Goldenseal

by Gill McKnight

  A cool hand settled on her forearm. “How’s the headache?”

  Ruefully, she admitted, “It’s gone. I can’t even use it as an excuse.”

  The hand shook her arm gently. “You don’t need an excuse. You love Connie, and you’re worried sick. We all are. This came out of nowhere. Nobody and nothing could have prevented it. But she’s in the best possible place and you’ll get to see her soon.”

  They stood side by side looking at the illustrations laid out before them. The colors swam with translucence even in the drab artificial light. Marie’s arm wrapped around Amy’s shoulders reassuringly, offering support at a time of great stress.

  “The best thing you can do right now is throw yourself into finishing her work. She was so relieved to know you’d agreed to fly in and take over. It took a great load off her mind.” The embrace tightened into an affectionate hug.

  “When can I get to see her, or even talk to her?”

  “We’ll visit the retreat in a couple of weeks. But no communication until then. It’s one of the rules. She’s suffering from complete mental exhaustion and it’s a slow process recharging those batteries.”

  Amy reached out again to finger an edge of the vellum. “It will be nearly impossible to touch these up, especially with wet on wet. There’s no way it will scan if I dampen the paper again. I know I learned my trade at Connie’s elbow and our styles may look similar, but to a trained eye we’re a world apart. And frankly, at two hundred LPI, maybe even a layman could tell the difference. What kind of retouching did you have in mind anyway?” She frowned; the work was perfect as it was. Why did Marie want to jeopardize it for a few extra embellishments?

  “I’d hope at two hundred lines per inch a myopic chimp could pick up the style differences…but it’s just a few lines mostly on the outer edges. Could you add them in dry? It’s just a tiny little oversight, but it has to be done. The rest are a series of close-ups of autumnal foliage for text insets. Those will be all yours to do.”

  “Marie, you know I can’t go in and touch up these illustrations. I’ll ruin them. Even with the best effort in the world, the color strengths wouldn’t match, and I really don’t want to play around with Connie’s work.” She lifted an illustration of goldenseal for them both to admire. “I mean, how can anyone improve on this?”

  Marie simply shook her head. “Let’s leave it to the editorial meeting tomorrow, okay? What about your own work schedule? I guess you’ll want to do field sketches, but I’m not sure where you’ll find all the plant specimens on your to-do list. You may have to root around for the rarer ones.”

  “Ah, but that’s half the fun.”

  “What’s half the fun?” Leone strolled into the small office, and immediately Amy felt claustrophobic.

  “Rooting around for the specimens on Amy’s list,” Marie answered her.

  “I’ll need to know what you’re after and where you intend to look.” Leone sounded bossy again. Her chin jutted as it did when she was determined to get her own way. Amy recognized the look of old and her hackles rose in response.

  “What do you mean you need to know? I can manage my own workload.” Her tone was frosty as she realized they had come full circle back to the babysitting argument. She might have known Leone wouldn’t give up.

  “I need to know so I can make sure you’re not wandering around out there like a sitting duck.” Exasperation crept into Leone’s voice, making Amy stiffen all the more. They were in a face-off and Marie stepped forward to break the impasse.

  “I’m inviting the both of you to dinner tomorrow evening so we can discuss exactly what’s needed now that Connie is resting.” She attempted to pull the conversation back into the professional arena and neutral territory. “Amy, the e-mail I sent you with the list of the required plants, it’s lengthy. Are you happy to continue with the existing deadline?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen the list, and I’ll start field research first thing tomorrow. It’s an easily attainable deadline…if there are no unforeseen hindrances.” She shot a hard look at Leone before sidestepping for the door. “Thanks for the dinner invitation, Marie.”

  Marie accompanied her as far as the porch. “It’s great to see you back in Little Dip, Amy. I wish with all my heart it was under different circumstances.”

  Amy gave a small, sad smile. “We all do, Marie. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.” With a final wave Amy trudged back to the party only to hear accompanying footsteps crunching alongside her. She halted and looked with indignant surprise at Leone, who had popped up beside her, seemingly content to dog her every move this evening.

