With the mist like this and the silence of the valley, she may have been living a hundred years ago. A thousand years. The mist could have been the smoke of campfires from the ancient, quiet people who inhabited the valley while she sat here, on top of a hill that she hesitated to call a mountain. It was nothing like the Rockies, but she could scan the countryside for miles around.
Between the farms lay miles of trees, their foliage a thick blanket. From this height, they looked moss-like, growing so thick and close the canopy appeared solid. Even the trunks looked small and inconsequential from here.
At the edge of the winery’s rows, marked by a track too narrow for the carts but just wide enough for a single horse or walker, a few hand-painted signs were tacked to the frames. Those in front of her were chardonnay. In the adjacent rows she turned to see similar signs reading pinot noir. Madison knew so little about wine, but she knew at least that these were the two varietals for which this area of Oregon was famous. She made a mental note to research them when she got back to the cottage.
The rows of chardonnay ranged down the slope, radiating stripes of green. She selected a gap in the rows at random and slipped between them, heading downhill. The rows were spaced so that she fit perfectly between them. The leaves on either side of her were just inches from brushing against her shoulders. Maybe in the late summer, when they were fully developed, she would be enveloped by them.
They looked so vibrant, so alive she could almost see them growing. It wasn’t hard to imagine that the leaves would close in on both sides, wrap around her and make her a part of the vineyard. She would walk by and a tendril would tickle her ankle or wrist. She would stop and welcome the embrace, feel it reach out and coil itself around her. Its roots would work their way in through her skin, make her a part of their growth; a vine-covered statue watching over the countryside.
Given the peaceful lull of the growing things around her, the image did not frighten Madison. She found the image strangely appealing. Maybe not so strange, to crave this peace and quiet after the turmoil of her life. The chaos of her mind. Because it was peaceful here, and utterly quiet. Stillness that Madison had never felt before.
She came to a stop, the last of her footsteps echoing in the emptiness. She looked around her, but the vines were too high to see the rest of the vineyard. It was a Monday, the one day there were no tours and the tasting room was closed, so the staff had the day off too. No one moved around her. No carts groaned along the main track that split the vineyard almost perfectly in two. The highway was far away. The rumbling, honking, screeching sound of traffic, so ubiquitous in the rest of the world, hadn’t reached her ears once in the two weeks she’d been here.
Some people were disturbed by quiet. Kacey had to have noise at all times, even playing music while she read or planned dishes. Madison had thought she was the same. Loud coffee shops or roaring nightclubs were where she’d once felt at home. She’d grown up in the heart of the city and had rarely left. She thought she loved that noise, but maybe she was just used to it. Maybe she only loved it because she didn’t know peace like this.
A wind kicked up, driving stinging bits of dirt against her bare calves. It brought the dry, dusty smell of the plains and the rocky, irresolute scent of mountains. Another fragrance swirled in the air too. Lavender. Her grandmother had kept little sachets of dried lavender in each drawer of her dresser. The smell of it always clung to her, mixed with the fresh scent of baby powder and those little strawberry candies that lived exclusively in grandmothers’ purses.
The wind died down, taking with it the smell and the memory. Madison looked around for the source, spinning in place in the middle of a deserted vineyard. Finally, she looked down and spotted a flash of purple. She dropped to her knees and found the source of her memory. She hadn’t noticed it before. Spreading out at her feet, along all the rows as far as she could see to the horizon, lavender and mint grew at the base of the vines.
The vines themselves had very little footprint in the rocky soil. At the root, they were little more than a bare vine, not much thicker than a broomstick shoved into the dirt. Weaving in and around the vines were other plants, growing with much less order. Thick bunches of mint leaves, and clumps of lavender, their stalks taller than the mint and heavy with delicate purple blossoms reaching for the sunlight. It was so fragrant at ground level that it was now impossible to miss the lovely, bunched smells.
