Marguerite to comprehend how it was, the pressures he faced after William and Father died. And she needed to know that while there would always be affection between he and Monique it was not the deep love he felt for the mysterious and captivating Miss Krux.

When Roxton heard Malone’s usually supportive tone arise, somewhat vexed, over the others about the common-room supper table, he turned from his surveillance over the balcony railing.

“And why not?” Veronica asked, annoyed. “They made it this far and want to see the Yanos. Why can’t they walk a few miles more?”

“Alone through cannibal territory?” Challenger asked, trying to sound reasonable.

“On this plateau?” Malone added, ‘Where anything can happen?”

With a sigh, thinking a few more minutes more or less may not matter with regards to the disenchanted woman below, Roxton approached to see what the fuss was about.

***

“You know, you could have told me you were married, Roxton.”

He had come down on the elevator and approached Marguerite’s lavender clad back quietly and very cautiously. It did not surprise him that she knew who it was without turning around to look at him. Marguerite had been expecting him and, Roxton knew, she was not going to allow this latest revelation go away without a thorough explanation.

“Monique was a long time ago, Marguerite. I didn’t think her significant to us, here and now. Besides,” he added, “the opportunity to tell you I had once married never really presented itself.”

“Is that so?” Marguerite turned halfway around, her striking eyes burning with a not so suppressed indignation. “It never occurred to you while we were racing for our lives, trying to out run a T-Rex or raptor, to look over your shoulder and shout: ‘Hey Marguerite, by the way, I was married.’”

“I didn‘t think …” he started.

“Or,” she continued without a pause, “while exploring one of the numerous miserable caves on this God forsaken plateau it never crossed your mind to ask: ‘Did I ever tell you about the time I was married?’”

“Marguerite, it was almost twenty years ago!” Roxton exclaimed, “I guess I sort of … forgot.”

“You forgot?” You were married and you forgot?” Marguerite huffed skeptically and now turned fully to face him. Her hands were formed into fist and she balanced them on either side of the smooth slope of her hips. Marguerite, lips pressed together and body shaking slightly, looked as if she was two emotions away from cuffing Roxton crosswise about the face.

“It lasted a week!” he exclaimed, somewhat desperate. “Not even a week!”

Marguerite paused to rein in her temper. She wanted to scream, perhaps to have a tantrum, but it would do no good, nor clear away this situation, if she lost control now. Biting the inside of her lip, nearly drawing blood, the pain allowing her to focus, Marguerite calmed and asked, “Did you love her?”

“Monique and I cared for each other …”

“Did you love her, Roxton?!” Marguerite snapped.

He hesitated then confessed, “No. I don’t think I ever did.”

“You married her!” Frustrated by his too simple answers, Marguerite turned once again from the hunter and began to walk the fence’s perimeter.

Roxton followed her, explaining: “Please, you have got to understand how it was. My brother then Father had just died. There were so many demands. I was the last of my direct line. I had relatives telling me I must marry and make babies. ‘We have to be certain the line will be preserved.’ my Uncle Cabot kept telling me over and over again!”

“And you’re trying to tell me,” Marguerite continued to walk, Roxton falling in beside her. “that you surrendered to that pressure, Lord Roxton?” She did not look at him, “That’s not like you at all, John. You simply would not care if …”

“It was another time, Marguerite, and  ... I was a another person … so young and confused.” he confessed, not appearing pleased by the admission. “I didn’t know what to do or how to act. For a time I really thought I was cursed ...”

Marguerite slowed her pace slightly as she listened. ‘You were grieving’, she thought, hurt for him in spite her anger. Her expression softened and she continued to listen.

John Roxton’s voice had grown low. The melancholy that so often overtook him when he recalled the past once again resurfaced. “The last thing my father told me when I visited his bedside, was to go on grand adventures, to learn all I could from the best teachers in the world, but also remember where I came from. He said to keep our lands and estate proud and make certain our line prospered.”

Marguerite, feeling moved by his manner, could not retain her anger. Roxton was revealing something of himself and his family to her that she was certain he had never told another. But she had to know for sure … “Did you tell Monique this?” she reluctantly asked in a low voice.

