Goldenseal

by Gill McKnight

  “Oh, I’m planning on reading a pile of books this big.” She indicated her waist. “Jori says you’re here to work. You’re a botanical illustrator like your aunt?”

  “Yes, that and wildlife illustration.”

  “You must be in your element here. It’s gorgeous. I could hardly believe it when Jori told me his family owned the whole valley. It’s like owning your own holiday resort. Imagine just packing up and coming here every time you want to chill out, or hunt, or hike, or whatever.”

  “It’s fantastic the way they maintain it.” Amy was happy to find another convert. Very few outsiders knew of this valley. You had to be invited by a Garoul to even find the damned place, and that only happened when you were as good as one of the family. It was obvious Elicia and Jori must be in a serious relationship if he’d asked her along on a hunting break. For the Garouls the hunting vacations were tantamount to a holy pilgrimage. In fact, Jori’s increasing mention of his new girlfriend in his e-mails had alerted Amy that something major was happening for him. She was close to Jori and regarded him with the warmth and affection she would have for a brother of her own—if she’d had any siblings.

  “Just look at all these little holiday cabins waiting for visitors.” Amy looked fondly around the compound as she spoke. It was very picturesque—a little log cabin village right out of a fairy tale.

  Her gaze fell on Leone, who was still in the line chatting with her brother. As if sensing Amy’s eyes on her, she looked up and winked. Amy turned away sharply and continued talking to Elicia.

  “When I was younger this place was packed with kids all summer. We used to run wild. It was the best time ever. It’s nice to know the little Garouls still come and meet up every year for a summer camp.” She smiled happily at her memories. “It’s an ideal way to keep family connections strong generation after generation.”

  “And you were the only little non-Garoul?”

  “Yes. I’ve always been a sort of honorary cousin. Connie has lived out here as long as I can remember, and I visited every school holiday. I loved it here.” Her smile widened. “I’m so looking forward to hiking around the valley with my work pack, sniffing out plants and birds to sketch.”

  “How do you do that? I mean, do you just sit down with your paints and stuff and draw a flower?”

  “Not really. First I do detailed field sketches with color swatches. But I also use my camera to catalogue—” A deep chuckle interrupted her.

  “Hey, you two, Claude sent us over with these. Typical…sitting in the middle of a forest and you both expect waiter service.”

  Amy swiveled in her seat and looked up into the twinkling eyes of Jori Garoul. He stood behind her with a full plate in each hand.

  “Jori,” she cried as he leaned down to kiss her cheek warmly. She gave him a quick peck and a big hug back.

  “Amy, darling. It’s great to see you again. I got your last e-mail. Hey, those photos of Venice were amazing.” He moved to sit beside Elicia, delivering her plate as he spoke. “We’re so gonna go there someday. Take a year out and just travel. Venice, Rome, Paris. Do the whole deal.” He smiled at Elicia, openly including her in his dreams of Europe.

  “I got tons more photos of Italy. I’ll bore you both to tears someday and show you every single one…” Her sentence died away as she noticed Leone poised directly behind her carrying another set of plates. Their eyes locked momentarily before Amy suddenly became very interested in her paper napkin. She shifted in her seat as Jori and Elicia shared their food. Leone placed the plates on the table before squeezing her long frame onto the bench beside Amy. She ended up sitting much too close, unfazed by Amy’s clumsy sideways shuffling to make more space between them.

  “Here.” Leone pushed a plate toward Amy, unaware of any awkwardness or else choosing to ignore it. Amy was uncertain which, and felt even more unsettled.

  “I’m sorry for the earlier misunderstanding, Amy.” Leone flashed a big smile and launched into conversation as if they were the best of friends. “Your hair’s gotten really long. And you lost a stack of weight,” she continued as they prepared to eat. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  Amy was disgusted that her frosty vibes were totally wasted on Leone’s thick skin. Taking a new tack, she looked at Leone as if she were insane.

  “Yes, it has. Six years, eight months, and fifteen days,” she threw out flippantly, ignoring the rest of Leone’s statement. It was none of Leone’s business what her hair, or metabolism, had been up to these past years.

