“Do ya four like Arbroath smokie?” Fiona asked, fussing around the stove after forcing a petulant Lachlan into setting us up some pillows and air mattresses in the outbuilding.
I had no idea what that was, but I wasn’t about to turn down any type of food. And technically we were only three unless you counted bairns, but David grinned like he’d been asked if he liked sugar.
“I absolutely adore Arboath smokie,” he said, “but where do you get haddock all the way out here? I can’t imagine it’s a native fish.”
Fiona shook her head sadly. “I use pacific cod,” she says as if confessing to a terrible sin. “It’s still good though. I promise ya.”
“Fiona’s cooking is the best in the world,” chimed Lachlan.
An hour later, and I agreed with Lachlan. I couldn’t care less that Fiona couldn’t get haddock. Her food was freaking delicious. Even David looked genuinely impressed, and I’d come to discover that he was quite the snob (reasonable enough, given his background and profession). He’d spent the last sixty minutes carefully observing Fiona’s cooking and taking notes. He looked overjoyed to learn about how Fiona adapted her regional cuisine to the constraints of the isolated island on which she lived.
I took another bite of the fish in front of me and it practically melted in my mouth. The fish was buttery, light, and smoky all at once. Even if simply being able to sit down wasn’t feeling like incomparable luxury at the moment, eating the perfectly prepared fish was heaven. A half-day hike was not beyond my abilities, but when you start the day bending over a toilet and feeling like dogshit, it feels delightful to have a civilized meal.
“So, if you aren’t missionaries, why is this place named St. John’s?” David asked eventually, interrupting the polite banter of the dinner.
Lachlan made another of his irritable huffing noises. Beneath him and under the table, his dog made a matching noise and looked up at his master adoringly. They were quite the group, this little Scottish family lost out here in the middle of the ocean.
“Why because St. John is our name dear,” Fiona replied with a lilting laugh. “Lachlan and Fiona St. John. Common law married for the last forty years.”
I smirked, and David saw it.
“You knew,” he accused lightly. “You wanted my reaction for the cameras.” I shrugged and smiled at him.
“I told you I hadn’t forgiven you yet. Why would I tell you everything I know?”
He shook his head in admonishment, but it was gentle and without any real feeling behind it. He was indulging me. Like Fiona did Lachlan when he irritated her. “Besides, it makes for better television if your reactions to surprises are genuine.”
“Consider me surprised,” he replied. “You’re just full of surprises today.” His voice was dark and low, but still filled with humor. I thought he looked vaguely as if he were wondering what other secrets I might have concealed from him. Sadly, this was the extent of my exclusive information. Secrecy and intrigue weren’t really my strong suits. Like David, I was unsubtle as a general rule.
“I’m not the only one full of surprises today,” I told David, reminding him and myself why I was peeved.
“Do you have any children?” Curtis asked the couple a moment later.
Fiona shook her head. “We were never blessed with any of our own,” she said. Her voice wasn’t sad or resigned. It was simply a fact to her, as unremarkable as the weather. “We’ve always had dogs though,” she added happily, sneaking a piece of fish down to her pudgy canine companion. He gobbled it up and stared up at his master and mistress with wet, dark eyes and an eager, panting tongue. The dog’s name, I had learned, was Walter IX. He was the ninth black scotty dog to bear that name in the St. John household. His forbearers were all buried out back.
I learned over dinner that the St. Johns had moved here thirty odd years ago to enjoy the peace and solitude that only an island like this could afford them. Scotland was apparently much too crowded for the likes of Lachlan. He preferred the company of the wind and the waves to the idle prattle of humans, according to him. If that was his preference, he’d certainly found it here.
“Aye,” he agreed when I mentioned as much, “except when strangers show up.”
He eyed us warily. Fiona patted his arm.
“Now, now, Lachlan,” she said, “be nice. These are the first strangers we’ve received in almost thirty years.”
“We’ll be out of your way tomorrow,” Trevor volunteered. Lachlan brightened.
