The Great Appalachian Cafe Heist

by Tara Gabor

  Thomas dangled a ceramic mug by his left index finger. He carried a flask in his right hand, placing it on the coffee table in front of Kyle. Kyle’s eyes opened, and he registered the whisky flask. He shook his head, but Thomas was already approaching the fireplace, his back to Kyle. Kyle watched the youth flip the mug upright, take a ladle from a hook on the mantelshelf and spoon out a serving from the Dutch oven. He replaced the ladle and settled into the chair next to Kyle. Placing the mug on the coffee table, he opened the flask and carefully poured a small measure, Kyle guessed ½ ounce, into the hot liquid. Only then did Thomas look up at Kyle.

  “Try this. It will warm ya. Granny calls it a ‘hot toddy.’ That’s mostly apple cider and tea, I just put a bit of Granny’s homemade brew in, for the medicinal affect.”

  Kyle accepted the cup from Thomas’ outstretched hand and sipped. The hot liquid tasted sweet and smooth. The warmth reached his vocal cords.

  “Ah.”

  Thomas nodded with a grin. Satisfied that his guest was comfortable, he slid back into his chair.

  “You can tell me your tall tale when you are ready,” he said, trying to sound mature. His smooth voice lent gravitas to his speech. If Kyle shut his eyes it might work, but the young face inviting him to describe the day’s events was too innocent. Kyle could not burden the youth with his trials, as if speaking them aloud would bring the danger closer. Perhaps the outlaws were drawing closer, and Kyle should warn Miz May that he had brought danger to their doorstep.

  Chapter 18

  Moonlight spilled into the bus as smooth and soft as milk poured into a bowl. From his position in the driver seat, David rested his eyes, surveying the area. His eyelids had just closed when he heard a large rustling noise. His eyes popped open, and his back jerked upright in the chair. He thought he heard a noise like a man moving through the woods, but he saw nothing, and the sound faded quickly. Must be the wind, nothing more. Now that the moon was up, it would be much easier to travel through the woods. David prepared to wake the boys.

  He roused James sleeping on the bus seat. Whatever sign woke him, as Elizabeth would interpret what David didn’t see rumbling through the forest, David was now ready to get on with the next phase of their mission, mainly getting away scot-free, with all of ninety dollars from the cafe.

  The moon streamed light into the bus with a gentle coldness, like the slap of reality, David thought. He could have stayed home. He would be sleeping next to Elizabeth now, but he was here, having robbed a diner. If he had not come this way, he would not have witnessed the bus careen into the tree, and not be here now to find the cash left by the fleeing driver, the dentist that might identify them. Life. It certainly gave one a mess of tangled conundrums to think through.

  “James,” David began issuing orders, “take that gas can. Go down the road. I believe there is a store and garage not too far. Get a gallon or two of gas. It will cost less than a dollar. We’ll be on the lookout for a vehicle to borrow. We can make it to town, leave the vehicle, splitting up there or before. The dentist feller knows four men and a basic description. If we are found together, so much the worse. But apart, his description can fit too many people.”

  James nodded. He would do exactly as his father said regardless of the plan, but he liked this one. Leaving without violence against anyone limited the chances of the law finding them. James looked at the forms of his brother and cousin, their chests rising and falling with heavy breaths.

  “I’ll get them up after you’ve gone. I’ll be near the bus. I may send them on, maybe even back to the whorehouse.”

  James face crumbled at his father’s description of the house where Callie lived.

  “Never mind that wench. Do what I tell you, now.”

  James shoulders slumped as he left. He was a good boy, David thought, always following directions without complaint.

  David watched his youngest son start off down the road before David turned into the woods. He wanted a short walk to clear his head and look about before waking the other two men. Maybe he was listening to the wind, but he felt compelled to walk a bit through the trees.

  Moonlight lit his way. He did not fear falling or stumbling against a branch, though he felt a fearfulness he could not name. He scanned the forest, peering into the shadows, finding huddled trees. He was about to turn back, the bitter cold biting at his ears, when he noticed a broken branch on a young shellbark hickory. Investigating the surrounding area revealed a small area of disturbed ground near a large root. If the moon were not shining over a person’s head, David thought it easy for someone to slip a whole foot under the exposed root. Perhaps the man fleeing the dental lab had done just that.

