The Curse of the Golden Touch

by G M Mckay

  “Sure, how about I meet you out there? I’m going to pack and get the horse trailer ready for tomorrow first.”

  Bally lifted his head and marched right up to the gate when he saw me and Damascus followed closely behind.

  I fed them each an apple and then slid on Damascus’s halter and led him from the pasture.

  “Don’t worry, Bally, I still love you best,” I said, “things will go back to normal once we’re home tomorrow.”

  Bally snorted and then dropped his head to nibble at the grass growing near the fence, following us with his gaze. I felt a twinge of guilt and pushed it away. I had the whole rest of my life to spend with Bally and maybe only a few short hours left to spend with Damascus; I wanted to make the most of it.

  Still, I turned to look over my shoulder to find my horse watching us with an uncharacteristically anxious look on his face.

  “I’ll be back for you in an hour,” I promised, ignoring the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Damascus followed me peacefully to the barn and clopped down the aisle to his stall. I left him there working on a pile of fresh hay while I went to the tack room to find some brushes. My grooming tote was where I’d left it, on a lower shelf just inside the doorway and I leaned in to get it just as a cold breeze gusted down the aisle, sending an unnatural shiver through my entire body.

  Damascus neighed loudly from his stall and kicked hard at the wooden door. Before I could get there, he’d flung himself backward to the far corner of his stall with a crash.

  “You’re okay, buddy,” I reassured him as he squealed again anxiously, pawing at the stone wall hard with one pint-sized front hoof. His furry coat was already damp with sweat.

  I slid his stall door open, stepping in and closing myself inside while I waited for him to calm down. I looked around in dismay at the trampled bedding that had been churned and pawed up into uneven mounds. He’d been alone for less than a minute and he’d already knocked another chunk of stone out of the wall near his manger; bits of broken rock lay scattered nearby.

  “Silly horse, I was only gone for two seconds, you didn’t have to destroy the place,” I said, sighing as I went to comfort him. I didn’t like that he’d gotten himself so worked up over nothing. A young horse with a naturally anxious temperament wasn’t something I looked for in a prospect. They might be prone to colic, or other ailments, or might not be able to handle the pressure of traveling from show to show.

  He’s just a baby, I told myself, but there was a part of me that was disappointed that he didn’t have the same naturally calm temperament as the perfect Bally. What I’d seen so far from Damascus had led me to believe that he was a steady-eddie type of horse who didn’t get overly fussed by much so this was a bit of a let-down.

  “Come on, buddy, this is supposed to be fun. I’m just going to get you brushed and then we’ll go for a walk and find you some nice grass to graze on. But you have to calm down and let me brush you first.”

  There was a soft thumping noise from the direction of the tack room and Damascus snorted and threw up his head, his ears pricked anxiously in that direction.

  The temperature dropped. I looked up slowly, prickling all over with the sudden, uncomfortable feeling that I was being watched from the shadows.

  All the hair on the back of my neck stood on end as another icy little breeze raced down the aisle, ruffling the straw bedding and the colt’s fluffy mane and tail. For a second, I saw a flash of red out of the corner of my eye, right at the back of Damascus’s stall. But when I turned my head, nothing was there.

  Shivering, I reached out and laid a reassuring hand on the little colt’s neck, but I wasn’t sure if it was to calm him or myself.

  Stop being such a baby, there’s nobody there, I told myself firmly. It’s just the wind or maybe Gil slipped in somehow and is getting our stuff ready in the tack room.

  “Hello,” I called out, making an effort to keep my voice steady. “Gil? Is anyone there?” But there was no answer. Somewhere down near the far end of the barn a stall door rattled in the breeze, rolling back and forth rhythmically with a metallic grating sound.

  Damascus squealed in alarm and half-reared in the air, striking his little front foot at the place in the wall he’d already half-demolished. His hoof hit the crumbling rock with a sickening crunch and I jumped forward and pushed my hands into his chest, backing him into the middle of his stall.

