The Curse of the Golden Touch

by G M Mckay

  I closed my eyes gratefully and waited for the throbbing to stop. There was zero chance of me wanting to go anywhere in the next century. I felt like I’d been run over by a truck.

  Her footsteps left the room and then came back, this time accompanied by the sound of wheels bumping across the uneven floor.

  I peeked and saw her carefully pushing an ornate silver trolley, laden with a tea pot and what looked like breakfast, across the obstacle course of carpets. The wheels jammed on an especially fluffy rug and finally she gave up and lifted the whole trolley with a surprising show of strength for someone so tiny and set it down beside the bed with a clatter.

  “You had quite the fall from your horse last night,” she said breathlessly, flashing me a quick smile. “Everyone was worried about you.”

  “Fall?” I said in surprise, struggling to remember. I’d never fallen off Bally in my life. But there was a first time for everything and the events of last night were very foggy. I wasn’t even sure where I was.

  “That handsome man out in the hall will be glad you’re awake. He didn’t leave your side all night and it was all I could do to convince him to have some breakfast and a rest. He’s been that anxious.”

  “Fredrick?” I said, in confusion. And then instantly regretted my mistake. Of course there was no loving fiancé worrying about me in the other room. Even when we’d been together, Fredrick had never really felt anything for me other than contempt. He’d been a wonderful actor, though; I’d thought he’d loved me the whole bloody time.

  Pain was a funny thing, because, whenever I felt like I was completely over my ex-fiancé, a moment like this would happen and the terrible agony of watching him saunter away from our disastrous engagement party without a backward glance would hit me all over again.

  “Fredrick?” Aimee repeated in surprise. “Well, I thought his name was Gilbert, but I could have misunderstood.”

  “No, no, you didn’t,” I said quickly. “Of course it’s Gil, he’s my best friend.”

  “Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?” she said archly. “The way he looks at you says a little more than friend. I know a thing or two about love.”

  “Do you?” I asked faintly, hoping desperately for a change in subject. “Are you seeing someone special then?”

  “Oh yes,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “he lives in town and he’s brilliant, sophisticated and handsome … and oh, well, just everything. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  “Well, it sounds like he’s lucky to have you, too.”

  “I’m the lucky one. He could have any girl he wanted but he chose me.”

  I winced at the familiar star-struck look in her eyes. After Frederick, I’d vowed that I’d never love anyone that blindly again. I hoped for her sake that her boyfriend was just as crazy over her as she was of him.

  “I don’t remember anything at all about last night,” I said, changing the subject. “Is Bally okay?”

  “Is that your horse? Of course he is; he’s tucked away in the stable snug as a bug. Doctor Crane fixed you up but he did warn us you might have some memory loss. We’ll let you rest and then tomorrow we’ll get you packed up and sent back home to your family safe and sound.”

  “Doctor Crane?” I said in alarm, nearly sitting up before I remembered how much that hurt. “Ow, oh, sorry. It’s just that name. I knew a Doctor Crane when I was a child.”

  “It is a bit of a strange name, isn’t it? He looks a bit like a crane, or a stork, too. He’s an odd bird but he’s nice enough and good at his job. He’s served as the family doctor here for years, I’m told, as did his father before him.”

  I lay back on the pillow, biting the inside of my cheek anxiously. Of course this wouldn’t be the same Doctor Crane. The surly, impatient one I’d been forced to visit had been a child psychologist, not a family physician. They couldn’t be the same man.

  “Do you know if he has a brother?” I asked cautiously.

  “Well, I really wouldn’t know. I only see him when he visits your Aunt Ruth and then he’s not exactly very social.”

  “Is that where I am?” I asked tentatively. “At Great Aunt Ruth’s?”

  “Did you really hit your head that badly?” Aimee said with a startled look. She turned toward the fireplace and knelt down to toss another log onto the crackling fire, making the sparks hiss and fly up the chimney. “You’re at Dark Lady Farm, of course; your cousin said that you all came to visit Ruth.”