“There’s a bit of good news. What’s yer name son?” Lachlan asked. “I like you. Unlike the rest of your friends, you don’t babble.”
“Trevor Kemps, sir.”
“Trevor, eh? Are ye Welsh?” He looked interested.
“I’m from Berkley, California. Before that, I don’t really know.” Trevor shrugged.
“I suppose ye can make yer own story up then. Ye should make it a good one.” He winked. “That’s how I got my Fiona. I told her a fairy tale about me and our kingdom by the sea. I convinced her we could make it true.”
He waggled his eyebrows at his wife and she giggled and shook her head.
“Oh Lachlan,” she said, but clearly what she really meant was “I love you”.
I stole a glance at David and saw that he was staring back at me steadily. A small smile tugged at the edges of his mouth, curling his lips upward, and I wondered what he was thinking of. I was thinking about the possibilities of our future. Could we end up like Lachlan and Fiona? Living out a happily ever after of our own design? It was nice to imagine that it could happen.
28
David
“Why’d ye come all the way out here ta film a television program about food?” Fiona asked after dinner. “We’re no’ exactly a famous culinary destination. Or any kind of destination. I’m not sure we’re even on the maps.”
“Ye can say tha’ again,” Lachlan grumbled. “An’ it better stay that way.”
“We’re looking for a specific fern,” I explained, hopeful they might have some intelligence we could use. The cameras and listening equipment around us observed politely, ensuring that I could re-watch any details I might forget in the moment. “The flame-leaf fern to be exact. We’ve heard the stories about it and want to see if they’re true. Try and figure out how to use it and bring it to a larger audience.”
The two exchanged a thoughtful look, elevating my hopes even further. Beside me, I could feel Casey sit up a bit straighter, and heard her sharp intake of breath. I tried to reach for her hand, but she snatched it away and glared at me.
“The flame-leaf eh?” Fiona replied, pretending not to notice our relationship drama. She drummed her fingers on the table thoughtfully. “Well, good luck.” She shook her head, and her expression was rueful. It wasn’t clear if she referred to my pursuit of Casey, or the fern.
“Do you have any idea where I should look?” I asked.
Lachlan shrugged and answered for the both of them. “It always seems to grow at random. One day I’ll find three plants, and then when I return the next day, they’ve gone. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think they were hiding from me.”
“We always pick whatever we find,” Fiona elaborated. “It makes an excellent tea and has lots of uses besides. Wanna’ try it?”
Our group nodded enthusiastically, and Fiona grinned with the prospect. She busied herself with the teakettle over her little cast-iron stove. Her husband watched her with a pensive expression.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for and manage to take it home,” Lachlan said, surprising me. “This fern, it’s a lifesaver.”
“What do you mean?”
“The tea my sweet Fiona makes, it’s tha only thing tha’ helps my arthritis. My gout, too. The locals swear by it, an fer good reason. It’s really somethin’. Better than the hard stuff that the Doc has in her bag.”
“And it’ll cure that sickness I bet you’re feeling in the mornings darling,” Fiona added, looking at Casey over her sh
oulder as she heated the water for the tea. “It does wonders for me when I feel ill.”
Casey perked up again. She looked hopeful. I could only imagine. She’d been fine all afternoon, but I could only imagine how awful the constant throwing up must be for her. Being a woman didn’t seem very pleasant, I was glad I hadn’t been born one. I’d also probably spend all my time looking at myself naked in the mirror. And masturbating.
“Here you are,” Fiona said, rousing me from my daydream about randomly waking up with boobs, and placing a cup of tea in front of me. My own tiny supply of the leaf, courtesy of Alberto, was only enough to nibble on. This was my first real taste of the fern leaf. Before touching my own, I watched the others. Observing the expressions of others was half the fun of cooking. This was no different.
“If something could taste like spicy curry, while simultaneous tasting like red velvet cake and molasses, all the while not being disgusting, it would be this,” Casey said confidently. “No that’s not quite right,” she corrected a second later, “it tastes like champagne and steak sauce had a baby that grew up to be tea.” She shook her head. “Whatever it is, it’s amazing.”