  “So he came this way,” David thought, slowing his stride. He might have found a warm barn or some other accommodation. David continued his walk, finding no other obvious signs of Kyle’s path. He was turning around to make his way back to the bus when a yellow light twinkled in his peripheral vision. The moonlight was softer and not as yellow, but bathed the landscape in enough light that the lantern made little effect in the night. Now that David saw it, however, he could make out the cabin from which the lantern hung. The home was situated in a way best to be overlooked. Had the dentist overlooked it or was David looking at the haven the dentist had run to?

  He wanted to take a closer look. David took a few steps towards the direction of the dental lab, his back to the cabin. He gave a loud birdcall, calling out to the two men left in the bus, then he turned back towards the cabin, confident Jed and Guy would find him. If not, he could deal with whatever awaited him on his own.

  Chapter 19

  Miz May rounded the corner carrying a plate of Apple Brown Betty, without ice cream, in each hand. She jumped slightly at the sight of the dentist sitting in her living room, but recovered smoothly.

  “My, Thomas, you should have told me we had a guest.”

  “Sorry, Granny. I found him outside and he was just about to tell me how he came to be outside without his itinerancy laboratory.”

  “Itinerant. Itinerancy is the noun form. Remember a noun is a thing, like laboratory, so you use the adjective form. Itinerant.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Thomas said solemnly, turning his eyes from the woman to Kyle, expecting a response; Miz May looked at him expectantly, too.

  “We are all in danger,” he blurted. “The gang is after me. They could track me here. We need to call the police.”

  Thomas’ eyes grew wide. He had wanted to hear an exciting story, but he had not expected dire warnings of impending danger.

  “My, my. Is that so?” cooed the woman. “Best you start from the beginning. Take a bite of this here apple brown betty and tell us what happened.”

  She placed a dish of the sweet in Kyle and Thomas’ hands, taking a chair on the far side of Thomas.

  “No time for telling, need police,” Kyle began before his hunger prompted one spoonful of the dessert, than another and another.

  “Got no phone, doctor, but I can get a message out.”

  Moist cake caught in Kyle’s throat, and he swallowed hard, choking out his next words.

  “They could find us any minute. They are dangerous men. I’m not sure what they are capable of, but I am a witness that they robbed the cafe this morning.”

  “They attacked your bus?” Thomas asked.

  “No, no, actually they helped me free the bus when I ran off the road,” Kyle admitted. He placed the brown betty on the table. “They helped me, but then I was giving one of them, the leader I think, a ride. We didn’t get far, though, because the road was blocked. Then he clocked me on the head and left me. Then he came back with the others and I heard them talking. They want to get rid of me because I’m a witness.”

  “Boy, that’s scary. You think they could come here? Do ya? I mean, maybe they don’t know where we live and you lost ‘em in the forest,” Thomas rattled.

  Miz May rose quietly and walked to the student desk, drawing out paper and pen from the drawer.
She returned to her seat and, folding lines on the paper several times over, she carefully tore a small scrap from the sheet of paper.

  “Send police. Dr. Kyle safe here for now. Could be trouble,” she recited as she wrote.

  “My wife,” Kyle started. “She will be beyond worried by now. She’s pregnant.”

  “Call Doc’s wife,” Miz May added. She reread her note and nodded. “This should get there soon.”

  “How? By carrier pigeon?”

  “Hey, how did you know?” Thomas cried.

  “What? Are you serious?” Kyle demanded. He couldn’t be serious! Carrier pigeons, it did not make sense.

  Miz May did not argue. She nodded at Thomas who understood her unspoken command. He walked towards the multi-level stand where the blue and gold macaw sat quietly watching all of them, but the boy turned towards a small cage sitting inconspicuously in the larger bird’s shadow. Thomas opened the door and slowly reached two outstretched fingers towards the opening, cooing softly to the occupant. The pigeon stepped obediently onto the boy’s hand.

