Goldenseal

by Gill McKnight

  For the next twenty minutes Amy rattled through her slideshow with Leone making informed comments like, “Wow, so that’s Vesuvius?” and “Aren’t the streets narrow?” and “Look at that donkey with the hat.” Until—

  “Who’s that?”

  “That’s my friend Katherine. She went on vacation with me,” Amy explained.

  “Friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “A friend you go on vacation with?”

  “Yes, sort of.” Amy pulled up another album.

  “Sort of?”

  “Mmm.”

  This was greeted in cold silence as the screen slid through another few frames of Katherine doing this and that, and standing here and there, in and around Sorrento—much to Leone’s displeasure.

  “I didn’t see her in Florence?” Leone tried to sound casual.

  “No, she went home before then. I traveled there by myself,” Amy murmured, concentrating on her next selection.

  “Oh, so you broke up?”

  “Huh?”

  “Went separate ways, I mean…not broke up. Traveled… separate ways. Apart. Parted.”

  “What are you babbling about? Katherine only had a week’s holiday.”

  “Pity,” Leone said flatly, glaring at the digital Katherine. Just then the battery light flashed and a warning message displayed.

  “That will have to do until I recharge.” Amy snapped shut the laptop and set it to one side. She leaned back into her seat to find Leone had not moved an inch; they were still co-joined along shoulder, arm, and thigh, squeezed into one-third of the entire couch length.

  “So…do you think Katherine will miss you while you’re over here?” Leone asked, out of the blue.

  “What? She can e-mail me, or telephone if she needs to. Look, I’m tired and I need to get to bed.” Amy wriggled out of her cramped corner onto her feet, signaling the end of the evening. Leone sat on for a moment, unwilling to move.

  “Good night, Leone,” Amy said bluntly, prompting Leone to reluctantly stand.

  She managed a polite reply. “Good night, Amy. Thanks for the nightcap and the photo show.” A look of consideration crossed her face before she suddenly reached out and swamped Amy in a good­bye bear hug.

  It took several seconds for Amy’s benumbed mind to register what the hell was happening. Leone had moved with the speed of a cobra, grabbing her by the shoulders and slamming her into her chest. Amy’s synapses exploded with a million alarms, alerts, and klaxons as her nose was buried in Leone’s sweatshirt and the arms circling her squeezed the air out of her lungs. Then Leone’s hands began to roam across her back, the broad flat of her palms brushing and circling the planes of Amy’s ribs and shoulders, tracing her spine, hesitating just above the flare of her hips.

  Leone breathed her in, her hair, her skin. She adored this scent. It had been so long, so achingly long since she had last held Amy. So she just held on, breathing her, stroking her, memorizing by touch. Greedy, because she knew it would all be over in a microsecond. The moment Amy recovered from her surprise enough to push her away, she would have to let go.

  Flustered, Amy grabbed Leone by the upper arms and stepped back out of range. The ferocity of Leone’s hug scared her. It stirred up feelings she was not prepared to look at yet—if ever. Leone gazed down at her, eyes black and intense with unspoken questions. Amy felt blindsided, fooled. Right up until Leone had lunged, Amy had no inkling there was any emotional residue in Leone aside from deliberately annoying her. But now she could feel it, an undercurrent of desire as strong and solid as the floor she stood on, as the walls surrounding her, as the heartbeat she’d been crushed against. And she didn’t know what to do, where to place it, what to think. She only knew she needed to protect herself, and immediately.

  “Stop grabbing at me. We’re not teenagers anymore,” Amy snapped angrily, sounding harsher than intended in her struggle to regain control. “Look, Leone, I don’t know what weird nonsense you have in your head about us, but forget it. Okay?”

  “It was just a good-night hug,” Leone bit back, her tan cheeks bloomed with heat, eyes flashing defensively.

  “It was a good-night grope, and you know it.” Amy was not letting her get away with anything. “I’m here to work on the almanac and then spend time with Connie. You don’t figure in my plans. So go. Just go. Go on, get out of here. Go.”

  She was too angry and embarrassed to look Leone in the face as she ushered her toward the door.