  She shot me a quick, sideways look. “Of course, there must have been a misunderstanding because Ruth left on holiday and won’t be back for another month. You must come again in springtime, though. Dark Lady Farm is beautiful in the spring.”

  I squinted at her, confused, struggling to think. I remembered Xan showing up at Greystone with a letter and then some galloping and then nothing but darkness.

  A sudden icy draft blew down the hallway, throwing my bedroom door open against the wall with a bang and then slamming it shut again.

  “Ooh, that wind,” Aimee said with a gasp. “It just comes rushing inside whenever the doors or windows are open. It’s been worse than ever these last two weeks ever since …” she stopped abruptly, “Ever since that big storm we had.”

  I was only half-listening to her. I kept my eyes shut tight and clutched my throbbing head with both hands, waiting for the pain from the banging door to subside again. But, behind my closed eyes, instead of darkness I saw a series of disjointed pictures; memories playing inside my mind like a movie. Mother’s disapproving stare, Xan eating eggs in the kitchen, driving in the early morning sunshine leaning companionably against Gil, Bally running, a black dog growling in the darkness …

  I opened my eyes again abruptly to find Aimee watching me, the open, friendly expression she’d worn earlier replaced by a deep frown.

  “I think I remember something,” I said, rubbing my temples.

  “Do you? Well, that’s good. The doctor will be pleased.” Aimee leaned forward to lift a black, metal poker from a rack beside the fireplace and gave the coals in the fire a violent stir.

  “Yes, Great Aunt Ruth sent my cousin Xan a letter asking us to come.”

  “Did she now? Well, that’s strange. What else do you remember?” Aimee stood up slowly, gripping the poker tightly in both hands, and turned to face me, the smile on her face not quite reaching her eyes.

  “We were riding in the woods and there was a strange horse … more than one maybe … Xan was on the ground and there was a woman who was hurt … oh, I was supposed to ride for help.”

  I struggled to sit up; suddenly certain that I’d failed in my mission to get help and had left everyone in the woods to freeze to death while I was lying safe here in bed.

  “Now, now.” Aimee’s expression was sweet concern again. She hung the poker up and hurried to my bedside. “Everyone is just fine. Your companions are fit as fiddles, other than being worried about you. The doctor says just one more day of rest and then you’ll be safe to travel back home to your own bed. I expect you’ll want to leave first thing tomorrow.”

  “But the girl who was hurt—”

  “Don’t you worry about Estelle. She had a bit of a tumble off one of the horses just like the rest of you. Which just proves my theory that horses are terrible, unpredictable beasts that humans have no business riding. I honestly don’t know what anyone sees in them. But anyway, she’s had a bad sprain and a knock on the head, but she’ll be right as rain in no time.”

  I sank back into my pillow, exhausted. The events of yesterday and last night came flooding back, but the pieces were all jumbled together, and I couldn’t tell what had been a dream and what was real. I remembered bits of our trip out here; there was the truck stop and a really good poutine (the kind you can only hope to get in Quebec), and then riding Bally through the darkening woods, and then everything was all muddled up.

  “I’m very confused,” I said finally. “You said Great Aunt Ruth has gone away? She invited us
, well, Xan anyway, to come stay with her.”

  “Oh dear, no, I’m sorry, Ruth is in, um …” she hesitated and bit her lip “… Florida, looking at horses. She’ll be gone for over a month. What a pity you missed her. She didn’t mention anything about having guests. It must be a bit embarrassing for you to show up without an invitation; I suppose you’ll want to be on your way first thing in the morning to save everyone any more trouble.”

  I sighed in frustration, wondering why on earth I’d trusted Xan to make sure things were organized. Who knew if my cousin had actually answered her when he received the letter? Perhaps she’d just given up on him coming at all and had made other plans.

  Morris batted me gently on the arm with his big paw. I reached over absently to pet him and, in doing so, happened to glance up at the painting hanging directly to the right of my bed.

  “Oh,” I said, scooting backward in alarm, “she was in my dream last night.”

