by Ellery Adams
They both laughed at the thought. Another customer entered the bookshop and headed straight for the checkout desk. Seeing her approach, Andrews thanked Nora and took his leave.
“Do you have books on herbal teas?” the customer asked over the clang of the sleigh bells.
“I’d be happy to help,” Sheldon said, coming around the corner of the fiction section. He tugged on his sweater vest and gave the woman a charming smile. “I’m an expert on all things edible. Maybe, after I’ve helped you find the perfect book, I can entice you to put your feet up and enjoy a cup of our bookstore blend along with a fresh-from-the-oven pastry.”
A dreamy expression came over the woman’s face. “That sounds lovely.”
Sheldon offered the woman his arm and led her deeper into the store.
Later, after selling her two books, an Agatha ChrisTEA, and a chocolate book pocket, Sheldon handed Nora a thick tome listing the healing qualities of herbal teas.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“The first of several ideas to expand your menu,” he said.
Nora frowned. “It’s a good one. Unfortunately, the lodge serves healing herbal teas and smoothies. I really can’t compete with them. Besides, I’d rather sell things they don’t.”
“Do they package their tea? Or is it available only by the cup?”
“I’d have to ask June. She knows every item in their gift shop. Why?”
Sheldon spun around in a Julie Andrews Sound of Music circle. His arms were outstretched, and his face glowed. “Books and food are perfect together. They’re a power couple. Like Nick and Nora Charles. Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. Ma and Pa Ingalls.” He lowered his arms. “If we want local readers to view this bookstore as a hideaway from reality, an Aladdin’s cave of peace and pleasure, then we should offer them every comfort. Coffee. Tea. Pastries. That’s a start. But we could also serve herbal teas based on people’s symptoms. IBS tea. Back pain tea. Arthritis tea. Fibro tea. We could sell packets too. The recipes are out there. We just need to put the right blend of herbs into a bag and tie it with a pretty ribbon. Gingham, maybe.”
Nora took in this avalanche of suggestions. “Is there enough room in the ticket agent’s office to make and store all this stuff?”
“I’d have to do some reorganizing,” Sheldon said. “That desk would have to come out. What about expanding the menu? How about The Grapes of Wrath fruit salad?”
“That’s awful,” Nora said, softening the rejection with a grin. “Seriously, though. This isn’t a café. I don’t want to serve food other than pastries.”
He shrugged. “But you’re not saying no to the herbal tea idea. Does that mean you’re saying yes?”
“I’ve watched you today,” Nora said. “You belong in Miracle Books. You’re good with people. You’re good at sales. I like having you here, and I love the little changes you’ve already made. The themes you created on the endcaps are brilliant. I trust your instincts, so I’m willing to let you try other new things.”
Sheldon rubbed his hands together with glee. “If you don’t need me to close, I’ll go back to the inn. I’m going to research herbs tout de suite.”
“Why don’t you plan to leave at two every day?” Nora suggested. “If you don’t overdo it, your body might be more forgiving. And I can’t afford health insurance for you.”
“I’m not here for health insurance.” Sheldon lovingly ran his fingertips over the spine of a book. “I’m here for these. And for the people who need them. I came to this town for help, but it wasn’t the funky-smelling springs I needed. It was this place. And you.”
Nora smiled at him. She remembered the first time she’d seen a photograph of the old train station that would become her shop. Even in its state of dilapidation, it had called to her. She’d envisioned the building painted a cheerful yellow hue with a periwinkle door and shutters. The front window would be filled with books and there’d be oversized flowerpots flanking the entrance. Inside, customers would wander through a warren of bookshelves. The shop would smell of paper, coffee, and comfort. It would exude quiet and calm in a rushed and noisy world.
Miracle Books was Nora’s domain. Nora’s sanctuary. But she was ready to share it with Sheldon Vega.
She watched him leave. She liked his jaunty gait. She liked his sweater vest. She liked his waves of silver-white hair and his tidy beard. She liked how comfortable he was in his own skin.