  “Good birdie,” he whispered, walking the bird carefully back to his grandmother.

  “Alco1 is very dependable. She’ll deliver my message up the hill in a few minutes. Her best time is eleven minutes.”

  Kyle’s mouth dropped open, his mind still grappling with the idea of using a pigeon to deliver an emergency call. Miz May took the paper, now folded into a small, tight bundle, and slipped in into a tube attached to the bird.

  Thomas crossed the room again. Kyle turned in his chair to watch what would happen next. He now noticed a window behind the pigeon’s cage. Thomas placed the pigeon on the small ledge, gave the bird a pat on its head, and opened the window. Cold air streamed in, and the pigeon was pushed backward. Alco1 steadied herself, seemed to look out at the cold air, dipped her head a fraction and took off out the window.

  “If, I mean, when she gets there, the people at the other end will call the police?” Kyle asked, afraid of the answer.

  Thomas exchanged a look with his grandmother; it made Kyle’s stomach lurch, and he reached for another sip of spiked cider.

  “The message will be read and immediately put onto Alco2. Callie will write a note confirming she received the message and send Alco1 home. Alco2 will be sent on where there is a telephone and help will be dispatched forthwith,” Miz May explained.

  “Alco1, Alco2,” Kyle said, his voice vague with fatigue and concern. “Sounds like a plot from a world war two movie.”

  “Alco stands for Ap-a-latch-a Courier,” Thomas said. “I helped think of their names. I helped train ‘em, too.”

  “We’ve been working with these pigeons for nigh on a year and a half,” May said patiently.

  “Ever since Callie growed up and moved away,” Thomas nodded, adding a new detail to the story.

  Kyle did not know who Callie was, and he wasn’t too interested in figuring it out. He was interested in how successful this flying version of telephone could be.

  “What’s up, Doc?” the macaw squawked, mimicking Kyle’s voice convincingly.

  “Oh great, another avian heard from,” Kyle muttered. “These men are dangerous, Miz May. I’m not sure you understand. They are desperate. They are cold. They are hungry. They need supplies and they risked armed robbery for a small return. They are tracking me!”

  “I’m familiar with the type. They are mountain men, probably decent enough trackers. We should let the fire burn down and put out the lanterns. With no lanterns burning inside or out, they could easily miss this house, unless they stumble right up on us. There will be a bright moon tonight, so we won’t be invisible, but then again, there is no real evidence you made it here, is there now? So no reason for them to bother us, necessarily.”

  It was now Kyle’s turn to exchange a look with Thomas. May waited for an explanation, raising her eyebrows. It was Thomas who spoke.

  “When I found Doctor Kyle standing outside I brought him right in. I forgot all about the lantern like you told me.” His face fell with the telling. Obviously he tried his best to live up to his responsibilities. Kyle watched for the woman’s reaction.

  “That’s alright, boy. No harm done as I can see. Go get it now. Be quick about it, but observe the atmosphere. Is the wind still or blowing? Do you see snow falling? Be quick.”

  Miz May ruled the house with a firm but gentle command. With his first child on the way, Kyle noted the willing obedience in the young man. Perhaps he should discuss this technique with Bea later. His own father was devoted to the “spare the rod, spoil the child” paradigm, exercised with little or no explanation.

  Thomas walked swiftly, noting the crisp coating of ice he walked on previously had been replaced with melted slush. A waning gibbous moon provided illumination. The air was cold but calm. Thomas grabbed the lantern and looked northeast, towards the mountain’s rise, the direction Alco1 headed. Without wind to impede or buffet the carrier pigeon in one direction or another, the bird would reach his destination as quickly as possible.

  The night was silent. Thomas was accustomed to the stirrings of nocturnal animals, and their silence gave him the thought that every living creature had found a warm place for now. Even the old owl in the aviary made no sound as Thomas passed by with the lantern.

  The sound of a birdcall swung Thomas around. He paused, listening for another, but none came. He hurried around the corner of the house. At the door he blew the lantern out and went inside.