  Reluctantly, Leone let herself be scooted along. Every molecule of her body screamed at her to gather Amy up and hold on to her forever. That this was all wrong. But she accepted she’d moved too fast and overstepped the mark. Now she backpedaled onto the porch where Amy quickly closed the door with a terse good night.

  Shivering with errant emotion and frustration, Leone stepped onto the trail and headed back to the Garoul compound. At least she had managed to cover as much of Amy as possible before being swatted off. Leone’s scent now clung to her. It might help.

  When she entered the clearing all was quiet. The celebrations had ended early, as tomorrow the hunting would begin in earnest. In one bound she mounted the steps to her mother’s porch and sat heavily on a wooden chair. She struck a match and shuffled through the candle stubs on the table, lighting only the green ones. Then she sat back and contemplated the moon. In a few days it would be heavy and full.

  Leone listened to the soft shift of leaves in the night air. Beyond that she could hear the sounds of the forest waking, the rustling of undergrowth as small nocturnal creatures scurried about their activities. Deeper still she could make out the movements of their hunters, the pad of paw, the sweep of wings. Her ear caught the soft calls of night.

  Scent was stronger as well; the richness of earth, sap, and bark all sang out to her. Before her the warming scents of myrtle and verbena began to waft up from the candles. Next came the subtler musk undertones released by the heat of the flame. But best of all, on the flesh of her palms, brushed across her lips, cheek, and chin was the smell of Amy. Leone was saturated with her. Her scent, her heat—her woman and mate. She looked deep into flickering candles, the molten wax puddling in green pools at their base.

  “Amy Amelia Fortune.” She breathed her wish into the flame.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Birdsong. Amy opened her eyes to delightful birdsong.

  Home. She smiled up at the wooden beams above the sleeping platform and stretched luxuriously. Home sweet home sweet home. God, how I’ve missed waking up to Little Dip birdsong.

  Her energy levels skyrocketed to the top of her skull and burst right through it. With a surge of momentum she kicked back the blankets and started her day.

  She took a light breakfast of muesli and coffee out to the small bench table on the porch where she sat soaking up the early morning sunlight and forest greenery, excited to be back, savoring her first morning.

  Every school vacation she could ever remember had been spent at Connie’s cabin. The whole valley had been her adventure park. Her Treasure Island and Neverland all rolled into one. With the other young Garouls she had fought pirates, shot robbers, hunted pretend bears and tigers, and rescued princesses all summer long. Well, okay, so she’d always been the princess, tied to a tree yowling for a hero. And of course, the hero had always been Leone. None of the others ever managed to get there to save her quick enough. It was always Leone who leapt into the center of the evil villain’s den; the evil villain was always played by cousin Andre. They would clash wooden swords or shoot water pistols or do kung fu, whatever the favorite weapon of the week was, until finally Andre would lie writhing in theatrical death throes. Then Leone would free her princess and drag her away by the hand back to their secret hidey-hole. She smiled at her drift back to childhood games. Today, walking through the woods would be like a trip back in time.

  Amy cleared up her breakfast dishes and was soon stuffing her backpack with the makings of a little picnic. This was a workday. She would hike
down to a bend in the river where she knew one of her target plants grew and get a start on her inset work.

  As an afterthought she had grabbed Connie’s rod and fishing box, deciding an entire day by the water would not be complete without a little fly fishing and maybe a nice fat trout for the grill. If she still had the knack?

  All packed and ready, Amy paused on the top porch step to draw in a deep lungful of clean mountain air, then tucking a wayward corkscrew of hair behind her ear she stepped off onto the hard-packed dirt track. The shoulder straps of her backpack were once more shrugged into position and she checked the camera slung around her neck. In less than two minutes the forest trail had swallowed her.

  With a cheerful step she headed for the Silverthread, the slow, meandering river that wove through the heart of the valley. It was going to be an exceptionally warm day for the time of year. Even at this early hour she could feel it on her skin, warming her bones as she moved in and out of the tree shadows. Her smile grew wider as she looked out for that first glimmer of silver water peeping through the trees.

