“What about snakes?” Christy called after her. “You said—”
Nona paused to speak over her shoulder. “I expect they’re waking up by this time, and they’re out there. But mostly you won’t see them. They don’t want to mix with us any more than we do with them. When they’re not threatened they don’t attack.”
“But copperheads—?” Christy was still nervous.
“They’re not aggressive like rattlers, though they’re plenty dangerous if annoyed. Just watch where you put your feet and your hands and you’ll be all right. The black snakes are scary-looking but harmless.”
Once Christy stopped to look back at the house on its high perch near the treetops. Victor was up on the roof again, his head turned as though he followed their progress down the hill. Christy went on, watching the ground, since even a twisted root could look threatening. Where a large boulder barred their way, the path turned and ran along the hill, almost level for a distance before it turned down again. Nona had already rounded the far turn, and Christy found herself alone on the red, uneven path, looking ahead through a corridor of oak and poplar. The reminder was sudden, arresting all movement.
This could be the narrow way of her dream, with high walls on either side and a blood-red floor! Were these the woods where her dream would come true? Where that fatal, relentless pursuit would take place? She must leave—she mustn’t stay.
She hurried now to keep Nona in sight, her own heartbeat loud in her ears. Foolish, of course. She had only to stay out of the woods when she was alone, and nothing could reach her. The dream had no reality. One simply vented fears in a dream. Still—she must get away as soon as possible. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t escaped right after lunch.
At the foot of the hill the stream came into sight, flowing placidly, and Nona stood on its bank waiting for her. A wooden bridge led across to the enclosure where llamas grazed.
“Raising llamas is a big craze these days, all over the country,” Nona said. “Here in the east the first herd was brought over from Peru to some place in the Catskills. On the west coast William Randolph Hearst introduced them on his acres at Hearst Castle. Floris says all those in this country are descended from these two original herds.”
Christy had never seen such animals close up, and she stood on the bridge watching them. They were large in size, though smaller than camels, their heads held high on long necks, and their ears pricked forward.
“They need water for their feet,” Nona explained as Christy joined her. “That’s how they keep cool—through that cleft in their toes. There’s Floris out there now at her grooming chores. She doesn’t keep as many llamas as she used to when her husband Abel was alive, but they require a lot of work and attention. Loving attention.”
Farther along the enclosure Donny Mitchell sat on the top rail of the fence, where he could meet a long-necked llama on his own level. At the moment Donny’s attention was focused on the barrel-bodied creature that stood beside him. He saw Christy and waved.
“Come over here and let Snow White kiss you. She’d like that.”
Christy laughed as she joined him at the fence. “Snow White?” The llama was a bright orange-red and Donny grinned.
“The people who raise llamas always give them names before they sell them. She really used to be white, but around here, whatever the original color, they all turn into the same shade—what Floris calls Virginia peach—from the red earth that gets into their coats.”
Christy offered her cheek at Donny’s insistence, and Snow White breathed against it affectionately.
The woman who had been grooming another llama with a hairbrush, stroking down its legs, turned to greet them. “Hi, Nona. This is Christy Loren, isn’t it?”
Floris Fox was younger than Nona, perhaps in her fifties, but weathered, brown, and long of neck—a little like the beast she cared for. Her eyes were brown too, but not as large and liquid. She reached one tanned hand over the fence to grasp Christy’s in welcome. But though she smiled readily, showing slightly crooked teeth, her eyes seemed to weigh and appraise, as though something in her stood back, with none of the quick, friendly acceptance of the llama called Snow White.
There were only five animals in the enclosure, and two younger ones stood off by themselves, chewing and watching. Snow White, however, loved the spotlight, and she snuffled at Donny as he fed her a reward pellet.
Nona had not come down here to admire the llamas, however. “Can we talk a minute?” she asked Floris.
“Sure.” She patted the flank of the animal she’d been grooming, and it moved away.
