'Good,' she praised. 'You can also use a pick but, unless I play a steel string, I prefer to use my own fingers and thumb.'
'You have a steel-string guitar, too?' John-Michael was surprised. 'Electric?' He looked puzzled, as if wondering how someone could have so many instruments.
'Of course,' she replied.
Oh, oh, she caught herself, there's no of course about that. An electric guitar wasn't an instrument that just everyone had, especially if they already owned an acoustic guitar. She began strumming again to avoid further conversation on that topic. There was more to trying to hide an identity than she’d bargained for.
Not that the world would end if the whole town knew who she was, but she did so want to be just plain Mandy Smith for a while--for one summer. Have a place she could be herself, not a country singer. She’d been on the roller coast ride of country music, she’d almost forgotten how to be normal.
John-Michael practiced his chords, faithfully changing every few strums of his right hand. After ten minutes, he looked up.
'Now do I know enough to do a song?'
'Sure, let's see if I can think up one using only those chords.' Dozens of songs flashed through her mind, but most were too complicated for a beginner. 'How about Mary Don't You Weep?'
'Okay, sounds good. What to do first?'
'G first, then C then D. Listen and watch my hand.' Slowly Amanda began strumming, her left hand pressing the strings. Softly she sang the song, almost in a monotone.
John-Michael watched, trying his fingers on his guitar, but not strumming. When she had finished he nodded. 'Okay, I can try it now.'
Amanda reversed roles this time, fingered the chords without playing the guitar. He stumbled several times, was late in changing a chord, and moved very slowly through the song. Nonetheless, pride in achievement showed in his face when he finished.
'Bravo, John-Michael, very good!' Amanda smiled at his happiness. 'I've thought of another one, too, Oh, Susannah. Try it with me. Listen to when the sound changes so we can change chords. We'll be a duo before long.'
'Yeah, do dueling guitars, instead of dueling banjos.'
'Or we could do dueling banjos.'
'You play the banjo?' He was incredulous.
Amanda caught herself this time. No of course in this reply; she was more cautious in her response.
'I have access to a couple.'
She could call Dave and get him to send her banjo. She'd better call him, anyway, and let him know where she was, and that she had not forgotten their date in Nashville later in the month. He wouldn’t approve of her life here. He’d found it difficult to understand that she really wanted the summer off, had wanted to leave the city and find a restful, quiet place to relax, to spend the summer. He’d be shocked at her buying a house. To footloose, fancy free, live in the moment Dave, a house was an awful, permanent, restraining burden. He wanted to be able to up and move when the mood struck, not be tied down with material possessions.
Yes, she would have to call him.
'Okay, John-Michael, let's try it.'
They played through the song a couple of times, and repeated the first one again before Amanda called a halt.
'You practice those; next time we'll expand your repertoire.'
'This is super. Thanks for the lesson.' He flushed, shifted a little in his chair. 'Is there anything I can do to repay you for them?' he asked diffidently.
'No, John-Michael,' she said gently. 'I'm just glad you want to learn. You come on down any time. We can play what you know or learn more, or just visit, if you like.'
'Thanks, Mandy. I'll do it.' He smiled shyly.
For a brief moment, Amanda saw his father's face reflected in the smile. Mac had once been young, carefree and probably had looked a little as his son did now. It was a pity his wife's defection had changed him so much.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning dawned fair and warm. Amanda rushed through breakfast and her cleaning chores so she could try her hand at panning for gold. She was full of anticipation at the prospect and hurried through the dusting and sweeping so she could proceed.
Shortly before ten o'clock, she plopped her hat on her head, grabbed the black pan and headed to her portion of the creek. She wore shorts and a light, sleeveless cotton top, both in a pale blue that complemented her eyes. Her tennis shoes she planned to take off at the water's edge.
