Chapter 6 A Blueberry Adventure #2
"Oh good," Mrs. Ling said, stepping through a curtain of willow branches, a couple of lime green strands hanging over her shoulders like a mantle. "I was going to call you today."
"Me?" Tilly asked, pointing to herself. Her phone stopped buzzing in her hand, and she tucked it back into her purse to deal with later.
"Yes. Why don't you come in? I have cookies and can make any tea you would like."
Tilly considered this and realized, why not? She had nothing else to do.
"Sure. But why were you going to call me?" She and Mrs.Ling weren't unfriendly, but she wouldn't consider them close friends by any means. Or really, friends at all. Acquaintances. They were lovely acquaintances.
"Oh, we'll get to that, dear. Tea and cookies first."
She led her through the back door of The Blueberry House and into the kitchen, which was an affair of sunshine and sugar.
The slanted ceiling of one large half of the kitchen was greenhouse windows, opening up the space to its light.
Everything was white from the tiled floor to the cabinets and walls.
Even the island and kitchen table were made of white laminate, though cracked in many places and yellowing with time.
In fact, upon closer inspection, the walls were dingy, the cabinets smudged with use, and a few tiles cracked in corners, the grout needing a good bleaching. It wasn't unclean, just used.
Still, it was open and warm. The rays of the sunshine shot down into the room, mixing with the smells of baked sugar and butter, and the overall effect was overwhelming bliss.
Tilly felt hugged, taken in, and encompassed in shelter. It was a feeling one doesn't often come across in a world as dangerous as theirs, but at that moment, she reveled in it.
"I don't think I've ever been in the kitchen before," she remarked as Mrs. Ling waved for her to take a seat at the island.
"Oh, not that one, dear. One of the legs is unstable, don't want you tumbling."
Tilly chose a different stool, the wood stiff and the back uncomfortable. She couldn't imagine anyone wanting to sit here for long.
"It's a lovely house. Has great bones. But, and I am sure you have noticed, what covers the bones needs refreshing."
Tilly smiled as Mrs. Ling slid a floral plate of cookies toward her and took one. They looked to be sugar cookies, and as she took a bite, she had to hold back from making a face. They were far too sweet.
While a teapot matching the plate of cookies was steeping, Mrs. Ling dragged one of the old, uncomfortable stools to the other side, across from Tilly.
"Now. You are here because I am ready to retire."
"Oh," she said, around the bite of too-sweet cookie. "I'm sorry to hear that. I mean, I'm glad that you get to retire, but not seeing you here," she looked around and shook her head. "I can't imagine it."
She pictured the many times she'd seen Mrs. Ling handing out wooden crates for blueberry picking.
The first time she'd come to this inn and walked into the backyard, unsure, fresh in town, trying to figure out her new life, Mrs. Ling had waved her over as if she'd been waiting for her, pushing a wooden crate into her hands and pointing her towards the overfilled blueberry bushes.
She smiled. "Yes, well, I'm old. The house is old. My husband has gone ahead and found us a place to live and relax on the coast up a ways. The kitchen is small but has a bay window that looks out over the water," she said, leaning in with a smile. "How delightful is that?"
Tilly smiled back. "That sounds lovely. But, I'm sorry, why am I here?"
"Oh! Yes. Because I would like you to take over here. For me."
Tilly paused, set her too-sweet cookie down, sure she hadn't heard her correctly.
"I'm sorry? You want me to take over The Blueberry House?"
Mrs. Ling's eyes crinkled charmingly. "Oh, I forget sometimes this old biddy has been nicknamed that. Fitting. Though the blue paint could use sprucing. All of the house could use an update. And I cannot be the one to do that."
"But," Tilly dragged in a breath and thought of the replica of this house sitting on Jen's counter this morning. "I don't have experience doing this, running an inn, I mean. Or renovating."
"Neither did I. And this place called to me twenty-seven years ago. At the time, the house needed updates, and I got them done. Because I was the right person for the job. And it's not all that difficult, love. Not for the right person. Just a little imagination and an oomph of belief."
