I smiled. Because Harry had slept in a cupboard under the stairs. I followed her inside and noticed the slanted ceiling—this room was also under the stairs. Long and narrow, an apartment-size refrigerator stood along one of the walls, but most of the space was lined with shelving. The far wall held canning supplies—empty jars and lids—but the rest of the shelves were stocked with processed mulberries in small jelly jars. I picked up a jar, held it to the light.
Summer stood back as I took it all in. She said, “Each jar has two tablespoons of mashed mulberries in it. The jars are processed with a simple syrup of sugar and water.”
There had to be a thousand jars in here. Maybe more. It was hard to tell with the way they were stacked. My eyes suddenly filled with tears thinking of how much love this room held.
“Each harvest makes near about five hundred jars. One jar makes six pies—one teaspoon per each since there’s three teaspoons in a tablespoon. A teaspoon’s worth doesn’t seem like enough to me, but Zee always said it was plenty.”
I hugged the jar to my chest. “Summer, I can’t even tell you what this means to me.”
“I’m just sorry I didn’t think of it earlier.”
“Better late than never,” I said, tucking the jar back on the shelf. “Bow and Jena will be here soon, so we should probably close this place back up.”
But I’d be back—later tonight, and I’d finally make the blackbird pies the way Zee had intended them to be made.
Summer gave me a quick lesson on how to operate the swinging door, and I hired her on the spot to help me gather this year’s mulberries when they were ready.
I was cutting into an apple pie to give her a slice when Bow and Jena came sailing through the back door.
“Where have you been hiding, Summer?” Bow asked as he grabbed an apron from the rack near the door. “Haven’t seen you in days.”
As he slid the apron over his head, it caught on his hair, tugging it away from his left ear. I noticed he had small scar along the upper curve.
“I haven’t been hiding,” Summer said, but looked quickly away.
I slid the pie into a to-go box, wondering about her strange reaction.
Jena tipped her head. “This isn’t about Natalie working here, is it?”
It seemed to me her melodious way of speaking had taken on an even softer tone.
Summer glanced at the back door. “I should be going.”
“Oh, sugar.” Jena shook her head. “Natalie’s just Natalie. Give her a chance.”
I handed Summer the pie box. “I don’t understand … you don’t like Natalie?”
“I don’t not like her,” Summer said. “I don’t really know her.”
“You’re not the only one who has issues with the Lindens,” Jena said to me.
“What did they do to you, Summer?” I asked.
“To me?” she said. “Nothing. To my dad…”
Jena said, “Seelie didn’t much approve of Aubin, either.”
A bright flash of anger went through me. “Does she approve of anyone?”
“A few,” Jena said with a smile. “But, Summer, honey, Natalie isn’t her mama.”
Summer shrugged and looked away.
“Seems to me,” Bow said as he went about preheating the ovens, “there’s a whole lot of people around here carrying around a heap of pain tied to the past. Might be time to start letting that go and start healing.”
Jena said, “I agree.”
I crossed my arms. “Letting go is easier said than done.”
Summer nodded her agreement.
Jena patted my cheek. “But sweetie, letting go is the only way you can fly.”
Her words rang in my ears as I went for my purse to pay Summer before she left. I owed her for several days of eggs and also for the blackberries.
When I handed her the money, she said, “This is too much, Anna Kate.”
“No, it’s not. That was a huge container of blackberries you left here. Plus, the eggs. Don’t argue.”
She snapped her lips closed, then smiled. “Thank you. I can use the extra money for college.”
“College!” Jena cried. “I didn’t know you were leaving us. Where are you going? When?”
“’Bama,” Summer said with a shy smile. “In August.”
“Roll Tide!” Bow pumped a fist.
“Well, that’s just wonderful.” Jena beamed. “Good on you! I bet your daddy’s tickled.”
“He’s proud. Prouder than usual,” Summer added.
“What will you study?” Jena asked.
