I looked down at my shoelaces through a soft haze of tears.
Blue cleared her throat. “I don’t know what’s really in there. For all I know, I could be sprinkling dirt in everybody’s brew.” Blue chuckled. “But I think the little man with the long mustache was onto something. I think he found a wishing star. And if the day comes when I run out of stardust, I still have my friends. I still have you and Topher. So I’m never empty on hope.”
I hopped off the counter and leaned my head against Blue’s arm. “You did fulfill your destiny, Blue. You fight battles for your friends all the time. You never stop fighting for people you love. That’s a mighty legacy.”
Blue shrugged. “I … never thought of it that way. Go on,” she said. “It’s a Gypsy Rose summer. The day’s almost done. Go spend the rest of it with your friends.”
I threw my arms around Blue’s waist. “I am spending it with my friend.”
Granny Blue, my faithful fighter, wrapped her strong arms around me. She hugged me tight.
The cafe floors shook as folks danced around the room, clapping and stomping to the beat of the music. I sat at my corner table, paging through the Book of Days, while I drank a mug of brew. I had to be close to finding the treasure. Neither the unsigned contract nor the gas-guzzling dump truck presently squashing the iris blooms could convince me otherwise.
I just wished Cody Belle and Earl were there to help me. And neither of them had shown up. The Wildflowers had given me tons of inspiration and good ideas over the past few years. But they weren’t living, breathing, talking friends who could help me find the treasure.
Alice started thumping the guitar as Mr. Marcum joined in on the old piano. People danced the same as they always did. But a good-bye kind of sadness had settled over us. I know I’m lucky to have a place in the world so special I never want to leave it. But that doesn’t make the letting go any easier.
The one familiar sound I did not hear was my brother’s violin. I figured he was still busy chasing Waverly Valentine down the streets of Blackbird Hollow. But then I felt a slight tap on my shoulder and turned to see Topher standing behind me in a button-up shirt and Levi’s.
“Care to dance?” asked my big brother.
“I don’t dance anymore. You know that.”
“Not even with me?” He pulled out the chair and sat down beside me. “How can I change your mind?”
“I’ll dance,” I said, “IF … you tell me how you know Waverly Valentine.”
Topher looked down at the lines on the table, concentrating carefully. “Remember last summer? When I worked as a chef at Hidden Ridge?”
“Yes. I remember I missed you like crazy.” Hidden Ridge was a camp at the top of Huckleberry Mountain. Only the most hard-core hikers make it to the top of Huckleberry. Once they get there, cabins and real bathrooms and even a small cafeteria are waiting. Topher decided to spend a few weeks there last summer, cooking above the clouds.
“That’s where I met Waverly,” he told me. “And we hit it off … right away. She was game for trying every weird muffin combination I baked.”
I nodded. “The girl knows her baked goods.”
“And she was just … different. She was smart and funny and weird in a good way. So bossy and awesome.”
“She’s a wonderful kind of pretty. Topher … did you break her heart?”
Topher sighed. Nodded. I punched him hard in the arm.
“I didn’t mean to!” he said. “I was scared, I guess. It seems like a dumb excuse now. But I was thinking so much about Mama that summer. It’d been a while since she’d gone. But it’s like it was all crashing against me then. And my heart was a mess. I tried, though. I even wrote a song for Waverly on my violin. I asked her to meet me the next day, so I could play it for her. But then I got scared and … I never showed up. I hiked back down the mountain and figured I’d never see her again. I thought of her every day, though.”
“Obviously somebody wants you two to reconnect.” I grinned.
“I’m trying,” he said. “But she’s still not talking to me much. So!” He clapped his hands. “That brings me back to you. It’s time to dance again, Emma Pearl. Mom would say the same thing if she was here.”
Topher was right. She would say that. She’d pull me out on the floor herself and spin me around.
So, for the first time in years, I stood up and walked to the middle of the cafe with my brother. “Darlin’ Daisy” was already on its third time through.
“Do-si-do through the windy forest,
Write your name on the tall oak tree,
Catch a little star,
Put it in your pocket,
But don’t forget to wait for me.”
I tried to dance. I really did. We spun in circles. But even though my feet were moving, they felt heavier with every step. Because my heart felt heavy. You’d think the Big Empty wouldn’t weigh a person down so much, but it does.
Suddenly, I was still and Topher was kneeling down in front of me. “What’s wrong?”
People danced in a blur all around us. Music was rising up on invisible wings, the same as always, flying and floating and filling the air with energy. But I still felt lost.
The Boneyard would belong to Warren Steele as soon as Blue signed the papers.
I didn’t understand my extraordinary destiny.
My mama would still be gone. Really gone. I wouldn’t be connected to her at all.
I wrapped my arms around Topher’s shoulders and whispered, “I don’t remember her voice sometimes. We used to make up songs every day after school. We weren’t finished, you know?”
Topher locked his arms tight around me, the way older brothers do best. I didn’t just feel steadier, I felt stronger. Like nobody in the world could bother me or pick on me. Not today. Not then. Not when he was there.
