Midnight at the Blackbird Cafe

by Heather Webber

Natalie wrapped her arms around her daughter. “You’ll have to ask Anna Kate those questions, but it was inevitable that she came back, because she has Wicklow in her blood. It’s my belief that all Wicklow girls return to their roots—and their mothers—at some point or another. It just takes some more time than others.”

  “Isn’t her mother dead?”

  Natalie held his gaze. “If you think that matters, you haven’t been paying attention around here.”

  Anna Kate

  Early the next morning, I saw Gideon step onto the back deck, dressed in his usual biking gear of athletic shorts and moisture-wicking tee.

  “Well, hi, stranger,” I said, holding open the screen door.

  He gave me an uneasy smile. “I owe you an apology.”

  “For?”

  “Staying away.”

  The door slammed as I let it go. “No need. I’m sure you had your reasons.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Frantic knocking cut him off. I glanced over my shoulder at the front door.

  Mr. Lazenby.

  “He’s here early,” Gideon said.

  Mr. Lazenby’s insistent knocking reminded me of my first days in Wicklow, when he’d woken me up to ask if there would be pie that day, desperate for a connection to his wife. I went to the door, pulled it open. “Is everything okay, Mr. Lazenby?”

  When I saw the distraught look in his cloudy eyes, I knew it wasn’t.

  “Miss Anna Kate, I’m right sorry to bother you so early, but I need your help.”

  “Is this about the pie?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “No, not pie. Tea. Do you recall offering me tea for my cough? Do you still have any on hand? Pebbles is doing poorly, and her doctors are telling her there’s nothing they can do, that the virus has to run its course. She’s having trouble sleeping, because the dry cough is keeping her up, and without rest, she’s going to have trouble getting better. You can help her, can’t you?”

  “Come on inside. I’ll get the tea for you. It’s not going to work miracles, but it should help soothe the cough enough for her to rest.”

  “Any little bit will help,” he said. “Thank you.”

  I heard him and Gideon talking as I went into the pantry and searched the shelf of loose tea blends I’d made. I found the licorice root jar, a pack of diffuser bags, and an empty jar and brought it all into the kitchen. “This licorice tea is very sweet on its own, so it doesn’t need any sugar added to it. There’s some cinnamon in here too, which is known to help the immune system, so it should help as well.”

  I made quick work of measuring out the dried blend and transferring it into the smaller jar. I wrote down brewing instructions using the diffuser bags, and put all of it in a Blackbird Café paper sack. I handed it over to him, along with a to-go box of zucchini cheddar biscuits. Apparently I’d jumped on the bread brigade bandwagon. “Give her my best, will you?”

  “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Anna Kate.” His eyes softened.

  “You already have just by coming here. Go on with you now.”

  He didn’t need to be asked twice, practically running out the door and down the street.

  “So Pebbles and Mr. Lazenby?” Gideon asked as I turned around.

  I took the cup of coffee he offered. “It’s been a long time coming.”

  “Speaking of a long time coming … I’ll be starting the paperwork today to make Zee’s will official. Technically, you have a couple of weeks left on the mandated timeframe, but it’s just a waiting game at this point. Everything will be ready for you to sign when it’s time.”

  He went on, explaining probate, but I barely heard half of what he said as I stared at the jar of tea on the counter. Its label, specifically. Licorice root.

  For where your roots are, your heart is.

  Zee had told me that once. Her roots were here in Wicklow. Mom’s, too.

  And mine.

  It was breaking my heart to think I had to leave because of a promise I’d made.

  “Anna Kate? Did you hear me?”

  I looked up. “Sorry. Lost in my thoughts there for a minute. What were you saying?”

  “I was saying that I’m torn, Anna Kate. Real torn.”

  “About?”

  “A dream I once had.”

  I pulled a stool out from under the lip of the counter and sat down. “A dream, you say? It wasn’t one you had after eating a piece of blackbird pie, was it?”