“No.” Roxton tilted his head back slightly, recalling another memory. “But she and I grew up together, facing a lot of the same pressures and responsibilities. I’m certain she knew what was going on. Socially and emotionally, she was probably pushed about just like me.”

“You grew up together.” Marguerite repeated, feeling a sudden but pointless envy.

Roxton acquiesced, “I remember being a little boy, playing out in one of our gardens, and my mother strolled by with a dark haired woman. She was carrying a baby girl, no more than a few months old, and they presented her to me. Mother told me that one day we would be great friends; she might even come to live in our estate.” Roxton smiled mildly and a little ironically at the thought, “Can you imagine a six year old being told he and a baby girl were going to be friends?”

“Didn’t go over well, I take it?”

“Not really. But being so young I don’t think I understood what they were telling me at the time either. Later I realized her parents and mine were already preparing us for marriage. The only thing we had to do was grow up.”

“But then you did grow up.”

“And I also grew to like her. Monique was adventurous and fun …”

“And beautiful.” Marguerite added, none too happily stating the obvious. Lady Jameson was not as tall as Marguerite but she was slender with long, straight dark hair that had a natural hint of red touching the ends. Her eyes were a deep, warm brown and her skin was clear. No doubt it was fashionably pale when she was not on rescue missions in South America. Now the woman was decorated in a healthy golden tan which, Marguerite suspected, made her even more intriguing to the men.

However, she was not perfect. Marguerite did find one flaw in what might otherwise be an ideal face and figure. It was Lady Monique’s thin lipped smile. It was odd somehow; rather cold and deliberate. It was the smile of a woman who, if they did not know better, had a questionable purpose. Marguerite recognized it because she too had used that same smile in the past.

“Beautiful, yes.“ Roxton agreed but then quickly and sincerely added, “But something wasn’t right between us. I just never felt a connection to her.” His eyes cleared and he looked directly at Marguerite as they continued to walk, “She wasn’t the right woman for me.” Roxton watched closely as his companion slowed her pace once again and looked up at him, “I told Monique on the third night of our marriage, when we were both nervously walking about the estate attempting to avoid one another, that we were wrong. Everything had been too rushed. The newspapers and periodicals hadn’t even been contacted. My Uncle said that would be done later and a larger more traditional ceremony would be performed but ….”

Marguerite’s voice softened as she asked, “Why were they in such a hurry?”

“They knew me. If I didn’t marry right away, if I didn’t start a family, then I might never go through with it. I would go off on adventures and try to escape my past. They were right.”

Marguerite could just picture it. Young Lord John Richard Roxton, deeply miserable and at his most vulnerable, being prodded by overly ambitious relatives. Still in shock, any amount of happiness was deeply imbedded in his soul and it quickly evaporated around him as he learned of their plans. She could imagine poor John sitting silently in a tall-backed leather chair in his home’s library, staring wretchedly straight ahead as others dictated his future. “So, you and Monique divorced?” she asked, not wanting to dwell on his suffering but probing never the less.

“The marriage was annulled. It wasn’t that difficult. We had never had marital relations so …”

“You mean you and she never …?” Marguerite started then trailed off.

For the first time Roxton saw a trace of Marguerite’s lovely smile and he could not help but return it. Both then paused, looking into each other’s eyes, and spontaneously began to quietly chuckle.

They walked to the long bench just inside of the treehouse’s fence and sat down together.

“Even at seventeen years of age Monique had connections and, if she wanted to, could have caused an incredible fuss. However, on the night we talked about parting she confessed to me that, although she cared for me like a brother, she had always been in love with William. When she heard he had died and that I had …” Roxton cleared his throat, ill at ease. “… accidentally caused it, she grieved deeply -- for both of us. She knew I loved William too.” He took one of Marguerite’s hands in his own, “Then she said something prophetic.”

Up until now Marguerite had been listening quietly, mourning with Roxton and trying to toss away these new events as yet another annoying obstacle in her life. But now, alerted, her shoulders squared and her eyes grew wide and curious, “What did she say?”