Impulsively, she reached out and broke off some mint and lavender. Madison twirled the stems between her fingers, pressing the bunch to her nose and inhaling deeply as she retraced her steps along the row. The lavender was so strong, it made the mint fade into the background, but smelling them together was incredible.
The soft snort of a horse brought Madison back to reality. She opened her eyes and skidded to a halt. The horse stood a few feet away with CS on top, her stone face locked in neutral. Her shoulders were even more square than usual, and her hands, wrapped in yellow leather gloves, gripped tight at the reins in her lap.
“Oh. Hi.” Madison said, dropping the herbs from her face to swing casually at her side. Was she allowed to pick them? They were growing like weeds, but maybe they were part of the crop. “I didn’t see you.”
CS didn’t say a word, just looked down on her while the horse shifted its weight from one foot to another.
“I hope it’s okay that I’m here. I just wanted to get some fresh air.”
No response from the woman in the saddle, just the impatient fidgeting of her horse.
“It’s beautiful here.” Madison gestured behind her, turning to hide the lavender and mint by her hip. “So peaceful. And quiet…Solitary.”
She turned back, her eyes begged for a response. Anything would do. A lecture about not being allowed in the vines. The story of this place and how she came to be here. Even a simple good morning would do at this point.
“I like the quiet too.”
Madison breathed a sigh of relief to know at least that this woman could still speak. It was somewhat premature. No sooner had the words left her lips than CS nodded, flicked a finger on the brim of her dusty, stained cowboy hat and kicked the horse’s sides, sending it into motion again. Madison backed up a few steps, retreating into the row of chardonnay as the massive horse passed down the track. She kept her eyes fixed low on CS’s well-worn riding boots, rather than her face as she passed.
She stayed there, eyes locked on the herbs, until the sound of metal-shod hooves on soil faded into the distance. She looked up to find herself alone again, but somehow the solitude now felt uncomfortable. It was more like trespassing, and she had never, even in her wilder days, been a rule breaker. She hurried across the track and through the rows on the other side.
It wasn’t until she could see the cottage again that she realized she still clutched her odd little bouquet. The mint was bruised beyond saving, but the lavender was unfazed, only wilting slightly in the warm afternoon. She needed to get it into a glass of water. Or maybe she would tie it into a bundle and hang it from the ceiling to dry it the way her grandmother had. She laughed to herself to think of Kacey’s reaction if she were to stuff little packs of potpourri into their dresser.
Turning to toss the herbs away, Madison caught, just at the edge of her vision, a ray of sunlight slashing through the last of the mountain fog. It caught in the mist for a heartbeat, making it glow from the inside and sparking a thought that maybe, just maybe, Madison could turn into the first vase she threw in her new studio.
She dropped the mint into the grass but held tight to the lavender. She wouldn’t dry it, but maybe she could find another use for it.
One thing was certain, she would not let CS scare her into tossing it out.
Chapter Nine
With a satisfied smile Madison wiped the last of the clay off her wheel, taking the rag to rinse in the mudroom sink. Everything she had thrown since she first sat at the wheel in this room was good. Not perfect, not any of them yet, but she hadn’t scrapped a
single piece since she arrived in Oregon and that was a first.
It was the room, of course. Her studio, though it was hard for her to think of it that way yet. She walked in every morning, awed by the wall of windows that this was hers. It was like no studio she’d ever worked in, though this was what every studio should be. Too much art was forged in dark, dank places. Beautiful things were meant to be made in beautiful places. Every artist should work robed in natural light.
Sure, she needed to cure her pots in a different room, but the plastic-draped shelving in the mudroom was the perfect spot for that too. There was even a nice, dark corner for her to keep her clay and access to a deep sink originally meant for the laundry.
She gave her studio one last, loving glance before stepping away. A smile so wide it burned her cheeks and stayed with her all the way into the kitchen.
“Done for the day?”
Kacey sat at the raised counter, her hair tousled and her pajama shirt hanging loosely from her shoulders. Madison topped off Kacey’s coffee before pouring herself a cup from the half-full carafe.