Huh?
“I think it tastes like summer,” Curtis tried.
“I feel like it tastes more like fall,” Trevor said thoughtfully. “It tastes like terra cotta pottery looks… warm and smooth, but not too smooth.”
Casey and Curtis both nodded like that made perfect sense.
This was what I got for letting people who never went to culinary school describe tastes. It was like asking the blind to compare red to yellow. It was time for a professional to evaluate the magic fern tea: me.
The color of the tea was a typical amber tone, as clear and luminous as any herbal tea ever. I raised the mug to my nose and took a deep whiff. The smell was spicy and somewhat reminiscent of cardamom, cumin, and paprika while also being sweeter and more mellow. The taste was even more unusual. Like the raw leaf, the initial taste was bright, spicy, and warming like a pumpkin ale with a gentle bite of capsaicin. It seemed to dance across my taste buds, almost like it was effervescent, or made up of dissolved pop rocks, and the finish was smooth and clean. There was absolutely zero aftertaste, unlike most teas, and the neutral ending made me eager for the next sip, and the next.
“This is the best tea that I think I’ve ever had,” Trevor said, dumbfounded. “I don’t even like drinking tea, but I could drink a gallon of this. Seriously, Fiona. It’s incredible.”
Fiona laughed. “I can hardly take the credit for it. People have been drinking this tea on the island for generations. Probably thousands of years.”
“I’m still going to thank you though,” Trevor said earnestly. “I’ve never had anything like this.”
Trevor was being less sarcastic than I’d ever seen him, but I couldn’t bring myself to tease him. He was right. This was an extraordinary treat.
“Jury’s still out on whether it will ease my morning sickness, but I’ve got to agree with Trevor, Fiona. This really is amazing.” Casey’s eyes were bright, and her smile was genuine and wide.
“The flame-leaf really is quite incredible,” Fiona said. Her voice was humble. “We all use it on this island. Not just as a tea, but a seasoning and a poultice. I’ve made a tincture out of it as well. I’ll give you a vial, Casey. It will help if you start feeling ill. You only need a single drop.”
While Fiona and Casey discussed how to administer the little glass bottle of medicine, I continued to sip my tea and think. I never would have thought having a pregnant producer on board would end up being such an enormous advantage to our search. Casey was the key to all of this in more ways than one. I’d have failed back in Manila if not for her help.
“You’re very quiet,” Casey said to me eventually. “That’s… strange.”
I smirked at her. She was teasing me, but I sensed concern under her expression and it gladdened me. Eventually she was going to forgive me. And in the meantime, at least she wasn’t giving me the silent treatment.
“Maybe the flame-leaf is curing my ADHD,” I said half-sarcastically and low enough that no one else could hear. In truth, I did feel good. More centered, but without the dulling compulsiveness of the prescription stimulants I’d been prescribed over the years to mitigate my ‘imbalance’. But mostly, “I’m just trying to take it all in. I feel like we’re so close to our goal.”
“Me too,” she said in a whisper. Her excitement was obvious, even though I knew she was also still angry with me. “We just have to find one live specimen of the fern. Prove that it’s real. Bring it back for testing.”
“Before the scary mercenaries or the Verité Labs people,” I reminded her. She nodded and frowned, and then turned to Fiona inquisitively.
“Have you seen anyone else lately looking for the fern?” Casey asked. “Other people from off-island, that is?”
Fiona shook her head at Casey, shaking her silver curls. “You three are the first people we’ve actually seen in about a month. We’re not exactly social butterflies up here. We communicate with the village by radio, but even then, only if there’s a good reason for us to do so.”