“Monique said she sincerely believed there was a woman out in the big wide world for me. One day, she said, you will find her in a most unexpected place.” he smiled, “And I did.”

“Roxton, truth be known, it’s not the fact that you married which upsets me.” she paused, reconsidering faintly. “Well, not entirely, anyway.”

Roxton nodded, waiting for more.

“I can understand the position you were in. All those past regrets. But what angers me is that you didn’t think it important enough to tell me, John … and maybe it wasn’t.” Her voice grew suddenly hard, “But it was still a secret. Now, you’ve pointed a finger at me, telling me how the cloak-and-dagger antics of my past can come back to us on the plateau, how it could get one of us killed, and it was best for them, all my foul little secrets, to be out in the open, at least with you.”

“But it …”

“I know. It did happen. But you’ve accepted that and my reasoning for keeping quiet about Master Xan and the Oroborous -- and I also know you’ve accepted that I‘m a mystery, one you hope to solve one day. Yet,” she quickly got to the point, “the secrets you have are allowed to remain secrets, forever if need be, while mine should be an open book?”

He might have said her secrets were more treacherous than his but, in truth, some of the past that Roxton had decided to keep to himself had, indeed, come back to haunt them.

Like Marguerite, only a few moments before, Roxton looked down at their entwined fingers.

Marguerite, noting his silence, thought an example - as painful of a reminder as it was - might be called for. She knew the hunter was thinking of it even if he didn’t want to be reminded -- “I know Captain Roxton was a secret that was over three hundred years old, a family ancestor that came to us by chance one horrible day but …”

It was a short but lethal period when Roxton and his friends were parted in times that were not their own, struggling to survive and return to the plateau, to the treehouse that was far more a home than a place to hang their hats. It was a true (or was it by design?) miracle. Yet, there had been obstacles. All had finally converged back at the treehouse, happily reunited, but not everything was as it appeared.

Somehow Lord Roxton had found his ancestor, Captain John Roxton, the pirate. They talked in the makeshift cell both were thrown into by the Conquistadores. John told the dubious buccaneer about his plateau and, when the conversation eventually came to the female of the species, the Captain quite rakishly told his descendant of all the beautiful women he had bedded. He then described in detail the lovely vision he would some day conquer and wed. Roxton was stunned to hear a perfect description of Marguerite, even down to her eye color. Only then, the pirate said, would he become respectable, at home with his plunder, living the life of a true gentleman.

Then they began to discuss, in earnest, a method of escape. Together, the men managed to subdue their guards and, making a break for it, ran into the jungle once again. Little did Lord Roxton know that his ancestor’s adventurous nature and occupational greed was only preceded by his ruthlessness. Here was where they parted ways. The hunter saw a rippling portal open, clearly showing him the way back to the treehouse, his friends and the woman he loved. John wished his ancestor well with his future and was about to make a leap when he felt an astonishing pain to the back of his skull.

The pirate had knocked Roxton out, quickly changed clothes with him, and took the portal to the plateau. He left his descendant to the Spaniards and their wrath, while he escaped to safety.

Marguerite had been so happy to see who she thought was her John Roxton that, at first, she did not notice the differences. After all, they looked nearly identical and their kisses - perhaps a bit dissimilar but equally as pleasant - were just as passionate.

In the weeks and days before this, since their encounter in the druid’s cave, John had frequently teased and whispered sweetly in Marguerite's ear. His endearments often frighten her because they mattered so much. This was a new sensation; a feeling she might be losing control to an awareness of profound love. Yet, Marguerite found she could not resist his charms now that they had been intimate. She found herself day-dreaming, like the silly school girl she never was, and yearning for his touch, imagining Roxton's soft kisses yet again against her shoulders, chest and breasts.

Indeed, more than once they had made a deep and passionate love -- but it was always on her terms. They were discrete, attempting to keep this part of their relationship very private. She and John had indulged when away from the others, camping out beneath the stars, at the Inland Sea, or if in the treehouse, when their friends were away doing various projects. They enjoyed this shared secret. It made their bond all the more fervent and exciting.

