All her father’s stories, all the things Amie believed in as a child and forgot how to after his death, all the things she had seen since coming here affirmed the fact her family wasn’t as crazy as she’d believed. They weren’t one step away from an institution for all the little quirks typical of them. Even though she now believed it, had seen the truth with her own eyes, accepted it with a peace she hadn’t felt in ages, it would be some time before she understood it.
…
Underhill usually brought her a breakfast tray when Uncle Henry was around, so this was Amie’s first visit to the kitchens for her morning meal. She was surprised when the first face she saw upon entering was Slaine Cutterworthy. Rushing into the room, she exclaimed, “Why aren’t you at the Hogswillows’?”
Slaine pulled his pipe from between his lips, the corner of his mouth tilting to reveal time-worn teeth. “Well met, Jessamiene Wenderdowne. But have you been taking my advice now?”
“Advice?” She paused, glancing briefly at the faces turned to meet her entrance. No one else remained in the kitchens for breakfast this morning, not even Cook. Come to think of it, he had seemed a little off the past few days, Amie noted. Bringing her attention back to the elusive, ever contrarily stoic Cutterworthy grinning up at her, she hesitated, not sure he would give her a straight answer. “Slaine?”
No crazy Alice in Wonderland riddles today, please!
“Aye, lass, what’s yer trouble?” Slaine gleefully replied with another puff of his pipe.
“Do I look different to you today?” She pulled self-consciously at the curls now trailing past her breasts and grimaced.
Slaine smirked, his good eye sweeping over her person until returning to meet her fears head on. “Depends, lass. Do ye be looking akin to how ye was before or is this simply the true Jessamiene I see before me?”
I should have known better than to expect to get a straight answer out of Yoda here.
Sighing, she plopped down across from him and wondered again why Uncle Henry had sent his driver home without him. “So where is Uncle Henry, again?” Changing subjects seemed to be a favorite tactic in Silver Hollow, which Amie was inclined to try herself.
“Ye already ken where he is, lass,” Slaine said, before looking up to greet a passing servant. At last she turned to find a fresh wave of uniformed men and women rushing through the kitchen on their way to their next chore. Some were laden with bouquets of freshly picked flowers while others carried split logs to the many hearths of the house.
Amie sipped the tea she had poured from the porcelain pot and commented, “I don’t see what’s got them so riled up. Uncle Henry isn’t coming home for at least another day and they act like they’re expecting an army.”
Slaine’s barking laugh earned him a raised brow and pointed glare. Wiping the tears from his eyes he said, “Oh, lassie, if ye only knew…Suppose in a way of speaking you would be right. Never mind. I can’t be giving the telling of that which must not be spoken.” Dripping sarcasm and the twitch of his thick gray eyebrows kept the words from sounding ridiculous and succeeded in making her grin.
“So where do they come from anyway? It’s like they popped out of the woodwork. I swear I never see half the people who work here. Whenever I do they’re too busy bowing and curtsying for me to keep track.”
“Some live in the East Wing, as their father’s fathers did. The rest come from the village.”
Amie frowned. “So where is Silver Hollow exactly?” This was something that had been nagging her at the back of her mind for days now.
“For certain you’re a part of it now!” Slaine slapped the table with a low chuckle. “Wenderdowne be the lighthouse of the land, one might say. The village isn’t too far from here. But Silver Hollow is the land around you, far as the eye can see. Ye won’t be finding it on any map or fancy machines though. It’s been the border land long as I’ve heard tell, and we are its caretakers. Though some is more concerned with others’ business instead of their own troubles. ”
Amie turned her porridge over in her bowl, focusing her befuddlement. Reaching into her dress pocket, she felt the cool metal of the key. It bore her family crest and Amie believed the stranger she had run into this morning had planted on the street, somehow. There was no other explanation for a key with her family crest turning up in small-town Texas.
“Slaine, do you know anything about keys?” Amie heard the words fall off her lips and instantly regretted them.
