My Love At Last. Donna Hill

some point others found their way to the village and built new lives there.

      Olivia’s thoughts wandered, envisioning the time, the early days when Dayton Village first began, the excitement and uncertainty that must have permeated everything and everyone. She could almost feel the hope of the people who’d come there so many years ago wanting to build a life on the shoulders of freedom. She could only imagine what it must have been like for the thousands of Africans torn from their homeland, doomed to a life of slavery and degradation, to one day be free. It meant different things to so many people. As the legendary conductor Harriet Tubman once said, “I freed hundreds of slaves and could have freed hundreds more if they knew they were slaves.”

      That very powerful statement resonated within Olivia like none other. How can people know where they can go, what they can achieve and the possibilities that await, if they don’t know who they are in the world—what was their purpose?

      It was not happenstance that of all the professions to choose from, Olivia decided to study anthropology. She was led in that direction because her own life was riddled with missing pieces, inconsistencies and half-truths. If she couldn’t construct the foundation of her own truth, then she would do it for others.

      Her cell phone vibrated on the countertop. She smiled at the Bach ring tone that was attributed to Dr. Victor Randall, her supervisor and on again, off again lover.

      Olivia pressed the green phone icon. “Victor, checking up on me?” She leaned against the backrest of the chair.

      “Yes.” He chuckled. “How are things—and you, of course?”

      “Well, I had a chance to briefly visit the site yesterday, but the weather was against us. I did get some photographs and...I met with the developer in charge of the restoration work.”

      “Connor Lawson.”

      Olivia beat back the sudden uptick of her heart. She drew in a breath. “Uh, yes, as a matter of fact.”

      “Hmm. Heard good things about his work. It’s really important that you two work hand in hand. Not only do we want to get the history of Dayton Village, but it’s going to be up to you to ensure that the restoration keeps in line with your findings.”

      Olivia frowned. “Mr. Lawson doesn’t seem to be the kind of man that would appreciate outside direction on his project.”

      “I’m not telling you to run his project. What I’m saying is that it’s imperative for our purposes to ensure that the restoration remains true to your findings. The site...is the only original community of freed slaves and Native American Indians on the Eastern Seaboard. I can’t impress upon you the significance of that. You are the eyes and ears. You are the one who must ensure that every detail is accurate.”

      “I’ve been doing this for a long time, long enough to appreciate the significance without a reminder course.” She felt his hesitation before he responded.

      “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise or to second-guess you. However, the grant is important, Liv. Plenty of eyes are watching. If we miss a step on this project we could potentially lose major funding across the board for the future. Not to mention that your five-year contract is up at the end of this project. I don’t have to tell you what that means.”

      Olivia blew out a conciliatory breath. “I know.” The weight of her responsibility and her future curved her shoulders.

      “I plan to come down in a couple of weeks,” Victor said.

      Olivia flinched. “Why? I mean, sure, but...why?”

      “The funders want a progress report and...I want to see you.”

      Her stomach knitted. She looped her fingers around her mug, as she’d suddenly grown inexplicably cold. She brought the mug to her lips and took a sip. “Looking forward,” she finally said.

      “I’ll only be able to stay a couple of days...but I hope we can spend some time together, catch up. It’s been too long.”

      A filmstrip of their relationship played in front of her. Dr. Victor Randall could have easily had any woman that he wanted. He was a brilliant scientist with magazine looks, and a personality that was a mixture of charm and sensuality. They’d met about four years earlier when Olivia had first come to work at The Institute. He became her mentor, then her lover, then her supervisor. They’d both agreed that neither of them wanted or needed anything permanent. When Victor got his promotion, they’d tempered their personal relationship, and over time their intimacy moved further into the background, morphing into what it was today—purely platonic as far as Olivia was concerned. Even though she’d made it crystal clear that nothing could happen between them, there were instances when Victor seemed to have forgotten.

      “It has,” she finally responded, her voice noncommittal. “Um, just let me know when.”

      “I will.” He paused. “Is everything all right, Liv? You sound...odd.”

      She pushed away thoughts of Connor and Victor in the same space, with her in the middle. “No. I’m fine. Looking over some notes and thinking about your visit.” She heard him exhale.

      “Good. I’ll be in touch soon.”

      “Take care, Victor.” She disconnected the call and slowly placed the phone on the counter. She stared off across the kitchen. Maybe having Victor come for a visit was a necessary complication. Connor Lawson would only wind up being “another one,” and she wasn’t sure if that was all she wanted. Victor’s presence would erect the barrier she needed to prevent that from happening.

      Olivia turned off her computer and stuck her loose pages back into the binders. It was nearly ten. She was sure that the workers at the site would be in full swing by now. She would need access, but she didn’t want to get in the way. Unfortunately, she and Connor hadn’t discussed a working schedule. She hopped down from the chair. There was no time like the present.

      * * *

      After getting dressed in her typical workday outfit of jeans, white cotton blouse and ankle boots, she gathered her iPad, notebook, phone and camera and tossed them in her tote. She grabbed her lightweight leather jacket from the hook by the door and headed out.

      Unlike the previous day, the forecast was for warm weather and blue skies. Signs of spring were everywhere, on the budding leaves and shimmering grass. The chirps of the winged ones that had begun to return from a winter hiatus carried the announcement of a new beginning.

      Olivia rolled down her window and inhaled the freshly washed air; the sharp scents of wet grass and moist earth permeated her senses. On either side of the narrow two-lane road the small, neat homes stood like advertisements for a way of life that was foreign to city living.

      Moments like these, and of course, the thrill of discovery, were the ingredients that fueled her, made all the traveling and often long, grueling hours worthwhile. Uncovering the history of people long forgotten and bringing them back to life for the world to see was an unending goal. It was all she had; it was who she was. There was a time in her life when that stark reality had stared her in the face and she’d been overcome by an unbearable sense of worthlessness. Over time, rather than reject or fight the one fact of her life that she could believe in, she’d embraced it.

      Yet there were moments like now, as the homestead came into view, and she knew the buried secrets of some others’ past would soon be revealed, that she wanted more for herself for once.

      Olivia cut the engine of the Range Rover, gathered her things and got out. She stood for a moment on the crest overlooking the worn structures and forgotten paths below. She pulled out her camera and took a series of shots of the work in progress to document the “before.” She put her camera away and cupped her hands around her eyes, blocking out the glare of the morning sun in hopes of spotting Connor among the men. Her heart double-timed with anticipation as she slowly descended the slope and made her way across the muddy ground and around the trucks and heavy equipment.

      A tingle skittered along her spine. His voice. She heard him before she saw