Midnight at the Blackbird Cafe

by Heather Webber

  I felt Seelie watching me intently, and my cheeks heated. “Thank you, Faylene. I’m going to miss creating new recipes.”

  “Will you be gone for long?” Mr. Boyd asked.

  “A while,” I said. As I rushed to the kitchen, I heard Faylene explaining to Mr. Boyd about medical school. I dropped off the dishes and wiped my hands.

  Jena said, “Was that a smile out of Seelie?”

  “A few of them,” I said.

  “It’s a daggum miracle.”

  “Order up!” Bow thumped the counter.

  I picked up the plates, balancing one of them on my forearm. I was halfway to the table when a young woman motioned for me.

  “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I was wondering if you sold T-shirts?”

  “I don’t,” I said, and then smiled as I realized what a wonderful idea it was. “Not yet. Will you be in town long?”

  “A few more days,” she said.

  “Check back with me then.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  I walked away, my mind spinning. I needed to talk to Aubin to see if he wanted in on the project. It was another way to possibly earn money for Summer’s college fund.

  I set Mr. Boyd’s plates in front of him, then went down the line, ending with Mr. Lazenby. I took Seelie’s order and had to smile as Faylene peppered her with a million questions.

  “Anyone need a coffee refill?” Hands went up left and right and I laughed. “And I’ll be right back with your pie, Mr. Lazenby.”

  “No blueberries!”

  I patted his shoulder and said, “Would you like a piece too, Seelie? Today we have peach, strawberry rhubarb, apple, and blackberry.”

  “Oh no, none for me,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Is it the calories or the dream you’re afraid of, Seelie?” Faylene asked.

  Before she could answer, Mr. Boyd said, “Y’all don’t really believe that the blackbirds are singing messages from people who’ve died, do you? They’re just singing.”

  Faylene said, “Of course we do!”

  I tsked. “What would your mother say about all these doubts, Mr. Boyd?”

  His cheeks colored. “Those were just dreams.”

  “Ha!” Mr. Lazenby scoffed. “Dreams, my foot.”

  “Maybe you should cut Zachariah off the pie, cold turkey,” Faylene said to me. “Save it for the believers. It’s a precious commodity that shouldn’t be wasted.”

  “No, no! Don’t do that,” Mr. Boyd said quickly. “I … like the pie.”

  “Then keep your skeptical opinions about the blackbirds to yourself while you’re in this here café,” Faylene said, poking him in the arm. “What would your mama say about your manners?”

  His head came up sharply, and his eyebrows dropped low. “She’d say to mind them, and I know that because she said so in the dream I had last night…”

  “See!” Faylene said. “If that there isn’t proof, I don’t know what is.”

  “Dreams,” Mr. Lazenby mumbled, shaking his head.

  Mr. Boyd, his cheeks pink, glanced at me. “Sorry, Anna Kate.”

  “Don’t worry about it another second,” I said.

  Faylene beamed at him. “I do like a man who can apologize. Now, pass me one of those zucchini fries, if you please. I hear they’re delicious.”

  My gaze went to Seelie, but her attention had turned to the writing on the soffit. When she finally looked down and caught me watching her, she looked away quickly.

  But not before I saw the tears in her eyes.

  Natalie

  My therapy appointment this week fell on a Tuesday afternoon, and Lord help me, I was once again running late. The birders had kept the café busy and me on my toes right up until closing time. I had only a few minutes at home before I had to be on the road, or I ran the risk of having to reschedule.

  The therapist would probably say my habitual tardiness was a result of me not wanting to go to the appointment at all, and she’d be right.

  I didn’t want to go.

  But I needed to.

  I knew the difference.

  It was my third meeting with her, and while I didn’t exactly enjoy our time together, I hadn’t had a full-on panic attack in more than a week. We’d spent much of the last appointment talking about lies, and since I’d given no ground on the subject we would be revisiting the discussion today.

  She was trying to convince me that lying wasn’t always detrimental.

  Right.