This was sounding very Peter Pan, and Tilly looked around for Tinker Bell as she let Mrs. Ling's words fill her.
"I don't-"
"Honey," she cut her off gently as she poured tea into delicate cups, "You don't need to fully understand.
And before you ask, you're the right person because The Crescent Inn has a peculiar taste for its caretakers.
" She slid the cup to where Tilly sat, and she wrapped her hands around it.
Her nail polish was chipped in three places.
"We have something in common, it would seem. "
Tilly shook her head again, her eyes wide, trying to take this all in. "What do we have in common?" She looked over Mrs. Ling's sharp bob of black hair with white strips framing her face.
But then Mrs. Ling leaned forward and with whispered words that were gentle, she said, "Not all men handle us with care, do they? No matter what strength we're made of, our bones tell of their malice."
Her heart thumped against the cage inside of her. How did she know? She'd told two people. Three, including her therapist. Save one person who had handled her truth with as much care as the offender had dealt it, and she'd learned her lesson.
But Mrs. Ling nodded her head in that knowing way. "I knew. The first time you came for blueberry picking those years ago. I recognized it in you.""Sometimes we hold secrets tucked into the places someone else broke inside of us so that we don't have to explain it and risk being misunderstood."
Her words washed over Tilly in an unusual familiarity. She knew exactly what she meant, had felt it for years, holding the damage inside of her carefully.
"Now, dear, I was hoping you could take over quite soon as I am dreaming of that bay window and a cup of tea between my arthritic hands. Does the end of this week work?"
"Uh," Tilly's mind was reeling. "Take over running The Blueberry House this week?""Yes, though you will need to get used to calling it The Crescent Inn, as that is how it is known to tourists, and you may confuse them."
She nodded.
She nodded more as thoughts tumbled through her.
She didn't know how to run an inn. The sound of an old grandfather clock dinged down the hall through the swinging door and something inside of Tilly rumbled.
Her fingers tingled and her blood seemed to bubble, but not unpleasantly.
Mrs. Ling laid a gentle, thin hand over hers. And then her head was clear.
She felt ready. For what, she couldn't say other than a new adventure and to take some slip of control back.
"Okay. I'll take over end of this week. Running a historic inn. Which I don't know how to do."
"Oh, silly details," Mrs. Ling said with a wave of her hand.
Pretty important details came to mind, like managing money and occupancy, but sure.
"I have so many questions," Tilly started, but Mrs. Ling stood and waved her out of the kitchen, through the dingy white swinging door and down the hallway, where she stopped.
There in the corner by the closet under the stairs stood a clock made of the most beautiful wood she had ever seen.
It was pale with dark rings throughout the body, sanded, stained, and protected with a shine.
It was smaller than some grandfather clocks she had seen, but it was the perfect size for this hallway, with the herringbone brick underneath its ornate feet that looked like twisted tree branches.
"This grandfather clock is beautiful," she murmured, peering up into its window and frowning when she didn't find a typical clock face. It had symbols and the cycles of the moon.
"Oh, that's not a grandfather clock, dear. It's a grandmother clock."
She turned to look at her. "A what?"
"A grandmother clock. They're not very common."
She frowned again, looking at the gold face with its intricate symbols. It looked familiar. Then she realized it had rung not on the hour as she looked at her phone. "It keeps odd time," she remarked.
"Grandfather clocks keep time. Grandmother clocks keep purpose."
She stepped back from the peculiar piece and opened her mouth to ask a myriad of questions when Mrs. Ling smiled and said, "There are many questions you have, I know.
Some of them are interesting, like that clock, and some of them are less interesting, like how to check in a guest. But you will figure it all out.
" She reached out and gently took Tilly's hands into hers.
They felt fragile, thin, the skin like it would crumple like paper if she pressed too hard.
"You have the right people in your life to help, and it's time for you to take this all on and get to the meat of your story. "
"I'm a little freaked out," Tilly whispered, the honesty pulling Mrs. Ling's mouth up into a wide smile.
"Good. What an excellent place to learn about yourself."