  Leone’s coal black eyes twinkled back at her. “Twenty-one days.” Her grin widened even further.

  Amy blinked back confounded. Has she really been counting the days? She glanced questioningly into those unfathomable eyes, and deep within caught the slightest teasing glint. Immediately Amy slammed shut, tight as a refrigerator door. All her thoughts and feelings sealed away, cooling right down to zero.

  “Well, I guess you keep count better than me,” she said snippily, wanting to convey her annoyance but not alert Jori and Elicia that there was something amiss.

  Amy knew before she arrived she would have to work alongside Leone Garoul. She had schooled herself on the flight over to be civil, no matter what the circumstances. She was here on a mission on behalf of Connie and at the anxious request of Marie, who was not only Connie’s partner, but co-author, too, as well as publisher. This was an important project, and Amy was a professional. If Leone was going to be her editor, then she would just have to cope with it and not let any murderous feelings for her ex-girlfriend get in the way.

  She decided the best thing was to ignore Leone for the rest of the meal. Mind made up, she cut into her steak but was more than a little perturbed to find it still quite bloody. Sighing, she plucked at her bread instead, plopping a cherry tomato into her mouth.

  Leone looked over, happily tucking into her own. “Under­done?”

  “A little. I told Claude to make sure mine was cooked through, but I don’t think he knows what that means.”

  “Do you want me to take it back and tell him to incinerate it?”

  “To be honest, I’m not that interested now. I’m happy enough with the salad,” Amy said truthfully. Leone reached over and took her abandoned steak, piling it on top of the massive one already on her plate. Amy looked at her aghast.

  “What?” Leone asked, cutting into it. “You said you didn’t want it.”

  “I’d forgotten what a big stuffer you are. How the hell you keep your figure with the amount you pack away beats me.” Amy shook her head in genuine mystery, all intentions to ignore Leone forgotten in the sight of such happy gluttony.

  “That’s because I am a wild woman of the woods, and you always had the metabolism of a marshmallow,” Leone mumbled around an enormous mouthful. Amy stared at her, mortally offended. It was as if the years had all melted away to nothing and she was once again looking at the smug, exasperating teenager who’d been her first love.

  Don’t you dare try to take me back there as if nothing ever happened. She glared at Leone, who smiled gracefully back and continued to wolf her food. Basking in the hot, angry stare as if it were sunshine.

  CHAPTER TWO

  So.” Elicia pushed her empty plate away. “Paulie’s actually the youngest Garoul here? This is his first hunting weekend and he’s just supplied us with dinner? Talk about a natural.”

  “Yeah, he’s just turned fourteen and this is his first big hunting trip. He’s so proud of that deer.” Leone smiled, happy for him. “Next year he’ll be joined by his sister Adele and their cousin Celina. The girls will be old enough to learn to hunt by then. In fact, there’s a whole slew coming up in the next few years. Before you know it this place will be overrun with teenagers, just like the mall back home.”

  “I suppose if your family owns a whole valley it’s silly for everybody not to use it for rest and relaxation.” Elicia nodded thoughtfully. “Or hunting vacations.”

  “To come here and learn to hun
t, the kids have to be in their teens. No small children are allowed on hunting breaks like this. Instead the little ’uns arrive in the summer. Kind of like summer camp, except it’s all Garoul kids and you get to know all your cousins,” Jori told her, clearly proud of the wonderful simplicity of the Garoul vacation system.

  Elicia, vainly trying to stifle a yawn, snuggled up against him. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in tighter.

  “Sorry, we’ve been traveling all day and just arrived about an hour ago. I’m exhausted,” she said to Leone and Amy.

  “You drove down from Seattle?” Amy asked. Behind her the music started again. The party was warming up, with an accordion and fiddle playing boisterous old French migrant tunes passed down from musician to musician over the generations. Soon singing would start with hearty ballads and folksongs from their homeland, sung in the old langue d’oc dialect. The Garouls clung proudly to their ancient French heritage, even though over the last few centuries they had dispersed across the Americas as far apart as Rio de Janeiro and Iqaluit. This diaspora only served to enrich annual get-togethers such as this one. Garouls had come from all over to attend it.