“I’m not sure yet. Ecology? Forestry? Something outdoorsy—I can’t imagine having a job in an office all day, all cooped up.”
I thought back to the first time I met her, with her reddish-purple fingers and filthy feet. Nature was her calling, no doubt about it.
“I have time to decide,” she said. “I’ll take general-ed courses my first year, then pick a major.”
Bow wiped his hands on a cloth. “If you need help moving down, you let me know.”
“I will,” she said. “Thanks.”
She offered her goodbyes and was on her way out when she abruptly turned around. “I almost forgot to give you this, Anna Kate.” She handed me an envelope. “It’s from my father.”
“What is it?” I asked, turning it over to see my name written out in scratchy penmanship.
“Don’t know. He only said to make sure I got it to you. Bye, all!” She went out the back door, and it slammed closed behind her.
“I really need to fix that,” Bow said, edging closer to me.
“Yes, you do,” Jena agreed as she sidled up. “What have you got there, Anna Kate?”
I laughed as they hovered, their blatant nosiness on full display. “Only one way to find out.” I slid my finger under the envelope’s flap and lifted it. Inside was a lone piece of lined paper, folded in thirds. I pulled it out, not sure what to expect. When I saw what he’d written, I couldn’t help feeling like I’d been given a wonderful gift.
A little taste of happiness for you, Anna Kate.—Aubin
Below it, he’d carefully written out his recipe for blackberry tea.
My gaze swept over the recipe as I took in every detail, but my head came up suddenly when someone pounded on the front door.
Mr. Lazenby had his face pressed to the glass.
Jena chuckled. “I think that’s for you, Anna Kate.”
Taking a deep breath, I tried to read Mr. Lazenby’s expression. If the mulberry syrup had worked, the pie he ate yesterday would have brought him a dream from his loved one last night.
I saw that he had tears in his eyes, and my heart sank as I pulled open the door. “It didn’t work?”
He ducked his chin, then stepped forward and threw his arms around me in a bear hug. “It worked just fine, Miss Anna Kate. Thank you.”
No one was more shocked than I was when I hugged him back.
13
“You live near here, don’t you?”
“Up the mountain a bit, in a cabin on Creek Hill,” Cam Kolbaugh said.
“Great area for photographing wildlife.” The reporter jotted a note.
Cam adjusted his camera strap. “Some of the best.”
“Have you managed to get any shots of the blackbirds?”
Cam reviewed the photos on his camera. “Haven’t been able to capture a clear shot quite yet.” He turned the screen toward the reporter.
“Blurry and hazy. Is that because it’s a night shot?”
Cam clicked a button, and the screen went black. His gaze shifted toward the back of the café, out the window to the mulberry trees. “I don’t think so.”
Natalie
“I should just cancel,” I said under my breath as I hotfooted it from the little house to my car parked at the far end of the driveway.
It had been a day.
Actually, it had been a week.
A week of dealing with my mother’s chill because I hadn’t asked her to watch Oll
ie while I worked at the café, which was in addition to her iciness that I had taken the part-time job in the first place.
There had been nonstop guests at the café—people who’d come to see the blackbirds, a phenomenon I admit I thought would fizzle within a few days but only seemed to be picking up steam.
I was already worried about Ollie’s swimming lesson the next morning and trying my hardest not to think of her going under the water and not coming back up.
On top of it all, I was dreading the appointment I had with the grief counselor down in Fort Payne this afternoon. I’d almost canceled three times in the last few days and was currently mulling it again.
Even the thought of talking about Matt dredged up emotions I’d rather keep tamped down. It was easier that way. I’d been fending off panic attacks left and right this week, and I was spent from the effort.
If not for my father, I might already have the answers that would bring about peace in my life.
You’re not going to find healing in a piece of pie, Natalie. The healing’s got to come from within you.
It was one thing to disappoint my mother on purpose, but I couldn’t bring myself to do the same with my father, so I tried to take his words to heart. I hadn’t eaten the pie, and I’d made the appointment with the counselor. Baby steps.