  He pulled out the other stool. “It’s time I told you, that pie is the whole reason I’m living in Wicklow. You see, the first time I was in town, I stopped by the Blackbird Café for something to eat … That night I dreamed of my grandfather. He told me I should stay in Wicklow, set up a law practice. I didn’t think much of it, to be honest, other than it was nice to hear his voice again.”

  I set my elbows on the counter and propped my head in my hands. I could listen to blackbird pie stories all day long.

  “Next day, same thing. I ate at the café. Had a piece of pie. Blueberry, if I recall. Later that night, Granddaddy was back. Told me to buy Hill House for my law practice.” His eyebrows arched. “Granddaddy was never one to mince words.”

  “So he wasn’t a lawyer.”

  Gideon laughed. “No, he was a building inspector.”

  I smiled and took another sip of coffee.

  “By day three, I’d heard the rumors about the blackbird pies, and started thinking maybe there was something to the gossip. I was two years out of law school at that point, and a little lost, not sure what kind of law I truly wanted to practice. I worked at a big firm in Huntsville, and wasn’t very happy. When Granddaddy mentioned setting up a practice here, it sparked my interest. For the first time in a long time, I was excited for the future. But when I inquired about Hill House, I was told it wasn’t on the market.”

  “No?”

  “Nope. I had to track down the owner and beg. By the end of that meeting, I had the strangest feeling that she’d been waiting for me all along. It was Zee.”

  Goosebumps went up my arm. “She owned Hill House?”

  “Yep. The café used to be Hill House’s carriage house.”

  I knew it had been a carriage house, but I hadn’t put it together that Hill House had belonged to Zee as well.

  “We became friends—she was like another grandmother to me.”

  “Do you still dream of your grandfather?”

  “Not for a long time. I’d just moved into Hill House when I last dreamed of him.” His long fingers wrapped around his mug as he lifted it to his lips. “He told me that Hill House and the carriage house belonged together, and to make that happen, no matter how long it takes.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  “I tried to talk Zee into selling the café, but she kept telling me that decision wasn’t hers. That it was yours, and to talk to you when the time was right.”

  I ran my finger around the rim of the mug, reflecting on Gideon’s messages. The dreams were supposed to be loving notes … This was more bizarre than Faylene’s husband reminding her to pay the property taxes.

  “I’ve been avoiding you lately, Anna Kate, because the last thing I wanted was for you to feel like I was using you when I finally worked up the nerve to ask you to sell to me. I swear, I didn’t get close to you for your property. I … enjoy your company.”

  He blushed, and I smiled. “Then I hope you’ll stop staying away. I’ve missed you.”

  Grinning, he said, “You don’t know what you’re asking. You might not be able to get rid of me.”

  I shrugged. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  Gideon slid his mug back and forth between his hands. “About the land … I’ve come to believe I interpreted my grandfather’s dream all wrong.”

  “Seems to me he was plenty clear.”

  “I thought so too, but maybe instead of me buying the café, maybe it’s you who should buy Hill House. There’s plenty of money in Zee’s estate for you to do so.”

  I p
ut my mug down. “Oh, no thank you. Honestly, I have no idea what your grandfather intended, but I don’t want Hill House. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful house, but it’s yours. And I’m leaving town in less than a month.”

  “But, Anna Kate—”

  I held up my hand to cut him off. “If you’re about to tell me I should stay here in Wicklow, you can stop right there. I don’t want to hear it.”

  Because I wanted to stay.

  I wanted it more than anything I’d ever wanted in my whole life. Jena had said I belonged here, and I did. I was as rooted to this café as the mulberry trees were to the beyond.

  But I’d made a promise, and though I thought a dozen times a day about breaking it, I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t. Callows did not break promises.

  Gideon and I sat in silence for a few moments before he said, “I’ve been thinking about our time at the movie a few weeks ago, and how it ended so…”

  “Terribly?”

  “Abruptly,” he said, laughter in his voice. “I think we should have a do-over. Do you have plans for the Fourth of July? You might have heard there’s a big carnival and fireworks show…”

  Glancing over at him, I saw a flash of that molten lava in his eyes before he hid it by suddenly looking away. He grabbed the coffee pot and refilled our cups.