  “Yeah, with stops and such it still took a little over eight hours.” Jori was yawning, too. “Come on. I can see you’re nodding off. Let’s call it a night.” He held out his hand and hauled Elicia to her feet.

  “We’ll stay and dance another night,” she said and let him lead her away toward their cabin. “Amy,” she called over her shoulder, “can I go hiking with you sometime and watch you work? I promise not to get in the way.”

  “Sure. I’ll catch you over the next few days and we’ll plan something, okay?” With a friendly wave they said good night.

  “She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Amy smiled after them. “Jori talks about her all the time on the phone and in his e-mails.” Her thoughts were out before she remembered she didn’t want to make small talk with Leone. She grabbed her coat and bag and was about to leave to find Marie.

  Leone kept talking at her nonstop, as if anxious to keep her there. “Yes, Elicia’s lovely. Jori tells me he keeps in touch with you all the time. Finish your beer. Would you like more salad?”

  “Hey, did you two get enough to eat?” Marie appeared before them, taking the seat just vacated by Jori and Elicia.

  “Lots,” Amy answered and sat back down now that Marie had found her.

  Marie looked around her. “Did Jori and Elicia retire early? The dancing’s just about to start.”

  “They had a long drive down and were exhausted. I hope you gave them a cabin set well back.” Leone winked at her mother.

  Marie smiled excitedly. “Oh, I catered for their privacy. Jori gave me strict instructions. This is the fifth time I’ve met her, you know,” she told Amy. “He always makes sure she’s around when I go to visit him in Seattle. He’s very smitten. I wouldn’t be surprised if they made an important announcement this week.”

  “Do you think they’ll get engaged?” Amy, forever the romantic, was agog. “Wow.”

  “And this is the best time for Jori to do it,” Leone stated matter­of-factly.

  Amy turned to her. “Why? Because you’re all here to give your blessings, so to speak?”

  Leone looked over to Marie. They shrugged in unison. Amy hid a smile at the shared characteristic. At some stage while growing up Leone had subconsciously adopted Marie’s posture and movements. It added to the other physical similarities between mother and daughter. Both were tall and lean, with long dark hair, tanned complexion, and burning black eyes. Their heritage, a mixture of old migrant French and native Nez Perce, shone from them; from all of the Garouls, truth be told. They were a handsome breed that could trace their ancestry back not only to the actual ship that brought their founder to the New World, but beyond to murky, ancient origins in the Gevaudan region of France.

  “Well, it means she gets to meet most of us in one go. Though I suppose it can be a bit daunting as there are so many Garouls here for the hunting,” Leone answered. Just over fifty family members had descended on the valley for this particular week.

  “Before it starts to get too frantic, can I show you Connie’s illustrations now?” Marie asked.

  “Please, I’d love to see them. Oh, and I have a gift for you.” Amy opened her bag and pulled out a thick hardback. “Here, it’s the contract I did in Madeira last year.”

  Marie read the cover. “Island of Eternal Spring: The Garden of the Atlantic. Thank you, Amy. What a beautiful book.” Immediately she began riffling through the pages. Botanical illustration was her passion, next to herbalism and natural medicine. Leone craned her neck to see, too, but Amy was on her feet, determined her time spent with her was now done. She wanted to head off with Marie to look at Connie’s work and suck in some fresh air. Sitting beside Leone had been stifling in a way she hadn’t fully appreciated until she’d moved away.

  Marie stood, cradling her new gift, and accompanied Amy around a circle of energetic polka dancers. They headed for the largest cabin in the compound.

  Smoke curled from its stout stone chimney. The porch was chock full of potted plants and gardening tools. Rubber boots, fishing poles, and comfortable wooden furniture all cluttered the small space. Lanterns and candle stubs sat on a battered wooden table, and bunches of dried herbs hung from the uprights, giving the cabin a year-round lived-in feeling as opposed to its smaller, vacation time neighbors.