  “The air is still, no wind at all,” he recited his report. “Big moon, lights up everything. Still cold enough, for sure, but I believe the temperature came up a few degrees because the thin crunch of ice is mush now. Everything is quiet, but I heard one birdcall just as I was coming back. Couldn’t make out the type, though. Kind of like a cardinal.”

  “Cardinal? Cardinals don’t call at night,” Miz May said, looking at Thomas thoughtfully.

  “Yeah,” Thomas agreed with a slight shrug. He heard what he heard. “Maybe he wasn’t a cardinal. I didn’t see him.”

  “And did you perceive what direction the sound came from?”

  “Sure, from behind me as I was walking back, so north, northeast.”

  “Good. Very good, Thomas,” Miz May asserted. “Let’s get some warm liquid in you, what you say to that?” She began to refill his mug with cider from the fire, adding a small measure from the whisky flask. Thomas grinned. “Slowly,” his grandmother cautioned, handing him the spiked drink.

  She didn’t voice her concern, but Kyle sensed wariness. Her questions about a birdcall sounded different then casual curiosity.

  “Miz May, if the birdcall was not a cardinal, what else could it be?” Kyle asked. She met his eyes with a steady resolve.

  “Mountain folks often develop calls of their own. Handy for calling out warnings or regular messages. Like, “dinner’s ready” to kids or, “Lookout, revenuers coming.” She smiled. Kyle chuckled.

  “An outlaw gang might have their own call, especially if the leader is their father,” she added.

  Chapter 20

  Alco1 put beak to bell as May and Thomas had trained him. Callie, drawn outside to the porch by a lone birdcall, heard the tinkling sound. She hurried through the cabin’s door to the small window on the side of the house, lifting the pane to allow the pigeon inside.

  “A night of small wonders,” she thought to herself. First, an odd birdcall and then Miz May sends a messenger pigeon on such a night.

  She cooed to the bird while she removed the message, placing a few food pellets on the inside ledge as reward. She read the note, not bothering to sit down. She read it a second time, but rather than roll the message up, and insert it in the capsule of Alco2, sending the second bird on the next jog of the relay as Miz May intended, Callie stuffed the note in her pocket.

  “Help is on the way,” she wrote in neat, block letters on a scrap of paper, folding it into a neat bundle. She eased the message back into the capsule on Alco1’s leg, and let the
bird finish the last of the pellets before opening the window and motioning him out, sending him back to Miz May.

  The keys to the pickup hung on a nail next to the refrigerator. Callie palmed them, quietly walking around the cabin to check on the other women. Daisy was taking a leisurely bubble bath. Rose and Ruth were watching TV in bed, cuddled under several layers of linens, a down quilt, and a ring of feather pillows.

  Callie added a peacoat to her sweater and blouse. She wished she had gloves, but there was no money this year for such extras as gloves or boots. Besides, winter was almost over; spring would be in full bloom soon. Outside, snow was light and melting on contact.

  Callie slipped out the door, closing the latch softly so as not to alert the other women of her departure. They might hear the truck start up, but there was no way around that, and without another vehicle, they would have to wait on her return to give her any grief about leaving. She had lived with the other women for more than a year now. They shared everything: expenses, income, work; though she often felt she pulled more than her share in caring for the beehives and the garden. They used the truck sparingly, usually two or more of them involved in the excursion. Tonight’s mission was hers alone to take, and she felt she had every right to take the truck.

  Callie turned the key and the ignition rumbled softly; the noise waking the new batch of kittens asleep in the barn that doubled as a garage. The donkey and goat paid little attention to the noise. Satisfied no one in the house was disturbed, Callie put the aging vehicle into first gear and slid smoothly down the worn path to the dirt road.

  The ’59 Ford originally belonged to Ruth and Daisy’s father. Rose kept the title in a locked jewelry box along with her engagement and wedding ring. She had never bothered to transfer the title to her own name, or one of the girls. Registration renewal had ceased the same year. Because they drove short distances to local homes or markets, the lack of current registration had yet to prove a problem.