  Oplopanax horridus, or devil’s club to the layman, was a fantastic medicinal plant to the initiated. As kids racing around the forest wrapped up in one game or another, it had always been one to avoid, its sharp thorns an irritant to tender skin. Amy grinned as she remembered the vile tea infused from its bark forced on all the children at the first sign of a sniff or cough. Her boots crunched along the trail to where she hoped devil’s club still grew. It was set back a little from the river in a moist and shady patch, ideal conditions for it. And if she had remembered right she’d be only half a mile from one of Connie’s favorite steelhead fishing holes.

  Leone stood and stretched. She was cramped from falling asleep in the porch chair. She blinked and noted her green candles had all burned down and sputtered out. That was good.

  With a lazy scratch to her sides she went indoors and headed for the shower. After she had washed and changed she’d head back up to Amy’s and sort out her schedule for the day. Tell her what parts of the valley were out of bounds, and try to smooth some of the feathers she had ruffled last night. Yes, she had a fine line to walk, but Amy was under her care whether she liked it or not. As far as Leone was concerned she was supervising Amy’s visit, and she intended to take full advantage of her position to manipulate any romantic odds in her favor.

  Jori was on his porch sipping coffee, heels hitched on the rail, looking perfectly at ease with the world when Leone passed by on her way to Amy’s.

  “Hey, Leone,” he called. She glanced up and he raised a coffee cup along with his eyebrows in silent offer. Leone did a ninety-degree turn and headed purposefully toward him. He had some explaining to do.

  As she approached he eased upright in his seat, aware she was not targeting the coffee but him. His feet were planted on the floor, and he was sitting bolt upright by the time she reached the porch.

  “What’s up, sis?” he asked.

  “Who the hell is Katherine?” Leone demanded.

  Amy snapped shut her watercolor pan and looked over her loose-leaf sketches. She had drawn about thirty different plant parts she especially wanted to concentrate on. After she’d finished her detailed pencil drawings she had gone back in with her watercolors, mixing the colors as accurately as possible and applying tonal washes onto each sketch. Her swatch key on the edge of the page gave the tonal code for each mix. Together with her photos she could balance her paint palette back at Connie’s studio. Satisfied with her early morning work, Amy stashed away her sketch block and camera. Her stomach was rumbling with hunger and it felt like the perfect time to head on down to the river. She’d find a nice flat rock, open her coffee flask, and treat herself to a cheese sandwich.

  Amy was thrilled when her rusty navigation brought her out not ten yards from Connie’s fishing spot. It lay midway between two lazy river bends where the water ran a little slower and shallower. A platform of wide stepping-stones cut across the riverbed. The largest was as big as a queen-sized bed and had in turn been a pirate ship, a whitewater raft, and a treasure island in her childhood games. It was a magnificent rock for all sorts of reasons. Close by, deep, cool pools were tucked in under the bank side where steelhead trout rested and fed. Connie had taught her to stand high and dry on this huge, flat stone and wait patiently for hours, casting her line over and over, waiting for that one fish to see her fly and leap. Then the hunter became the prey, and sport and supper were reeled in as one.

  Amy sat on the riverbank munching her sandwich, scanning the surface for telltales to its underwater secrets, deciding where she would position herself and where she would cast. She brushed the crumbs off her fingers onto the legs of her jeans and flipped open Connie’s tackle box.

  Hmm. She looked thoughtfully at the flies pinned in colorful, feathery rows. Chronimid number 14. Let’s try the red one. If that sucks we can go for the green.

  Already her stomach was fluttering with excitement.

  Leone’s long strides ate up the trail to Connie’s cabin. She was much more satisfied with life now that Jori had assured her that the English girl in Amy’s photos was her housemate and nothing more. In fact, he confirmed there was no love interest whatsoever on Amy’s current horizon. That was all Leone needed to know for the sun to shine, the birds to sing, and the world to turn in total harmony. Much more relaxed now, she looked forward to spending the day with Amy.

  “Yo, Amy?” Leone rata-tat-tatted on the porch post as she cleared the steps in one bound. “Wake-up call.”