“That’s Orion,” Donny said. “Sometimes he spits—but only at other llamas. Spitting is a terrible llama insult.”
“Come on up to the house,” Floris invited, “and I’ll make us a pot of tea.”
Donny scrambled down from his perch. “Sinh’s come back,” he told Nona. “So my mother must have let her go. Can I come inside too, Floris?”
“I suppose.” Floris rolled her eyes at Nona. “If Sinh’s been with Deirdre, she sure wasn’t taking care of her. The way she looks, I don’t think Deirdre can be—” She glanced at Donny and broke off, shrugging.
Floris’s house, brown and weathered, had been built on a granite outcropping, well above flood level if the stream rose.
The two women walked ahead toward the high steps, and Christy followed, noting the contrast between them. Both were tall and a bit rangy, but there was something about Nona that gave her a special individuality. Even the scarf about her head was tied with a distinctive twist, and the earrings she’d put on never seemed incongruous with jeans. She would always make her own style.
Floris, on the other hand, wore shapeless brown pants With bits of llama fluff clinging to them, and a faded shirt that was outsize and might have belonged to her husband. She carried herself with as straight a back as Nona’s, however, and they matched strides as they walked toward the house.
Donny came with Christy. Since the episode of reading to the cows, he had accepted her. “Sinh looks sick,” he told her. “Floris says she hasn’t had much to eat. There are plenty of field mice, but she’s been a persnickety house cat. My mother says temple cats need special food.”
The railed steps reached a landing and then turned upward to the front deck of the house, set high above the stream. Floris led the way to a large kitchen that was clearly the heart of her house, as kitchens seemed to be around here. Its windows looked out upon woods and stream and llamas. Down here in the ravine the mountains were invisible, though Nona’s roof could be glimpsed among the trees far above.
In front of a wood-burning stove—cold at the moment—lay what looked like a skein of dirty wool. When Donny dropped to his knees beside it, the skein produced a head from under one paw, looking more like a cat, its sapphire eyes strangely knowing.
“I wish that cat could talk,” Floris said. “I wish she could tell us where she’s been and what happened to Deirdre.”
“My mother’s all right,” Donny said with confidence. “I don’t have to search for her any more.”
Nona exchanged a look with Christy. “I’d like to telephone Hayden,” she told Floris.
Floris nodded and Nona went to a phone set on a far corner of the kitchen counter. She spoke softly when she’d dialed so that Donny couldn’t hear what she said, and he went on stroking Sinh and crooning to her.
Christy bent to touch the cat’s roughened coat, but Sinh raised her head again and gave her a look that was anything but friendly.
“She doesn’t let many people touch her,” Donny said with pride. “Just my mother and me. And sometimes my father and Leonie.”
“She was glad enough to see me,” Floris said, putting a kettle on the electric stove. “She used to come down here a lot, and she even made friends with Ambrosia.”
“Ambrosia?” Christy asked.
Floris looked toward the door to the living room. “Meet Ambrosia,” she said and grinned.
To Christy’s astonishment, a full-grown llama of the same Virginia peach color as the others, stepped delicately through the open door from the deck, her ears high, and with what was surely an angelic smile on her wide mouth.
She advanced carefully into the room, knocking nothing over, and came to where Sinh lay outstretched. Bending her head, she nosed the cat gently, affectionately, and Sinh didn’t object.
Nona turned from the phone, laughing at Christy’s expression. “They make wonderful house pets. Though I think I’d find one a bit big to live with. They’re very clean and completely housebroken, since they have their own toilets outdoors and always go to the same place.”
“Unfortunately, Ambrosia likes to eat my house plants,” Floris said. “I think you’d better go outside for now, pal. Donny, take her down to the pen, will you?” When Donny had gone, she explained further. “Llamas are very gentle when they’re field raised and used to human touch. Ambrosia never breaks anything or even knocks things over, big as she is.”
“I reached Hayden and he’s coming down,” Nona broke in.
