“Oh, God!” Her car lurched, ripping the steering wheel from her hands when she hit a deep rut in the muddy road. Her lungs seized up and her heart rate surged. She picked the wrong day to visit her great-aunt Clara Cloud, who lived in Cash’s Holler, but it couldn’t be helped. After her encounter with the silver fox—she still didn’t know his name—she couldn’t sleep and had been on the verge of a panic attack more times than she could count. This wasn’t like her. The last time she’d had such anxiety was when she had first returned to Highland Springs after college. So fearful someone would find out her dirty little secret, she had stayed secluded in her parents’ old home for days, tucked under a thick quilt while her heart raced at an alarming rate.
This morning she had done the same—stayed curled up in bed with her blanket pulled over her head, unable to deal with the anxiety that had overtaken her body. When Jamie stopped by to check on her, she blamed it on a cold. He offered to pick up some medicine at the drug store, but she forced herself out of her anxiety-ridden cocoon, deciding to visit Aunt Clara for some of her herbal remedies. For years, she’d turned to Clara for all her medical concerns, much to her doctor-sister, Cassie’s, frustration.
As she drove deeper into the holler, the thick clouds cleared and the wooden bridge across the creek came into view. She blew out a relieved breath when she saw Clara’s new, government-issued mobile home, sitting alongside the one-room cabin she’d once called home. A major flood had rushed through Cash’s Holler last fall, rendering Clara’s cabin uninhabitable. The old lady begrudgingly accepted her new living situation, having indoor plumbing and electricity for the first time.
Darla’s car rumbled on the bridge like she was driving across an oversized washboard, and she pulled into the muddy yard. She slapped her hand onto her chest to settle her racing heart and glanced out the windows at the abject poverty around her. Decades-old mobile homes and tiny, wooden cabins were perched on the steep hillside above Clara’s place, having survived Mother Nature’s wrath. It broke Darla’s heart to see people living in such poverty, with their junked cars and sagging clotheslines, but like Clara, they wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. Cash’s Holler was a tight-knit community of folks looking out for one another, sharing what little they had and always willing to lend a hand.
Darla raked her fingers through her hair, blew out a shaky breath, and gathered up the plastic bags of groceries she’d brought for Clara. Throwing her hood over her head, she ran the short distance to the wooden deck and charged up the steps, pounding on the door in hopes that the nearly deaf lady would hear her. She waved when Clara pulled the window curtain aside to peek out.
“Darla Jean!” Clara’s voice muffled through the glass.
Darla let herself in and was hit with a wall of heat warm enough to bake bread.
“Here, dear, let me take your jacket. Lord a mercy, it’s raining like cats and dogs out there.”
Darla sat the grocery bags on the floor as she shed her jacket into Clara’s gnarled, arthritic hands. She hung Darla’s jacket on a wall hook alongside a tattered sweater and brown, wool coat—probably the only outerwear she owned.
“I just put the kettle on. Take a load off.”
“I brought you some things.” Darla lifted the bags off the floor. “With this weather, I wasn’t sure if anyone was going to town today. There’re canned vegetables, some peanut butter, and fruit.”
“That’s just fine.”
“Oh, and I got some of that butterscotch pound cake you like so much.”
“We’ll have it with our coffee. What do you say?”
“Sounds great.” After placing the grocery bags on the kitchen table, Darla took a seat in one of two rocking chairs that had been in the old cabin. It was so blazing hot inside the trailer, Darla loosened the floral scarf around her neck and took off her cardigan while Clara spooned instant coffee into two cups. With so little, somehow she had thrived eighty-plus years, even with limited hearing and eyes clouded with cataracts.
“Brody stopped by yesterday,” Clara said, offering a white porcelain cup to Darla.
“You don’t need firewood now that you live here.”
“I’m thinking about moving back to my cabin.”
Ever since moving into the new mobile home, Clara had declared her intentions to move back to the one-room house where she’d raised her family.