What are you doing, Wenderdowne? You haven’t even told Henry about that day…
Slaine perked up the moment he heard her words and stared through the table itself, as if he could see the key her fingers were wrapped around. Amie knew then she was lucky he hadn’t said anything about her father’s ring stuck to her finger. This disturbed her, because she couldn’t shake the thought he might have expected this.
Smiling with glee over her reaction, Slaine said, “I am old, mark me now, Jessamiene, though not in the way you think. I have seen many keys in my time, of many different make and size,” he added, pointing to his eyes, a creeping grin parting his craggy face. “Why do ye ask? Have ye followed my advice then, to go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”
“Yeah, more than you know,” she replied, recalling the strange creature that had shocked her with its energy. She tried to shake her memory of the library and running into the house ghost immediately after, but knew if she mentioned the ghost later found and saved her life last night, even Slaine would think she was crazy.
His words troubled her, for reasons she couldn’t pin down. She thought of keys and the hidden library and the giant feather tucked behind her bookcase. Now Slaine was back she wanted to wander the grounds, into the places Henry had warned her off of.
Chapter 20
Dark & Stormy Night
Deciding it would be safer to try visiting the hidden library after the servants were asleep, Amie chose to walk the grounds until dark. She’d had enough of gloomy corridors with their dangerous secrets for now. As long as the weather lasted she would spend her time outside.
She recalled her short lessons with the grounds master and was confident she could do as well alone. Slaine had shown her how to feed the horses, how to properly mount them, no easy feat in skirts, and how to brush them down after a long day. When he told Amie the stallion she had fought with belonged to her now she had named him Jellybean.
She began at the stables and noticed Eddie’s obvious stare and the tall black horse that made Bean look mulish in comparison. She had seen the inside of the stables before and the many creatures they kept in their respective stalls. Besides the two Clydesdales, Jellybean and Antigone, there was the quarter horse Billy and the two smaller gleaming thoroughbreds Amie had first met on a misty platform what felt like months ago.
She had never seen Uncle Henry’s horse and supposed the black giant could be his. He couldn’t have returned early. Yet she had no other explanation for the extraordinary creature’s sudden appearance, any more than she could explain the strange sounds that often came from the other end of the stables. Past the stalls where the milk cow Darcy and her two calves were kept, a high wooden gate only had windows at the top. Though lamplights often glowed from the other side, Amie hadn’t found the courage or the will to know why she heard such strange careening screeches, moans and oddly deep brays and growls.
Without Slaine there to overshadow the presence of the stable’s darker underground half, she turned outdoors once more. Bean seemed satisfied with the fruit she stole from the kitchens and she could always walk him later. She felt the need to use a different set of forgotten muscles today.
It wasn’t especially warm these days. Curiously enough, the air felt different than it had on her arrival. The winds blew harder from the north, and Amie’s body sensed the coming autumn with mixed emotions. She’d kept close track of the days. Summer shouldn’t have ended so soon. Maybe the northern English climate fell into the cold months easier?
Her
gray cloak billowed in the wind, fought to escape its flimsy ties. Once again, Amie wanted to seriously hurt the brilliant genius who decided women should only wear a thick curtain around their shoulders to keep warm. Without Underhill to make the necessary plait in her hair, Amie left it unbound and tossing madly with each northeastern gust.
She couldn’t care too much really. The sky was a smoky purple after a dripping golden sun slid into its bed. Night came sooner here so far north. Some stars already glistened in the bleary sky, reminding her of the pouch in her pocket and the emergent hope tending her thoughts all day.
Occasionally rain would break from the clouds’ lofty grip, dropping a translucent curtain of cool mist, and where most girls would have rushed for warmth inside, Amie savored every drop. She’d grown used to the elements in her short acquaintance with the outdoors. It reminded her of endless childhood summers spent swimming in the lakes, sweating it out while running tirelessly through her favorite haunts. The differences between the sunburnt little girl and the cloaked woman she had become troubled her. And with troubling thoughts came the sort of ominous foreboding only nature and a dark mood could trigger.