  “That’s enough of that,” I told him firmly, pulling on his halter. “You stop that nonsense right now. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  Another door began to rattle, this time closer and I decided right then that I’d had enough. We were getting out of there right now.

  “All right, Damascus,” I said with false brightness, masking my rising anxiety. “I think we’ve done enough brushing. Let’s just go outside for a walk.”

  Damascus didn’t need to be told twice. I barely had time to clip his lead rope on before he’d barged forward and practically towed me out into the aisle, his hooves clattering on the stone floor. I didn’t usually let horses pull me around, but in this case, I wanted to get out of there just as much as he did and I hurried after him out into the sunshine.

  Instantly, I felt better but a little embarrassed, too. What on earth had made me run out of there like a coward for no reason? Since when did a little wind spook me so badly?

  Damascus relaxed, too. He heaved a deep breath and walked along gently beside me like a lamb as I led him along the overgrown trail that led around the outside edge of the pastures. As soon as we reached the one Bally was in, he came trotting up to meet us, nickering anxiously under his breath and reaching his nose out to touch me and the little colt over and over again. It was like he was reassuring himself that we were okay.

  I did a big loop of the trails and then circled back to the gate where Bally was, once again, waiting for us. I let Damascus inside the pasture, expecting him to gallop away but instead he and Bally both came over to me and stood close, each one gently laying their noses on my left and right shoulder, their warm breath washing over me from both sides. I stood stone-still, not sure what was happening but also not wanting to break the spell. Finally, they each gave me a little nudge, and then turned and walked away together like nothing had happened.

  Sometimes I think the longer I work with horses the less I know about them, I thought, watching the two of them leave. Just when I thought I had them all figured out they’d do something completely out of the blue to surprise me. One thing was for sure, they were smarter and more intuitive than most people gave them credit for.

  Chapter 18

  The rest of the day passed peacefully enough. Gil finished packing the trailer and Xan and I got our suitcases ready. Xan was still moody and withdrawn.

  He’s very hurt by Estelle lying to him, I thought sympathetically, I know how awful that feels.

  I also knew that the thing that would help him most was time to process things on his own.

  We took turns sitting at Ruth’s bedside, although she didn’t wake up again. She looked peaceful though, and I hoped we were doing the right thing by sending her to the hospital.

  The three of us kept ourselves busy until it was time to bring the horses in from the pasture for dinner. The barn felt perfectly normal now, not frightening at all, and I wondered how I could have been so foolish as to let a few noises and a burst of wind scare me so badly.

  Damascus had completely recovered from his earlier scare. He ate his hay tranquilly while I set to work tidying the stall he’d dismantled, shoving the loose stone back into his wall again and cleaning the scatted bits of rock and plaster out of the straw.

  “I’m going to hate leaving you behind, little guy, even if you are a goof,” I told him, hugging his thin neck.

  There was an hour or so to wait before dinner time so I decided to head to the library to finish what I could of that awful book. It might be the last chance I had to read it, although if Belinda was right then there should have
been a copy handed down to Mother, too. When I got home there were a lot of things she was going to have to answer for. Whole chunks of my life were missing and I wanted some pretty detailed explanations. After that, Bally and I were going to leave Greystone and never look back.

  The hearth was already laid out so I made a fire myself and sat back in one of the deep leather chairs with the book open in my lap, looking for the paragraph where I’d stopped reading last.

  Oh, right, there it is, I thought with a sigh, Alocious is going off again about how to use gifts to cheat people out of their land and businesses. He really had a one-track mind, and not an ounce of scruples.

  I read a bit more and then set the book down abruptly with a sigh. It was a family history, it was important for me to read and yet I could barely stand a single word that flowed from this awful man’s pen. There had to be a better way to know the truth about people like me. Belinda had hinted that not all families had been corrupted like mine. Maybe I would travel overseas and find some distant cousins to stay with once I left Greystone, maybe that would help everything make sense.