But then there were little things over the next few days, since his return from the Conquistadors, that raised warning flags.

Although he hadn’t so much as made an improper suggestion, Marguerite would look in what she thought was her lover’s direction just to see him staring at her. There was an odd expression on his face, desire in his eyes and an apparent need to touch her, but also hesitation. He seemed to be sizing her up for some reason and it made Marguerite uncomfortable.  Once, she made a move to ask him what was wrong but he side-stepped her and said he had a lot on his mnind.

Also on a few occasions, when he did not think he was being observed, Marguerite noticed an odd smirk on Roxton’s face as he watched the others converse and go about their business. It almost looked as if he were a man who knew the punch line of a very funny joke and did not want to reveal it to his friends.

Yet, in the end, probably the most telling for Marguerite was Roxton’s attitude when it came to his hunting. It was a part of what he was, an art to Roxton, but starting on the day he came back to them he hunted fiercely, as if his weapons were new toys. He suddenly not only enjoyed the sport but also the killing, the taking of a lower animal’s life, that accompanied it. He seemed a cruel master and the destruction had nothing to do with hunting for food or even showing skill -- but murdering because he enjoyed it and felt the animals he killed deserved it.

If Roxton, any of them, had learned one single item of importance during their time here on the plateau it was to respect the life around them.

Marguerite finally called the pirate on it, asking a few pointed question, and before she knew it had discovered this was not her hunter but a complete stranger! The pretense gone, Captain Roxton then kidnapped Marguerite and tried to force himself on her. If Miss Krux had been a less capable woman, she might have fell victim to his violent lust. As it was, she had kept the Captain distracted, explaining to the over-heated brute that she not only found him attractive but liked the way he thought. After all, she had a deep love for jewels, fine clothes and power. If he could supply her with all she wanted, she purred, then they would be a formidable couple.

Buying time and playing her role to perfection, Marguerite silkily promised the fake Lord Roxton untold pleasures a vulgar rape could never offer but only if he could provide for her. He agreed eagerly, feeling he had finally found the woman of his dreams. The pirate took her roughly in his strong arms, revelling in his capture of what he assumed was her wanton, greedy little heart -- until her friends had come to the rescue.

At that same moment the true Lord John Roxton suddenly appeared, bounding out of the rippling portal. Having escaped his own captors once again he returned to the plateau a little worse for wear. He still wore Captain Roxton’s pirate garb, which bewildered Marguerite at first because, despite it all, he looked damned handsome.

Furious, Roxton personally tossed his pirate forebearer back into the portal. “Ancestors,” he grumbled, “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t kill ‘em.”

The timeline had automatically corrected itself, Challenger announced, and all had returned to normal.

Roxton remembered seeing the jungle around him, the smiles of his friends, and holding Marguerite in his arms … It was one of the most thrilling moment of his life. He was truly home.

“And now this,” Marguerite continued, bringing them back to the present. “Another secret from your past has come to the plateau, Roxton. It may not be dangerous in the real sense of crippling injury or loss of life but it’s still here and, if I was a vindictive woman, I’d say your undisclosed past could cause irreparable damage to at least one couple on this plateau …”

“On the other hand,” Roxton softly smiled and brushed her knuckles with his thumb, “I can’t recall the last time you referred to us as ‘a couple’. Maybe this is a blessing.”

His misplaced humor failed.

Marguerite did not pull from him but she was not smiling either, “Our relationship goes without saying, Roxton. We know what we are. I know how you feel about me.”

“And I know how you feel about me.” he reminded.

“But John,” she pressed, “I need you to see the hypocrisy here. We all have a past. One way or another our secrets will come back to haunt us, I think. Either here or back at home. We shouldn’t be spiteful when they do.”

“In other words if I’m asking you to accept my past, my secrets, then I should give you the same courtesy?”

There was a beat where Marguerite squeezed his hand, affirming that in one simple line he had hit the nail straight on the head. “You said it, not me.” she whispered with a familiar and warm sarcasm.