Once out of doors, she slowed down, walking steadily, but not rapidly, towards the creek, raising her face to feel the sun. It was already hot on her arms. She was glad for the shelter the hat would provide. She’d still have to watch it. Amanda smiled with growing happiness at the day's beauty: the expanse of evergreens soaring in stately dignity, the clear blue sky, and the bluebells nodding in the gentle morning breeze. The soft gurgle of the water could be heard in the air as she drew near the creek.
When she reached it, Amanda paused, trying to determine the best place to begin. She had talked to the woman in the store when buying the pan; basics had been briefly explained, cautions against fool's gold stressed. When she saw a small waterfall of less than three feet, the water cascading over in a steady stream, she moved to try there. The major part of the snow pack from higher elevations had melted. As the summer wore on, the stream would probably diminish in size until it was no more than a trickle curling its way around the large rocks and boulders scattered in its bed. There were very few spots where the creek bed was sandy, free from rocks.
One look and Amanda elected to keep her shoes on. She had another pair at the cabin and some of the rocks in the creek looked sharp. They were certainly not all smooth pebbles. Gingerly she stepped into the water, heading for the waterfall.
It felt like ice!
Well, obviously, she chided herself as she stepped quickly back to the bank. It was melted snow, couldn't be expected to be warm. Equally obvious, she could not stand for hours on end in the numbing cold. No wonder so much gold remained in the California mountains; who could pan for it? They’d get frostbite.
Disappointed at not being able to start, she wandered upstream for a few hundred feet, searching for a better spot, one where she could stay dry on the banks. She found another likely spot, at the base of still another small cascade, where the heavier gold would probably settle down to the bottom during flood season. This particular area had the advantage over the first of having a large, almost flat rock near the base for her to sit on.
Started at last, Amanda found it pleasant to swirl sand and grit from the stream bed in her pan, allowing the water to wash out the lighter material, leaving the heavier gold at the bottom of the black pan. Endless scraping up of the stream bed, swishing it around in the pan, letting the water wash it out over the side, examining heavier grains to see if they were gold. Over and over, Amanda scooped, washed, examined.
Only her tired back forced her to call a halt to her activities. Judging from the sun's position when she looked up, stretching and rubbing her neck to ease the tightness, it was probably well after noon. She had been at it for over two hours. How quickly the time had flown. Ruefully she watched the water play over the stones. Tomorrow would be another day. She’d continue then. The fact that she had not found a single flake or chip she believed was gold did not diminish her enthusiasm. Perhaps she would find some tomorrow. Or the day after.
After a quick lunch, Amanda again set off, this time to walk to Timber. She was going to call Dave and ask him to send up her banjo. While she was at it, she’d reassure him she had not forgotten about their meeting in Nashville to discuss a new album with their producer. She dreaded the thought of leaving already, even for a short trip. Still, she couldn't give up her career, either. There were certain responsibilities and tasks to be maintained, even when on a hiatus.
It was a pleasant walk to Timber, downhill most of the way. Twice cars passed her, heading towards town. Each time her heart skipped a beat. But there was no gray truck stopping to give her a lift this day.
She had to
walk the length of Timber, to the bus depot, to the pay phone she remembered there. Depositing her coins, it was only moments before the phone rang at the other end. He’d be surprised to find her calling but not on her cell. Who knew there were huge areas where no cell service could be found?
'Hello.' Loud music in the background almost drowned out the speaker.
'Hi, Dave?'
'Huh? Yes, this is Dave. Hey, you guys, stop a minute, I can't hear.' Gradually the background noise died down.
'This is Dave,' he repeated.
'This is Amanda.'
'Well, where the deuce are you? We haven't heard one word from you in ages.' As an aside, 'Yes, it's Amanda, be quiet so I can hear her. 'Where are you? Do you realize we are due in Nashville on the 26th?'
'Yes, I know. That's one reason I'm calling. I haven't forgotten about it and will meet you on the 24th, in San Francisco. I have a couple of songs I want your opinion on.'
'Bless me, the girl's gone writing again. Yes, yes, two she says. Amanda, where are you?'
She looked around the small town fondly. 'In a little town called Timber, in Calaveras County.'
There was a silence on the other end.