Sinh went to sleep again, curling into a dirty-looking ball. When Donny returned he drew a book from a case in the dining area of Floris’s kitchen, and held it out. It was another copy of The Little Red Road, and he began to tell Floris about reading it to the cows.
“Maybe I could take this out and read it to the llamas too?” he suggested.
“You could try,” Floris said, “though llamas are a lot more nervous than cows, and they don’t pay attention too long. They’re plenty curious, so you can go ahead and try if you want.”
Donny clattered down the outside steps, carrying the book.
“Sit down, both of you,” Floris invited, spooning loose tea into an earthen pot. “Tell me what you wanted to talk to me about, Nona.”
They sat at a rustic table of long boards, watching Floris place mugs and spoons before them.
“Let’s wait until Hayden gets here,” Nona said. “I want him to hear this too.”
Through an open window Christy caught Donny’s voice rising clearly as he began reciting the little road’s adventures to the llamas.
“You did a good job, Christy, making friends with Donny,” Nona commented. “The book made a perfect bridge. Floris, there was another manuscript Rose was working on—do you know anything about it?”
“She was using my llamas, and I think she had the whole thing nearly done.”
“I’m sure there was a manuscript,” Nona agreed, “but it seems to have disappeared. Oliver told me it wasn’t among Rose’s things. If it could be found, I’d still like to illustrate it and see it published. I know Rose came down here to see the llamas several times, and once when she visited me afterward, she seemed upset. Do you know what happened?”
Floris brought the steeping tea to the table and set the pot on an iron trivet. “What happened wasn’t important as far as I was concerned. It was only Deirdre I was peeved with—not Rose. But Rose got upset and went off in a huff, and she never came to see me again. Though if she’d lived, I’m sure she’d have gotten over whatever upset her. It was foolish of her to defend Deirdre.”
“What had Deirdre done?” Nona asked.
“It’s all water under the bridge—let it go. You like your tea with lemon, don’t you, Nona?”
Donny gave up with the llamas and came back inside. “They just want to eat, and Snow White kept kissing me,” he said in disgust.
At the sound of his voice Sinh lifted her head, and Donny poured her another saucer of milk. The cat lapped without much interest and went back to sleep.
Nona wasn’t ready to let the matter of Rose and Deirdre drop, however, and she returned to what Floris had said. “How could anyone fight with Rose or manage to offend her? I’ve never known a woman more gentle or more generous about her judgments.”
Floris ran a hand through her short, untidy hair. “That’s what you think. She was also loyal to her friends and those she admired. Rose had a notion that Deirdre was made of—of—”
“Rainbows and magic?” Nona said softly.
“Or cobwebs and cotton wool!” Floris sounded tart.
Christy found herself watching Donny for any reaction to the words spoken around him, but all his attention seemed focused on stroking Sinh.
“What did you say to upset Rose?” Nona persisted.
Floris too gave Donny a wary look. “I said I thought Deirdre was being mean to my llamas.”
“That’s hard to believe.” Nona stirred the tea Floris had poured into her mug. “Deirdre loved animals. Did you ever see Deirdre do anything unkind?”
“Not actually. The funny thing was, they reacted to her in different ways. Sometimes they loved her, and sometimes they didn’t.”
“Do they make any sounds if they’re frightened?” Christy asked.
“They’ll hum if a strange animal is around,” Floris said. “If they’re really alarmed they can sound like geese. Ordinarily the presence of a human wouldn’t bother them, but there were occasions when Deirdre made them restless and they wouldn’t come near the fence if she was there. Of course, nobody goes inside the pen unless I say so.”
Donny was very quiet. Little pitchers, Christy thought. His focus might not be quite so intent upon the cat.
“So what did you tell Rose that upset her?” Nona persisted.
“I told her that Deirdre was teasing the animals, and I wished Rose would talk to her.”
“Why couldn’t you tell Deirdre yourself?”
