Nightingale Way: An Eternity Springs Novel (38 page)

“Southern comfort?”

“Ms. Savannah Sophia Moore from Georgia. Wait until you hear her accent. I told Sarah that the way she says ‘sugah’ sorta licks up and down a man’s spine.”

“And your bride didn’t take a knife to you?”

“No. She was too busy trying to figure out a way to set the two of you up.”

Zach snorted and decided it was time to change the subject. “So have you heard anything about how the rainbows are biting on the Taylor River?”

The conversation turned to fishing, and Zach forgot about the newcomer to town as he went about his errands. His next stop was the local vet’s office to pick up his whippet, Ace, who he’d left with Nic Callahan first thing that morning. The tall, blond mother of twin daughters had an appealing girl-next-door beauty and friendly demeanor, and she gave him a welcoming smile as he opened her office door and strode inside. “Hey, Zach.”

“How’s my dog?”

“Ace is a doll, and I’m happy to say that he’s doing just great. Even better, he seems to have gotten his spirit back. You’ve done a great job with him, Zach. Aren’t you glad we talked you into keeping him?”

Ace had been in pitiful shape when Nic and her friends rescued him from a bad situation the previous summer. Scarred, starved, and scared, he had needed extra doses of TLC to be nurtured back to health. Surgery had helped his hip injury, the likely result of being hit by a car, but the speed-demon escape-artist days enjoyed by most whippets were behind him. “He’s a good dog. Good company.”

Nic snapped her fingers. “Speaking of which, have you heard the news? Eternity Springs has a new permanent resident. Savannah Sophia Moore. Isn’t that a lovely name? She’s from Georgia and is a dog person. She adopted a pocket beagle recently and she brought her to me for a checkup.”

“Purse pets,” Zach said with a disdainful snort.

“Don’t be snotty,” Nic said with a frown. “The world
needs small dogs, too. Savannah is a soapmaker. She’s rented Harry Hobson’s old place on Sixth Street and she’ll use the shop in back as her workshop. She’s a little quiet and standoffish at first, but once I got her talking, she opened up. She said she mostly sells her stuff at street festivals and craft fairs, but she intends to open a retail shop in town during tourist season.”

“That’s exciting,” Zach replied in a tone that clearly suggested the opposite.

“It
is
exciting.”

“You are such a girl, Nic. Cam opening a sporting goods shop was exciting. A soap shop? I don’t think so.”

Nic’s expression turned knowing. “Want to make a bet you’re singing a different tune after you meet her?”

Zach decided to put a stop to this matchmaking business right now. Choosing his words carefully—Zach didn’t like to lie to his friends—he said, “The woman I’ve been seeing in South Fork wouldn’t be amused to learn that I found a soap shop exciting.”

“You’re seeing someone?” she asked, shock in her tone. She folded her arms and scowled. “I didn’t know that. Why don’t we know about this?”

“We? Do you mean your coven?”

She sniffed with disdain. “Now, that’s just mean, Zach.”

He reached out and thumped her on the nose. “I adore you, Mrs. Callahan, but I don’t need you and your friends sticking your noses into my love life.”

“We care about you, Zach. We don’t like seeing you alone.”

“Then, rest easy. I’m not alone.”
I have a dog. And a new fly rod
. “You and the girls can turn your attentions to somebody else. Now, let’s talk dog food. The Trading Post has begun stocking a new specialty brand.” He
named it, then asked, “Is it worth the extra money, do you think?”

Zach left Nic’s office ten minutes later with Ace on a leash and a spring in his step, telling himself he wasn’t the least bit curious about a soapmaker from Georgia. He had more important things than women on his mind—namely, a free afternoon breaking in his new fly rod at his favorite fishing hole on Rainbow Creek up above Lover’s Leap. When he strolled into the Mocha Moose a few minutes later with the intention of getting a boxed lunch to go, he almost pivoted on his heel and marched out. Sarah Murphy, Sage Rafferty, and Celeste Blessing sat at one of the tables eating lunch. During that split second of indecision, Sarah spied him and then it was too late.

“Zach!” she said, waving him over to the table. “We were just talking about you. Have you heard the news?”

He swallowed a groan and ordered a sandwich.

“I suppose this breaks a law or regulation or rule,” Savannah Moore said, speaking to herself as much as to the dog she held in her lap. She sat atop a bench at Lover’s Leap, gazing out at the mountain vista stretching before her, where spring was in full bloom. “Not that I care.”

Sarah Murphy had suggested this spot when Savannah mentioned she wanted to visit a high, peaceful, isolated place where she could meditate. Of course, Savannah hadn’t confessed the true reason behind her request. What she did here today was private. Besides, until she knew her new neighbors better, she didn’t dare let on that she was anything less than a straight-arrow kind of woman. If they only knew.

The dog, Innocent or Inny for short, lifted her head, her ears perking up. Savannah glanced around, making sure they were still alone, but a lone hawk sailing a wind
drift high above was the only other visible sign of life. Yet, even more than usual, she felt her grandmother’s spirit all around her.

“It’s a beautiful place, Grams.” She blinked back tears. “The mountains are higher, but the sky is just as blue as it is at home, the smell of the air is just as crisp and clean. I hope you would agree with this decision. After everything that happened, I couldn’t bear the thought of stepping back onto your mountain. I just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you behind. I need you with me, Grams.”

Savannah had planned today’s events for a very long time, working out all of the particulars before she ever left Georgia. Well, except for the site itself. That had to wait until she found the right spot. “It’s called Lover’s Leap. It’s not the highest elevation around, but the canyon floor below us is a long way down. This is a perfect place for an angel to fly, Grams.”

