I bent and pushed my finger into the ground beneath the trees. Their distress wasn’t from lack of water—the earth was dry but not parched.
Confused and a little nerve-wracked, I knew the blackbirds had given me that leaf for a reason.
You’ll put it all together one day, Anna Kate, when you’re older.
As Zee’s voice rang in my ears, I calmed. I closed my eyes and tried to recall any part of her bedtime story that had to do with the trees.
It’s the love shared between the two worlds that allows the passageway to remain open, Anna Kate, darlin’. Without the love, the trees will wither and die.
The love. The phrase echoed in my head as I stood under the trees, looking upward at the sad leaves and drooping berries.
While on earth, it’s the job of us guardians to tend to the trees, nurture them, and gather their love to bake into pies to serve those who mourn, those left behind.
Gather their love to bake into pies.
I reached up, cupped a cluster of berries.
The secret ingredient is love, darlin’. The purest kind of love there is.
I dropped my head back and sighed at my thick-headedness. Zee had been right—I knew exactly what the secret ingredient was—it had just taken me a little while to put it together. “Sorry!” I called into the leafy tunnel. “It’s been a long week.”
As I pulled the cluster from one of the trees, however, it took only a moment for my excitement to wear off. These berries were hard, greenish pink. Unripe. I couldn’t possibly put them into a pie as they were—the pies would be inedible. I debated whether I could cook them down to a syrup, adding extra sugar to make the berries palatable.
It was worth a try.
But that wasn’t the end of my worries. My gaze swept over the trees—while there were still a lot of berries, there wasn’t enough to make a month of pies, never mind a year’s supply.
How had Zee done it?
Then I recalled the pop of the secret ingredient she’d added to the pies she’d made me.
Of course! She’d processed the berries. I ran back into the café, still clutching the cluster of unripe berries. I waved to Sir Bird Nerd, promised the zucchini some TLC, and ran up the steps and into the kitchen. I checked the pantry, the freezer, and all the cupboards. There was no cache of preserved mulberries.
Hands on hips, I clenched my jaw, and took a deep breath. I’d figured out the hard part—I’d ask Jena and Bow what they knew of the mulberries when they came in later on. For now, I’d start the mulberry syrup to use in the pies I planned to bake later today.
Unfortunately, the pies I made last night were simply regular old pies, and I winced at the thought of dealing with Mr. Lazenby’s disappointment. And mine, too, when I realized the blackbirds would have no songs to sing tonight, either.
Tomorrow, however, everything would change. Suddenly I couldn’t help but wish the day away, even though it was barely six in the morning.
I went about making coffee, remembering Bow’s instructions on how to use the fancy coffee maker that held three pots.
Once the coffee was brewing, I washed the mulberries and set out to remove their stems, which might have been the most tedious job I’d ever undertaken. So dreadful, in fact, that I ended up setting the bunch aside to work on later. After I was caffeinated.
I poured a cup of coffee and gathered together the ingredients for the blackberry cobbler. In a saucepan, I heated sugar, cornstarch, blackberries, lemon zest, and vanilla and let it thicken as I worked on the cobbler’s topping.
As I measured flour, I heard a tap on the back door and saw Gideon Kipling’s face outlined in the window above the sinks.
I waved him inside. “You’re out early. The birders aren’t bothering you, are they?”
“Not at all,” he said, peering out the window into the side yard. “They’re dedicated, aren’t they?”
“They’re something. What have you there?” I gestured to his hand.
He held up a jar of honey. “I saw you were up and thought I’d bring you some of that honey you were drooling over yesterday.”
“I was not drooling. I was too dehydrated to drool.”
He laughed. “Fair enough. If you don’t want it…”
I dusted my hands on my apron and lurched for the jar. “I might be drooling now.” I admired the color. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“I have the feeling you’ll put it to good use.”
“I most definitely will. Coffee’s hot. Want some?”
“Absolutely.” He crossed to the shelves where the mugs were stored and grabbed one. Then he backtracked to the fridge for the cream, knowing exactly where it was located in the double-wide refrigerator.
I stirred the blackberry mixture and turned off the heat before grabbing the coffee pot. I motioned with my chin to the mug and creamer he’d set out. “You come here often?”
Putting his hands on his hips, he looked astounded, as if only now realizing what he’d been doing. “Sorry. Habit. I used to have coffee with Zee a few times a week before the café opened for the day.” He glanced around, his gaze eventually going upward, lingering on the blackbird quote on the soffit. “I’ve missed it.”
Surprise rippled through me as I filled his mug. “I didn’t know you two were that close.”
“Zee was a good friend to me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Grief ballooned in my chest.
With a nod of acknowledgment, he said, “You couldn’t have.”
But for some reason, I felt as though I should have known. About him. And about Zee’s relationship with Summer, too. It stung, this feeling of exclusion, which seemed strange to me since I’d never minded being left out of Wicklow before now. I’d always accepted that this was a forbidden place I’d never see, with forbidden people I’d never know, and that was that.
Only, it turned out it wasn’t.
Pushing those thoughts out of my mind, I topped off my mug. “I’m glad you said something. I like knowing you and Zee were friends. It’s … comforting.”
