Mariah Stewart - Last Breath

“You’ve spent how many years ‘in the field’?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Twelve years, I think I read, but I had a hard time believing that,” Louise said. “That’s a long time to be living out of a suitcase.”

“Dr. Burnette…Louise…I’m an archaeologist,” Daria said patiently, as one might explain to a child. “I’m the child of an archaeologist and an anthropologist. Until I was ten, I rarely stayed in the same place for more than six months.”

“When you were ten, your parents both accepted positions at Princeton. They lived there for years. That’s hardly an outpost.” Louise had done her homework.

“Yes. But even then, as soon as school was out, we’d be off for several months.”

“Are you afraid you can’t remain in one place for a whole year?”

“Could be a challenge.” Daria smiled in spite of herself. “I’ve been living in a tent for most of the past five.”

“Might be a nice change, after all those years of living like a nomad.”

Daria laughed. “Actually, I’m quite at home in a tent. I don’t own much, and I have no one to answer to. The nomadic life suits me quite well.”

“Interesting.” Louise seemed to study Daria for a moment. “How about we walk over to the museum and take a look around?”

When Daria hesitated, Louise leaned forward and said, “Aren’t you even curious? Don’t you even want to take a look?”

“Of course, yes, I’d love to take a look.” Daria finished her tea and placed the glass on the tray. “Lead the way.”

On the way across campus, Louise pointed out each of the buildings and their functions.

“That’s the arts building,” she told Daria as they passed a building that appeared to have its roots in the 1920s. “Fine arts, mostly. Our art history and conservation departments have their offices on the second floor, and there are a few studios on the third. I’ve been told the light there is exceptional. There’s an addition on the back of the building-you can’t see it from here-where there are classrooms. Photography labs are in the basement.”

“And the building next to it?” Daria asked.

“Mathematics and the sciences. They have labs in both wings. The next building houses liberal arts; that brick building in front of us with the white pillars is the library.” She paused as they passed by. “Some of the archaeology professors have their offices in the basement.” Before Daria could comment, Louise hastened to add, “Their choice, I assure you. The department is officially housed over here on our right, on the second floor of that back wing. The Victorian-style mansion was once Howe’s personal residence.”

“I’m pretty sure I was there once, when I was little, for some sort of reception.”

“Oh, quite likely. Unfortunately, in the mid-nineties, the roof began to leak. It’s paid for its own repairs, though.” Louise smiled and added, “Wedding receptions. It’s quite the hot business. We’ve been renting it out for weddings and other special events for the past five years, and I must say, the old girl is definitely paying her own way these days.”

She pointed to a building straight ahead. One story high and built in a semicircle, it had a brick courtyard at its center. “There’s the museum.”

“It looks surprisingly contemporary,” Daria remarked.

“It was designed by one of the architectural students here at Howe right around the turn of the last century,” Louise said as she dug for keys in her purse. “There was a competition and Benjamin Howe chose the design from the entries.”

“I would have expected him to opt for something that blended in with the other buildings on campus.” Daria turned back to the building that had a different feel. “Except for the arts building and the mansion, all of the others look Georgian.”

“Yes, very classical.” Louise nodded. “Your great-great-grandfather was going for a look that mimicked the older, great colleges and universities. The University of Virginia, for example, has that classical look, as so many other campuses do. He had high hopes for Howe.” She shrugged. “Unfortunately, we’ve never attained the level of prominence he’d wanted.”

She found the keys and jingled them as they crossed the brick courtyard. Grass and weeds grew up between the bricks, and the landscaping that followed the curve of the building was badly overgrown.

“It’s been completely boarded up for years, but I had all that removed anticipating your visit,” Louise told her as she pushed open the door. “It’s going to be a bit stuffy and dusty.”

“Dust doesn’t bother me.” Daria followed her inside. “I’m used to dust.”

They stepped into a large round room that had elevated glassed areas off to each side.

“This is the reception room,” Louise explained. “Howe planned it to work as a gallery, as an exhibition hall, and a reception room. He called it the Great Room. There are photos from the opening back in 1912 which I’d be happy to share with you. Of course, Alistair was gone by then-he died in 1910-but Iliana and her father were there. His death actually put the opening off by a year while they scrambled to get the Jacobs collection ready to be displayed.”

“I’d love to see the photos.”

Daria walked slowly through the room, studying the few exhibits that remained. Small dinosaurs roamed in a procession over a sandy floor against a backdrop of enlarged photos of a generic desert. She tried to imagine a throng of people crowding around the glassed display areas. The room was comfortable and functional, and she couldn’t help but think how, if properly designed, the exhibits could be nicely arranged in the showcases. The natural light from not only the front and back, but overhead, enlarged the space and gave it an importance that artificial light would not have.

“Very nice. Whoever designed this space did a good job of utilizing the natural light and the flow of the room.”

Louise smiled, pleased that Daria approved of the room’s design.

The corridors off to each side offered more space for exhibits. At the end of the hall to the right there was a short flight of four steps leading to a lower level where several offices were locked and forgotten. Another longer set of steps led down to the basement, which had no windows and was in total darkness.

“Let me see if I can remember where the light switches are,” Louise said. A few moments later, an overhead light went on. “There. That should do it. Now, this way to the storage rooms.”

Daria followed her down the wide hall to a series of locked doors.

“The remains of the natural history museum are in here, if you’re interested,” Louise pointed to the first three doors on the right. “I’m thinking maybe we could hire someone to deal with that. I think, if nothing else, we should be able to sell the dinosaurs. I read somewhere that recently several were sold for hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“You might not want to get rid of everything,” Daria told her, “at least, not all at once.”

“This is not my field, Daria. I don’t know what’s valuable and rare, and what isn’t.”

“It isn’t mine, either, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to dump an entire collection at once.” She walked on down the hall. “What’s over here?”

Louise unlocked the first door to Daria’s right.

“The Oliver Jacobs collection.” Louise pushed open the door to reveal a long room with shelves that reached almost to the ceiling on every side. Wooden crates were stacked almost haphazardly around the room, some opened, some sealed. Daria walked around them, occasionally touching one or another.

“Jacobs dug in southern Mesopotamia, if I recall,” Daria said.