Little Blackbird

by Jennifer Moorman

  Her daddy shifted the car into park. She fumbled trying to move out of her seat, and her sweaty fingers slipped off the door handle. She grabbed the plate of lavender cookies her mama made for the picnic, and they tilted in her hand like a seesaw. Her daddy caught them and righted the plate in her hands. His gaze drifted up and out through the windshield.

  “Is that Geoffrey Hamilton?” her daddy asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Kate said. She flung open the door when Geoffrey was halfway to the car. It didn’t look as though Geoffrey had any intentions of stopping and waiting for her to approach him. He was headed straight for them. Her daddy probably doubted that she had any sort of relationship with Geoffrey—even a speaking relationship—and Kate worried Geoffrey would appear too friendly with her.

  “Okay, Daddy, thanks. I’ll see you later.”

  “What time should I pick you up?” he asked.

  Kate paused. She had no idea how long these sort of get-togethers lasted, seeing as how she’d never been to one. Before she could come up with an answer, Geoffrey stood by the car. He grabbed her car door and leaned down to look inside at her daddy. Sweat glistened on Geoffrey’s forehead and neck. His red-striped button down shirt had been rolled up to his elbows.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Muir,” Geoffrey said. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Good to see you, too, Geoffrey. What time, Kate?”

  Kate glanced at Geoffrey. “How long do you think we’ll—I mean, everyone—will hang?”

  Geoffrey shoved the football beneath one arm and shrugged. “A few hours.” He turned to look at her daddy again. “Matthias and I can bring Kate home if you like. I don’t mind.”

  Kate watched indecision narrow her daddy’s eyes and thin his lips. He twisted his bear-size hands on the steering wheel. She imagined he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted his only daughter to be left alone in the car with two young men.

  “You remember Matthias, don’t you, Mr. Muir?” Geoffrey said with an easy smile. “He’s a few years older than me and played ball with Evan. He’s studying to be a doctor at the university. He just made the Dean’s List again, and he’s apprenticing under my dad this summer at his practice.”

  “Yes, of course,” her daddy said. “A good boy.” His jaw relaxed, and he nodded his head at Geoffrey. He scratched his beard. “Sure, thank you for offering, but, Kate, you need to be home before dinner.”

  “Yes, sir. Thanks, Daddy.”

  “We’ll have her home on time. See you soon, Mr. Muir,” Geoffrey said as he shut the car door and waved to her daddy.

  Kate lifted her hand in a pitiful wave. As he drove away, her heart fluttered madly in her chest. She couldn’t believe she was actually standing in public with Geoffrey Hamilton. When her gaze drifted toward the quilts, everyone in Geoffrey’s group was watching them. Her spine stiffened.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said.

  “And miss all the stares?” she asked. She grabbed a fistful of her black skirt in one hand and squeezed the plate of cookies in her other. Was it too late to shout for her daddy to stop? Could she toss the cookies into the air and run home?

  “What stares?” he asked.

  She angled her head toward the others, and Geoffrey followed her gaze.

  “Ah, well, they’re curious. They’ve been expecting you. I told them you were coming.”

  “But you just said–”

  “I was staying positive,” he said with a slow smile. “And I’m glad you did.”

  She looked up at his face, unable to stop herself. And then her insides softened like dandelion seeds, feather-light and full of air pockets. Kate felt the pull toward Geoffrey return. She imagined a rope, looped with a slip knot, cinched around her waist, tugging her in his direction. She dug her heels into the soft grass.

  Her daddy’s car rounded the corner and drove out of sight. She took a deliberate step away from Geoffrey. “I noticed you weren’t proclaiming your own good qualities to my daddy,” she said, braving another look at him.

  Geoffrey grinned. “What good qualities?”

  Her gaze shied away from his intense stare, and she laughed, shaking her head. “I’m having second thoughts about spending time with you today.”

  Before Geoffrey could comment, Matthias walked up to them.

  “Hey, Kate. Good to see you again.”

  She exhaled and tried to forget that just yesterday Matthias had dropped her off on the side of the road after a terrible first visit to Honeysuckle Hollow. She glanced toward her schoolmates waiting across the park. What were they thinking? Would they ignore her today just as they normally did in school? Did the usual rules not apply during the summertime? She looked at Matthias instead, wondering if the pity from yesterday remained in his sky blue eyes, but she saw only his smile. A hint of peppermint drifted on the breeze.

