Chapter 3 Elara
ELARA
The coffee arrived in a thick ceramic mug, steam curling up to fog Elara's glasses. She pulled them off, wiped the lenses before taking a sip. Strong. Almost aggressively so. The kind of coffee that could wake the dead.
"There you go, honey." The blonde woman set down a small pitcher of cream. "I'm Twyla. Owner of this little establishment. You passing through or staying a spell?"
Elara looked up. Twyla had the kind of face that belonged in a painting, all delicate features and knowing eyes. But those eyes held something older than her youthful appearance suggested. Something watchful.
"Just passing through," Elara said. "Got caught in the storm. Thought I'd wait it out somewhere warm."
"Well, you picked the right spot. We don't get many visitors this time of year. Roads get treacherous." Twyla's smile widened, but it didn't reach her eyes. "What brings you up the mountain in weather like this?"
Elara took another sip of coffee, buying herself a moment. She'd learned early in her career that the truth, or a version of it, worked better than elaborate lies.
"I'm a journalist. Freelance. Been researching unusual towns in the Blue Ridge for an article series."
"A journalist." Twyla drew out the word like she was tasting it. "How exciting. What kind of unusual are we talking about?"
"Small communities that maintain traditional ways of life. Places that stay off the grid, resist modern development. Hollow Oak came up in some research, so I thought I'd take a look."
"Did it now." Twyla's fingers drummed against the counter. "Can't imagine we're all that interesting. Just folks living their lives, same as anywhere."
The conversations around them had gone quiet. Not silent, but muted. Like everyone was listening while pretending not to.
Elara pulled out her notebook, flipping to a clean page. "The town's not on most maps. That's interesting by itself. And the way the storm cleared when I got close, that was unusual. Almost like the weather parted to let me through."
"Mountain weather's funny that way." Twyla's voice stayed light, but her eyes sharpened. "Plays tricks on you. Makes you see things that aren't there, miss things that are."
"Maybe." Elara clicked her pen. "Mind if I ask you a few questions? Nothing invasive. Just background stuff. How long you've lived here, what the community's like, that sort of thing."
Twyla glanced toward the door, then back at Elara. "Lived here all my life. Well, as long as I can remember, anyway. It's a good town. Quiet. We like it that way."
"I can imagine. Must be nice to have that kind of stability." Elara jotted down notes. "What about newcomers? Do people move here often, or is it mostly families who've been here for generations?"
"Bit of both. Some folks find their way here, decide to stay. Others just pass through, like you." Twyla picked up a cloth and started wiping down the counter. "But we're particular about who we let in. Community's built on trust, you know. Hard to trust someone you don't know."
The words landed like a warning wrapped in honey. Elara kept her expression neutral.
"That makes sense. Small towns can be insular." She looked around the café, taking in the details. Exposed wood beams, handmade pottery on shelves, no visible outlets for charging phones. "This place has a lot of character. How long has the café been here?"
"Oh, generations. My family's run it since, well, since there was a town to run it in." Twyla moved closer, resting her elbows on the counter. "You know, honey, I'm curious. What made you want to write about places like ours? Seems like there are easier stories to chase."
Elara met her gaze. "I like mysteries. And I think people are tired of reading about the same ten tourist destinations. There's something compelling about places that exist outside the usual channels."
"Mysteries." Twyla's smile turned thoughtful. "Careful with those. Sometimes mysteries are better left alone."
Before Elara could respond, the café door opened. An older woman entered, silver hair tucked under a wool hat, half-moon spectacles perched on her nose. She stamped snow from her boots and glanced at Elara with the same assessing look Twyla had given her.
"Miriam," Twyla called. "Come meet our visitor. She's a journalist. Writing about unusual towns."
Miriam approached slowly, unwinding her scarf. "Is that so."
"Elara Jameston." Elara offered her hand.
Miriam shook it. Her grip was firm, her skin weathered. "Miriam Caldwell. I used to run the Hearth and Hollow Inn, if you need a place to stay. Assuming you're staying."
"I might need to, depending on the roads."
"They won't clear tonight," Miriam said. "Storm's easing now, but we'll get another wave before dawn. You're better off here than trying to drive out in that."
Elara glanced toward the window. The snow had slowed, but the wind still whipped it into spirals. "I appreciate that. I'll take a room if you have one available."
"Always have room." Miriam pulled off her gloves. "Twyla, get me some of that coffee. I've been dealing with a frozen pipe all evening."
“Isn’t that what Rowan’s for?”
“Yes, but I wanted to prove I could do it since him and Diana have been busy with everything else. But, I finally gave in.”
As Twyla moved to pour another mug, Miriam settled into the chair across from Elara. "So. A journalist. What exactly are you hoping to find here?"
"Just a story. Something different. A profile of a town that's managed to stay off the radar."
"Stayed off the radar for good reason," Miriam said. "We value our privacy. People come here to get away from all that noise. Last thing we need is attention we didn't ask for."
Elara kept her pen moving, recording the conversation. "I understand that. I'm not trying to invade anyone's privacy. Just capture what makes Hollow Oak special."
"What makes us special is that we're left alone." Miriam accepted her coffee from Twyla with a nod. "You write about us, put us in some article, next thing we know there's tourists crawling all over, trying to find the quaint little mountain town. Ruins the whole point."
"I can keep it vague. No specific location details."
"Can you?" Miriam sipped her coffee. "Because in my experience, journalists say a lot of things. Doesn't always match up with what they write."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Elara set down her pen.
"I'm not here to hurt anyone. I'm just trying to do my job."
"And we're just trying to protect ours." Miriam's voice softened slightly.
"I don't mean to be harsh, dear. But you have to understand.
This town, it's not like other places. We have our ways. Our reasons for staying hidden. Best if you respect that. It’s been compromised before, we now we are extra careful. "
Elara wanted to push, to ask what those reasons were, but she could feel the weight of every eye in the café. Whatever Hollow Oak was hiding, she wouldn't find it by antagonizing the locals on her first night.
"I'll respect that," she said instead. "But I'd still like to stay a few days. Get a feel for the place. No articles, no exposure. Just observation."
Miriam and Twyla exchanged a look. Some silent communication passed between them.
"Few days," Miriam said finally. "But if you start stirring up trouble, you'll find yourself back on that mountain road faster than you can write your name."
"Fair enough."
Twyla leaned over the counter. "More coffee, honey?"
"Please."
As Twyla refilled her mug, Elara glanced down at her notebook. She'd written three pages of notes already. Surface details, sure, but underneath them, a pattern was forming. The wariness. The warnings. The way they closed ranks around their secrets.
Whatever Hollow Oak was hiding, it was big enough that they'd rather threaten a journalist than risk exposure.
Which meant Elara had just found exactly what she'd been looking for.
Outside, the wind picked up again. Snow began to fall harder, and out in the darkness beyond the café's warm glow, she could have sworn she felt someone watching.
But when she looked toward the window, there was nothing there.
Just a town full of secrets she was determined to uncover.