  “I’ll be busy until three or so.” I was going to close the café early and take a shift selling T-shirts.

  “Would you like to have another go at a picnic dinner? Same terms as before. I’ll bring the food, you bring the drinks.”

  “I never did get a piece of that fried chicken.”

  “You missed out. Truly.”

  “Faylene’s been raving about it for weeks. I admit she’s made me jealous.”

  “Then it’s a date.” He grabbed his mug and took it to the sink to rinse.

  A date. I smiled stupidly at my coffee.

  He left for his bike ride not long after, and I took the chairs off the tables, set up the cash drawer, and started the biscuit dough. The screen door slammed, and I thought Bow and Jena had arrived early, but it wasn’t them.

  Natalie stood by the back door, wringing her hands.

  She wore a Blackbird Café T-shirt, a pair of knee-length twill shorts, and flats.

  If she owned a pair of sneakers, I’d never seen them.

  I kept on kneading the biscuit dough and said, “I wasn’t expecting you until much later.” In fact, I wasn’t expecting her at all, despite the fact that she was on the schedule. With the way she’d run away from me yesterday, I thought she wouldn’t be back to the café for a long, long time.

  She stepped up to the counter. “I’m here for my shift. I came early because I wanted to talk to you.”

  The anger had faded from her eyes, but they still had sadness etched in their depths. Her shoulders were relaxed, her face soft, not hard like the last time I’d seen it. She seemed to be in a better place today, emotionally, but I wasn’t sure I could handle any lingering coldness.

  Where she and the Lindens were concerned, I was already too raw.

  “About?” I was proud my throat didn’t catch on the word.

  “How sorry I am.”

  I bent the dough in half, pushed the heels of my hands into its softness. My chin came up, and I met her gaze and saw genuine remorse. “I’m listening.”

  “I run away. It’s what I do when I can’t handle the hard times. Not only do I run, I also push away people who care about me. My therapist says I do it to protect myself—I remove myself from the painful situation. It’s taken me a long time to realize that running away doesn’t protect me from anything—it just takes me that much longer to deal with the real problem. I’ve been working on new coping skills, but old habits are hard to break sometimes. You didn’t deserve my anger, Anna Kate, and I’m sorry for the way I behaved. Please say you forgive me.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “Please.”

  I stopped kneading and inhaled deeply. “The thing about families is sometimes they get angry and fight. Especially our family. But that doesn’t mean the love isn’t there,” I said, paraphrasing words she’d spoken to me not so long ago. “The love is always there.”

  Natalie came around the counter and threw her arms around me. She gave me a noisy kiss on my cheek that reminded me of Ollie, and I didn’t blanch at the show of affection.

  In fact, I rather liked it. Floury hands and all, I hugged her back.

  “Thank goodness for that,” she said in my ear. “I have the feeling that our family is going to need all the love it can get over these next few months.”

  I hugged her tighter, but I didn’t have a response for what she said.

  I didn’t want to think about the next few months.

  At all.

  Natalie

  Ollie was upstairs reading a stack of library books with Daddy, while Mama and I prepped cocktails to take out on the patio to watch the lightning bugs dance in the twilight.

  It had been a week. An emotional roller coaster, one filled with few ups and many stomach-dropping downs. I couldn’t imagine that was going to change anytime soon, not with what we as a family were facing.

  But we had each other to lean on. A month ago, I wouldn’t have thought that possible.

  Mama set a stack of dessert plates on the island and reached for the pie cutter. Anna Kate had sent me home from work with a blueberry tart she made at Daddy’s request along with a jar of chamomile tea.

  Mama easily slid the pie cutter into the tart, took out a piece, and set it on a plate. Plump blueberries glistened against the bone-white china.

  “In case you’re worrying,” I said, “this tart has nothing to do with blackbird pie. It’s just a tart, a mighty delicious-looking one at that.”

  “Did I say I was worrying? Were you worrying?”

  “When am I not these days?” I said with a smile. “I mentioned it only because I know how you feel about the blackbird legend.”