If this appointment in any way, shape, or form helped me to be a better mother to Ollie, it would be worth it. The last thing I ever wanted was for Ollie to witness one of my panic attacks—something she’d come too close to seeing recently. As much as I hated to admit it, even to myself, I needed help.
The small brown bird that I’d been seeing a lot lately sat on the fence railing next to my car, not looking the least bit disturbed by my presence as it used its beak to clean under its crooked wing. The ribbon of black coloring near its eye made it look like it had drawn-on eyebrows, and the thought of a bird wearing makeup suddenly lightened my mood.
The blooming pink viburnums lining the driveway filled the air with a sweet floral scent, which was a whole lot more pleasant than the perfume of bacon, coffee, biscuits, and chicken-fried steak that I’d worn home from work.
Unwilling to go to my appointment smelling like the café, I’d taken precious minutes to shower. I braided my wet hair, since I didn’t have time to style it properly, and changed into a long lightweight skirt and sleeveless blouse. I chose my loosest sandals, ones that wouldn’t rub my healing blisters. A salve Anna Kate had given me had worked wonders, but the new skin was still tender.
As quick as I’d cleaned myself up, I was still running late. Since most everywhere in Wicklow was walkable, it had been a month since I’d driven my tiny white hatchback. The neglect showed. The rain that had come through the night before had smeared together the dirt and pollen that encased the car, making the paint job look like it had been done at the hands of an Impressionist. I couldn’t remember how much gas I had left in the tank, and then there was the matter of the dangling muffler. Crouching down, I peeked under the bumper and saw that someone—most likely my father—had placed a plastic pan under the car to catch dripping oil.
He was forever cleaning up my messes.
I made the quick decision that the muffler was on its own—I didn’t have time to fuss with it. At the filling station on the way out of town, I’d stop to see if someone could add a quart of oil to the engine while I filled the gas tank.
It would all be fine.
Just fine.
Absolutely fine.
I dropped my head into my hands, took a deep breath to pull myself together, and Lord help me, I swore I could still smell hickory-smoked bacon on my fingers.
A quivery female voice came from nearby. “Don’t you cancel that appointment, Natalie.”
My head snapped up as I looked around. I didn’t see anyone. “Hello?”
Slowly turning in a circle, my gaze swept the area, zeroing in on places where someone could hide. Other than a few birds and some bees, I was alone as far as I could tell.
Chill bumps rose along my skin. The voice, I realized, sounded exactly like the one that had woken me last week.
Your father is dying.
I’d done my level best to forget that unsettling declaration, chalking it up to a bad dream. But now … I wasn’t sure what was going on. Could be I was overheated and my mind was playing tricks. It was hot and humid.
Throwing a wary look over my shoulder, I started wondering if the voice was my conscience speaking. I didn’t know what that theory meant in terms of my father and his health, however.
I threw a glance at the big house. I had spent much of this past Sunday’s supper studying him, looking for any trace that he was ill. On the surface, he didn’t appear to be. If I was nitpicking, I’d say his skin color was a bit off, but I didn’t know if that was because he’d been golfing the day before and had a bit of a sunburn, or if it was due to something else.
There were other things I’d noticed—only because I’d been looking. His appetite wasn’t near to normal. He’d taken smaller portions and had poked at most of it. He’d seemed a little slower to lift up Ollie as well, as though he were in pain.
When I questioned him, he blamed his lack of an appetite on stress, and the pain on his golf game.
If I didn’t know him so well, I’d have sworn he was lying.
But he didn’t lie. It was one of his traits I loved most.
Still, by the time I went home that night, I couldn’t ignore the pit in my stomach that something wasn’t right with him. Whether it was the business with Anna Kate or something else … I wasn’t sure.
“Git!” the voice said in a high-pitched tone, darn near operatic.
It sounded like it was coming from the driver’s side of the car, near the fence, but there was nothing there but the bushes and that fastidious bird.
“I’m going,” I said loudly, and there was no mistaking the irritability in my tone.
