Midnight at the Blackbird Cafe

by Heather Webber

  I dropped a plate of home fries at a table, then went around the room to refill coffee cups. Other than Mr. Lazenby, Pebbles, and Faylene, I didn’t recognize the rest of people in the café, but by their discussions I’d picked up that they were only in town to see the blackbirds.

  Mr. Lazenby had been here for close to three hours now, and each time I passed by him to refill his mug or drop off a plate, he grumbled about mulberry stems. You’d think I’d asked him to destem a whole tree instead of a small bunch of berries.

  I’d talked to Bow and Jena about the mulberries earlier, but they didn’t know too much other than that Zee looked forward to harvesting them each year. They had never seen her preserve, process, or freeze them, or do anything other than gather them when ripe. She never made mulberry pies, either, which I thought was strange.

  “Order up!” Bow thumped the countertop.

  I hurried into the kitchen, dropped off the coffee pot, and picked up two plates laden with johnnycakes, a type of cornmeal pancake, according to Bow, topped with brown butter apples, the day’s special. “Thanks, Bow.”

  “You holding up okay out there?” he asked.

  Surprisingly, I was. Maybe because there were more birders than locals, and I wasn’t the focus of everyone’s undivided attention. I’d fielded only a few questions about my life, so word must be getting around town on its own. And I’d dropped only two plates and one mug. “Better today than yesterday.”

  Jena bit back a yawn as she set another sheet of biscuits in the oven—she’d been yawning all morning, saying she’d woken up earlier than usual to tend to a friend. It didn’t help that she’d been pulling double duty this morning—helping in the kitchen and the dining room. “And tomorrow will be better than today, just you wait and see. You fit right in here.”

  I didn’t know about that, since I’d had no idea what a johnnycake was, but it was nice not to feel like a complete outsider.

  As I delivered the plates, I spotted Natalie outside in the crowd. She waved when she saw me, and I pointed to the back door. She ducked out of line and disappeared around the side of the café. I dreaded telling her that there would be no pie today.

  “Was that…?” Faylene stood up, then sat back down. “I’ll be. It is Natalie.” She turned to me. “You know Natalie?”

  A hush fell over the locals, but the chatter from the birders kept steady, covering the sudden awkwardness. “I met her yesterday. At the park.”

  I glanced at Mr. Lazenby, and even he seemed on the edge of his seat. “What did she have to say?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Pebbles said, leaning in. “Do tell.”

  I wiped my hands on my hip apron. “Well, not all that much. She asked me to save her a piece of pie.”

  “Pie? Oh.” Faylene pressed her hand to her heart. “The dear, dear thing.” She turned to the table, including all the strangers, and said, “Natalie’s husband passed away one year, seven months, and four days ago, thereabouts. A tragic, tragic accident. Drowned in Lake Martin, and search and rescue didn’t find his body for two whole days.”

  A sad murmur echoed down the table, and my eyes stung with tears, though I hadn’t even known the man. Then I realized that I wasn’t hurting for him—I was hurting for Natalie. And little Ollie. Especially Ollie. I knew what it was like to grow up without a father.

  Mr. Lazenby straightened his green-striped bow tie. “I’d forgotten about that.”

  Pebbles said, “I didn’t know Natalie was back in town. How long is she planning on staying? How old is her girl now?”

  “Just under two, and I’m not sure,” Faylene said. “Unless Natalie’s relationship with Seelie has changed, I’m guessing they won’t be here long. Like oil and water, those two, especially when Natalie was a teenager.”

  “She’s going to be mad about the pie,” Mr. Lazenby said, as if his brain had only now caught up to that part of what I’d said. Then his eyes brightened. “Hold up now, Miss Anna Kate. You said the pie would be fixed tomorrow—will you put aside a piece for me? I’ll pay extra.”

  Behind him, Pebbles shook her head so vigorously I thought for sure she was going to end up with whiplash—she wasn’t the least bit sorry he hadn’t been getting his heavenly messages from his dearly departed wife.