“I have an idea,” he said, pulling back to smile at me. “Come with me.”
Topher grabbed my hand and we ran for the back porch, the place that used to be my Fortress of Wonder. I didn’t hang out back there anymore. There were no twinkly lights now. No woodland treasures.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Topher said as he scrambled back inside. He returned with his arms full of Topher stuff: three folding chairs, two buckets, drumsticks, his violin, and a laptop. Waiting tables for so many years really does wonders for balance. Topher situated the laptop on one of the chairs. Then he pulled out another folding chair and said, “Have a seat.” He plopped an upturned bucket in front of me, and crisscrossed my drumsticks across the top. He unfolded his own chair near the computer.
Finally, he took his fiddle and perched across from me.
“Your idea is a jam session? That’s not exactly new,” I said.
“Patience, Miss Casey. Now, as you know, Mom considered herself a mountain music purist. She said her music was only meant to be experienced live, loud, and free.”
I nodded. “I know. She refused to do any recordings. That’s why we don’t have an album.”
“That’s what she thought,” Topher said, with a twinkle of excitement in his eye. “But Mom had a big following. So I figured somebody out there snuck in and recorded her singing. And I was right. I found a bootleg copy.”
Topher leaned toward the computer. With a swift click, scratchy music notes drifted through the speakers. Soft guitar music filled the air.
And then came a sweet, raspy voice that my heart recognized … a voice I was afraid I’d forgotten.
I gasped. I looked at my brother. “Is that … Mom?”
He nodded.
At first, I just listened, and I wiped the tears off my face. I closed my eyes and let her song fall over me sweetly, calling out to the remembering place in me.
Maybe my life would never be whole without her in it.
But for the first time I could remember, I found joy in thinking about her again, and not just sadness.
I listened to the way she sang.
The way she strummed.
“Sh
all we join in?” Topher asked, tucking his fiddle beneath his chin.
And soon I was tapping out a rhythm on the old bucket, and it sounded like:
summer nights
and firefly skies,
and the rumble of an old Harley-Davidson;
screen doors slamming shut,
Blue’s laugh,
Mom’s voice,
her songs,
wishing stars,
and a wild, glorious wind whistling through the midnight sky.
I played along with a song I loved. I sang along with the voice I missed, the voice I’d never forget. The laughter of the people I love … that’s the best music in the world.
Finally, the song popped and crackled to a stop. I looked over my brother’s shoulder and realized Waverly Valentine was standing in the doorway.
“Are you okay?” Waverly asked softly. At the sound of her voice, Topher spun up out of his seat, nearly tripping over the record player to get to her.
“Waverly.” He whispered her name.
“You.” She jabbed her finger against his chest so he couldn’t get too close. “I will talk to you. For five minutes, and that’s it.” And then she turned her attention back to me. “Lovely to see you, Emma. As always.”
I saluted Waverly with my drumsticks as she walked away.
“No pressure,” I said to my brother. “But don’t mess this up again.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled as he marched after his not-so-long-lost love.
As I cleaned up the Fortress of Wonder, I realized I’d left my messenger bag under the tall oak tree. I’d left my stuff in the graveyard more than a few times, but I didn’t want Warren Steele’s people accidentally tossing it in a dumpster.
As I stepped into the graveyard, storm clouds were huddled together as far as I could see. I figured it was the sight of the coming storm that made Earl want to get home. Maybe he had that same feeling I did; the coming storm would be a doozy. I ran up the hill where I’d left my stuff. I sat under the tree again and checked my bag. The Book of Days was still safe. So was the old hymnal.
As I thumbed through the fragile pages, it occurred to me that every book in the world is somebody’s Book of Days. Some books are so special that you never forget where you were the first time you read them. The same was true with the hymnal, I figured. What worries pressed on a person’s heart when they read those words? And when they opened it all those years ago, did they remember a song that had carried them through a season of sorrow? Or joy? It’s magical to me, the way memories hide in music.
I turned the page … and found a bloom from a Telling Vine. The flower was white, and smooth as silk. It didn’t look faded like the pages. It looked as new as the blooms on the farm. The Keeping Susans had preserved it, I suppose.
I held the bloom in the palm of my hand, and stroked the flower petals as gently as if they were wings.
Granny Blue believes there is always a still moment before a storm, a strange moment of calm before the air all around you turns to chaos. Somehow, I knew that moment was exactly the same way for me. The air around me seemed so still, so quiet that I could hear my own breath, my heartbeat. My fingertips tingled in anticipation, even though I was only holding a flower. My neck prickled … the same way it had when I first heard the Conductor.
Maybe someone had simply pressed the flower into a book and buried it. That’s the conclusion I came to in my head.
But my heart came up with another idea: Maybe someone had taken great pains to hide the flower.
A cool breeze swept through the cemetery.
I lifted the flower close to my ear, even though I didn’t have to do that. The message in the bloom was loud and clear … sung out in the strong voice of a child.