'Big trees and frogs; whatever are you doing there?'
Amanda giggled at Dave's concept of Calaveras County, the large sequoias and Mark Twain's celebrated jumping frog. 'There's a lot more than just that here. It's a nice area. I like it.'
'Are you in some hotel?'
'No. Dave, I bought a house. And I have a creek and I’m panning for gold.'
'Bought a house? Are you kidding?'
Amanda could just picture his face. Dave was strictly a city lover, for all he had been raised on a ranch as she had been. His idea of a good place was the thirtieth floor of a big hotel, complete with room service, spa facilities and an exercise room.
'It's old, run down, off the beaten track and glorious!'
He chuckled. 'I can imagine. Better you than me. Okay, we'll meet you on the 24th at the hotel in San Francisco. Don't be late, or I'll have apoplexy.'
'I won't. Can you send me my banjo? I'm giving guitar lessons and said we'd do something with a banjo, too.'
'Good grief, did I hear right? Lessons? Amanda, what are you up to?'
'I'll explain when I see you. Send it care of general delivery. I have Cora Rosefeld's old place, but don't know if it has an address. I haven't seen a mailman yet.'
'I don't believe it,' Dave said faintly. There was a chorus of voices in the background. 'Later,' Dave hushed them. 'I'm writing this all down, Mandy. I think I have a thousand questions.'
The phone clanged.
'Dave, I've got to go, no more change. Bye.'
'Wait, aren’t you on your cell. No, you aren’t. Where are you calling from? How can we get in touch with you?'
'I'll be getting a phone at the house later. Write to general delivery. I'll call you again. Got to go. Bye.'
Amanda hung up and burst out laughing. She wished she could be there. The speculation would be wonderful. Probably all the background noise had been the rest of the crew jamming. Well, she'd see them soon enough, explain then. Though they would probably think she had lost her mind.
Her face sobered. She felt a twinge of homesickness for the group. She and Dave and Marc and Joe, Phil, Sam, and even Evie. Most of them were cousins. All had been friends for years, ever since they had grown up together in Colorado. They’d all worked hard to put together the production that was 'Amanda'. Except for Evie. Still she fit right in. Amanda wouldn't be where she was today if not for them all. They enjoyed a special closeness both in work and play and this was the first time she had been away for an extended time since they had started out.
Yet there had to be some time given to other pursuits, Amanda felt. Being a country singer was not all she wanted from life. It was an important part, of course, but surely personal satisfaction, a loving relationship, should be important, too. She wanted to find the right man, get married and have children. Not forsaking her career, but combining that and marriage; working when she could, maintain a strong family relationship to return to. She’d thought it out and had ideas and plans for a smooth combination when the time came. Until then, she wanted to branch out a little, away from Los Angeles, away from Nashville, back to the basics. Time enough for marriage when the right man came along. For now, Amanda was satisfied with her career, her new ownership, and her plans for the future.
She walked back up the main street of town, smiling at others as they passed. One or two looked familiar. She had seen them before, though she didn't know their names. One she did know. She stopped to exchange a few words with Martin Roberts when they met.
'Settled in?' he asked.
'Sort of.' She smiled. 'I still have lots to do to fix it up, but it'll do until then.'
He shook his head. 'I could have found you a fine place, already in tip-top condition.'
'I like my little house,' she said gently.
'Um. Mac still wants to buy it, you know. Let me know if I can do anything for you.' He offered his hand.
'Thank you, Martin,' she replied, shaking it firmly.
On impulse, Amanda stopped in Chad's to tell the friendly clerk about her luck, or lack thereof, in panning for gold. She was welcomed warmly and offered more bits of advice which she promised to follow.
When she drew level with Paul's Pharmacy, Amanda paused. A cold drink would be just right, especially with the long walk ahead of her. It would take more than two hours before she'd reach home.
She pushed open the door. The soda fountain was along the left wall, a lazy ceiling fan giving an illusion of coolness. The establishment was practically deserted. The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet as she went to the counter.