“Really? Then why the sudden frown?”
“Oh, it’s nothing about you and Zee, I promise. It’s only that for a second there I was overcome with the deep need to bake you a zucchini loaf.”
Laughing, he added cream to his coffee but didn’t bother stirring it through. A white cloud bloomed in the dark liquid as he said, “See, Wicklow’s already getting a hold on you. I told you it would.”
“Not hardly.” I went back to making the cobbler’s batter, adding sugar, salt, baking powder, and, lastly, buttermilk to the flour and butter.
He leaned against the sink apron. “This coffee is good. Reminds me of Zee.”
“It should. Jena taught me Zee’s way of making it.” I’d been happy to carry on one of her traditions, but it was another thing that made me feel strangely left out.
“What’re you cooking up over there?” he asked.
“Blackberry cobbler.”
“Did you know you smile when you measure ingredients?”
I glanced at him. “I do?”
“With every ingredient. I noticed because I think it’s the first I’ve seen you smile since you’ve been in Wicklow. Which is a shame, because you have a nice smile.”
I ignored the sudden flustered feeling that nearly made me drop the wooden spoon I was using to mix the batter. “Cooking and baking make me happy.”
“Runs in the family, then?”
“It does. I learned from the best.” I assembled the cobbler, stuck the eight-inch square pan in the preheated oven, set the timer, and faced him. “Are you hungry? How about an omelet?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I should get going. I’ll be forever indebted if you save me some of that cobbler, though.”
“That’s a fair price for the honey.”
He finished his cup of coffee, rinsed the mug, and set it in the dishwasher. “When you have some extra time, I need—”
His words were cu
t off by someone pounding on the front door.
Mr. Lazenby had his face pressed to the glass, which only seemed to highlight each and every frown line. “Miss Anna Kate! I need to be talkin’ to you!”
I let out a breath.
“What’s wrong with him?” Gideon asked.
“The pie,” I said, heading for the front of the café.
“The pie?” I heard Gideon mumble behind me.
“Miss Anna Kate,” Mr. Lazenby said as soon as I opened the door, his color high, “the pie is broken. I didn’t get a dream.”
“I know. Come back tomorrow.”
“What about today’s pies?” he asked, eyes wide.
“Broken too. There actually won’t be any pie sold today,” I said, making a spur-of-the-moment decision. “Everything will be back to normal tomorrow. See you then.” I forced a smile and closed the door.
I turned back to Gideon, only to hear pounding on the door again. I spun around.
“But I’m hungry,” Mr. Lazenby said pitifully through the glass. “And something smells real good.”
I hesitated only a second before pulling open the door. It was the least I could do for the sorrowful old man.
“You’re a nice girl,” he said, passing me by, heading straight to the island where Gideon was already pouring him a cup of coffee.
They said their hellos, then Gideon headed for the back door. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll talk to you later, Anna Kate.”
“But wait. You were saying something earlier…”
“It can keep.”
“You sure?”
He nodded. “Don’t forget to save me some of that cobbler.”
I followed him to the screen door and leaned against the jamb. “Gideon? I know I’m not Zee, but I’ll be down here most mornings around six if you want to come on by for some of her coffee.”
Sunshine glinted off his eyes. “I just might take you up on that.”
With that, he was off, down the deck steps and walking across Zee’s garden toward the back of the yard.
I turned to face Mr. Lazenby and rubbed my hands together. “Now, while we wait for that cobbler, how about we pass the time destemming some mulberries?”
9
“What initially brought you to town, sir?”
“A report of a rare sighting of Turdus merula,” Zachariah Boyd said, proudly puffing out his chest to show off his Bird Nerd T-shirt. “I’m the president of the Gulf Coast Avian Society. We welcome new members.”
The reporter carefully wrote down the name of the group and its website, noting it would make a good inset for his article. “How long do you plan to stay in Wicklow?”
Mr. Boyd scratched his chin, which was covered in a neatly clipped white beard. “Don’t rightly know. I came for the blackbirds … but I’m staying for the pie.”
Natalie
I hadn’t stuck around to witness Mama gloating her way through Ollie’s swimming lesson. I’d headed straight out the moment I’d handed my cheerful daughter over to my also-cheerful mother for the day.
The town was jumping. There was a group of people walking around, hanging flyers about the Fourth of July carnival, which was still more than a month away. I recognized them as being from Mama’s Refresh group and went out of my way to avoid contact. The last thing I wanted was to run into Coralee Dabadie and have to make small talk about Stacia giving Ollie swimming lessons, something I didn’t like to think about, never mind discuss with a woman I hadn’t spoken to in years.
Cars were backed up along Mountain Laurel Lane and many of the diagonal parking spots were taken. There was a vibrant hum in the air that hadn’t been here yesterday, and an even bigger crowd in front of the Blackbird Café, where I was headed. I’d eat my piece of pie, check around town to see if anyone was hiring, then head home.
Staying behind to watch Ollie’s lesson would’ve been sheer torture. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that she was in good hands. Mama loved Ollie and wouldn’t let harm come to her.
Not willingly, anyway.
But accidents happened.