Even if they hadn’t been sighted by Fiona and Lachlan, there were other people on this island looking for what we were looking for. So far, we knew some of them were on the wrong side of the island, but we had no idea if a Verité Labs expedition was similarly misinformed. Or even present. The more I considered the prospect, the more I thought it plausible that Alberto had somehow fallen prey to the rivalry between the two conglomerates. As the one-quarter heir of the world’s largest chemical firm, I was well aware that business could easily spill over into violence. My own uncle was in jail for something not too dissimilar. Money was like a drug for some. It made people feel invincible and untouchable. Over time, it seemed to make some people toxic.
“We need to be careful, Casey,” I whispered in her ear, “I know we’ve got our plans in place for medical emergencies and our competition, but I’ve got a feeling we’re about to reach the hard part of this journey.”
And I won’t let anything happen to you, no matter what. I didn’t say it, because she’d only find it patronizing, but I thought it at her so intensely that I was surprised she didn’t hear.
“We haven’t already reached the hard part?” she said instead. Her voice was disbelieving. I smirked. “I thought the ferry was the hard part.”
“Drink your tea,” I teased. “You’re going to need all your strength for tomorrow.”
29
Casey
Even though she said she needed no assistance from me, I insisted on helping Fiona with the dishes. She looked at me like I’d insisted on doing her laundry or something.
“You have to let me help,” I told her seriously. “Otherwise my mother will show up out of nowhere and scold me. She’s got a sixth sense for when I misbehave. She will bend the laws of time and space to punish me.”
Fiona smiled. “That’s a sign of proper mothering right there. She put the fear of God in you, didn’t she? Alright, you can dry and stack the plates.”
I took my place next to her at the compact sink that formed the centerpiece of the petite kitchen.
“Are you completely off the grid out here?” I asked as she washed off the plates and glasses. The water pressure emerging from the faucet looked suspiciously low. Fiona nodded.
“Yes, we are. We have a generator and a solar set up. A composting toilet. All our water is rainwater. We burn our trash.”
“It must be nice to be so self-sufficient.” In LA, everything was like a layer cake. Just people, on top of people, on top of people. On top of trash.
“It’s a necessity, I’m afraid. Unless we want to set up one of those large hamster wheels and run to generate our power.”
“I can’t see Lachlan on one of those.” Although the mental image was hilarious. In my mind’s eye, he also had enormous buck teeth and drank out of one of those funny little water bottles for rodents. The o
nes with the straws coming out the bottom.
“Oh, you’d be surprised. If I put some biscuits just out of reach, he’d probably do it.” I laughed, and she grinned sweetly. “Managing men is all about properly motivating them.”
I sighed and resisted the urge to look back at David. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
Fiona looked around to make sure that the men were all out of earshot.
“That David, he’s the father of your baby, isn’t he?” Her voice was a reedy whisper.
I blinked and then sighed. “What gave it away?”
“Not you dear,” she said with a giggle, “at least, not at first. Him. That man simply radiates with a need to be near you, protect you. When I saw the way you looked at him right back, I just knew. It’s the same way I look at Lachlan. Love, that’s what you look at one another with. Just love. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
For a woman who lived so separate from society, she sure was observant. Either that, or David and I broadcasted our feelings. I know I’ve never been subtle. David certainly wasn’t. I frowned.
“I wish we weren’t so transparent to everyone.”
“Why’s that?”
I didn’t really have an answer. I shrugged but when she continued to stare, I forced myself to come up with an answer. “I’m not sure. Maybe because I’m not sure. I don’t know if we’re going to work out.” My voice was small and weak sounding, even to my own ears.
“I worry about that too,” Fiona said with a little sigh. “That’s perfectly normal.” She patted my shoulder with her dry hand.
“But you’ve been together for years!” Fiona and Lachlan seemed like such a good match. Like two sides of a coin.
She grinned at me like I’d said something ridiculous. “Common law only.” I must have looked confused, because she then elaborated. “Love affairs are like gardens. You can’t stop tending to them and expect them to keep blooming. If you stop working on your garden, or if you neglect it, the garden will die. Worrying about your relationship is essential to keeping it healthy.”
Lost and Found (Scions of Sin Book 4) Page 16