  Amy smiled in total contentment as she mounted the steps. It was a rare sentiment for her these days. Cliché or not, this cabin, Marie’s home, reminded her of some of the happiest days of her childhood. As she entered directly into the main living room, waves of emotion swamped her, triggered first by smell. The spiciness of burning apple wood, baking pies, and faded incense tickled at her nose and memories. It was clear hardly anything had changed. The same threadbare couch covered with the thick Wallowa blankets stood in the center of the room opposite the stone fireplace. Beside each armrest a cut-off section of tree trunk served as a small table. Amy knew from childhood experience each weighed a ton, and the left-hand one was slightly lopsided, so pens and oranges always rolled off it. Marie’s favorite old reading lamp still sat there along with a stack of books. The other side table still held the tin ashtray Leone won at the Summer Fair a million years ago. Battered and faded with ash burns and time, it was hard to make out the garish etching of Mount Hood. Leone had been so proud to bring it home to her mother.

  It was like a punch in the guts, a time shift in Amy’s reality. Mixed with the fond memories of childhood was that last, stinging blow. A memory that changed Amy’s path forever, taking her out of this valley, and far away. She was immediately transported back nearly seven years to the last time she entered this cabin and the pain that had accompanied that final visit. Leone had abandoned her. It was as simple as that. And now she was back in the valley, and Leone was all over her, as suffocating as a heavy, wet blanket. But this time it was Amy who didn’t need Leone.

  Marie moved off toward the kitchen, but Amy hesitated. An oil painting of a moonlit night over Little Dip Valley hung on the chimneybreast. She recognized the palette intimately. Drawn to the canvas, her gaze slid over each brushstroke, as familiar to her as Connie’s handwriting or the laugh lines on her face. If she were to touch the surface it would talk to her like Braille. But what would it say? Oh, Connie, I wish you were here tonight. Everything is so emotional, so hard.

  “Here.” Marie handed her a steaming mug of pungent herbs and hot water. “It’ll lift your headache.”

  “How did you know I had the start of a headache?” She gratefully took the drink.

  “Your left eye squints a little, and you get a tiny crease right between your eyebrows.” Marie smiled. “Come through to the office and I’ll show you Connie’s latest artwork.” She nodded to a far door.

  Amy nursed her cup and followed Marie to the back room that had been her office for as long as Amy could remember. One wall was faced with a built
-in floor-to-ceiling bookcase, full of Marie’s reference manuals. Any other free wall space was covered with botanical paintings and watercolors of the valley. Painted in soft, spring colors, the room had a calm ambience laced with warm practicality, reflecting the work ethos of its owner. Amy knew it would be a lovely space to work in. It hummed with quiet energy.

  In her opinion the only curiously jarring note was the Bosch triptych of The Garden of Earthly Delights hanging over Marie’s desk. Full of hell and damnation, despair and cruel intentions, it had always hung there and Amy had always hated it. As a child she imagined a top-secret safe hidden behind it. Her young, inventive imagination could think of no other reason a beautiful person like Marie would have such an ugly thing hanging in her home.

  Marie’s computer sat snug on an antique desk of rich mahogany and tooled leather. A second sturdy table, handmade in cedar wood, sat under the window where it would catch the best of the daylight. It was strewn with various papers and folios. Marie flipped one open to reveal a stack of watercolor illustrations. Amy stepped forward; the artwork was Connie’s.

  “We need a handful of seasonal insets now that September’s here. And maybe a little touch-up of two existing plates…” Marie shuffled through the stack and carefully lifted out a page, sliding it toward Amy. “This…and this.” She set a second page beside the first.

  Amy’s eyes lingered on one, then the other.

  “They’re exquisite,” she murmured. “Some of her best work has come about these last few years. I love her new technique. She’s an absolute master.”

  “Yes, but it’s come at a cost. She burned herself out on this project—”

  “Didn’t you see the breakdown coming?” Amy heard the accusation in her voice and winced inwardly. She did not want to condemn or accuse. She knew beyond all doubt Marie loved Connie and would do anything for her. She also knew she was being childish and selfish. “I’m sorry, Marie, I’m just grumpy and still a little jet-lagged. I know you took care of her. I don’t know why I snapped.”