The Enchantment Read Online Free
Author: Kristin Hannah
flipped the second-to-the-last sheet of paper over the easel's top. The final drawing filled his vision and sucked him into another world. He stared at it, transfixed. His monologue dwindled to a mumble and then trailed off altogether.
There it was, for all to see: the secret, rock-faced entrance to the legendary city of Cibola. A shiver of anticipation coursed through his body. His heart pounded with excitement. This was it. The moment he'd waited half his life for.
Like a sputtering engine, he found his voice again. The final, memorized sentence of his speech tumbled from his mouth. "... And with your generous support, I intend to use this remarkable diary to retrace Esteban's footsteps. Hopefully he will lead me to the legendary Lost City of Cibola."
It took Larence's mind a moment to wend its way back to the present. As always, the past was so vivid in his thoughts that when he spoke of it, he lived it. Slowly THE ENCHANTMENT
19
he came back to earth, and realized that it was over. He'd finished.
His breath escaped in a long, trembling sigh of triumph. He'd done it. With nothing more than a few sheets of paper, and his own magical words, he'd recreated the wondrous, legendary Lost City of Cibola. A triumphant grin spread across his face as he turned to look at his audience.
What he saw made his heart stop. Not one of them was awake. Not even Michael. The parlor looked like one of those wild West saloons he'd read about, with men sprawled in chairs and slumped over tables. Snores rumbled through the room. Why hadn't he noticed the sound before?
Larence felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His grin wobbled, flattened, vanished. He'd blown it.
Suddenly his feet felt unsteady. He sank onto the settee and slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.
He'd spent fifteen years of his life gathering data and fueling his dream, and turning the impossible into reality. And now . . . now when he'd finally been given the opportunity to make it all come true, he'd failed.
Why? he thought desperately. Why was he so unable to communicate with people? God, he tried so hard. . . .
Emma wakened slowly. Something was different. Raising a hand to massage the aching crick in her neck, she coaxed her heavy eyelids open. Then she noticed it: silence. The professor had finished!
She snapped her head up and started clapping, slowly at first as her groggy mind cleared, and then louder. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael stagger to his feet. He mouthed a single word: disaster.
She shook her head in disagreement, then hurried to
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Kristin Hannah-
Digby's side. "Stand up," she hissed just loud enough for him to hear. Before he had time to answer, she clapped again for attention. "Ah, gentlemen ..." "They're asleep," Larence mumbled. "Two hours ago they were asleep," Emma commented sharply. "Now they're in comas." She shot him an assessing, contemptuous glance. "I take it your specialty is research?"
He looked up at her through dull green eyes. "Yes. How did you know?"
"A wild guess. Now, stand up." Larence eased himself to a stand as, one by one, the men around him roused themselves.
"Gentlemen," Emma said as the last guest wakened, ' 'I know each of you would like to talk to Dr.
Digby, but I'm afraid I must commandeer him for a moment." A sigh of relief swept the audience. Emma pretended not to notice. "So, please, have another drink, and make yourselves comfortable."
She plucked up her skirts an unfashionable but practical two inches. "Follow me," she said, already moving.
"But . . . but some of the men are asking for their coats."
Emma didn't turn around. "Rats have always known when to leave a sinking ship."
She marched briskly toward the door, her chin held high so that none of the guests would suspect her inner turmoil. Behind her, she could hear Digby's shuffling, awkward footsteps. Damn him, she thought again. He'd ruined everything. If he'd had half a brain, she could have convinced the men to
There it was, for all to see: the secret, rock-faced entrance to the legendary city of Cibola. A shiver of anticipation coursed through his body. His heart pounded with excitement. This was it. The moment he'd waited half his life for.
Like a sputtering engine, he found his voice again. The final, memorized sentence of his speech tumbled from his mouth. "... And with your generous support, I intend to use this remarkable diary to retrace Esteban's footsteps. Hopefully he will lead me to the legendary Lost City of Cibola."
It took Larence's mind a moment to wend its way back to the present. As always, the past was so vivid in his thoughts that when he spoke of it, he lived it. Slowly THE ENCHANTMENT
19
he came back to earth, and realized that it was over. He'd finished.
His breath escaped in a long, trembling sigh of triumph. He'd done it. With nothing more than a few sheets of paper, and his own magical words, he'd recreated the wondrous, legendary Lost City of Cibola. A triumphant grin spread across his face as he turned to look at his audience.
What he saw made his heart stop. Not one of them was awake. Not even Michael. The parlor looked like one of those wild West saloons he'd read about, with men sprawled in chairs and slumped over tables. Snores rumbled through the room. Why hadn't he noticed the sound before?
Larence felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His grin wobbled, flattened, vanished. He'd blown it.
Suddenly his feet felt unsteady. He sank onto the settee and slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.
He'd spent fifteen years of his life gathering data and fueling his dream, and turning the impossible into reality. And now . . . now when he'd finally been given the opportunity to make it all come true, he'd failed.
Why? he thought desperately. Why was he so unable to communicate with people? God, he tried so hard. . . .
Emma wakened slowly. Something was different. Raising a hand to massage the aching crick in her neck, she coaxed her heavy eyelids open. Then she noticed it: silence. The professor had finished!
She snapped her head up and started clapping, slowly at first as her groggy mind cleared, and then louder. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael stagger to his feet. He mouthed a single word: disaster.
She shook her head in disagreement, then hurried to
20
Kristin Hannah-
Digby's side. "Stand up," she hissed just loud enough for him to hear. Before he had time to answer, she clapped again for attention. "Ah, gentlemen ..." "They're asleep," Larence mumbled. "Two hours ago they were asleep," Emma commented sharply. "Now they're in comas." She shot him an assessing, contemptuous glance. "I take it your specialty is research?"
He looked up at her through dull green eyes. "Yes. How did you know?"
"A wild guess. Now, stand up." Larence eased himself to a stand as, one by one, the men around him roused themselves.
"Gentlemen," Emma said as the last guest wakened, ' 'I know each of you would like to talk to Dr.
Digby, but I'm afraid I must commandeer him for a moment." A sigh of relief swept the audience. Emma pretended not to notice. "So, please, have another drink, and make yourselves comfortable."
She plucked up her skirts an unfashionable but practical two inches. "Follow me," she said, already moving.
"But . . . but some of the men are asking for their coats."
Emma didn't turn around. "Rats have always known when to leave a sinking ship."
She marched briskly toward the door, her chin held high so that none of the guests would suspect her inner turmoil. Behind her, she could hear Digby's shuffling, awkward footsteps. Damn him, she thought again. He'd ruined everything. If he'd had half a brain, she could have convinced the men to
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