“We’re all works in progress,” she’d overheard him telling a customer that afternoon. “Except me. I’m a work of art.”
The customer had laughed. As had Nora. She laughed often when Sheldon was around.
Now that he was gone, her mind returned to Danny and the mystery of his death. It was a mystery, she decided, because no one understood the why or the how behind it.
While a couple browsed in the unhurried manner of vacationers, Nora tried to puzzle out Danny’s reason for driving to Cherokee Rock. Finally, she sent a group text to the members of the Secret, Book, and Scone Society.
Who’s up for a picnic? Cherokee Rock? Tonight?
Within minutes, she received replies from her friends. They were all up for an alfresco meal, but they wanted to know why Nora had chosen that spot.
Because of Danny, she replied.
That was explanation enough for all of them, and they agreed to meet behind Miracle Books after closing time. Hester assigned dishes to Estella and June and asked Nora to provide disposable plates, napkins, cups, and cutlery. Since Nora kept a supply of these items at the bookshop, she was ready to go the moment she locked the doors.
June pulled into the parking lot behind the bookstore at a quarter past six. Estella was in the front seat, so Nora got in the back with Hester.
Hester waited until they were underway before asking, “Why do you want to go to Cherokee Rock? The sheriff was already there. What do you expect to find?”
“Nothing,” Nora said. “I just need to see it for myself. I found plenty of photos of the symbols online but looking at them wasn’t helpful. They don’t mean anything to me. I was hoping I’d see something more if they were right in front of me. It’s dumb, I know.”
“Any excuse for a picnic is fine by me,” said June. “Besides, I’ve been thinking about Danny. And his wife. Maybe we both needed to come here as a way of saying good-bye.”
The women were silent for several minutes. Finally, Estella said, “I’m glad it’s not raining. Being outside might get me out of my head.” She went on to say that it had been another slow day at work.
Nora wondered if Sheldon could come up with some ideas on how to boost Estella’s business. She made a mental note to ask if he’d consider taking a look at the salon.
“I’ve seen this rock a bunch of times,” said Estella. “You’re not going to look at it and find life-changing meaning in a bunch of old squiggles. I remember being dragged to the site on school field trips. Our teachers went on and on about how the smoke from campfires had nearly ruined the art. But kids don’t care about old things. Kids live in the present.”
Hester turned to Nora. “I’ve never been to this rock, but I’m super curious to see what it’s like. What did the Great and Powerful Internet have to say about its history?”
Nora smiled. “I might as well have asked Oz because no one knows what the design is supposed to mean. Researchers think it was a stopping point for American Indians traveling to the springs. They discovered the healing powers of the water a millennium ago, so the rock is basically a really old waypoint.”
“It’s a beautiful spot,” said Estella. “Unless you’re there in the middle of a storm.”
The women fell silent, lost in their own thoughts. Fifteen minutes later, June pulled off the highway and drove past a historic marker for Cherokee Rock. The sign included the pictograph’s date and its original name, which was Indian Rock.
The camping area was empty, so June parked in front of a site with a picnic table. The four friends decided to view the cliff fac
e before unloading the food and walked over to where the massive rock wall faced the river.
The entire cliff face was covered with graffiti, not ancient art. To see that, Nora had to look much higher up. Shielding her eyes, she stared at the black geometric lines of paint. They reminded her of the maze books she’d done as a child. In addition to these lines was an occasional squiggle. The symbols meant nothing to her. But she wasn’t Cherokee. For Danny, this might have been a sacred place. It might have held memories for him. He’d come here the day he died, but Nora had no idea why.
It was beautiful. The river moved in a steady gurgle behind them, vanishing into the unblemished forest. Hawks circled in the waning light while smaller birds searched for shelter in the trees before night fell.
Nora listened to these sounds and felt the same serenity she felt when she was hiking. She was grateful to live in a place that still had pristine views and unspoiled landmarks.
This landmark was hardly unspoiled, however. It had been damaged by centuries of smoke and in recent decades, by graffiti. The vandalism angered Nora. She could appreciate graffiti art when it was done on the proper canvas, but this ancient rock deserved better than someone’s initials or a clumsy smiley face.