  “Sorry, Mr. Lazenby,” I said, not feeling too badly. I knew he’d be waiting at the door at dawn—there would be plenty of pie for him to choose from. “First come, first served. Café rules.”

  Indignantly, he sputtered, “But you were going to save a piece for Miss Natalie!”

  “Family members are exempt from that rule,” I said, then walked away. But not before I heard a squeal out of Faylene.

  “Family? Did you hear that! Anna Kate is a Linden. I knew it. I just knew it.”

  “We all knew it,” Mr. Lazenby said grumpily.

  I smiled as I strode to the back door to greet Natalie—she was coming up the steps of the deck.

  “Come on in,” I said. “Excuse the madness. It’s a little busy.”

  “A little?” Natalie said. “It’s a nuthouse.”

  Bow said, “Who’re you calling nutty?”

  “Hi, Bow.” She gave him a big smile.

  He came over and gave her a bear hug. “Never thought I’d see you inside this place.”

  “Things change,” she said with a touch of sadness in her voice.

  “That they do,” he agreed solemnly. “It’s been too long.”

  “We sure did miss you,” Jena said, edging Bow out of the way with a jab of an elbow to hug her as well. “Where’s that sweet baby of yours?”

  “Ollie’s with my mother for the day.”

  “Well, isn’t that nice?” Jena said.

  Natalie said nothing in response—only gave a closed-lip smile and a guttural “Mm-hmm.”

  Her hair was pulled back the same way it had been yesterday—in a low side knot at her neck—and she wore the same gold stud earrings, and no other jewelry. Her summery floral dress had a boat-neck bodice, a thick belt, and a loose A-line skirt that twirled around her knees. Strappy black sandals looked freshly shined, and the chip in her toe polish had been painted over.

  She looked every bit a cultured southern beauty, from her perfect posture to her makeup to her clothing, but for some reason, I suspected it was all surface, and that she was, as she’d mentioned yesterday, a hot mess. At least on the inside.

  I said, “The bad news is that there isn’t any pie today. I’m really sorry. I messed up the recipe. But the good news is that I know what I did wrong, and there will be pie tomorrow.”

  I watched emotions play across her face, changing from unhappiness to acceptance to … relief?

  “Will you save me a piece tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks. I guess I should be going, then. I’m hoping to job hunt while Ollie is occupied. Do any of you know someone who’s hiring?”

  Bow stroked his beard, smoothing it in swift downward strokes, as was his way. “Times are tough right now. I can’t think of anyone looking for help.”

  Natalie winced.

  “Maybe down in Fort Payne,” Jena said. “The drive’s not too bad.”

  “I’d like something local, if possible,” Natalie said, clasping her hands together tightly. “Something walkable.”

  “Hmm,” Jena said, her gaze sliding to me. Her dark pencil-thin eyebrows went up, and her head tipped toward Natalie.

  I didn’t have anything against Natalie personally, but she was a Linden. I wasn’t sure I could face her day in and day out. The emotional toll …

  But then I saw something in Natalie’s eyes, a shimmering desperation that told me exactly how much she wanted—needed—a job.

  She needed help. The healer in me, the nurturer, couldn’t see that and walk away, even if she was a Linden.

  Damn it.

  I took a deep breath and said, “As long as the birders are around, we’re going to need extra help in the dining room a few days a wee
k, if you’re interested. It’d be temporary. Only until the birders finally get their fill of the blackbirds and leave.” Or I did. Whichever came first.

  Jena grinned ear to ear, and I tried not to roll my eyes at her.

  Natalie brightened and pressed her clasped hands to her chest. “I’m interested. I have to be honest, though. I don’t have any experience as a server—but I’m a quick learner who isn’t afraid of hard work.”

  Undoubtedly, she could have said she was allergic to coffee, pie, and people, and I probably would have offered the position to her anyway—that’s how deeply the call to comfort ran in Callow blood. “Sounds like you’re as qualified as I am,” I said. “When can you start?”

  “Today,” she said with a smile. “Right now.”

