Then a woman.
I looked toward the drawing.
"Who's that?"
She hesitated.
"Mama."
I studied the figure.
Long dark hair.
A blue dress.
A small flower beside her.
Annie looked up.
"She used to be pretty."
I smiled gently.
"I'm sure she still is."
The girl shook her head.
"Not anymore."
My chest tightened.
"Why do you say that?"
Annie stared toward the pantry.
"She got hurt."
I waited.
The child continued.
"The men wanted the map."
"What map?"
She shrugged.
"Mama had it."
I leaned closer.
"Do you know where?"
Annie nodded.
"She hid it."
My heart began pounding.
"Where?"
The child looked at the blue cloth in her hands.
Then whispered, "In my dress."
I stared.
She held up the cloth.
It was not simply a strip of fabric.
It had once been part of a child's sash.
Faded blue cotton.
Worn stitching.
A small embroidered flower.
Annie turned it over.
Then carefully opened a seam near one end.
Inside was a narrow folded paper.
My breath caught.
She handed it to me.
"Mama said not to show the bad men."
I took the paper carefully.
It was dry despite the worn fabric.
The writing was small.
The lines complicated.
But I recognized the shape immediately.
A map.
The old mine.
The cabin.
The creek.
Several tunnels.
And a section marked with an X.
At the bottom was a handwritten warning.
DO NOT OPEN THE LOWER CHAMBER.
I stared at the words.
Then toward the pantry.
William was somewhere beneath the house.
With men who might not know about that warning.
I stood immediately.
"Annie, stay beside the stove."
She looked frightened.
"What's wrong?"
I knelt.
"Nothing you've done."
Then I hurried toward the pantry entrance.
A deputy stood nearby.
I held out the paper.
"Someone needs to get this to the search team."
He examined it.
His expression changed.
"Where did you find it?"
"Annie had it."
He looked toward the child.
Then back at the map.
"We need to send a message."
He reached for the signal line installed by the searchers.
Several sharp pulls.
A pause.
Then another.
The line moved.
Someone below had received the warning.
I held my breath.
Minutes passed.
Then the signal returned.
Three pulls.
The deputy looked toward me.
"They're coming back."
Relief washed through me.
But it was short-lived.
Because a moment later, the ground beneath the stove trembled.
A deep rumbling sound moved through the floorboards.
Dust fell from the ceiling beams.
Annie screamed.
I grabbed her.
The deputy shouted toward the tunnel.
Another rumble.