  Clearly she’d never had a husband who lived a secret life, one who maybe, possibly, killed himself to keep from telling his wife the truth.

  My lungs squeezed painfully, and I took a few deep breaths, focusing on calming myself down once again.

  Avoiding looking in the direction of the pool, I ran up the porch steps of the little house. A large, thin, rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper was tucked behind a rocking chair near the door. My name was written in dark ink on the packaging, and underneath that the word “fragile” was underlined.

  I mused at the combination, wondering if the word “fragile” was describing the package or my state of mind. Both fit, I supposed, so I didn’t linger on the intention.

  Pulling out my keys, I unlocked the door, then pushed it open. Chilly air washed over me as I set the package on the kitchen counter, tore the paper, and gasped.

  It was the framed photo of the doe and waterfall. A note slipped out onto the floor.

  Natalie—

  Thought that if you couldn’t go to the waterfall, then the waterfall should come to you. Everyone needs a little peace in their lives.

  —Cam

  I blinked away a sudden rush of tears. No crying. But it was such a thoughtful, kind gift, I couldn’t help the surge of emotion.

  I needed to call Cam to thank him. Then I realized I didn’t have his phone number. Marcy would, though … I reached for the phone, then dropped my hand. I didn’t have time right now.

  There was barely enough time for a quick shower if I was going to make it to the therapist’s office in time. Skipping the shower was out of the question.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was headed for the door when the phone rang.

  Glancing at the ID screen, I recognized my mother’s cell number.

  Befores and afters.

  Before Mama had decided to reinvent herself, I would have walked out without answering. After her personality overhaul, I grabbed the phone, hoping that the new her hadn’t vanished. I kind of liked her.

  “Hi, Mama. I was just on my way out to therapy.”

  “I don’t have much time either,” Mama said. “The Refresh meeting is having a short break, and I thought I’d take advantage to give you a call about a conversation I had a few minutes ago.”

  “About?” I kept an eye on the microwave clock. The blue numbers glowed at me accusingly. I turned my back on them.

  “I was talking up your sewing and fabric choices to Patsy Dale Morgan when she mentioned she had an old trunk of vintage fabrics that you’re welcome to, free of charge, since they’re just collecting dust at her house.”

  I perked up. “I’d feel better if I could pay her for them, but I can’t pay much…”

  “She’s not going to accept your money, Natalie. She says you’d be doing her a favor.”

  I recognized when it was pointless to argue. “That’s awful nice of her. I’d love them.”

  “I’ll tell her so as soon as I go back inside. And I’ll have your daddy swing by Patsy’s tonight to collect them.”

  “I can do that, on my way home.”

  “Oh, I know. I figured this way would be easier on you, what with your schedule lately. You know Patsy. Faylene Wiggins is a novice talker compared to her. You’d be there three hours at least, where your daddy has no qualms whatsoever about cutting off a conversation in order to make it home by suppertime. You know how he likes his meals.”

  The image of him poking at his roasted chicken and sweet potatoes at Sunday supper fla
shed through my mind, and the pit in my stomach widened. He could tell me all he wanted that he was fine, just getting old, but something wasn’t right with him. I could feel it in my soul.

  “Thank you, Mama.”

  “You’re welcome, Natalie. And one more thing … when I was home earlier, I saw that burly mountain man leaving our driveway in his pickup truck. Had you been expecting him?”

  “His name is Cam, Mama. And no. He brought by one of his framed photos. Left it on the porch.” I didn’t dare tell her that it had been a gift. No telling what she’d read into that.

  “A gift?”

  Shoot.

  I couldn’t out-and-out lie. “Yes, a gift. I’d been admiring it at Hodgepodge. You should check out his photographs next time you’re in there. I think you’d like them. Now, I really need to get going.”

  There was a long stretch of silence before she said, “Then I’ll let you go.”

  I could tell there was much left unsaid in that brief silence. I could practically feel her disapproval vibrating through the phone. But I had to give Mama credit—she hadn’t voiced her opinions of Cam. It was a step forward. A baby step, but I was more than okay with that.