"This is all very weird," she replied.Mrs. Ling tilted her head, her dark eyes roving over Tilly's face with the smallest knowing smile on her mouth.
Both of her hands delicately braced Tilly's bare shoulders, and a feeling blanketed Tilly as Mrs. Ling said, "Is it?
Or are you feeling at home and safe and the tiniest bit excited and ready? "
She was. She felt all of those things. How did she know?
She felt warm. Good warm. The kind that comes from the inside.
What was happening?
"Now, I will see you out, as you have much to do, I am sure, to get ready for this new adventure. So lovely seeing you, dear."
And then she was on the wide front porch looking out over the idyllic street, the lavender door closed on her, and a moment of bursting fear popped like kernels inside of her.
"What...have I done?"
Bess closed her locker. Metal clanging against metal would be a sound of her high school days forever imprinted on her.
Summer school had been her idea. She'd wanted to do three honors courses for college credit, unsure of what she wanted to do with her life, but she still knew she wanted to hold a degree or two. Or four.
After her last class, she was looking at her planner.
She kept a physical planner decorated with doodles and stickers that looked like Halloween had taken parental rights over every season.
She liked the tangible hold of it in her hands, something she could flip through.
Tonight they had no plans, and she wasn't working.
Suddenly, her planner and the rest of her books went flying as she was slammed into from the side. Disoriented and annoyed, she looked to see who the offender was, but he was immediately bent to the ground, picking up her things. A dark head lifted until he stood tall and held out the stack to her.
His light blue eyes were shocking, especially as they never looked her way.
Jeremy Bracker was one of the greatest cliches a high school needed to survive: the handsome jock that people blindly worship.
She'd been in school with him for as long as she could remember.
Multiple classes and minimal conversation.
"Sorry about that," he said easily. He gave her a conciliatory smile before he was off down the hall.
"Bess!"
She saw her friend Chloe walking toward her. She had curly blonde hair that she kept cropped just below her ears, giving her a childlike look. They became friends a few years ago in a class Bess couldn't recall, but it was an easy friendship. Nothing deep, but nothing serious or stressful.
"Friends with Jeremy Bracker now?"
"No, he knocked down my books."
"Seriously?"
She asked with shock and Bess laughed. "Not in an early 2000's high school TV drama way. He just ran into me, and then he picked them up."
"Ah. I've never seen him have a girlfriend," she said, tilting her head as they both watched him disappear further down the long, shiny hallway. It was known that Jeremy Bracker did not date. Theories ran rampant. That particular human skill never outgrew most people, Bess had found.
"Maybe he's asexual."
"Mhmm," Bess barely acknowledged. Because she did not care. She was ready to get home, grab an iced tea, and see what her aunts were up to.
"Oh! Maybe he's another Salem-cursed bachelor," Chloe bounced on her tall legs with wide eyes, pulling a laugh from Bess.
"I doubt it.""Yeah," she said with disappointment in her voice. "He's not that interesting. Only good-looking and good with all the ball sports."
Bess chuckled and spun the code for her locker. "Any plans this weekend?"
"Lindsey and I are celebrating six months, so we're going to a farmer's market, then the beach, and then out to dinner. I got this gorgeous summer dress with lemons and yellow bows on it. How about you? Summoning the spirits of past witches to hex men who have hurt the ones you love?"
She'd dropped her voice an octave and added a spooky lilt, making Bess give her a look that had Chloe cracking up.
"That's next weekend."
"God, you guys are cool."
She smiled because they were. She loved her life and the surprising way it turned out. Ursula coming into town and moving into The Lost Souls House had been the best turn of events in Bess's life, and her uncle's.
"Oh, I gotta go. See you Monday!""Have fun and happy anniversary!" she called.
When she was about to place books inside the locker she stopped. Had she opened the wrong locker? No. That didn't make sense. She looked around the emptying hallway before looking back. Hanging there on a thick padded hanger was a satin dress. On it was a note.
She looked around again before she reached in to pull it out.
It smelled like peonies and something warm, like a kitchen oven just turned off with a cooling blackberry cobbler on the counter.
She frowned.
Maybe this would be an interesting weekend.