  “Hey, Matthias. Nice throw,” she said as she pulled her arm back and mimicked his passing stance. The plate of cookies teetered in her hand again, and Matthias steadied the plate.

  Then he lifted his open palms in front of his body and shrugged. “If the university doesn’t work out for me, I’m thinking of trying out for the Browns.”

  Geoffrey shoved the football against Matthias’ chest. “Keep dreaming, Matt. You’re too scrawny.”

  “Which makes you completely out of the question for football then,” Matthias joked.

  “Hey, I’m wiry. Quick and agile,” Geoffrey said, flexing his bicep.

  “Don’t forget skinny and reminiscent of Ichabod Crane,” Matthias said, and he laughed when Geoffrey punched him in the arm.

  The sunlight warmed Kate’s dark hair like cast iron on a hot burner. She reached up and combed her fingers through it, thinking she should have pulled it back from her face or done something with it. The other girls’ hair was styled, rolled, pinned up, but hers was long and straight and lying flat against her back.

  “Your cast,” she said, looking at Geoffrey. “It’s gone.”

  “Nothing gets past you,” he said, bumping into her with his elbow. He walked with a slight limp toward the picnic blankets, and Matthias fell into step beside them. “Got it taken off just this morning actually. Matthias did most of the work. It’s a little uncomfortable, but, God, I was sick of that cast. My leg itched so badly. I had to beg Dad to let me remove it early. He advised against it, but I’m going to take my chances.”

  As they neared the picnic blankets, Kate found it difficult to concentrate on what Geoffrey was saying. Her skin burned beneath the stares of those waiting and watching, and although the group smiled, a few of the girls’ expressions reminded Kate of porcelain dolls whose smiles were painted and forced.

  “Hey, guys, y’all know Kate, I’m sure,” Geoffrey said. “But just to be proper like my mom taught me, this is Kate Muir. Kate, this is Sally Rensforth, Martha Lee, Charlotte LaRue, Betsy Cavenaugh, Ted Fletcher, Mikey Gill, John Kane, and you know Matt.”

  A chorus of heys greeted her. Kate tried to smile, but her lips felt stiff and unresponsive. She managed to say hello just as a strong breeze rushed across their faces and carried her voice with it. She watched it tangle in the oak trees and then gust off into the scorching, blue sky.

  The girls occupied one quilt, and Martha glanced at Charlotte before she scooted over, trying to make room so Kate could join them. As soon as she was settled in her new spot, Martha smoothed out the skirt of her dress, fanning it around her lower body in a perfect semicircle.

  Kate inhaled and exhaled slowly in an attempt to stop her insides from feeling as though she’d just sprinted across the suspension bridge spanning across Murphy’s Gorge. Then she sat down between Martha and Betsy. She placed the plate of lavender cookies in front of her.

  Kate was so nervous she almost burst out laughing, thinking of how she’d supposedly been at Martha’s house the day before, but Kate contained her mania by folding her hands together in her lap and clutching them together so tightly it was as though she was holding pixie
dust during a windstorm.

  Kate couldn’t help but notice that all of the girls were dressed in a similar fashion. Full, brightly colored skirts ballooned around them, covering their legs, revealing only their identical ballet flats. Martha’s and Betsy’s dresses were sleeveless and dipped at the neck in a rounded curve, while Charlotte’s and Sally’s dresses had sleeves that stopped at their elbows, cuffed in white trim that matched their white, scalloped collars. Their dresses drew in tightly about their waists, which was meant to accentuate their feminine curves, something Kate did not have.

  Kate imagined that when the girls stood, they resembled an assortment of fine baby dolls, their skirts swinging from their waists, looking like church bells. Kate had worn her cleanest, simplest outfit, but her sapphire blue top and calf-length black skirt did nothing more than make her feel like a thistle among the roses. Even if she’d owned an identical dress that matched the girls, she would more likely resemble a broomstick in a dress rather than a blossoming young woman.