“He left a cord of wood, and I gave him some mint ointment. His little boy has a cold.”
“That should do the trick.” Clara had a garden of herbs behind her cabin she cultivated, turning them into creams, tinctures, and teas to cure everything from a stuffy nose to eczema. Darla hoped she had something to help her anxiety.
Clara took a loud slurp of her coffee and set it next to the lamp on the table between their rockers. She folded her hands over the worn, gingham dress, resting them on her belly, and pushed with her heels to set the rocker in motion. “I dreamed of you last night, so I was figuring you’d stop by today.”
A cold chill ran down Darla’s spine. One of the side benefits—or curses—of getting herbs from Aunt Clara was her psychic abilities. She was the last of the mediums who had run through her mother’s side of the family.
“You’re having troubles, aren’t you, dear?”
“I haven’t been sleeping well and my heart’s been racing. I thought maybe you could—”
“It’s the hummingbird. It’s back.”
“The hummingbird?”
Clara was always so cryptic with her visions, she’d have to explain them to Darla in language she could understand.
“What is it you’ve been trying to forget?”
“I haven’t been—”
“Darla Jean, don’t try to trick an old fool like me.” Clara laid her wrinkled hand on Darla’s arm and focused her cloudy eyes on her. “Something’s been weighing on your mind, something from your past. That’s why you can’t sleep.” She squeezed Darla’s hand and rocked forward, coming to her feet. “Now I’ve got a mixture that’ll help you fall asleep, but until you do something about the hummingbird, you’ll never be at rest.”
Clara shuffled to the kitchen and rose up on her toes to pull down a tin box from the cabinet. She scooped the dried leaves into a jelly jar while Darla pressed her hand to her chest. It felt like a cement block was crushing her lungs, making it impossible to take a deep breath.
“This is my surefire cure for a restless night. It’s got some valerian root,” she said, dropping in a spoonful with each ingredient, “some passionflower, chamomile, and lemon balm.” She shook the jar, settling the tea before adding some more. “I added a little dried orange peel to give it a nice flavor.”
“Sounds good.”
“It might take two or three nights before you notice results, but after that, it’s safe to drink every night. Make you sleep like a baby. Just don’t drink it during the day, or you might fall asleep while you’re driving.”
“Noted.”
“Here you go.” Clara handed her the jar and returned to the rocking chair. “Put a scoop in a cup of hot water, let it steep a good, long time, and drink it about an hour before you go to bed. That should help.”
“I’m also having trouble breathing. Anxiety, I guess.”
Clara shook her head and pointed. “Over there on the counter, I’ve got a paper bag. Go get it, dear, and breathe into it. When you’re ready, we’ll talk about what’s on your mind.”
Darla liked to tell herself she only came to see her great-aunt for her herbs, but the truth was, she found comfort in the wise, old woman’s counseling. She could talk to Clara about anything, knowing it wouldn’t rotate through the town gossip mill and she’d never be judged. How she wished she had talked to her when she was fifteen and in trouble. Her breath caught in a vice, so she quickly covered her mouth and nose with the paper bag and sucked in air.
“That’s right, dear, in and out. Go slowly now.”
While Clara coached her from her rocker, Darla breathed in and
out, keeping the bag over her face. The familiar paper smell reminded her of packed school lunches as a child. After a few moments, the tension in her lungs eased up and she felt better. She kept the bag with her as she returned to the chair, just in case.
“Feeling better?”
“I am. Thank you.”
“Keep a paper bag with you. You’ll probably need it.”
Darla shifted in her chair and stared at the old woman, now rocking softly with her eyes closed. She’d learned over the years that when Aunt Clara’s eyes were closed, she was about to impart her wisdom.
“You know, dear, all of us have a cross to bear. We’ve all got things we regret.” Back and forth, back and forth, Clara rocked on with her eyes closed and her voice just above a whisper. “It does no good to beat ourselves up over it. We do whatever it takes to deal with whatever we’re given.”