  Mama lifted a shoulder. “I reserve the right to change my mind about the blackbirds.”

  My eyebrows went up. “You don’t say.”

  “I can’t say I understand it, but I see that Anna Kate wholeheartedly believes in the folklore. Why am I being so stubborn? It would be nice to dream of AJ.” Her gaze drifted upward, to the room above us where we could easily hear the cadence of Daddy’s voice. “Even if it’s only a dream.”

  I put my hand on her back and gave it a gentle rub, a gesture that didn’t quite feel natural even though I wanted to bring her comfort. All wounds took time to heal, especially when they’d been festering for so long.

  “Have you tried the blackbird pie?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Her gaze slid to me. “Because of the mountain man?”

  “Did you know Cam was a Green Beret, Mama? Served two tours of duty overseas. He’s a nice man. He’s asked if Ollie and I will go with him to the carnival this weekend. I said yes. I was hoping you and Daddy would join us to watch the fireworks.”

  Mama’s eyebrows shot upward and her hand froze mid-slice. “I— We—” She finished the slice and took a deep breath. “We’d like that.”

  “Did that hurt to say?” I asked, holding back a smile.

  “A little bit,” she admitted.

  I did smile then. “Thank you.”

  She nodded.

  “And to answer your earlier question, no, my decision on the pie has nothing to do with Cam. I thought I wanted to hear from Matt more than anything in the whole world. I wanted answers about his death, to put it to rest once and for all. I put off eating the pie only because of Daddy. He didn’t want me to, and I honored his wishes.”

  She set down the pie cutter and looked at me. “It shouldn’t have been your father’s decision. What do you want, Natalie?”

  I set forks on the tray. “What I’ve wanted since the day Matt died. Peace. Daddy said I wouldn’t find what I was looking for in pie, and he was right.” I’d been doing a fair amount of self-refle
ction in the past few days. “I was so caught up in the way Matt died that I forgot how he loved me. He had his secrets and vices, yes, but all I ever knew from him was love. All Ollie knew from him was love. It’s enough to carry us through our grief.”

  Mama’s lips pursed as she set the pie cutter in the sink.

  “For now,” I quickly added before she said something snide about Matt’s character, “I don’t plan to eat any pie. I reserve the right to change my mind.”

  She glanced at me, and her lips fell out of their pucker. “Love can see one through many challenges.”

  She looked like she wanted to say more on the subject, but instead she went about setting napkins on the tray. There were many wounds still to be healed, but we’d get there. I was sure of it.

  With a gentle huff, she threw the napkins down and faced me. “I have something for you. Come with me.”

  “But the dessert…”

  “It can wait. I saw that stack of books Ollie piled next to your father. We have plenty of time.”

  “What’s this about?” I asked as Mama toted me into the dining room. “Do I need dealing-with-Mama wine?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “No, you do not, young lady.”

  Her reprimands no longer made me want to run for the door, which told me exactly how far we’d come in the last few weeks.

  “Not tonight, anyways. I have this for you.” She gestured to a big rectangular box sitting on the dining table. “It’s been a long time coming. Go on, open it.” She nudged the box then lifted her hands, steepling her fingers under her chin.

  Curious, I lifted the lid. As soon as I did, my hands started shaking. “Is this what I think it is?”

  “It is, indeed.”

  Carefully, I lifted the quilt out of the box and spread it out on the table for a closer look. Through watery eyes, I saw that the center of the quilt was a patch of pink and tangerine fabric with the barest hint of gray detailing.

  I saw a block from my baptism dress, another from the dress of my first daddy-daughter dance. One block held a monogrammed frog, and immediately I recalled wearing a dress with that frog on it the summer I turned five.

  “I’m sorry it’s late,” Mama said. “For some reason, not long after you were born, I felt compelled to make your blanket from memorable events, not just from baby clothes. This,” she pointed to a patch made of rainbow colors, “was what you were wearing when you lost your first tooth. This is your first Christmas, and this was the day you got braces, and here’s the day your braces came off. And this one here was when you learned to ride your bike on your own.”