  Without hesitating she pushed at the door. It swung open. She’d have to get Amy into the habit of locking it. That would be a standoff in itself. It seemed Amy was still as obstinate as ever, always ready to butt heads over the least little thing. Leone stepped inside and immediately noticed how quiet it was.

  “Amy?” she asked the emptiness. “Damn it. I told you I’d visit every day and tell you where it’s safe to go,” she exploded in exasperation.

  She strode back out onto the porch and stood stock still, head tilted to the air. And waited. The only movement was the breeze, stirring long strands of her hair across her eyes. It didn’t matter— she wasn’t using them. They were closed.

  “Damn her. Mulish, thick-skulled woman,” she murmured to the trees. Then, whipping her head around to the right, she was off the porch in one loping stride and thundering down the trail that led to the Silverthread.

  Two easy fish later, one around three pounds and the other maybe a six pounder, and Amy tidied away her tackle. There was little point fishing on, for though there were plenty for the taking, the refrigerator at the cabin was small and couldn’t really store much more than these two. She was due at Marie’s for dinner that night. Maybe she’d take the larger one as a present and cook the smaller one tomorrow. It would do her for a couple of meals. After cleaning out the fish she laid them on the bank by her backpack. With a sigh of satisfaction she stretched out the kinks in her shoulders. Her casting was still a little stiff and rusty. Not that it mattered. If she’d opened her pants pocket today the fish would have jumped right on in.

  By midday it was warm enough for her to feel overheated in her long-sleeved fleece shirt. Glancing down at the pure water bubbling past her toes and then up at the sharp sunlight over the tree-lined lip of the valley, Amy made an impulsive decision. I’m going to have a quick dip. Partly because she was hot and the water sang seductively, partly as homage to the many times she had splashed about and swum in this river. As a kid she’d learned to swim downstream in the creek, with the overhanging rock and the old rope swing. Amy peeled off her clothes and dumped them on the riverbank with the rest of her belongings and in bra and panties stepped gingerly into the water.

  “Oh, sweet mother of God,” she squeaked. It was freezing! With a deep breath she bobbed down to immerse herself up to the chin, one, two, three times.

  All right, that’s enough childhood nostalgia. I’m outta here. Quickly she scampered back and rummaged
through her bag for the towel she always carried. Too often she got soaked on field trips. A warm pair of socks was another mandatory item hidden away in a side pocket. Her little hip flask was yet another. Little luxuries like these could make even the foulest, wettest job almost bearable.

  The sunshine on her pebbled skin was soothing, brushing away the chill. It was possibly one of the last fine days before the weather turned with a wintry vengeance. Amy took the towel over to the stepping-stones and spread it out on the big central rock and lay down to dry off in the sun’s rays. She had been up and about very early and so far it had been a wonderful day, but now she felt tired. I suppose I’m still jet-lagged. Perhaps a little catnap is in order.

  An afternoon snooze would be a lovely addition to her first full day here. And to top it all off she was having dinner at Marie’s later, always a culinary delight. She settled down on her belly, resting her head on her arms, and with a happy smile let the bubbling water sing her a lullaby.

  Amy wasn’t sure what woke her. She was surprised to be in such a deep sleep. Her eyes popped open and she felt chilled even though the sun still shone warmly. She lifted her head and scanned the tree line hugging the riverside. The birdsong had stopped, and an eerie quiet had descended. Was that what had awoken her? The unnatural silence?

  Something drifted into her peripheral vision, dark velvet slinking through the shadows before being swallowed by the forest. She squinted, trying to focus on its fluidity, a liquid whisper that melted from tree to tree. It was nothing more than a penumbra, as vague as a watermark on the surrounding gloom. No sooner had she caught it than it dissolved away into nothingness. She rose onto her knees to look harder but all was now uniform darkness. Nevertheless, she was left with a strong residue of unease. It coated her tongue and cramped her stomach but she had no evidence for her physical discomfort. Tentative birdcalls began to fill the quiet. The ominous pause in nature seemed to flutter, then lurch hesitantly back into the everyday life of the forest.