I knew that voice. I’d heard it in the cemetery before …
“Beneath the stars of Blackbird Hollow
By the shadows of the ridge
Down a path no man can follow
Is the treasure that we hid—
So, Darlin’ Daisy, lace your boots up,
Take the lantern, shine it bright,
Oh, these summer days are dwindling,
But we’re going to dance tonight …”
The two songs were sung together with no pause, as if they’d been connected all along. The song I knew belonged to the Conductor—and Darlin’ Daisy. They folded together into one song.
I suddenly felt like the world’s dumbest treasure hunter. We didn’t just have starry skies in Blackbird Hollow, Tennessee. And we didn’t just have stardust in our hot chocolate.
We had stars in the floors, stars we danced over and around nearly every day.
The treasure was down a path no man could follow because it wasn’t a map. It was in the song.
And if I was right, it was underneath the floor. I’d been walking over it all along.
I raced back to the cafe to find it empty. It was as if everybody’d magically disappeared. Blue was gone. The musicians had left their instruments propped in chairs. Had Warren Steele evicted everybody on a moment’s notice?
“Hello!” I yelled out. “Where is everybody?”
Blue’d left a note on the counter near a fresh muffin batch:
Emma,
CALL ASAP
—Granny B
I’d call Blue soon, all right. I would call her with great news.
Bear scampered down the stairs from our apartment and nuzzled against my leg. I scooped her up into my arms and kissed her ear. “Stay close to me, okay? Help me be brave?”
Bear licked my face.
I settled her down on the ground and double-checked to make sure my flashlight was working, in case the storm zapped the power. With the bag slung over my shoulder, I walked through the back door of the pantry, down into the cellar. Bear followed me down the creaky steps. Even though the sound of her paws was only a tiny thump-thump-thump, I felt brave knowing she was there. Once we were in the middle of the cellar, I looked up. Dim light shone down through the holes in the cafe’s floor, just like stars.
“These stars have been here forever,” I told Bear as I picked her up and held her close. “If the treasure was down here, we would have found it … right?”
I circled the flashlight around and saw dusty footprints on the floors. I followed them to the far corner of the cafe, where a shelf of fruity jams had been pushed away. A pile of boards lay scattered on the floor. The lock on a door had been broken, and the door pushed open … and there was only darkness behind it.
Someone had just walked in there.
Someone else was looking for the treasure.
“Fear is just a flashlight that helps you find your courage,” I whispered. “Stay, Bear.” I could tell Bear didn’t want to stay, but she did. And I knew she would faithfully wait until I came back. If I came back.
I pointed my light into the darkness, and stepped into the cave.
Until then, I didn’t know the basement of the Boneyard Cafe was connected to the caves beneath Blackbird Hollow. I guess Blue knew about it, but she’d never seen it as a fact worth mentioning, probably because she knew I’d go explore. I’d seen other entrances to the caves on field trips when I was a kid, but I forgot how far they stretched. They ran like vines beneath our town, deep into the mountains and woods.
I walked slowly into the darkness, keeping the light steady ahead of me.
“Hello?” I finally called out. Only my echo answered at first. And then I heard something up ahead.
“Who’s there?” My light trembled against the darkness. And as my light drifted over the far wall of the cave, I saw something in the shadows … something like an old box.
Something like a trunk.
Click. Another flashlight beam pierced the darkness, shining over the same box.
“What is that?” The voice sounded like it belonged to an old man, but I didn’t take any further time to ponder who it might be.
“It’s mine!” I yelled, breaking into a run. My fear drained away
, leaving only burning determination.
“Who said that?!” the voice yelled.
My flashlight flickered and wavered as I ran for the old trunk. When I was close enough, I jumped and stretched out my arms, supergirl-style.
My light shattered to the ground just as I fell onto the trunk, trying to pull it close to me.
“I’ll protect it!” I yelled.
A cool wind blew through the caves.
“Get away from the ridge …” came a whisper from above us.
The other intruder pointed his flashlight above us but there was no need: I recognized the squawky voice. “Be careful, Penny Lane!” I yelled.
The bird flapped down onto the corner of the trunk. “I’ll put your keys in the fridge,” Penny Lane squeaked. Despite my circumstances, I nearly smiled in disbelief. But I had to focus on the task at hand.
“You okay there?” came an old man’s voice. He shone the flashlight in my face. “It’s not safe down here in the caves.”
As I squinted into the light, I could make out some of his features. He was the guy with tired eyes from the survey team, the boss with the hard hat. “That trunk looks pretty old,” he said. The hope in his voice was unmistakable. “Is it locked?”
I nodded, reaching my arms across the trunk. Not only was the trunk old, but it was big and bulky and not exactly made for cuddling. Still, I tried to hug the thing as close to me as I could.
The man waved his flashlight around the floor of the cave. “You didn’t happen to see a key lying around, did you?”
A key. I shivered at the thought of it. I hadn’t seen a key lying around the cave anywhere. But I’d seen one in my dreams, tucked into a bouquet of flowers. It’s sad I couldn’t keep the key hidden in my mind until I needed it, then pull it free of my imagination and unlock the trunk later. When I was safe. When the treasure was safe.
The Key to Extraordinary Page 12