Again, the man and woman glanced at one another then chuckled softly. Compromise. It was lovely being of the same mind. And one day, Roxton was sure, all secrets would be out in the open --- and that meant both of them. Roxton placed an arm around her shoulders and rested his head against hers for a moment.

“But I do have a question.” Marguerite said, “If you and Monique were never really serious, if she considered you more of a friend than lover, then why is she here? What would motivate a woman like her to brave the dangers of a South American jungle to end up here, on a rescue mission in an unknown world for a man that had disappeared over three years ago? Call it my suspicious nature but something just doesn’t seem right.”

Roxton could have reminded Marguerite that initially he had the very same notion about her when they started their own journey. But instead he said, “I think you and Veronica are having the same feelings.”

Marguerite blinked, “What?”

“She doesn’t trust Monique and her friends any more than you do. She thinks they’re up to something.”

“The girl’s got good instincts, I’ll give her that.” Disturbed, Marguerite slid her hand from Roxton’s and stood. “And what do you think?” she asked as he also stood.

“I’m sure the woman is Monique. She knows things about me and our lifestyle that, unless you’ve lived on an estate in Avebury, you would never know.” He hadn’t meant for the comment to sound unkind and felt a tug at his heart when Marguerite visibly winced.

“And you sincerely think she’s here solely to rescue us?”

“Not quite. She did express an interest in the Yano Indians as well. They’re a lost tribe Monique’s been studying and trying to track for some time. Apparently she traced them here, to the plateau.“

“Where else?“ Marguerite rolled her eyes.

“She asked us about them and although Veronica is willing to draw a map she told Monique they were a private tribe, very hostile, and the journey was too dangerous. In other words, if Lady Jameson and her colleagues wanted to seek them out they would be on their own.”

“Is this the same Layton girl who invited us into her home to live without ever having a hint of who we were? Denying these people is not only unlike her but rather bold and arrogant.” Marguerite, eyebrows raised. “If I didn’t agree with Veronica I’d be a little irritated that she decided to speak for us.”

Roxton nodded and laugh quietly, “Ned and Challenger weren‘t happy about it either.”

“And you?”

Gazing down at Marguerite, seeing those large eyes looking up into his own, knowing she wanted to see what was inside his mind, Roxton felt content. He could not resist taking Marguerite into his arms as he replied, “Someone once told me, when I tried to tell her I had an open mind, that I have an open heart. Whatever the case, I’m willing to watch the situation and see how it unfolds.”

Resting her head on his chest, Marguerite said, “And if Monique and her men decide to go you will go with them, John. You’re loyal and too good a man to allow them to walk blindly into such danger.”

“Maybe.” John said without commitment but he already knew Marguerite was accurate. No, he could not let them go alone. Monique was a part of his past but he owed her more than a brush off when it was obvious she needed his help.

“And I guess I’ll be right there beside you, whispering my opinions in your ear.” Marguerite pulled back ever so slightly and looked up at him once again, a mild smile upturning her lips.

“Frankly,“ Roxton said, leaning in, his face only inches from hers. “I would not have it any other way, Miss Krux.”

Gently, he touched his lips to Marguerite’s and was about to pull back, suggesting they return to their friends inside the treehouse, when Marguerite’s hand came to the back of his head and she deepened the kiss.

Roxton’s arms held her firmly but tenderly as they shared bliss.

***

They had taken a break.

“This may be far more difficult than I at first thought.” Looking over the railing, Lady Monique stood exactly where Roxton had only a half hour before. This time it was not just Marguerite but Roxton himself who was being observed. “She truly has captured his heart.”

The prediction Monique had made so long ago, about Roxton finding love in a time and place he would never expect, had come true. How could she know, at seventeen years of age, that she truly had a gift to see the future?