  I gazed dreamily into the flickering flames. There was something soothing and hypnotic about them that made me feel safe and secure. I let my gaze drift lazily around the room, staring idly at the old pictures and paintings that decorated the wall.

  The painting closest to me was the one that showed the stables before the new addition had been put on. Back when it had been just the stone barn with less than a dozen stalls, a cobblestoned aisle way, and strangely dressed grooms wearing serious expressions.

  The barn was empty of horses except for one chestnut hunter that stood fully tacked up in the last stall with his head over the door.

  That red horse sure looks like the one the dark lady rode in my dream, I thought. He’s even wearing a side-saddle. I suppose there’s a chance it could be the same one as in the stained-glass window. Evangeline did live here, after all. I wonder how old the painting is. It looks ancient.

  I picked up the book again to read and then set it down suddenly in my lap with a little cry.

  That ends right where Damascus’s stall must be right now, I thought excitedly, hardly daring to trust where my wild thoughts were leading. Surely, I couldn’t be right.

  I got up and went to the photo, counting the stalls from the front to the end. There are nine, I thought in wonder. Why hadn’t I seen it before? I thought of the crumbling wall and the sound of the little colt’s hoof hitting the rock, a low hollow sound. I’d replaced that rock twice for heaven’s sake. How dense a person was I to have missed it?

  “Hello, Jillian,” Aimee said from the doorway.

  I jerked backward in surprise and spun around. “Oh, you scared me.”

  “Sorry,” she said, flashing her teeth in a bright smile, “you were a million miles away, I guess. What are you doing?”

  For a second, I thought about sharing everything with her. “Oh, nothing,” I said, shrugging as casually as I could manage. “Just studying the paintings. I love art, don’t you?”

  “Not particularly. Come, sit down. I brought you tea.”

  “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” I went reluctantly back to my chair and sat down obediently. The habit of automatically doing what I was told was going to be a hard one to break.

  “We’re cousins, Aimee. I don’t expect you to wait on me.”

  “Don’t you?” she said, setting the tea tray down on the table with a sharp clatter. “But you expect someone to serve you, right? There’s always someone to bring you things and clean up your messes back at your house, isn’t there?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose so,” I admitted. “But that’s not my fault. I was just born into that house. I don’t have any say in how it’s run. And besides, I’m not staying there much longer; as soon as I get home and figure out a plan, I’m leaving Greystone and starting my life over on my own terms.”

  “Are you?” She looked startled and then a red blush crawled up her neck and stained her cheeks. She looked away and for a second, I almost thought she had tears in her eyes.

  “You’re a nice person, Jilly. I’m really sorry we didn’t have time to get to know one another. If things had turned out differently, I’m sure we could have been friends. Goodbye.”

  “We’re not leaving until tomorrow—” I started to say, but she turned on her heel and left before I could get the words out.

  “That’s strange,” I said to the empty room and looked eagerly back to the painting. I would have to go out to the barn and see if I was right of course. I couldn’t leave a mystery like that until morning. But maybe, just for safety, I would find Gil and get him to come with me.

  Gradually, I noticed the most delicious smell rising from the teapot. Hints of cinnamon, cloves and ginger, and something dark and sweet that made me think of long winter nights curled up cozily by the fire while snow drifted down outside. I took a deep, relaxing breath; the scent was intoxicating and bewitching. All the urgency, the sense of importance, I’d just felt drifted away and suddenly I wasn’t sure why I’d been rushing to the barn at all.

  Maybe I’ll just have a small cup of tea before dinner, I thought languidly, pouring the delicious smelling brew into the delicate white tea cup that sat beside the matching pot.

  I’d just raised the cup to my lips and taken the tiniest sip when suddenly the door burst open with a bang and Morris tore into the room, his orange fur puffed up madly in all directions so he looked like a crazed jack-o-lantern.

  “Morris! What on earth?”