  “I don’t want to be the voice of doom and gloom, but what of Ollie? Have you checked out daycare for her?” Jena asked. “And … Seelie? I can’t imagine she’d approve of you working here, knowing how she feels about the café.”

  Natalie’s back straightened, ramrod stiff. “I … don’t know. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I know someone who might be able to help with Ollie…” Her gaze drifted to the dining room and softened. Then it hardened immediately when she said, “My mother is another matter, but I’m old enough now to make my own decisions.”

  If her voice hadn’t caught on the word “own,” I would have bought her Miss Independent act, but it had and now I wondered how much say she had in her own life.

  It was none of my business, I reminded myself. More so because Natalie was a Linden. My arm’s-length policy was more imperative now than ever. Even though I was breaking my resolve not to have anything to do with the Lindens by hiring Natalie, that’s where it ended. She was an employee. I’d be friendly. That’s it.

  Bow whistled low. “Look at you, all grown up. Seems like only yesterday you were just a bitty thing, helping us tend our gardens.”

  “We all have to grow up sometime, don’t we?” she said.

  “Some sooner than others.” Jena pulled biscuits from the oven as she looked over her shoulder at us.

  “How about this,” I suggested. “You help out today, see if you even like the job, and then we’ll go from there once you’ve had some time to think on it.”

  “A good plan,” Jena said with a firm nod. She grabbed an apron from the rack near the back door and tossed it at Natalie. “Welcome to the Blackbird. Now get to gettin’. We’ve got customers waitin’.”

  “Thank you, Anna Kate, for giving me a chance.” Natalie threw her arms around me.

  I sighed and gave in to the hug but quickly wiggled free. “You’re welcome.”

  Most of the diners were oblivious to us, but there were a handful watching our every move. Faylene dabbed at her eyes. Between those tears and Natalie’s hug, something deep inside me started to ache, a pain I remembered well.

  It occurred every time I started making friends in a new place, knowing I’d eventually have to leave them behind. Whether it be a few months or six months or even a year, I always had to leave, for one reason or another, and it always hurt. Once, when Mom and I moved to a small town in Pennsylvania when I was in middle school, I decided I wasn’t going to make any friends. I planned to be a loner for six months, to save myself the pain of it all. That had backfired spectacularly, because all I’d learned was that the pain of denying oneself friends was worse than leaving them when it was time to go.

  Over time, I developed an arm’s-length approach that had worked well for years. Friendly, not friends. It still hurt to leave, but not quite as much. The downside, of course, was that I lived a rather lonely life. It was a small price to pay to protect my emotional well-being.

  I needed to be more careful here in Wicklow and not grow too attached. The last thing I wanted was to add to my grief when I left town in a couple of months.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I pushed those thoughts aside for now and got back to work. Extra hands made quick work of the lunch crowd. Natalie turned out to be a decent server, personable, strong, and quick on her feet. She dealt with the shock of locals seeing her working here much better than I would have, laughing off the slew of questions with grace.

  The most common one wondering if her mother knew she was here.

  Between that and Bow’s comment about never thinking he’d see Natalie inside the café made me wonder if the Blackbird had always been as forbidden to her as it had been to me.

  Things change, Natalie had said.

  I couldn’t agree more.

  10

  Anna Kate

  An hour after closing the café for the day, I ventured toward the south end of Mountain Laurel Lane, toward the limestone courthouse that anchored it. Its grounds had a small outdoor amphitheater that hosted concerts, movie nights, plays, and was home to the playground where I’d run into Natalie the day before. According to Bow and Jena, the inside of the courthouse held all of the town’s administrative offices, the police station, two courtrooms, and the public library, which was my destination.

  There was a trio of people at the amphitheater, setting up a screen for tonight’s Movie in the Moonlight event, a showing of Peter Pan. A big banner strung across wide wooden doors touted the Fourth of July carnival. There’d be festival rides, abundant food and music, arts and crafts, and, of course, fireworks—all sponsored by something called the Refresh Committee. I noted, too, that the events taking place on the lawn were sponsored by the same group.