Actually, it had served her more than once. She knew before anyone else that John had killed William during those young, dark days of their youth. Monique had sat in an antique chair in her room, concentrating on needle point, when the vision came. She saw her William fall. That foolish boy had shot him, killed her potential lover, and left her bereft. She sobbed privately for days, even before the messenger came and delivered the horrid news. Yet, she played the part well, consoling Lord John upon his return, knowing she would one day be Lady Roxton, but she secretly hated the younger Roxton for taking away the man she loved.

The native, Tancua, standing beside Lady Jameson nodded and spoke as quietly as she. “I do not think they know yet who they are.” he said.

“You’re right. They don’t. None of them do.” She spoke, her voice like silk, and turned to watch Veronica.

The pretty, skimpily dressed jungle princess was quickly taking their used dinner dishes from the table. That one knew she was The Protector of the Plateau but she hadn’t the slightest idea what it meant.

Lady Jameson then looked to where Malone and Challenger were discussing tactics with Fredrick, her expert on the native tribe they sought. They had finally talked Veronica and the men into taking the three of them to see the Yano Indians. Unbeknownst to their hosts The Yano, which Challenger correctly suspected were related to the famed Yanomami tribe from Brazil, knew more than anyone on the plateau - in the world - about the line of the Protectors, Mordren and, most important, Priestess Morrighan.

It was Monique’s job, as an enforcer, to eradicate this tribe. The Yano must never tell Challenger and his people what they know. Such information could upset the balance of power and destroy the ones she served.

One month after Roxton and the Challenger Expedition was lost in the Amazon, while she was vacationing in China, celebrating the demise of her tedious father, Lord Jameson, Monique was approached. She was taken aside by men she had never seen before and told of her true birthright -- and the woman she had replaced as a baby. Monique was part of the line of Mordren, and it was she who would be the deciding factor when war broke out between the plateau factions. She knew it! Monique knew there was more to her existence than living life as an daring spinster.

It disturbed her at first, feeling this need, wanting to destroy what the plateau had become. She did not even know what the plateau was but knew, with the Protector there was calm and with Mordren there would be only chaos. Yet, through her studies, she also knew it was necessary. The line of Mordren - her bloodline - had to prevail! Once this was done she would truly know her place, what she was and more than that, have the power she so richly deserved!

Monique glanced once again over at the couple below. The line of Morrighan would be persuaded, one way or another, to side with Mordren and life would return to a grand state of perpetual disorder. ‘How in love they look.’ her mind repeated as she watched Roxton and Marguerite embraced one another. ‘Let them love.’ she decided, cynically. ‘When he dies so will her loyalty.’

Monique’s hand raised to her smooth throat, to the chain around her neck. Hidden inside her blouse was a locket in the shape of a heart. Carefully, certain no one was watching, she pulled up the locket and opened the cover. Once again, as she had so many times before, Monique read what was inside: For our daughter, Marguerite, forever in our thoughts.

Her finger ran over the delicate inscription. Lady Monique Marguerite Jameson. Her mother, or at least the woman she had always thought was her mother, often called her Marguerite. She had treasured this simple piece of jewelry for so long because it was uniquely hers. There was not another exactly like it.

With a smile, an expression one woman might describe as cold and deliberate, Monique closed the locket and allowed it to slide hidden into her bodice once again.

Applying her game-face, the woman purposefully walked over to where Veronica was working, washing dishes, and asked her - very pleasantly - if there was a anything at all she could do to help.

Veronica silently passed her a white towel.

Drying, Monique listened as the elevator slowly made its way upward.

Tomorrow would be a beautiful day for a jungle excursion.

THE END.

June 2006.

Notes:

The Yanomami Indians are an indigenous tribe (also called Yanamamo, Yanomam, and Sanuma) made up of four subdivisions of natives which live in the tropical rain forest of Southern Venezuela and Northern Brazil. Each subdivision has its own language. They include the Sanema which live in the Northern Sector, the Ninam which live in the southeastern sector, the Yanomam which live in the southeastern part and the Yanomamo which live in the southwestern part of Yanomami area. Of the approximately 20,000 Yanomami alive today, about 12,000 of these are Yanomamo. For the purposes of this fiction the plateau natives have shortened their name to Yano.