  “What is it now?” she asked, her patience wearing thin.

  “What’s what?”

  “Why are you following me?”

  “I’m not. I’m joining the party.” Leone nodded toward the revelers. “You wanna dance?” Leone raised her eyebrows questioningly. Amy looked at her as if she had grown two heads. Both brainless. Shaking her own head in amazement, she turned toward the trail to her cabin.

  “No. I’m going to bed. I need a good night’s rest.”

  “Okay.” Leone turned with her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to walk you to your cabin. It’s late,” she responded gallantly.

  “No, you’re not. I know the way there in the dark. I’ve done it a thousand times.”

  “Mom said I was to look out for you—”

  “I don’t need a babysitter, as you so elegantly put it. Go pester someone else.”

  “Nope. I’ve got to pester you. Mom told me to.” Leone sounded even more determined now that Amy was in a defiant mood.

  “Oh please yourself, freak.” Amy stomped off, leaving her escort behind. It took mere moments before Leone’s longer stride caught up with her, and together they walked away from the lights and music into the heart of the forest.

  “So,” Leone struck up a friendly chatter. “How was Venice? I saw the photos. You seemed very impressed with it.”

  Amy frowned heavily. “You saw the photos? The photos I sent Jori?”

  “Yup, and the ones you sent to cousin Andre and Connie, too. I follow everything you do, you know. It’s fascinating. All those places you visit. I go nowhere much, so I’m very envious. But then you always wanted to trav—”

  “You follow what I do?” Amy was appalled. “Well, stop it. Don’t follow me or any of the things I do. If I wanted you to know then I’d e-mail you, too!” Her words rang out harsh into the still night air. She felt incredibly indignant. She didn’t want any part of her life exposed to Leone Garoul.

  “Hey, I’m not snooping. It’s just general family conversation. Sheesh, do you really think I’d spy on you? You’re not that freakin’ interesting.”

  “Well, if I’m not freakin’ interesting, stop freakin’ following me.”

  “I’m not freakin’ following you. I’m escorting you.”

  “I’ve spent half my life here; there’s no way I need an escort. And I don’t believe for one moment that Marie meant for you to walk me home. I know these woods like the back of my hand— oof.” She was flat on her back looking at the stars through the forest canopy, her foot tangled in an upraised tree root. Leone’s smug face loomed into her celestial vision.

  “The back of your hand needs to give your feet a clue.” A hand was offered to help her up. “Imagine that, someone’s put a forty-foot tree there since your last visit.” Leone tutted.

  Amy swatted the hand aside and scrambled to her feet, furiously wiping herself down. “I would have seen it but for your annoying yammering. Now go back and let me make my own way home in relative safety. The only dangerous thing around here is you.”

  “Nope. I’m doing what Mom says and that’s that. You don’t like it, then take it up with her tomorrow night at dinner.” Leone continued to stroll beside her as Amy fumed. “You got a bit of dirt right there. On your backside…” she murmured, smiling as Amy heatedly dusted her bottom.

  After seve
ral yards of silent huffing from Amy, Leone tried her hand at light conversation again.

  “I like your accent. You’re all British now.”

  “It’s a mixture from living in London so long. The English think I sound American.”

  “Mmm, it’s nice though. Go on…say ‘nappies’ and ‘dustbin.’”

  “Shut up, idiot.”

  “Say, ‘Why thank you, Your Majesty.’”

  “Stop it. You’re not clever.”

  “Can ya curtsy at the same time?”

  “I’m warning you.”

  “Okay, sorry. But you sound good.”

  “I’m not a bleeding car engine.” Amy snapped. She knew Leone was baiting her and had no time for it. They’d played all the games they were ever going to play a long, long time ago.

  “‘Bleeding’—I love it.” Leone chuckled. Amy snorted in annoyance and picked up her pace. The sooner she was back at Connie’s cabin and devoid of her “escort,” the better.

  CHAPTER THREE

  They moved on silently. The nocturnal calls of the forest wrapped Amy in a long forgotten, but now familiar comfort. The crunch of footsteps and huff of soft breath was the only contribution the women made to the night.