  But, before I could stop him, he yowled and leapt straight toward me with his claws out. He smashed the cup out of my hand as he flew past and skidded across the table beside me, knocking the entire tea tray to the carpet with a mighty clatter.

  I screamed and leapt to my feet, watching in horror as he tore around the room, leaping and hissing like he was possessed. He finally bolted past me and shot back out into the hall. I could hear him yowling all the way down the corridor.

  I looked down at the smashed tea things in dismay, watching the dark liquid run in rivulets across the carpet and onto the hardwood floor. The intoxicating smell of tea filled the room for a moment and then drifted away completely

  I need to find something to clean this up. A quick glance around the room told me that I would need to go to the kitchen to find cleaning supplies. I almost rang the bell to call Aimee but then remembered what she’d said about me needing servants to do everything for me. No, I was perfectly capable of doing things for myself.

  There was no sign of Morris when I came out into the hall. I had no idea what had come over the poor thing but I’d find him and make sure he was feeling better as soon as I cleared the mess away.

  The hallway was quite empty but the heavenly smells of a dinner cooking floated down from the kitchen and I headed that way, my mouth watering. I would miss Belinda’s cooking something fierce when I went back to Greystone.

  At first glance the kitchen was empty, pots bubbled quietly on the stove and the oven light was on, but Belinda was nowhere in sight.

  “Hello,” I called, “sorry to bother you but…”

  There was a low thumping sound from the dining room down the hall and I turned that way, suddenly feeling that cold, prickling sensation on my neck again. Reluctantly, I went to the half-open doorway and stepped inside.

  I stopped dead in the entrance to the dining room, putting a hand over my mouth to stifle the scream trying to escape. The table was laid out perfectly and all the chairs were occupied but instead of eating or talking, everyone just sat immobile, staring straight ahead, eyes open, unmoving. That same spicy smell from the teapot filled the room.

  “Gil!” I cried, rushing to his side. He didn’t move, he just sat like a rock, his eyes staring vacantly into the air in front of him. I reached out to him, searching for trembling fingers for a pulse, my own heart beating wildly.

  There, there it was. Faint but steady. I went in turn to everyone a
t the table nearly crying with relief when I realized they were all alive; at least for now.

  “Help,” said a weak voice from the kitchen, “please help.”

  “I’m coming.” I ran to the kitchen and found Aimee sprawled out on the floor, blood oozing from a cut on her temple.

  “Oh, Aimee, are you hurt? What happened?”

  “It’s … the doctor. It was Dr. Crane all this time. He’s in the house and he has a gun. I tried to stop him but he hit me and he … he’s bewitched the others somehow. He said he’s after Ruth’s will. He went upstairs and I’m afraid he’s hurting her.”

  “Aimee, where’s the phone. We have to call the police.”

  “I tried that. The line is dead, he must have cut it. Do hurry, Jilly. There’s not much time left. He said that he’d kill everyone including Ruth unless he gets what he wants. He’s convinced that we found the will and are keeping it from him. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Don’t worry, Aimee,” I said quickly, “I know where it is, or at least I think I do. Come on, lean on me and we’ll go together. I can’t leave you here alone.”

  A look of anguish flashed across her face and she slumped suddenly, putting her head in her hands. “No, no. I’ll be all right; I’d just slow you down. You have to hurry, though. Go get help.”

  Not stopping, I flew to the barn as fast as I could, my feet racing across the half-frozen lawn. The clouds had scudded away and now the moon was out, shining over me and lighting up the path to the barn like daylight.

  The horses looked up from their hay, blinking at the sudden light. I flew to Damascus’s stall and slipped inside, patting him reassuringly before I knelt down in the thick straw bedding.

  I felt the loose spot carefully with my fingertips and gently pried the biggest rock free, letting it tumble into the straw. Behind it was a hollowed out hiding place that must have been built right into the wall when it was constructed. Inside was a metal box much like the one Gil and I had found earlier but newer looking, as if it had been freshly buried.