No. I refused to go there. Between Mama and Stacia, Ollie was not going to drown.
She was not going to drown.
I struggled with the need to race back to the pool, grab my daughter, and never let go. Suddenly dizzy, I latched on to a light post for balance as Matt’s bloated, ghostly white face floated in and out of focus, then came sharply into view, in the finest possible detail, the scar on his cheek almost translucent. His blue eyes opaque. His skin puffy.
I’d barely recognized him enough to identify his body, freshly pulled from Lake Martin, where he’d been missing for two days. I closed my eyes against the memory, clenched my jaw, and willed myself not to throw up right here in the center of town, all over the purple and pink petunias along the sidewalk.
I was still clinging to the pole when I felt something wet and slimy on my hand and heard a throaty whimper. Alarmed, my eyes flew open. River, the Sheltie mix, was at my feet, staring upward. His wet nose nudged my arm and he gave my hand another lick.
“He has a knack for finding people in distress,” the mountain man, Cam Kolbaugh, said. He ducked his head to look me in the eye. “You okay?”
“Oh, fine.” I coughed, trying to clear the lingering anxiety from my throat. I patted the light post. “Just checking to make sure this thing’s sturdy. It is.”
“Good to know. You can probably let it go, then.”
My head swam. “I’m thinking I should keep on making sure it’s not going anywhere for a bit longer. Another minute or so should do the trick.”
Cam knelt down, pulled a backpack from his shoulder, and riffled around inside it. He brought forth a canteen and held it out. “Water. Full. None of my cooties on it yet.”
“I’m not thirsty. Thanks, though.”
He sat back on his haunches, then suddenly pulled out his camera and took a shot of me.
“Why’d you do that?”
He studied the image for a moment, a deep frown causing his eyes to narrow. He stood and showed me the camera’s screen. “You’ve lost all coloring. I’ve never seen someone go so white in all my life.”
“Count yourself lucky.” I stared at the picture of myself and couldn’t argue that I looked ghostly. And ghastly. And that I was almost the same color Matt had been on the shore of the lake. Just like that, his face was back, staring blankly at me. I wobbled.
Cam grabbed my arm. “Hey, now. Come on. I’ve got you.”
He led me to a nearby bench, sat me down. River set his chin on my knee, not taking his doleful eyes off me. When I started shivering uncontrollably, Cam inched closer, then placed his right arm around my shoulders, pulling me close, anchoring me to him, as if he did it all the time. He took his other hand and reached in front of me, gathering up my left hand to hold it tightly in his enormous callused palm. The contact should have felt like a confining invasion of my personal space—he was practically a stranger, after all. A big, overpowering stranger. Instead his heat and his strength seeped into me like a soothing balm.
I focused on breathing. In, out. One breath at a time, just like the therapist had taught me when I’d first started having panic attacks. It took a good few minutes, but the shaking stopped. The nausea was still there in the pit of my stomach, but under control. My head throbbed but was no longer fuzzy.
Cam let go of my hand and rubbed River’s ears. “How’s the bench doing? Sturdy as the lamppost?”
I managed a weak smile. “I don’t think it’s in danger of collapsing anytime soon.”
He caught my eye. “Good to know.”
“Thank you for watching out for me,” I said.
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh, I was talking to River.”
Cam laughed, long and hard. “I should’ve known.” As casually as he’d draped it around me, he removed his arm. He fussed with his backpack and his camera.
“And thank you, too.” I tried to explain what had
just happened, without going into the gory details. “I get…”
“You don’t have to go explaining anything to me. Traumatic events leave emotional wounds that’re hard to heal. Everyone has their own way of getting through it.” He stood up, held out his hand.
I slipped my hand into his and looked up. “What’s your way?” I asked, because instinctively I knew he spoke from experience.
“I hide in the mountains.”
“I like your way better.”
“Took me a long time to find a method that works. You’ll find yours. Now, where’re you off to? I’ll walk with you.”
I wanted to argue that I’d be fine on my own, but truth was I liked his company. He had a calm strength about him I envied. “To the Blackbird Café.”
We started off in that direction. He said, “It’s a hot spot today. Loads of people showing up because of the blackbirds.”
“I suppose I’m going there because of the blackbirds, too.”
“But you know they won’t be out until midnight. They’re a sight, too, let me tell you. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. I got chill bumps when they appeared, practically out of nowhere.”
River walked a step ahead of us, his tail wagging as he sniffed people who passed by. I wished Ollie were here—she’d have loved this time with the dog. “Oh, I’m not going to see the blackbirds. I’m going because I need their help. To heal.”
He glanced at me, confusion filling his hazel eyes. “Their help?”
“You haven’t heard about the pie, then.”
“The pie?”
“The blackbird pie? It’s … well, it’s something special. And I’m counting on it to help me get rid of a ghost.”
Anna Kate
My quiet, peaceful morning hadn’t lasted long. By nine thirty, the Blackbird Café was jam-packed. Every table was full and there was a line out the door and down the block. We couldn’t cook or serve fast enough, and at one point I thought we might run out of food. I couldn’t even offer up pie, as I’d handed it out among the early-birders before the café opened.
Midnight at the Blackbird Cafe Page 11