She had a cold Coke, ignoring the curious glances she received. A stranger in town was always cause for comment. When finished, she wandered across to the book racks and perused the bright covers of the ones on display. If she got one or two, she could take them back to read in the evenings. Being alone was a fine holiday, but sometimes one got just a trifle bored.
Amanda selected three, a mystery, a romance, and a book on plant life in the Sierras. A young girl waited on her, reminding Amanda of the clerk from Chad's.
'You have Mrs. Rosefeld's place now, don't you?' the girl asked as she took the books.
Amanda smiled. 'Yes, that's right. Do you think anyone will ever call it Mandy's place? Or only after I have left?'
The girl giggled at this. 'Probably soon as you leave. That'll be ten fifty for the books.'
Amanda set off for home. The walk back was definitely more fatiguing than the walk to town had been. Still, the quiet fragrant beauty of the wooded land gave a peaceful air of serenity as Amanda trudged along. The sun was high in the sky, with little shade on the roadside, and no air stirred the limbs of the pines as she made her way uphill.
It was a long, hot walk. Arriving at her cabin, Amanda's first task was a quick shower. She dressed in cool shorts and a brief top, planning only to sit out on the deck with one of her new books, to enjoy the quiet before dinner, soak up the atmosphere of this little area of the country.
Preparing lemonade to take with her, she heard a car door slam. Leaving the glass on the counter in the kitchen, she walked through to the front, picking up her glasses as she passed the table. Through the window she could see a large red car, late model. Who could it be?
There came a rap at the door.
Amanda opened it to a slender, elderly, white- haired lady. She was dressed in a cool, lemon yellow dress, and sensible, yet stylish white shoes.
'Hello,' Amanda said.
'Are you Mandy Smith?' The visitor's voice was rich and pleasant.
'Yes.'
'Well, how do you do? I'm Elizabeth Burke. I've come to welcome you to Timber.'
'How nice. Do come in. Unless you'd rather sit on the porch?' There were chairs on the porch. Where would her visitor sit if she came inside?
'
No, never held with baking in the sun. Dries your skin. Hm. Haven't changed the old place much yet, have you? Nice colors you added, though. Still, a lot could be done.' Elizabeth Burke entered and made her way regally to a dining chair. She sat gracefully, fixing her attention on Amanda.
'I confess I was very curious to meet you. I have heard a great deal about you and wanted to see first hand,' she said, studying Amanda for a long moment. Then she smiled.
Amanda did not know how to answer that. She moved to sit on another chair, facing her visitor, and waited.
'Tell me about yourself,' Elizabeth invited. 'You don't look like a hippie to me, except for those glasses, maybe.'
Amanda made a face. 'You've been talking to Mac Mackenzie, I bet. He thinks I'm a hippie.'
Elizabeth smiled and nodded. 'Yes to both. He's convinced Cora gave you this place just to plague him. He's wanted it for years, you see.'
'Well, Cora most certainly did not give it to me. I'm sorry he wanted it, but I have it and it is not available for sale.'
Elizabeth's smile grew wider. 'If you talk to him that way, it's no wonder he gets so fired up discussing you.'
Amanda made no reply but her curiosity seethed. Who was this woman and why was Mac discussing anything with her?
'He's very upset with your presence, you know. Not only because of wanting the property. You’re the first woman he’s really had to deal with in ages who apparently doesn’t fall over yourself to please him. Plus, he thinks you’re corrupting his son.'
Amanda started to answer when she realized exactly what Elizabeth had said.
'Corrupting his son? How ridiculous. What next? I only offered to teach John-Michael how to play the guitar. Is that corruption?'
'Only if you are a hippie, which Mac thinks you are.' She surveyed the younger woman. 'How did you start teaching John-Michael anyway?'
'I was playing one day when he came by. One thing led to another and I agreed to show him the basics.'
Nodding her head, Elizabeth asked, 'And you do play well, don't you?'
'Well enough,' Amanda replied cautiously.
'Yes, and sing, I understand.'
Bluebells on the Hill Page 5