Darla fell into rhythm with Clara’s rocking, hanging on every word she spoke.
“You, my dear”—Clara’s eyes flew open and she stopped her rocking—“you had no choice. The beast overtook you and he must be stopped. Take heed of the hummingbird.”
Now she lost her. Her sage wisdom had made sense until now.
“I don’t understand.”
Clara came out of the chair, hovering over Darla as she placed her warm, soft hands around her face. The old lady’s eyes were fairly glowing, as if she were having a psychotic episode. Darla had never seen her like this before. “It’s time, child. Face your fears. Welcome the hummingbird. You’ll come out stronger because of it. Happiness is yours for the taking.”
“But I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You’ll know. When the bird taps your window, open your heart to the love it brings.”
Darla pressed back into the chair, confused by this strange message. What was she talking about? A bird would tap her window? A hummingbird? None of this made sense. She talked in riddles, more confusing than any other prediction she’d had before. Maybe there was something in Clara’s coffee. It’s a good thing she hadn’t taken a sip.
Like a light switch had been flipped off, the strange luminescence left Clara’s eyes and she dropped her hold on Darla, shuffling toward the kitchen table. “How about we have a piece of that butterscotch cake?”
Darla’s mind was swirling as sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts. She couldn’t stay in this sweltering heat another minute. Maybe Clara needed some fresh air—she certainly did.
“Um…Aunt Clara, I’ve got to get going.” Darla dropped the jar of herbs in her purse and gathered her jacket from the hook. “Thank you for the tea. I’ll be sure to use it this evening.”
“Stay a little longer next time, dear.”
Darla rushed out of the cabin, sucking in cool, fresh air as she ran to her car. The rain had stopped, but the clouds still blocked the sun, leaving a spooky haze over the holler. She threw the car in reverse, spinning her tires in the mud as she raced toward the bridge. She wanted to get as far away from Aunt Clara as fast as she could. The woman had morphed into a paranormal state, and Darla couldn’t shake her confusing words now enveloping her mind.
What had she meant by the hummingbird and the beast? Was it biblical? Was she referring to the devil? If she was warning her of something evil, why did she tell her to open her heart to happiness? None of it made sense.
She pressed her foot onto the gas pedal, gravel flying as she floored it up the steep lane out of the holler until she reached the top of the mile-long lane, and turned onto the paved road back to town. She needed a trusted cup of coffee—not one laced with Clara’s hallucinogenic herbs—and then she’d go to the office where she could drown herself in work, taking her mind off that confusing encounter.
A few minutes later, she pulled into the last available parking space on the block and rushed up the sidewalk to Sit and Sip, Highland Springs’ one and only coffee shop. As usual, the place was bustling with activity—people hiding behind laptops, groups of ladies chatting over their lattes, and folks coming and going at the take-out counter.
“Darla!”
She turned to find Virginia McNamara, Kate’s grandmother, waving her hand and pointing to the empty seat beside her. With a practiced smile, Darla waved back and stepped up to the counter.
“I’d like a large, skinny caramel latte, please.”
“Skim milk and sugar-free syrup? Whipped cream?”
“No thanks. Let’s get this down to as few calories as possible.”
Hoping to grab her cup and go, she was stopped by Virginia, who came up behind her while she waited for her coffee.
“Hi, honey. I’m so glad I ran into you.”
“Hey, Virginia, how are you today?”
“Doing great. Want to join me?”
“I’m really in a hurry.”
“You look like you could take a load off.”
Was her lack of sleep and high anxiety showing? It was probably the shock Clara had just given her. She should’ve checked her makeup in the visor mirror before she got out of the car.
“I’m…well, um…”
“Come on, honey. Let’s sit for a few minutes. I’ve got half a muffin you could finish. That might put the color back in your cheeks.”
She could never seem to say no to Virginia. She had grown up around the corner from the dear woman who had become a surrogate mother to her over the years. Having been born number two in a house full of six kids with parents who were too busy and barely getting by, Darla often rode her bike over to Virginia’s just to get a little loving attention.