  It wasn’t exactly the type of relaxing artwork meant to be hanging in a bedroom; a woman on a rearing blood-red horse stared out from the canvas with an outraged expression on her face, one hand raised up and bearing a dagger as if she were about to stab anyone who looked at her.

  “Oh, her,” Aimee said, looking at the painting distastefully.

  “Yes, I remember now. I was galloping on Bally and I came to a crossroads. That lady in the emerald dress showed me the way to the house. She said something strange, too, something about a lady riding nine horses or something. And her eyes were so piercing, she acted almost like she hated me at first; isn’t it funny how dreams can seem so real sometimes?”

  Aimee cried out sharply and I turned to look just as the half-filled coffee cup in her hand crashed to the stone floor, shattering into a million pieces.

  I clutched my head and shut my eyes tight to block out the painfully sharp clatter. It didn’t work.

  “How clumsy of me,” Aimee said in an unnaturally high-pitched voice.

  I squinted one eye open to find her kneeling beside my bed, her face burning bright red as she used the metal handled broom and dustpan from the fireplace to hastily sweep up the mess. “I’ve ruined your coffee. You stay right there and I’ll get you a new cup.”

  “That’s all right, I don’t need—”

  “Nonsense, I’ll be right back.”

  With that she rushed from the room.

  “What was that all about, Morris?” I asked, scratching the soft ridges between his ears. “Things are certainly strange here so far. Mother will be pleased to know that anyway. I’d better remember to write everything down and take some pictures for her.”

  “Meow,” Morris said. He sniffed the air inquisitively and then reached a furry paw across me in the direction of the covered serving dish.

  “Do you want to share?” I asked, pulling myself carefully upright and lifting the lid off the platter. Underneath was toast with butter and jam, perfectly fried eggs, shredded potatoes, and a woven raft of bacon. A group of miniature watermelons that had been carved to look like delicate roses sat off to one side and I held one up to inspect it.

  “They must have a good cook here, Morris. Our Betty couldn’t have made a finer breakfast.” I pinched off a tiny piece of bacon for him and then happily began stuffing my face, forgetting everything but the food in front of me.

  A small noise made me stop eating and look toward the door. “Gil!” I said delightedly, “am I glad to see you.”

  My voice faltered as I took in his haggard expression and upright posture. He had crossed his arms over his chest and was staring at me as if I were a ghost.

  “Are you okay?” I said uncertainly.

  In two seconds, he’d crossed to the bed and grabbed me in a crushing hug that nearly made me drop my bacon. My head throbbed and my whole body ached but I just sat there in astonishment, listening to his erratically thudding heartbeat, until he pushed me away.

  “I thought you were dead,” he said flatly. His hand landed heavily on my shoulder and I yelped; I was probably black and blue all over from my fall. He jerked backward as if he’d been stung and looked down at me anxiously. “Jilly, you could have been killed. Don’t ever, ever run off like that again. I didn’t know how to find you. I took a wrong path and wandered for hours.”

  “Gil, I’m so sorry you worried; of course I’m fine. Aimee said I just fell off Bally somehow, that’s all. I must have hit my head. I’m sorry that I left you behind, though; it was silly. Sit down and share some of my breakfast and tell me what happened. How did Morris get in here?”

  “He insisted on coming.” Gil’s mouth softened into a slight smile. He sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted a piece of toast off the tray. “I took a wrong fork in the road and ended up at the back of the property somehow. There’s a huge ravine there and we’re lucky nobody fell in when we were blundering around in the dark. Anyway, when I finally made it to the house all the drama was already over. You and Estelle, the rider Xan found, had already been patched up and put to bed. Apparently, your great aunt has a private doctor on call and he fixed all three of you up. I think you both should have gone right to the hospital honestly. Make sure you get looked at properly as soon as we get home, you could very well have a serious concussion. And apparently, before they found your luggage, somebody dressed you in that awful nightgown.”

  He raised his eyebrows and gave the frilly ruffle around my wrist flick with his finger, making me laugh.

  “It’s terrible, isn’t it?” I grinned, looking down at myself.