  Martha’s full, candy apple-red lips smiled at Kate. The distinct gap between Martha’s two front teeth looked much wider up close, possibly expansive enough to house a quarter and a dime. Kate noticed Martha’s black mascara was thick and clumped about her lashes, looking as though she’d applied it with a paintbrush.

  Kate had seen Martha’s red and white polka dot dress in a shop window on Main Street a few weeks ago, and she’d wanted so badly to ask her daddy if he’d buy it for her. But Kate’s mama made most of her clothes, and they were sensible, or so her mama told her again and again. Kate doubted Martha’s parents ever told her she couldn’t have a dress because it wasn’t practical. Why did clothing have to make sense? Why couldn’t it simply help someone look better, prettier, more like the rest of the world?

  “Have you eaten yet?” Martha asked in a voice that seemed to flow from her nose, pinched and slightly whiny. “We packed hors d’oeuvres and drinks.”

  “I’m starving,” Betsy said.

  Martha pursed her lips. “You’re always hungry, Betsy. You might want to go easy.”

  Betsy’s gaze fell into her lap, and she smoothed her thick fingers down the fabric of her skirt. Betsy was shaped like an upside-down mushroom, wider and thicker than the other girls, with arms and legs that were smooth, pale, and doughy. Her full face reminded Kate of a cherub, rosy-cheeked and kind. Her small, upturned nose was nearly lost in the plumpness of her cheeks, but her round, hazel eyes—bright and twinkling—were the highlight of her face.

  Charlotte cleared her throat and sent Betsy a small smile. She opened the basket nearest her. “We’ve brought fruit and crackers and cheese and what else?”

  “I made pimento cheese sandwiches. It’s my grandma’s recipe, the one that wins first prize every year at the fair,” Martha said, smiling at the boys.

  “Mama baked cookies this morning, so I packed a few dozen of those,” Sally said. “And Betsy’s mama made cucumber sandwiches, didn’t she?”

  Betsy nodded and tossed a shy glance toward Kate, making eye contact for a second before staring down at her hands again.

  “Enough girl talk, can we eat?” Ted asked from the other quilt. “Geoffrey made us wait long enough for the—for Kate.”

  Ted averted his gaze when Kate looked at him. Kate didn’t know much about Ted other than he was a year ahead of her in school, he liked to hear himself talk, and he played football about as well as she did. He played ball because that was what all of his friends did, but Ted’s fingers might as well have been slathered in lard when he was on the field. He was built like a brick wall—solid, square, and red-faced—and although he should have been a heavy-hitting linebacker, he was better suited for the debate team.

  Ted leaned his head back and blew cigarette smoke toward the stretching sky. John and Mikey sat to his left, and they were graduated seniors, like Geoffrey, and the same two boys Kate had seen Geoffrey play with his entire life. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have lifelong, childhood friends.

  John resembled a thousand other young men his age, common and average-looking with short-cropped sandy brown hair. Kate knew he excelled at chemistry and calculus, but he still managed to be a part of the popular crowd. She assumed if someone snuck into the in-crowd as a kid, it was difficult to be weeded out when everyone discovered he was a genius and loved turning hardwood into charcoal in a backyard barrel. John pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and reached for Ted’s lighter that lay between them on the quilt. He wedged the cigarette between his lips and cupped his hands around the lighter as he brought it to his mouth. When he lowered his hands, Kate watched the tip spark like a miniature fire.

  Mikey was one of the most attractive boys in school. His blonde hair swept across his forehead, a little too long to be deemed completely acceptable, a little too hip for Mystic Water, but Mikey didn’t seem to care. His dark blue eyes studied everything, and his smile was slow and genuine. Kate knew he was kind. Mikey was the sort of boy who always opened doors for women, who stopped and helped people who dropped their homework all over the school hallway. If she had to pick teams, Mikey would be one of her first choices.

  Prompted by Ted’s whining, the girls opened the rest of the picnic baskets. They passed around red plastic plates and blue gingham cloth napkins, reminding Kate of people who worked on assembly lines. Soda bottles and an opener were passed around next, and those were followed by plastic silverware.

  Kate watched how the girls arranged their plates and how they unfolded the napkins and draped them across their laps. She copied their movements precisely. Finally, platters were arranged in the center of the quilts, and everyone moved to the edges of the blankets, anchoring the fabric to the prickly grass.