Darla dropped into the open seat with a sigh and set her cup on the table, tears stinging her eyes. She hid her quivering hands in her lap and attempted to take a deep breath.
“What is it, honey?”
She propped her chin in her hand and blew out a sigh. “Nothing…everything. I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“That’s tough. Have you tried chamomile tea?”
“I just came from Aunt Clara’s. She gave me some of her tea.”
“That should do it.”
She took a sip of her coffee and sat back as the hot liquid warmed her inside. “When was the last time you were out to Clara’s?”
“Probably last fall, after the flood, when I dropped off some food and clothing the church had collected for the victims.”
“Did she seem okay to you?”
“Fine. Staying with a neighbor on up the hillside. Why?”
“It’s just…” How could she begin to explain the strange message Clara had given her? “She told me she had a dream about me and said something about the beast and—”
A loud, cracking sound, like shattered glass, interrupted her. Startled, she glanced over her shoulder at the large window where feathers were stuck to the glass.
“Would you look at that?” Virginia stood up and glanced through the window to the sidewalk below. “A blue jay hit that window. It’s lying dead on the concrete.”
Darla’s stomach took a tumble. Clara had mentioned a bird hitting the window.
“You know what that means, don’t you?” Virginia turned to face her, her brows knitted with concern.
“Something good’s about to happen?” Darla asked hopefully.
“No, it’s usually a warning of death.”
FOUR
“Maybe if I came with you.”
“No, Meghan.”
“But if she met me, saw me face-to-face—”
“And what? Slammed the door in your face?” Jason dropped a T-shirt into the overnight bag and cupped his daughter’s shoulders. “I won’t let her hurt you like that. Let me talk to her some more, try to figure out why she doesn’t want to see you. Maybe there’s more to the story.”
“Did she say that? Did she actually say she didn’t want to meet me?”
“Yes.”
“What were her exact words?”
Meghan’s eyes were big and hopeful. She stared up at him, expecting a different outcome, but there was
no other way to say it. Her biological mother had no interest in meeting her—not yet. When he got finished showing Darla pictures and telling her all about Meghan’s accomplishments, he’d melt her cold heart. If he had it his way, the two of them would never meet, but he wouldn’t renege on his promise to his daughter.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but her exact words were ‘I can’t’.”
Meghan blew out a puff of air, riffling the bangs on her forehead. “Can’t isn’t the same as won’t. I think she’ll agree to see me if I come along.”
“Not this time. Besides, you have a test on Tuesday and have to work at the sporting goods store on Wednesday and Thursday. You don’t want to get fired. You’ll need that job this summer.” He pulled the zipper across the leather bag and turned to Meghan. “You’ll have a better time staying over at Kristin’s house while I’m gone.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and picked up his bag. “I’ll be back Wednesday night.”
“I’m old enough to stay by myself. You can trust me.”
“You’re responsible enough, but it’s all the derelicts and criminals out there I don’t trust.”
“Fine. Whatever.” She threw her hands up in the air, but then nailed him with a steady gaze and a pointed finger. “Promise me you won’t come back until she agrees to see me.”
“I’ll try.”
Jason planned to hit the road around one o’clock, after he’d taught two classes and grabbed a sandwich from the college snack bar. As he filled a paper cup with iced tea from the beverage fountain, Gary Stern, chair of the economics department, cornered him.
“So it appears you’ve passed the preliminary round of tenure candidates.” Gary’s disappointment hung heavy between them. He didn’t like Jason, and the feeling was mutual. Gary had been at St. John’s for over thirty years, holding the chair position for the past ten. In that time, they’d butted heads on class schedules, research grant money, and scholarship recipients. Basically, whatever position Jason took, Gary chose the opposite. It was galling him that the committee was behind Jason’s tenure.
Whatever It Takes: A Highland Springs Romance (Whatever Series Book 4) Page 3