“Yeah. My back’s starting to ache.” She blew across the surface of her coffee, steam billowing out, and hopped up to sit on the counter.
Kacey nodded, flipping a page of her magazine. She wasn’t listening, but she wasn’t reading either. Her eyes didn’t move across the page, an advertisement for erectile dysfunction medication. Her lids drooped dangerously close to shut.
“You’re about to drown in your coffee, babe.” Madison reached out and ruffled her hair. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
Kacey pushed the magazine away and looked up. “Not sure. What day is it?”
Madison laughed and leaned over to lay a kiss on her pouting bottom lip. She could still taste the barest hint of tequila there.
“As long as you’re sober this morning.” She studied Kacey thoughtfully. “You are sober, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Kacey took a long sip from her cup. When she set it down, she used both hands to scrub at her face. “I shouldn’t have stayed so late, but everyone needed a little party.”
“When did you get home? I don’t remember you coming in.”
“I’m not sure, but it was late. We needed to blow off steam.”
“Service’s been rough?”
“No, the restaurant is great. The diners love the menu. It’s just… Everyone’s stir crazy.”
There was a desperation in her voice that Madison, had she been paying more attention over the last couple of weeks, should have noticed.
“We’re all feeling a little closed in. It’s so far from town here and it’s tough to get the cars for a day out. I guess it’s fine for the folks who don’t live on property, but the rest of us are having a hard time adjusting.”
“You don’t like it here?”
“You do?” Kacey’s eyes were wide now, and full of confusion. “I hate it here. I mean, I guess I’ll get used to it, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know.” She looked around with a wild glint in her eyes. “I thought we’d be close to Portland. Or Eugene even. This place is close to nothing and it’s driving me crazy.”
“It’s a little secluded, sure, but I like the quiet.”
Kacey laughed, shaking her head with a good-natured grin. “When have you ever liked it quiet?”
Madison felt the tears forming behind her eyes, but willed them away. They fell back inside her, leaving a cold sadness that ate at her until she felt hollow. She refused to allow the picture of Robert to form in her mind. If he took shape, if his blue eyes turned to her the way they had ever since she could remember, she wouldn’t be able to breathe. She slipped down off the counter, letting her feet hit hard to jolt her mind out of focus. It worked well enough that her hand didn’t shake when she picked up the coffeepot.
“I don’t know.”
Kacey wasn’t listening. Madison didn’t have to turn around to know. She didn’t hear the pain in Madison’s voice or detect the lie. She’d already forgotten that she’d asked the question.
“You know what I hate even more than this place?” Kacey stood, her chair scraping along the tile floor. “CS. I can’t stand her. She just wanders around the place like a ghost. She never says anything. She’s just…I don’t know.”
Madison shrugged as she turned around. “She’s not very warm, is she?”
“She’s about as warm as the walk-in and we keep that thing cold enough to freeze my tits off.”
“I saw her in the field the other day.” Madison set her cup down and looked out the window over the sink, still not sure whether her eyes would give her away. “She wasn’t super friendly.”
“She spends too much time alone in the grapes. I see her out there all the time. It’s like she doesn’t sleep. She just walks in the fields and grumbles.”
“Do you think…” Madison gave voice to her worry that had been bouncing around since her walk. “Do you think I wasn’t supposed to be there? Should I stay out of the vineyard?”
“I see tourists out there all the time.”
“Yeah, but they pay to be here.”
“So what? We live here. If she didn’t want us out there, she should have said something.” Kacey dropped her empty cup into the sink. “What’re you up to today?”
She hesitated, fiddling with the handle of her coffee cup. “I thought I might take a walk. Stretch my back.”
Kacey came around the counter, wrapping her into a tight hug. Madison burrowed her cheek into Kacey’s neck, trying to ignore the reek of alcohol.
“Go anywhere you want, babe. She said we should treat this place like home.”