  We said our goodbyes, and I took one look at the clock, groaned, and ran out the door.

  20

  Anna Kate

  I looked out the side window. “Is it my imagination, or is it beginning to look like a tent city out there?” I spotted several trash cans and a sign with the word RULES written at the top of it.

  “Not your imagination. Zachariah Boyd is doing his best to organize the chaos as more people arrive,” Jena said.

  Bow adjusted the heat on the fryer. “You could say the birders are flocking here.”

  “Ugh,” I groaned.

  Jena laughed as she gently kneaded biscuit dough. “That should be incorporated into Wicklow’s slogan somehow. Wicklow, where people flock. Flock to Wicklow?”

  “Wicklow, a flocking good time,” I said, laughing. “We should put that on T-shirts too.”

  “I’d buy one,” Jena said. “And wear it proudly. The sooner we can get them printed, the better. With the Fourth of July celebration next weekend, birders will be arriving in droves, making a weeklong vacation out of the trip up here. Not only that, but word is getting around about the hiking and biking. Wicklow will be a mountain resort town before we know it.”

  Biking reminded me of Gideon and his offer to take me riding one day. I looked toward Hill House and noted the lights were on. I hadn’t seen him much lately. He’d only been by for coffee on Tuesday, and it had been a quick visit where we mostly discussed the zucchini and the bike ride he had planned.

  I had the feeling he was avoiding me, and for some reason it was painful.

  For some reason. I scoffed at myself. I knew why it hurt. I liked him. A lot.

  Jena came over to see what I was looking at and poked me with her elbow. “Looking for Gideon? You do know he’s sweet on you.”

  “He is not.”

  “Shoo-ee, honey, yes he is. Isn’t he, Bow?

  “Sweet as this sugar,” Bow said, winking at me as he poured sugar into waffle batter.

  “It’s why he’s been keeping his distance.” Jena put the pan of biscuits into the oven. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I tied an apron around my waist and saw that Mr. Lazenby was sitting on the bench by the door. “Why would he do that if he’s sweet on me?” I dropped my head back and groaned. “That sounds so silly to say aloud.”

  Jena said, “I can think of a couple of reasons.”

  “Like?” I asked.

  Dark eyes gleamed as she held up a single finger. “One being that you’re leaving soon and getting attached isn’t the smartest thing to do.”

  That wasn’t news to me. “And two?”

  She stuck a second finger in the air. “He was Zee’s attorney. He might feel it’s inappropriate.”

  It didn’t feel inappropriate, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt on that.

  “And third … I can’t help feeling he’s keeping something from you. A secret.”

  Bow said, “I bet you’re right about that.”

  Jena smiled at him. “I’m always right.”

  “I know.” He grinned. “You already have that T-shirt.”

  She laughed. “I do, don’t I?”

  The two of them seemed to be in an especially good mood this morning. “A secret?” I asked, trying to rein them back on topic. “What kind of secret?”

  So help me if he had been married all this time and conveniently forgotten to mention it.

  “I don’t know, sugar. It’s just intuition,” Jena said in that melodic way of hers. “I’ve been around this town long enough to know when people are keeping secrets.” She sighed heavily. “I have to admit, I’m going to miss this place, though I’m looking forward to new adventures.”

  “Miss this place? Are you leaving town?” I asked.

  Jena said, “We’ve been planning for a long time now to move along once you sold this place. We want to travel some, see the sights. Now, don’t be looking at me with that long face. It’s nothing to be sad about—it’s been a long time coming. We were supposed to only be passing through here to begin with.” She laughed. “And we ended up staying twenty-odd years.”

  I hated thinking of them leaving, though they had every right to move on with their lives. “Gideon says Wicklow has a way of holding on to you.”

