“Did not.” Eyes flashing with wicked merriment, Amaranth sauntered off while sampling the offerings Samual had put on her plate.
“I’m really looking forward to seeing the Devil’s Pulpit,” Samual said as he handed Jovianna her treats. “Never been here before.”
“Finnich Glen is gorgeous.” Jovianna selected a dark orange chunk of cheese, hoping it was her favorite cheddar. It was. “This is one of Amaranth’s and my favorite spots to visit.”
“Might I ask you something?” He glanced over at Amaranth, then leaned in close. “Have you always called your mother by her name?”
Jovianna smiled, noting that even though her mother appeared to be casually admiring the gorge and ignoring them, the sly old minx still stayed well within earshot. “When I was a surly bratling of about thirteen and thought both my parents were idiots, I decided to call them by their names to distance them and hurt their feelings. Much to my angst and displeasure, they both embraced the idea with gusto. Totally deflated my plan to torment them. After a while, I tired of the plan and reverted to Mother and Father.” A self-deprecating laugh escaped her as she recalled that day. “Father couldn’t have cared less what I called him as long as we continued our robust discussions during tea. Mother decided she enjoyed being called by her name. Said it not only made her feel younger but would make it easier to pretend she didn’t know me whenever I was impossibly rude.”
“I shall strive to remember her example if ever I become a parent.” Samual finished the last of his apple while casting an admiring glance at Amaranth. “Quite the lady, your mother.”
“That she is.” Pride and love filled Jovianna. “I would truly be lost without her.”
Amaranth returned, hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders, and gave them both a curt nod. “Let’s go before the weather turns. A little rain won’t be a bother, but if it pours, our day will be over before it’s good and started.”
“I’ve got the ropes,” Jovianna said as she settled her gear in place. “Shall we show him Jacob’s Ladder or take him down our favorite way?”
Amaranth turned to Samual. “Have you ever rappelled?”
“No.” He eyed her as though suddenly regretting his decision to join them.
Pity for him moved Jovianna to take the lead and head for the precarious footpath of ancient stone steps that descended into the gorge. “Come on, then. We’ll use Jacob’s Ladder, and you can hold the rope there if it’s still in place. But mind your footing. The rocks are wicked steep and will try to throw you. That’s why some call them the Devil’s Steps.”
“Bloody hell,” Samual said halfway down. “They get worse the farther we go.”
Jovianna couldn’t help but smile. She might be clumsy as a newborn colt in the classroom or out in public, but put her in the wild and she became as surefooted as a mountain goat. She filled her lungs with the primordial scents of damp earth, lush vegetation, and the indescribable ancientness of the area. Ages of legend and folklore wrapped around her like an exciting bedtime story. The whooshing gurgle of the rushing water urged her to hurry to come and play. Emerald moss and tangled snarls of vines and saplings welcomed her back, promising to hide her from the world and all of its problems.
“The water really is crimson,” Samual said, his voice filled with awe.
“It’s the red sandstone.” Jovianna scooped up a handful of the crystal wetness and let it trickle through her fingers. “See? Not a river of blood, as rumored.”
“Shame on you, Jovianna,” Amaranth scolded. “Ruining the legend for the boy.” She pulled a pair of telescoping hiking poles from her pack, extended them to the desired length, then twisted their handles to lock them in place. “I brought an extra pair, Samual. Would you like to use them? The shallows can be quite slippery.”
“No, thank you,” he replied, but didn’t sound too sure.
“That means she likes you,” Jovianna teased as she centered a headlamp on her forehead, tightened the strap, then clicked on the light. “She doesn’t mind if I take a dousing.”
“You two take this place quite seriously.” Samual wiped his hands on the seat of his pants while eyeing their headlamps, walking sticks, and fingerless gloves with grips on the palms. “I thought we’d just wade around a bit and admire the rock formations. Is where we are headed that treacherous?”
“It can be.” Jovianna resettled her poles and pondered suggesting that perhaps he should return to their picnic site and wait for them to return. She didn’t want to hurt his pride but also didn’t relish the idea of having to call for a rescue squad to helicopter him out of the gorge should he get hurt. “Did you happen to bring your biking helmet?”
“You’re not wearing helmets.” He looked from her to her mother. And whether it was the poor lighting or reflections off the water, he seemed red in the face, as if taken with fever. “Do you think I’ll need one?”
“Helmets are where I toss caution to the wind,” Jovianna said. “I simply don’t like them.” A light peppering of rain across the water gave her an idea. She pointed a walking stick at the staircase. “Looks like the rain’s come early. You should save our picnic for us. Get it under cover.” She fished her keys out of a side pocket of her backpack and tossed them to him. “You can put them in the Rover, if you like.”
He looked both relieved and deflated as he caught the keys and started backing toward the steps. “I believe I will. Don’t wait for me. I’d hate to be the reason you didn’t get in the full walk you wished.”
“Mind the steps, young man,” Amaranth said. “This light rain makes them even more treacherous.”
“Thank you, I will.” Samual started up the already muddy walkway, then turned back and gave them both an embarrassed smile. “I’ll have your treats waiting. Don’t be too long.”
“We’ll be back before you know it.” Jovianna offered him an understanding nod before turning away and moving farther down the stream. Poor Samual. No more worries about advances from that one. Not after emasculating him with Finnich Glen.
“We should be ashamed,” Amaranth said as she caught up with her. “Poor boy.”
“I know, but it’s not like I invited him out here and then turned on him. I just didn’t want him hurt.” Jovianna used her poles to tap out the rocks under the moving water. The rain pelted down harder, as if scolding her to go back to the cars and apologize. Adjusting her headlamp to the highest setting, she tipped her face skyward. “Should we go on or not?”
Her mother glanced upward, squinting at the tiny patch of sky visible through the thick foliage meeting across the top of the gorge. “Hard to say. It doesn’t look that dark. With any luck, it will blow over. I’d love to at least get to the Devil’s Pulpit and take a picture to post on my birthday. I want folks to understand that age is just a number. Your mindset is what matters.”
“Onward, then.” Jovianna led the way. Her mother feared nothing, and it made Jovianna proud and determined to be just like her. The rain fell harder, sluicing down through the leaves. A soft rumbling of thunder in the distance gave Jovianna pause. Fearless was one thing, foolhardy quite another. She eyed the rising water and increase in bubbling froth as it dumped into the deeper pools and created swirling eddies. The Devil’s Pulpit, the rocky outcropping that legends named as the place where Satan himself addressed his followers in the crimson-hued water, was still a little way ahead.