By the time she unbuckled her memories and threw them in the empty field behind, her skirt was muddy and drenched nearly to her knees, her boots caked. One glance at the towering forest she fringed along was enough to make her change her mind about exploring farther.
Dinner would be fast approaching and Amie didn’t want to be caught out at night. Too many bad and unexplained things tended to happen here once the sun went down. Peering through the forbidding trees once more, she froze in her tracks and gasped. A lone figure watched her among the wooden giants, its cloak hanging over its head so she couldn’t tell its identity. Yet the eyes were on her, unflinching and curious. Amie pinched her arm to make certain she wasn’t dreaming. Amie turned to the main road. Her eyes flickered back to the forest but the hooded stranger was gone. Picking up her pace, Amie slipped around the other side of the stable and came back to the place she felt most safe.
The rains had picked up with a callous wind which carried a deeper chill in the bleak air. Amie couldn’t shake off the cold no matter how tightly she dragged the cloak around her. As she darted under the lamplit shelter of the stables she mumbled to herself, “If they’d actually let us wear real jackets or real clothes I wouldn’t have to use a fancy blanket to keep warm!”
The stables were empty when she walked beneath the single lamp’s glow and shadows prevailed over all the comfort she generally felt in the beasts’ company. Wenderdowne’s miniature menagerie was eerily silent, watching her with solemn eyes, knowing something beyond her understanding.
Ignoring their behavior, Amie walked confidently over to Jellybean and pulled out the fruit she had stolen from the kitchens earlier. Palm open to his warm velvety nose, she grinned up at the Clydesdale, whose shoulder her chin barely met. “Here you are, boy.” Patting his nose gently with her free hand, she said, “Sorry it took me so long to get back. I know I promised you a good walk, but you know how Slaine is about our way of riding.”
Bean cocked his head to the side to better meet her eye as though trying to tell her he understood better than she thought. Amie couldn’t help but press her cheek against his and savor the rare physical affection. Her nerves were still rattled from the ghost she caught watching her in the woods.
Enough nonsense, girlfriend, you’re already crazy. Let’s not make it worse.
She opened her eyes regretfully and realized the black stallion was penned in the stall next to her. The powerful muscled animal was nearly as tall as her Clydesdale, its rippling black mane falling into its eyes as it tossed its head and tested its new barracks. Amie stepped back as the stallion whinnied roughly and as if seeing her for the first time, lifted its head and stamped its hooves into the packed earth. Hands held out in front of her, Amie approached the door. She couldn’t explain why, but there was something ethereally beautiful about this horse, tempting almost. She wanted to touch the gleaming coat even now beneath its layer of half-brushed mud and see if it were soft as velvet.
The beast shuffled again once her hand moved past the stall door, its eye never leaving hers. Inexplicably drawn, the stallion cocked its head and came to meet her open palm. Amie smiled when the soft nose slid into her hand and, daring to take a step closer, scratched what she could reach of its tall neck and whispered, “There, you aren’t so rough and rowdy as you seem.” The stallion’s eye bore into hers and beneath her touch he calmed at last, nipped at her cloak. Amie followed his motion. “I know, sad, isn’t it? I could have made one of these out of a curtain.” She laughed at her favorite movie reference. “I’m Amie.”
And from the shadows behind the stallion a deep voice answered, “Well met, Jessamiene Wenderdowne.”
Amie jumped back and clutched the ring hidden beneath her dress with a shout, shaking her head at the beast. Amie pointed an accusing finger at the black horse and her eyes darted madly to the nearby stalls. “Okay, please tell me that didn’t come from you!”
The voice chuckled, “Now that would be something miraculous, wouldn’t it? A talking horse?”