  Across from the courthouse to the west was a small motel, its lot full, its NO VACANCY sign flashing neon red. It was flanked by several boarded-up storefronts. The only other businesses still open in that strip were a laundromat and an Italian restaurant that many locals had informed me was the town’s favorite pizza place. No one had ever mentioned that it also happened to be the only pizza place, but that didn’t surprise me much. It had become clear in my short time here that the residents of Wicklow tended to focus on what they had rather than what they had not.

  To the courthouse’s eastern side, there were more boarded storefronts, a small general store, and a hardware and farm store. Most of the houses I could see from this spot were in want of TLC, needing new roofs or fresh paint. Or both. Fences leaned and lawns grew long.

  A uniformed policeman came out of the courthouse just as I reached the top of the steps, and he stepped back to hold open the door for me. Tall and brawny, he had a barrel chest, wide shoulders, and a nose that looked like it had been broken a time or two. A gun was clipped at his hip, a shoulder mic rested near his strong chin, and he wore a dark cap that shaded bright blue eyes.

  “You’re Anna Kate, aren’t you?” he said with a smile, then he stuck out a big hand. “I’m Josh Kolbaugh. Faylene Wiggins’s son-in-law.”

  I should have known who he was, simply from Faylene’s very apt description of him being a “big bear of a man.” He was quite bearish. Practically a grizzly. “Marcy’s husband, right?”

  He kept on smiling. “Yes, ma’am. You’re a quick learner. I imagine you’ve been meeting lots of people this past week. It’s not easy keeping track of names and faces.”

  The “ma’am”s were killing me slowly. “It helps that Faylene told me all about you and Marcy and Lindy-Lou, not four hours ago.” She’d practically talked my ear off, and every time I’d leave to tend to another diner, Faylene would pick up right where she’d left off when I came back. She was making my friendly policy really difficult.

  “Heck,” he said, “you probably know my life story better than I do by now.”

  “Not quite. Maybe by the end of next week.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Humor flashed in his eyes. “Are you going inside? You need help finding something? It’s a maze in there and not well marked.”

  “The library?”

  He pointed. “Go straight this way, turn right at the first hallway, left at the next, up the flight of steps, and around the corner. Can’t miss it.”

  “Straight, right, up, l
eft, around.” I stepped through the doorway. “Got it.”

  Shaking his head, he used his right hand as a directional tool, as if we were playing charades. “Straight, right, left, up, then around.”

  I hoped this excursion didn’t turn out like my afternoon outing the day before, or there might be need of a search party. “I’ll find it.” I sounded more confident than I felt. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He tipped his hat. “Have a good one, Anna Kate.”

  The door closed behind me, and I breathed in the scent of the old building, a combination of wax and dust and history mixed with a touch of mildew. My flip-flops slapped against marble floors, and the sound echoed against mahogany wainscoting. I turned right, then left, and then went up. And sure enough, there was the library. One of the double doors was held open with a plastic wedge.

  I stepped inside and immediately felt at ease, as though in the presence of close friends among the many books with their colorful spines, the towering wooden shelves, and the scent of old paper, mustiness, and memories. Growing up, I’d spent a lot of time in libraries—which had been sanctuaries in the hours between school letting out and when my mother came home from work.

  A middle-aged woman with pink streaks in her blond hair looked up from the checkout desk as I approached. “May I help you?”

  “Hi, yes. Does the library have a collection of old newspapers?”

  “Depends,” she said, clicking out of a computer screen to give me her full attention. “How long ago? There was a flood in the late nineties that wiped out nearly everything we had. We’ve been slowly piecing together what we can, but there are a lot of gaps.”

  “Twenty-five years ago.”

  She gave me an odd look, then said, “August, by any chance?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Wish I could say I was psychic, but sadly that’s not the case. Otherwise I’d probably be a lottery winner and not working here at the library. Not that I don’t love my job,” she added quickly, looking around as though her boss might be nearby. “Follow me.”