Madison nodded into her neck. With the warmth of her girlfriend pressed against her, she felt more confident in the decision. The confidence only partly evaporated when Kacey kissed her on the top of her head and hurried off to the shower.
She forced herself to leave the house, only pausing to shout a goodbye up the stairs before charging out the door, around the house and then beyond to the main gate before she could change her mind. Kacey was right—CS said they should feel at home, and Madison felt like a walk. Her determination almost felt like confidence, and she didn’t allow her doubts to creep in until the cottage was out of sight.
She decided to avoid the main path. If CS didn’t see her, she couldn’t get into trouble. She skirted the edge of the property, sticking to the perimeter of the vines instead of walking along their length.
Unfortunately, that didn’t offer the most stimulating walk. She knew she was heading in the general direction of the stables, but the building was too far off for her to see the roof over the grape trellises. A seven-foot tall privacy fence marked the property line, an unbroken row of thin boxwoods in front. There was no path here, only untidy grass brushing her ankles.
In front of her, a stand of trees she hadn’t noticed before bulged out from the property line. A breeze kicked up, ruffling the leaves on the tops of the trees, blowing them toward her as though they were reaching out their hands, beckoning her to come in.
The day was hot, summer having arrived in full force in the past week. Here on the mountain there was little cover from the punishing sun. A patch of sweaty T-shirt stuck to her lower back unpleasantly, so she sought the shade of the trees ahead. She bent and picked a stalk of lavender that had made its way out of the rows and into the narrow strip of grass.
The shadows swallowed her up and carried her into another world. Dead leaves clung to the underbrush. Struggling, anemic saplings and low, thorny bushes covered the ground. The canopy was high, blocking out most of the light, and all the branches were out of reach. The wind whistled through the trunks as it did through tall city buildings.
Ahead of her the trees were thinning. Madison could see brighter light cutting through the trunks. The ground was getting softer too, the grass returning to take over from the detritus of dead leaves. A clearing was visible t
hrough the breaks. It wasn’t large, just a few square feet of grass tucked into the center of a forest.
When she saw the person in the clearing, Madison stopped abruptly. She knew it was CS. Though her back was to Madison, the way she held herself made it obvious that this could only be the stone-faced winemaker. Without thinking, Madison ducked behind the tree in front of her. She did not want to be seen, but turning to leave now might give her away as much as walking forward.
It wasn’t until she stopped moving that Madison heard the low rumble of CS’s voice. She was too far away to distinguish words, but Madison liked the sound. It reminded her of warm, comforting things with its steadiness and timbre. Pitched low in that butch way that stirred something deep in Madison. In the way that Kacey desperately wished she spoke, but couldn’t. CS spoke so rarely it humanized her in some way that made the recollection of her cold stare bearable.
CS moved to the side revealing a gravestone, a simple thing of carved gray marble, with text unreadable at this distance. CS crouched next to it, bouncing slightly on her wide-stretched knees and talking to the headstone. When she reached out and laid a hand on top, Madison felt her cheeks burn. This was a private moment and she should leave. Even if she was seen now, better to be seen walking away than staring.
As she turned to go, a light sparkled in the clearing and caught her eye. A flash of yellow and brightest white just as she blinked reminded Madison so forcibly of the moment she had seen liquid light, the moment she had chased since she was a child. She stopped and turned back. CS had set two small glasses on top of the stone. They scraped along the marble, and it was the curve of the glass that caught the sun, reflecting it into her eyes.
CS held an unlabeled wine bottle, a strange yellow-green so pale it was almost clear. It was a quarter-full and had a cork roughly jammed halfway into the neck. CS brought the bottle to her lips, yanking the cork out with her teeth and holding it in the corner of her mouth like a mobster with the stub of a cigar. She poured two measures of wine, one much larger than the other, into the glasses before jamming the cork back in with the heel of her hand.
And Then There Was Her Page 7