  They rounded one last bend and the cabin’s dark outline loomed into sight. Amy was about to open her mouth to dismiss Leone when a hollow, melancholy howl rent the night air around them. She froze.

  “Wolves. It’s been years since I heard them call,” Amy whispered, awestruck.

  “Someone’s feeling lonesome.” Leone lifted her face to the wind and smiled.

  Amy shuffled her feet, a little unnerved. The howling was reminiscent of many childhood nights spent in the valley, but it still unsettled her as if she were a kid all over again. She’d always found the plaintive calls mournful and scary, whereas Leone and the other little Garouls had always been comforted. Now she was bounced back to summer nights and enormous eiderdown beds with five little sleepy heads in a row. Four dark as tar, and her own white blond curls drifting over the pillows. She would lay listening wide-eyed and fearful while the rest smiled sleepily as if hearing secret lullabies in the eerie howling. Leone always slept beside her and would reach for her hand, holding it tightly until Amy eventually fell asleep with her nose buried in her shoulder.

  “You should leave a light on in the window,” Leone said glancing at the cape of trees wrapped tightly around the small, isolated dwelling. In some places there was barely two yards of clearance between the cabin walls and nearby cedars.

  “Why? I told you I know the way.” Amy stood on the porch steps; the added height drew her eyes level with Leone’s. “Will you be okay getting back home? You know not to leave the path or talk to strangers?” She smiled syrup sweet.

  “Very funny. But now that I’ve delivered grandma to her cottage I’ll try to get back without being eaten by the big, bad wolf,” Leone deadpanned back.

  Another distant howl wavered over the treetops. Again Amy tensed, and looked anxiously in the direction she imagined it came from.

  Leone smiled. Amy was facing the wrong way. She had never quite mastered the acoustics of the valley. Cocking her head, she took a chance.

  “Any chance of a nightcap before I head back?”

  She could see it was on the tip of Amy’s tongue to say no, but the chilling serenade had unnerved her. Leone pushed a little more. “What’s the harm in one drink? It’s getting chilly out here. It will warm me all the way home.”

  “Okay.” Amy turned abruptly and pushed open the door. “I suppose one of us has to act adult.”

  Behind her Leone bounded up the steps as eager as a stray dog offered a meal. Her eyes devoured every square inch of Amy’s back. Every line and curve, every indent and rise, all measurements were calculated and stored away for recall later. Then she would lie in bed and think of each spoken word, each gesture. The angry flash of hazel eyes, and that smile… Amy’s sweet smile, so rarely, if ever, turned on her. Not that it mattered. Amy Fortune was back in the valley, and that was enough.

  Together they entered Connie’s cabin. It was really only one large space. A square living room with a countertop that separated off the small kitchen. Behind that, a door that led into Connie’s north-facing studio, her pride and joy and the reason the rest of her living quarters were so cramped. The fireplace was the central focus of this main room. Pulled up before it, a cozy couch, draped with clashing tartans and woolen blankets, promised snug winter evenings before a blazing fire.

  Every wall was filled with either artwork or shelves wedged full of books. Connie’s entire collection of albums and almanacs, lexicons and references, folios and compendiums adorned the room. A myriad of colored spines and embossed leather decorated her simple walls. Thick and thin they stood side by side, bewitching in their symmetry and richness, sentries to Connie’s life, loves, and passions. To the right a galley ladder led up to a railed platform that acted as the bedroom. The bathroom was housed directly under this.

  Amy loved the small, intimate cabin. Every pore in her body knew it as home. A sanctuary where she had flourished and grown unhindered into the young woman and artist she was today. Earlier that afternoon she had unpacked on the small bed platform above, tidying her things away. Next she had brewed tea and sat on the settee before the cold ashes in the hearth and simply cried. She missed Connie so much and was terrified this place would never again be filled with her laughter and warmth.