  Geoffrey arranged himself so he sat on the edge nearest Kate, and she smiled as she passed him a plate of sandwiches.

  “Well, thank you, Miss Kate,” he said quietly as he stretched his leg and brace out of the way.

  She inhaled, smelling the scent of his soap. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t tasted them.”

  Geoffrey glanced down at the pimento cheese oozing from the squishy, crustless white bread. “Why don’t you try one first?”

  “No, thank you,” Kate whispered with a slow grin. “I don’t eat weird orange cheese sandwiches.”

  The wind gusted hot, sticky air across the grass and tried to snatch napkins from laps. Kate’s spine stiffened. The skin on the back of her neck felt as though a dozen spiders skittered across it. When she looked away from Geoffrey, Martha was smiling at her.

  “So, Kate,” she said, “I guess you heard all about Geoffrey’s accident.”

  Kate nodded, and before she could come up with a more proper response, Martha continued talking.

  “And he’s doing so well now, aren’t you, Geoffrey? When I heard what happened, I was worried you’d be in a cast all summer.”

  Geoffrey popped a square piece of white Cheddar into his mouth and shook his head. “Wouldn’t have wanted that,” he mumbled with a full mouth.

  Martha leaned toward Kate as though she had a secret to share. She spoke in a low voice, but it wasn’t quiet enough for only Kate’s ears. “Did he tell you about his helper?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Kate spun the chilled soda bottle around in her hands, cooling her palms.

  “The one who helped him after the wreck, after Benjamin went for help.”

  Kate stopped moving; she stopped breathing. Her eyes jerked toward Geoffrey, but it was Matthias who watched her. He moved his head, side to side, barely an inch in each direction, but Kate understood.

  “He told me the doctor took care of him. And I’m sure Dr. Hamilton and Matthias have been great helpers to have around too.”

  Martha smiled, and the sunlight glinted off her large, white teeth. “I guess he didn’t tell you about the other person.”

  You mean me, Martha?

  Geoffrey cleared his throat. “Great cookies, Sally. You should tel
l your mom to sell these at the candy shop. I know I’d buy them.”

  Sally’s cheeks flushed, and she twirled a few fingers through her blonde curls. “She’ll be glad to hear that.”

  “Hey, Kate, what did you bring?” Geoffrey asked. He pointed to the unwrapped plate of cookies resting on the quilt at her knees.

  “Oh,” she said. She spun the glass bottle into the grass and dirt behind her until it propped up by itself. Then she unwrapped the plate. “Lavender cookies.”

  Geoffrey took the plate from her hands and dropped a cookie onto his knee. Then he passed the cookies to John.

  “Are they actually made with lavender?” Charlotte asked.

  “Yes, fresh lavender, but you can use dried too.”

  Ted reached for a cookie and wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t lavender a flower?”

  Kate laughed. “Yes. It’s also an herb, a very useful one.”

  Ted sniffed a cookie and passed the plate. He stared at the cookie as though waiting for it to perform a trick in his palm or poison him through his fingertips. Kate resisted the urge to tell him to put it back if he wasn’t going to eat it. Making disgusted faces at someone else’s food was rude.

  Charlotte lifted a cookie from the plate. “They smell lovely.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said, looking away from Ted and smiling at Charlotte.

  “They’re good,” Geoffrey agreed.

  “Why would anyone want to cook with flowers?” Ted asked before taking a bite.

  “Lots of flowers have healing and healthy properties. People have been using flowers in their cooking and medicines for thousands of years,” Kate explained, knowing she sounded like a defensive and pretentious know-it-all.

  “Who? Witchy people?” Ted asked and guffawed, but no one laughed with him.

  Everyone gaped at him, and Kate knew why. He was voicing out loud what everyone in town already whispered. Mrs. Muir and her daughter were witchy people. Crazy, Indian folk. Sure the architect father and the poor, dead son were okay, but those Muir women…

  Kate’s dark eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. “I’m sure I don’t understand the question. Are you implying that people who use herbs are witches? If that’s the case, then you might want to tell your mama to stop dabbing peppermint oil on her windowsills to keep out evil or negative spirits. It’s actually only keeping out the spiders since it’s obvious you’re still coming in and out of the house.”