It was clear that Hester also disapproved. She stared at a set of initials, her mouth set in a thin line of disgust. “What is wrong with people? Why do they do stuff like this?”
Estella moved closer to Hester. “They’re just trying to be seen. Or heard. Ages ago, I dated a graffiti artist. He told me that graffiti is a form of protest. It’s a way to make people question things. It’s supposed to get under your skin.”
“They could have gotten under my skin by vandalizing a dumpster instead.” June scowled. “Come on, let’s eat.”
“I’ll be there in a sec.” Nora gestured at the cliff face. “I need another minute.”
June gave her shoulder a squeeze. Though she hadn’t seen Danny’s body in the water, she’d met Danny. She’d met Marie. She understood Nora’s need for a moment of solitude. And because they were sensitive women, Estella and Hester also understood.
Nora tried to view the area through Danny’s eyes. She tried to imagine the rain. The swollen river. The muddy ground. After a week of rainy weather, it wasn’t hard to do. She could even picture the cliff face, darkened by water, and hear dripping from the wet rocks. She guessed Danny’s view had been restricted by poor visibility.
What did he want to see? she wondered. Why did he come here?
On impulse, she used her smartphone to take photos of the view, the pictographs, and the graffiti. She stood there a little longer, waiting for inspiration. Nothing came.
Disappointed, she rejoined her friends.
Hester had set a table straight out of Southern Living. A basket containing Greek chicken salad wraps rolled in wax paper and tied with a pink ribbon took a place of pride on the green-and-white checkered tablecloth. There was also a platter of colorful chopped vegetables accompanied by a creamy dill dip and a bowl of hummus. Finally, there were fruit kebabs made of pineapple, melon, strawberries, and grapes. Estella had topped each skewer with a plump marshmallow.
“This is lovely,” Nora said.
June patted the bench on her side of the table. “Tell us how it went with Sheldon today.”
Nora was happy for the diversion. As much as she was haunted by the sight of Danny’s drowned body, she was even more haunted by the memory of seeing Danny and Marie together. She imagined the initial shock was starting to wear off for Marie. The pain, the earth-shattering truth of her situation, would be sinking in by now. Marie would realize that Danny’s body would never warm their bed again. She’d never cook his breakfast or pour his coffee. She’d never nag him to leave his muddy boots by the back door. Their house would be full of his things. Every time she touched his razor, his favorite shirt, or a piece of his pottery, she’d feel pain. Every time she caught a hint of his scent, she’d turn, searching for his ghost.
“Before I tell you about Sheldon, could we plan a kindness tote session?” Nora asked her friends. “I’d like to put together something for Danny’s wife.”
Every month, the four friends met to assemble secret kindness totes. Each tote contained a book with a hopeful theme, a spa gift pack, a loaf of Hester’s homemade bread, and a pair of June’s socks. The women had originally created the bags to help the townsfolk most affected by the Madison County Community Bank scandal. Now they delivered them to anyone facing a difficult time. They dropped them off on front porches or stoops at night, hoping to preserve their anonymity. So far, they hadn’t been caught. The paper had dubbed them the Night Angels.
June’s expression was melancholy. “What do we give a woman who’s lost everything?”
“Books,” said Nora.
“And food,” said Hester.
Estella pulled the marshmallow off the top of her fruit skewer and held it up. “Something soft. A pair of your socks, June.”
“She needs more than socks and a loaf of bread,” June said. “A case of whiskey would be more helpful.”
“Liquid comfort doesn’t last,” Nora said, and gestured at Hester. “You’re the expert on comfort. How could we deliver something as amazing as one of your comfort scones?”
The women batted ideas around until they were satisfied.
“Can we meet on Friday?” Hester asked. “I can’t do Saturday. Jasper’s parents are coming to town and he wants me to meet them.”
Estella arched her brows. “Sounds like things are moving to the next level. Meeting the parents. Do you think he’s going to put a ring on it?”