“Ha, you’re hilarious! Better show yourself before I get Mr. Cutterworthy back here and you find some real trouble.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she gasped when a very tall man edged his way from the back end of the stallion, brush in hand. The lamplight could not illuminate this end of the stable so well, so the dark figure could have stayed concealed if he chose.
Once Amie realized this she refused to forgive him for his obvious excuse. “You could have let me know you were here. How long were you watching me?” She took a step forward. He took another back, rested his arms on the shoulder of his steed and continued to draw the brush through its netted hair. Yet his eyes, dark as the creature he tended, burned like hot coals when she came closer.
“I didn’t want to frighten you.” Once more, the amusement was strong in his locally tainted voice. Again something tingled in the back of her mind, something familiar.
Why am I getting a sense of déjà vu?
Amie rested her hands on the short door. “Is this your horse?”
He refused to meet her eyes again, yet each covert glance he gave when she wasn’t looking spoke volumes. “Yes.”
“What’s his name?” Her irritation was fading, replaced by nagging curiosity. His voice and those dark eyes were so familiar.
After a tense pause he tilted his head to consider her. “Ambrose.”
Amie smiled when Ambrose turned his head to nip at her cloak again. “I wondered if Uncle had come home first.” His eyes had not left hers yet and were brewing storms so bleak and terrible Amie had to look away. Frowning into Ambrose’s mane, she asked, “So how long are you staying? Sorry Uncle isn’t home. He shouldn’t be gone long, a day or two more, Slaine said.” She thought she saw the trace of a grin on his hidden features but then his chin tucked and his gaze faltered.
Drawing the brush slowly, he confessed, “Your uncle Henry called in a favor when he sent me.”
Digging her fingers into the wood, Amie couldn’t help her childish slap at the hollow boards. “Sent you? To do what, babysit me?” She received a hidden smirk from their strange guest for her troubles. The end of her rant might have sounded like desperation.
The lamplight caught the stranger’s eyes then, unveiling pits of endless black bleeding into his irises and drawing her helplessly in. She clenched her fists to fight it when his voice followed roughly yet softly. “You might have thought by now his absence puts you at an advantage, aye?” When she blinked numbly up at him he chuckled and shook his head. “Without the watchful eyes of your guardian you are free to go snooping around for answers. ’Tis what you’ve been doing, is it not?”
Heat flooded into Amie’s cheeks. She hated the fair skin and naturally rosy cheeks that made her blush apparent. “Well, if no one’s going to tell me anything then I have to find my answers somehow.”
/> “Yes, and once you think you’ve found the answers, something happens which changes everything you thought you believed, leaving ye to make sense of it all.”
“Yeah.” She shivered as the damp air seeped through her clothes, the scar on her chest pulsing painfully.
He turned to face her, standing on the other side of the door. “I am sorry for the loss you have known, Jessamiene. Too many wounds can rip apart the shell we’re made of. After you’ve been beaten enough times what is left over?”
It was a random, strange conversation Amie Wenderdowne was having with a stranger, and yet she knew he understood more about her with one glance than most could in a lifetime. The feeling this left her with made her uncomfortable and desperate to run away.
So why do I already crave more?
After a silence that seemed to last for days he offered a large weather-worn hand stretched into her vision, palm up. “I’m Emrys.”
She stared at the man’s hand, too rugged to belong to a gentleman like Uncle Henry. Yet there was something noble about him which made her reach back and cringe at the jolt of pain surging up her arm from the juncture of their skins. At his gasp her eyes were drawn to his face.
I can’t believe I’m that oblivious!
Jumping back she shouted, “You!”
His lips drew up into a wicked smirk. “Aye, me.” When he began to laugh Amie regretted ever being kind to him.
“Just what is so funny about this? Huh? I’d like to know!”
He shook his head, gathering his wits again. “Wouldn’t you though?”
“You’re the one who’s been stalking me!”
He grimaced and held up a finger with his long arm and said, “Correction, protecting my charge. Stalking sounds like too many sixty-minute specials.”
Silver Hollow Page 13