  Now, on returning from this evening’s entertainment, she was surprised to find her fear of its emptiness no longer existed. Leone’s presence seemed to dispel the eerie sense of loneliness. But it was more than just another body in the room. It was the unexpected feeling of companionship and comfort that disconcerted her. Almost as if the room itself had been molded for them. Built to their dimensions. It wrapped around them as warm and comforting as the woolen blankets flung across the couch.

  “It’s cold in here. If you’re going to sit up a little longer I can light a fire. It’ll be roaring away in no time.” Leone’s eyebrows rose in question. Secretly she wanted to sit before this fireplace sharing a nightcap with Amy and talking nicely to each other for once. She watched Amy puttering around in the kitchen looking for glasses, cracking open her duty-free booze. The lamplight blazed a halo around her crazily curled hair. It was tied back, but still untamable. Leone’s fingers itched to run through it, to snag and snarl it in great fistfuls, and crush the cool silkiness into the heart of her palms. She forced her gaze away and poked at the burned-out embers, waiting for permission to bring them back to life so they could both relax before a cozy fire. She desperately needed some time alone with Amy.

  “Well, if it will only take a moment to light.” Amy frowned; this was getting far too chummy. Leaving Leone to nimbly build the beginnings of a fire, Amy dug out two heavy crystal tumblers, adding a generous dash of cognac to each. She glanced over at Leone. Her fine, bronzed features glowed with the blazing kindling as she gently fed the flames. Once again Amy was struck by the easy familiarity of it all, and it perturbed her. She didn’t want these feelings. They were the kind she knew could become addictive, and she was never going to snare herself like that again. Never going to be hurt like that again.

  Leone perched on the edge of the couch as Amy joined her with their drinks.

  “Here.”

  “Thanks.” Leone took an appreciative sip. “Mmm, good cognac.” They settled back and watched the flames steadily grow. It was a strangely restful end to an emotionally tense evening.

  “So,” Leone finally broke through her reverie, “can I see the rest of the Italian photos?”

  Amy looked over in surprise. “There are hundreds of them.”

  Leone shrugged. “I’d love to look at them. It would be great to see even a few and have a blow-by-blow commentary.” With the fire warming the room and the nightcap warming her belly, she was loath to leave the little cabin and prepared to try every ploy possible to prolong her time there. She kn
ew Amy had a weakness. Like every artist, she liked to share imagery and discuss ideas. Leone shamelessly played on this now. “Especially the ones about Italian architecture?” She raised her eyebrows in question. “I love soffits and spandrels.” Soffits and spandrels were the only architectural terms Leone knew, apart from door. But it was worth a try.

  “Mmm.” Amy squinted at her suspiciously, but Leone could see her wavering.

  “Okay.” Amy caved. “We can look at some, but there are too many photos for one sitting. I’ll show you Florence and Sorrento. You’ve already seen the best of the Venice ones.” She stood to fetch her laptop.

  “What was your favorite city?” Leone asked.

  “Oh, that’s hard as they were all so special in different ways. But if I had to choose I’d say Sorrento. It was absolutely beautiful.”

  Amy came back and settled in beside Leone, flicking on the computer. As the light bounced off the screen onto their faces Leone took the opportunity to scoot a little closer until her shoulder and thigh pressed along the length of Amy’s. At first Amy stiffened, but stealing a look out of the side of her eye she could see all Leone’s concentration focused on the first of her photographs. She decided she was being far too paranoid and forced herself to relax. Although Leone had annoyed her repeatedly tonight, there had been nothing sexually suggestive in her behavior. Leone was just clumsy around Amy’s boundaries. It was something Amy would correct later; she had no energy left for another round of “back off” tonight. As she fully intended to avoid Leone while she did her fieldwork, there would be even less opportunity for Amy to feel this bugged.

  Leone felt the slight shift in the Amy’s muscles; a sneak peek out of the corner of her eye checked Amy’s profile and saw that her physical closeness had been deemed acceptable. She smiled encouragingly at the screen without actually focusing on it; all her attention was on the parts of her body pressing up against Amy’s warmth.

  “Okay.” Amy found her starting point. “The Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore. Wait ’til you see the spandrels on this baby.”