“No, Beyoncé, I don’t,” said Hester, trying to hide her blush behind the water pitcher.
“Do you want him to propose?” June gave Hester a playful nudge. “Come on. Tell us. It’s just us girls talking.”
Hester pulled a celery stalk apart, one string at a time. “No. Jasper doesn’t even know the real me. I haven’t told him my secret.”
“Hester, that man loves you,” Estella said. “Any fool can see that. I’m not telling you what to do, but I believe you can trust him with your secret.”
“Maybe.” Hester tossed the mutilated celery into the woods. “The thing is, I should have told him months ago. It feels like I waited too long. I hate my parents for forcing me to give up my baby, for treating me like I was the scum of the earth because I got pregnant in high school, but I hate myself for letting the past ruin my future.” She sighed. “I’ve been stalling because Jasper won’t look at me the same way after I tell him. I’ll be spoiled, like a piece of fruit left out in the sun.”
“That’s your parents talking,” Nora said. “You’re not ruined because of an unplanned pregnancy. You were pushed and pulled and forced to do things against your will. When Jasper hears your story, he’ll want to protect you.”
“I don’t need his protection.” Hester’s eyes flashed.
“Of course you don’t,” Nora agreed. “But if you love the man, and no one says that you have to love him, then you should tell him your secret. Secrets and healthy relationships don’t go together. Trust me. I know.”
“What about Jed? Have you told him yours?”
Hester was clearly trying to turn the spotlight on someone else, and Nora knew why. Jasper was Hester’s first serious boyfriend since high school. She owned her own home, ran a successful business, and was smart, pretty, and generous. But she didn’t believe in her own worth. Part of her kept hearing her parents whisper inside her head. You’re trash, the nasty voices would say. You’re a slut.
Hester’s friends tried to shut down the voices with encouragement and praise, but only Hester had the power to get rid of them for good.
“Jed knows about my accident,” Nora said. “But the version I told him was abbreviated. I shared all the details with you guys because I wanted you to see the real me. The woman hiding behind the scars. I knew the three of us were forming a connection that wouldn’t be broken. I can’t say that a
bout Jed. Part of him is here. Part of him is at the coast with his mom.”
“Guess I won’t be catching your bridal bouquet,” teased Estella.
Nora gave her a horrified look. “God, no. Never again.”
“What about Sheldon?” June asked. “Is he involved with anyone?”
“He doesn’t do relationships,” Nora said, repeating what Sheldon had told her.
“Does that mean I won’t be able to sweet-talk him into working his magic on my salon?” Estella asked.
Nora promised to broach the subject with Sheldon tomorrow.
The sky had turned a deep plum, and the shadows in the campground were lengthening. It was time to go.
On their way out, Nora glanced at the cliff face. The beams of the setting sun washed over the rock, and the ancient art glowed ember red. Nora thought of the bowl she’d bought from Danny. Despite its imperfection—or because of it—the bowl was important to her. She couldn’t give it to Jed. She wanted to use it. She wanted Danny to live on in the clay he’d once shaped.
That night, Nora couldn’t sleep. She wandered into her kitchen, which was gilded in moonlight. Danny’s bowl sat at the counter. Nora sat on a stool and ran her fingertip around its smooth rim, feeling the chip with each circle. Her thoughts drifted from Cherokee Rock to the tintype of Rose Lattimer to the flower petals pressed into the pages of her books.
Idly, Nora picked up Danny’s bowl and turned it over. She looked at the initials and the symbol Danny had scratched into the unglazed clay.
Suddenly, Nora was wide awake. She turned on the lights and looked at the symbol etched next to Danny’s initials. It was a bird. She touched it, and the space above her pinkie knuckle vibrated.
Nora had never told anyone of this odd phenomenon. She knew that amputees could feel itching, pain, or pressure from limbs that were no longer there. But the ghost of half a finger? It seemed ridiculous. Preposterous.
On the other hand, Nora knew women who could predict rain based on aches in their hips. She knew men who could forecast snow by sharp pains in their hands or feet.