Car keys in hand, I prayed to the good Lord above that the car started. It was looking more and more likely that I’d be a few minutes late for my appointment. Which, now that I considered it, might not be a bad thing. A short initial meeting appealed to me. Get in, scratch the surface of my issues, get out. Nothing too deep or painful.
Leaving the door open to let the car exhale its hot, stale air, I slid behind the wheel and groaned at the pulsing wave of blazing heat that nearly pushed me right back out. I tossed my purse on the passenger seat and leaned across to roll down the window, hoping a stiff breeze would blow through. Hurricane-force winds seemed delightful at the moment. The window stuck halfway, but I didn’t have time to fight with it.
Sweat rose along my forehead as I put the key in the ignition. “Please start, please start, please start.”
The engine coughed like an asthmatic at the perfume counter in a department store but didn’t turn over. Taking a deep breath, I tried the ignition again, pressing gently on the gas pedal, hoping a little fuel would help the situation.
Unfortunately it didn’t do anything other than fill the car with the odor of gas.
After counting to ten in my head, I turned the key again. The engine sputtered, died, and the scent of burning oil filtered through the vents. Cursing a blue streak, I pulled the key. The car would be no good to me at all if it caught fire, and though it probably deserved a quick, flaming death, I didn’t want that to happen.
I’d scraped and scrounged and saved the money to buy the used car after Matt’s death. Long after our two much-fancier cars had been repossessed. The hatchback was a bare-bones model. No fancy power windows, no radio. Its stick shift tended to, appropriately, stick, and the clutch made ungodly groaning noises. But it was mine.
I popped the hood, even though I had no earthly idea what I was looking for. Mama would have had a stroke if she ever caught me looking under the hood of a car, let alone tinkering with an engine. I could practically hear her now making a comment about who’d keep food on the mechanics’ tables if we tended to our own cars,
and did I want taking food out of babies’ mouths on my conscience? Never even mind the grease issues.
As I lifted the hood I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to see, but it surely wasn’t a hastily formed bird’s nest sitting right smack-dab on top of the battery. There was a single speckled egg in the nest that looked a lot like a mottled rock.
Even if I had been able to get the car started, there was no way I could bring myself to remove that nest. Not until after the egg hatched and the baby bird flew away.
My car wasn’t going anywhere for quite a while.
Apparently, neither was I.
Closing my eyes, I waited for that singsong-y voice to tell me what to do now, since it was being so bossy this afternoon. Instead, I picked up the sound of barking. Barking that seemed to be growing louder and closer.
I peeked around the hood. Racing toward me up the driveway was a dark gray cat being chased by—I squinted—River, Cam Kolbaugh’s dog. Both animals ran at full speed, one barking, one growling.
“River! Stop! Heel!” I jumped in front of him and tried to grab his collar. He darted around me. The cat, one I recognized as a local stray who’d been around for what seemed like decades, zipped under the car’s bumper, hissing the whole way, his ears flattened.
River followed the cat under, dropping his belly to the ground like he was taking part in some sort of army obstacle course.
“No, no!” I looked under the car. “Heel!”
Still yowling, they both avoided the pan of oil—thank God—and emerged on the other side of the car, near the passenger door. The cat took off again, circling around the car, River on his heels.
The noise of it all was about to do me in when screeching tires added to the ear-splitting chorus. Cam had parked his truck at the end of the driveway. “River!” he shouted, breaking into a sprint. “Down!”
The cat made his way back to me and leaped into the car, onto the driver’s seat. I quickly slammed the door before River could go in after him.
Still barking his head off, River set his mud-crusted paws on the door and rose up on his hind legs to look through the window. The suddenly serene cat looked quite smug as he watched River slobber on the glass. One ear came up, then the other, which I noticed was scarred. Probably from a run-in with a dog at some point. The cat’s head tipped to the side, and he began washing his face, using a paw to stroke his cheek.
Midnight at the Blackbird Cafe Page 15