  “He’s flocking right about that.” Bow crossed the kitchen and climbed a small stepladder to reach a roll of paper towels on a high shelf. He was wearing shorts today that showed off his skinny chicken legs, as he called them. It was the first time I noticed he had a jagged scar running down the back of his left calf. It looked familiar, the shape of that scar, though I knew I’d never seen it before. He usually wore pants to work.

  “Where did you two live before here?” Though they were two of the kindest, gentlest souls I’d ever come across, they weren’t very forthcoming with information about themselves.

  “Here, there, and everywhere,” Bow said. “We’re gypsies at heart.”

  “Yet you’ve stayed here for more than two decades. Why?”

  Jena suddenly busied herself with the muffin tin, wiping the metal edges with a damp dishtowel.

  Bow’s cheek twitched. “To right a wrong, Anna Kate. To right a wrong.”

  “Has it been righted?” I asked.

  “Not yet, but we’re workin’ on it,” he said, grabbing a knife to cut potatoes.

  “For twenty-some years…?”

  “There’s no time limit on trying to fix a mess you made.” Jena came around the island, wiping her hands on the dishtowel. “But sometimes, well, honey, sometimes it’s best to let the past settle a bit before you go stirring it up again. People see things differently through the lens of time.”

  “And is that what you’re doing now? Stirring?”

  “We’re veritable dust devils,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  “And when that dust settles, you’ll be leaving? Where will you go?” I asked. “What will you do?”

  What was I going to do without them?

  Then I gave myself a good, silent talking-to. I was leaving, too.

  “Wherever the winds take us.” She turned to check the coffee pots.

  I wiped a counter. “I have to confess that I hoped you two would stay on and run the café.”

  “Are you rethinking medical school?” Bow asked.

  “No, I’m going. My lease is signed—I move in August first. That gives me a couple of weeks to get settled before classes start.” I stared at his arched back, trying to fight the sick feeling coming over me.

  “Hmm,” Jena said, her pencil-thin eyebrows raised.

  I frowned. “What?”

  “What?” she echoed.

  “You’re not one to beat around the bush, Jena.”

  Bow laughed. “No, she’s one to perch in that bush and sing loud and clear.”

&nbs
p; “Hush.” She swatted him. “It just seems to me, honey, that you belong right where you are. I see your heart here, plain as day. It’s on that there specials board and the way you talk to the zucchini and it’s in the pantry on the herbal tea shelf you created. It’s out there on Mr. Lazenby’s face, it’s in the way you’ve taken up for Summer, it’s in the love you have for Natalie and Ollie.”

  I wanted to make a snarky remark about how that wasn’t much evidence at all, but I couldn’t bring myself to joke.

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “I have to go. I made a promise to my mom, and Callows don’t break promises. I’d like to find a way to keep the café open while I’m gone. I’d become more of a figurehead, overseeing the operation from afar.”

  “And the pies?” Jena asked, as if knowing full well what would happen if there weren’t blackbird pies.

  It made me wonder exactly how much she knew of the blackbird legend and the secret of the mulberries. I suddenly suspected she knew it all.

  “I haven’t figured that out yet,” I said. “Maybe I can make them up in Massachusetts and overnight them.” The mulberry preserves would be easy enough to pack up and take with me.

  Jena tsked. “You’re too smart to be thinking that plan would work in the long run. I’m going to say it plain as day: you can’t have both. You need to choose: medical school or the café.”

  “It’s not that easy,” I said.

  “Honey, nothing in life is.” She took the rag out of my hand. “Best you open that door, before Otis picks the lock.”

  I looked up at the clock, surprised to see it was after eight. I hurried through the empty dining room to unlock the front door. “Good morn—”

  “Don’t you good morning me, young lady,” Mr. Lazenby said, marching straight toward his seat.

  People filtered in behind him, including Faylene and Mr. Boyd, and several other locals and birders I’d come to recognize by face, but not by name. Each gave me warm greetings, joking about the blackbirds or all the zucchini dishes on the specials board. But my gaze kept going to Mr. Lazenby. He was pouting.

  I grabbed a coffee pot and headed his way.

  He looked up at me and said, “It was broken again.”