“I did! But she got that misty-eyed, wounded-doe look and I felt like a bully. Just the same, I know she was doing something to upset them and I wanted Rose to find out what it was. It’s even possible that Deirdre didn’t realize what she was doing.”
Donny looked up from stroking the cat. “She pinched their ears,” he said calmly.
“That’s impossible!” Floris cried. “Llamas are terribly sensitive about their heads. They wouldn’t let her.”
“How do you know that, Donny?” Nona asked quietly.
“Sometimes she could do things nobody else could.” Donny remained undisturbed. “She didn’t mean to hurt them. She was just testing them for earrings.”
This was too much for Floris. “Earrings on my llamas! That’s crazy! What on earth are you talking about?”
“I told her it wouldn’t work and they wouldn’t like it,” Donny said. “But she thought they’d look nice with those big pointed ears and little button earrings in them. Not the dangly kind.”
“My God!” Floris said.
Nona leaned toward the little boy. “Donny, are you making this up? Are you making up a story the way you and Rose used to do?”
“Of course not.” He looked offended. “Here—see this!”
He picked Sinh up and she went limp and unresisting, resting her head along his arm. Attached to the cat’s ear, Christy could see the sparkle of a tiny rhinestone.
Floris said, “That’s terrible!”
“Why?” Donny asked. “My mother said if I was a girl she’d have had my ears pierced for earrings. She had a whole box of them herself and she always wore them. I don’t think it hurts much.”
“But you can’t explain that to a cat,” Nona said. “Or a llama. I don’t understand why Sinh hasn’t clawed that thing out of her ear.”
“Deirdre did explain to the cat,” said a voice from the deck, and Christy looked around to see Hayden Mitchell in the doorway. His gravity seemed to have an angry underside at times, as though something no one understood might be driving him.
“Donny’s telling the truth,” he went on. “Deirdre had a way of getting Sinh to do whatever she wanted. She’d whisper to it in her own cat language and Sinh listened as though she understood. She seem
ed to accept that thing in her ear because Deirdre wanted her to.”
“The witch’s familiar,” Floris said, not quite under her breath.
The dark fire seemed to light in Hayden’s eyes and he stared at her. She met the challenge and stared back. “You allowed that?” she said.
Nona spoke for Hayden. “Allowing Deirdre was like allowing a cloud to float. We all know that.”
“Who found Sinh?” Hayden asked abruptly, his attention now on the bedraggled cat. Sinh raised her head again, and this time her tail twitched as though she might spring into motion. Donny spoke to her soothingly and she was quiet again.
“Don’t stand there in the doorway looking like a thundercloud,” Floris said to Hayden. “Come in. We’re having tea, but you can have coffee if you like. Sinh showed up this morning when Victor was here, and he brought her into the house. She was pretty nervous at first and didn’t trust us. But milk and bits of chicken quieted her down. She was half starved, but she would hardly let me touch her until Donny came. Who knows where she’s been?”
Donny crooned to the cat as it lay in the curve of his arm.
“My mother’s not really gone. She’ll come back when she feels like it.”
For a moment no one said anything. Then Hayden sat down near Donny and Sinh. “What do you mean by that?” he asked gently.
“I saw her, Dad. I saw her yesterday near those woods across the meadow. It was getting kind of dark and clouds were floating in, but I saw her white dress and I called to her. She only waved to me and went off into the trees. I ran after her, but she wasn’t there any more.” His eyes were bright with tears of disappointment, but his gloom and dejection had lifted.
Floris took the cat from Donny’s arms and returned it to its padded box on the floor. Hayden drew his son between his knees, looking deeply into his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Donny, but I think this was a dream you had. It’s easy, you know, to see things that we want terribly to have happen—but we need to keep what’s real and what is just a dream separate.”
Donny twisted from his father’s grasp. “I did see my mother! I saw her!”
Rainbow in the Mist Page 9