  “Hideous. Anyway, I put Bally in an empty stall in the barn along with Rigel and the other horse. The housekeeper drove me down to the gate and I brought the trailer back up here. Morris wouldn’t stay in the trailer no matter what I said; he was determined to follow me back to the house. He insisted on finding you.”

  He took another bite of toast and then reached out to take a sip of my orange juice before setting it down abruptly and making a face. “Ugh, this is awful. It’s that organic stuff, isn’t it?”

  “Mmm, I don’t know.” I took the glass from him and took a big gulp and then another. “It tastes fine to me. It’s bitter but I think that means it’s healthier for you.”

  “Figures,” Gil said, poking me teasingly in the side. “Look, Jilly, I didn’t mean to sound angry earlier. Sometimes it just feels like a full-time job trying to keep you safe.”

  “But you don’t have to keep me safe,” I said, frowning. “I’m sick of everyone treating me like I’m made out of fragile porcelain. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Sure you are.” He might have meant it to sound encouraging but the words came out sarcastic as heck and I felt my own temper rising.

  “Fine, Gil. You’ve seen for yourself that I’m alive and well. You don’t have to trouble yourself with my welfare anymore. That will be all; I’ll see you after breakfast.”

  I said this as dismissively as I could and the words had their effect. He drew himself away from me and stood up abruptly.

  “As her majesty wishes,” he said, his lips tightening into a thin, angry line. “I’ll be in the barn where I belong tending to the horses.”

  “Good,” I said to his retreating back, “stay there.”

  My temper faded as soon as he was gone, leaving me feeling cold, lonely and acutely aware of the ache in my head. Gil and I had hardly ever fought before Awful Frederick came into our lives. But it seemed like now we argued over the stupidest things. I missed the easy friendship of our childhood.

  I finished my breakfast and then polished off the rest of the juice, wincing at the bitter layer of pulp in the bottom. There was such a thing as taking healthy too far.

  “Come on, Morris,” I said still feeling a bit wobbly but determined to get up and find Xan and maybe, if he was lucky, apologize to Gil. I pushed myself unsteadily out of bed and slipped my feet into a pair of fluffy blue slippers that somebody had set out for me.

  I went and brushed my teeth, staring
at my flickering reflection in the mirror. Was this oddly blurred vision a side effect of hitting my head? Maybe I really did have a concussion.

  I didn’t bother to get dressed, my only thought now was to find Xan and make sure he and the injured girl were truly okay. I tottered out into the hall, putting one hand against the wall to steady myself. The hall seemed endlessly long, stretched out with closed doors on either side. I walked a bit further but soon had to pause and rest again.

  Oh dear, I thought, leaning heavily against the wall, I probably shouldn’t have gotten out of bed so soon. I’d better go back.

  By then my head was even fuzzier; I’d forgotten which direction I’d been going in the first place and had no idea how to find my room again. I made it a few more feet and then I heard Xan’s voice as clear as day.

  “You, there,” he said in a commanding voice, “what are you doing in my room?”

  I jumped, thinking for a moment that he’d meant me.

  “Time to get up, whippersnapper,” a harsh, grating voice said. “You’ve overstayed your welcome. Time to go back where you came from.”

  “What are talking about?” Xan demanded. “This is my great aunt’s home and I was invited. I’ve been nearly killed to get here. I demand to see Aunt Ruth but first I need aspirin, coffee, and toast. In that order.”

  “All in the kitchen, I reckon,” the gruff voice said. “You’d best get a move on it. I’ll get your groom to load the horses and get the truck started. It’s time you were on your way. You have no business here.”

  “Look here, you incompetent fool …” The covers rustled, and I heard Xan’s feet hitting the floor. “I don’t think you understand who I am. I’m inclined speak to my aunt about having you fired. Now, where is my cousin Jillian and that sullen groom of hers?”

  The dizziness and nausea had almost faded and I was just about to step forward and announce myself when I heard Xan’s startled cry.

  “What the … what do you think you’re doing? Let go of me.”

  I wobbled around the corner just in time to see a wizened, elderly man gripping the sleeve of Xander’s purple silk pajamas with his gnarled old hands.