And now, it was time to get started.

Savannah tied Inny’s lead to the picnic table, opened the large wicker picnic basket lined with a red bandanna and removed a Mason jar of clear liquid, two glasses, two Haviland china plates, a dinner knife, a yellow gingham napkin, a homemade pimento cheese sandwich—Gram’s recipe—an apple, a lavender-scented candle, and her smart phone. Then she opened her totebag and removed the battered cookie tin that Grams had used as a button box for as long as Savannah could remember.

Setting the tin in the middle of the picnic table, she used the knife to cut both the sandwich and apple in half, then divided the food onto the two plates. She began to eat her lunch, sharing bites with Inny as she carried on a one-sided conversation with her grandmother. “I think I’ve settled on my initial line of fragrances for the retail shop. I’ve decided to limit what’s sold through the store to five. I thought of you when I
went into the fresh handmade soap store in the upscale mall in Dallas. Their products are fabulous, but the scents assault a customer when she walks in. I want my store to be inviting, tempting, but not cloying. Not overpowering.”

She munched her apple and pictured the building she’d rented. “I had intended to call my store Fresh, but believe it or not, Eternity Springs already has a business called Fresh—Sarah Murphy’s bakery. What do you think of Heavenly Scents? Or maybe Heavenscents? Heavenscents, featuring Savannah Soap Company handmade products. Maybe I could do some cross promotion with Angel’s Rest.”

She could almost hear her grandmother’s voice whispering on the wind.
Why, Savannah Sophia, I think that would be right fine
.

She was accustomed to hearing her grandmother speak to her and she conversed with her all the time. She didn’t ordinarily share a meal with her, but this was a special event. “Will I quit hearing you, Grams, once we do this?”

That depends
.

“On what? Just how crazy I am?” Savannah sighed and polished off her half of the sandwich.

Hearing voices in her head wasn’t unusual for her. She’d conversed with an imaginary friend—Mandy—when she was a child. When she first arrived at Emmanuel, she’d resurrected Mandy, fully aware that doing so was a defense mechanism. Mandy’s voice had morphed into Grams’s in the weeks after Grams had passed away.

If pressed, Savannah wouldn’t swear that Grams’s spirit wasn’t with her, in fact.

She eyed the other plate and said, “Grams, you still eat like a bird. Shall I finish this off?”

Another time, Savannah would have been embarrassed
by her playacting, but not now. She’d been headed up the mountain to have lunch with her grandmother the day her world fell apart. During those awful weeks that followed, she’d promised herself that someday she would pick up her life where she’d left off. This was the best she could do.

With lunch over, she moved to the next item on the agenda, opened the Mason jar and sniffed. Her eyes watered. “Whoa.”

She splashed a small amount of moonshine into each glass. Lifting one glass in a silent toast to the old days, she said, “Making family proud, one Mason jar at a time.”

The liquor burned like fire going down. Savannah shuddered. “Grams, I cannot believe you drank this every day and lived to see eighty-five.”

All natural ingredients, my dear
.

Savannah laughed, then made sure Inny’s leash was still secured to the picnic table so that she wouldn’t wander too close to the edge while Savannah was busy. Picking up the button box, she carried it and the second glass of moonshine toward the edge of the overlook and the large flat rock that stretched out over the valley like a plank on a pirate ship. She stood there for a long time, her thoughts spinning back through the years, and she mourned. When the time felt right, she held her glass high. “Here’s to you, Grams.”

She quoted the Irish blessing that her grandmother had cross-stitched in green thread against a cream background and hung in her parlor:
MAY THE ROAD RISE TO MEET YOU, MAY THE WIND BE ALWAYS AT YOUR BACK, MAY THE SUN SHINE WARM UPON YOUR FACE, MAY THE RAINS FALL SOFT UPON YOUR FIELDS, AND, UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, MAY GOD HOLD YOU IN THE HOLLOW OF HIS HAND
.

She tossed back the drink, swallowed, shuddered,
then drew back her arm and sent the empty glass flying. She watched it until it dropped out of sight, listened for the crash of glass against rock but heard only the wind.

And the sound of her smothered sob.

Not good. Savannah didn’t cry. She’d sworn off tears ten years ago and she’d only backslid once. Okay, twice.

Get this done, Savannah. It’s time
.

“Yes.” She blew out a heavy breath. Closing her eyes, she recited a prayer and swallowed the lump of emotion that had lodged in her throat. Tears welled, overflowing to trail down her cheeks as she removed the lid from the tin and stepped closer to the guard rail.

She wasn’t a fan of heights. Gazing out over the valley was fine, but when she leaned forward and looked straight down, her knees went a little weak. The ’shine hadn’t helped.

She tested the rail. It seemed sturdy enough. Good. She needed to be able to fling Grams out beyond the rock shelf so that the ashes sailed, soared, and flew on the breeze before falling back to earth. However, she didn’t want to join her.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she should forget the plan entirely, put the lid back on the tin, take Grams home, and put her on the mantle. Didn’t her grade school friend Annie Hartsford keep her cat’s ashes in a shoebox beneath her bed? Hadn’t Eloise Rankin left her husband’s ashes on a shelf in the garage for almost a year before her children convinced her to put him in the vault? She could—

Savannah Sophia
.

“Okay. You’re right. It’s time.” Inside the button tin was the cream-colored muslin bag tied with a blue ribbon containing her grandmother’s remains. Grams had sewn these bags herself, filled them with soaps or salts for sale at retail shops in town. Savannah knew her grandmother would approve of her use of the bag and
button tin rather than the funeral urn the mortuary had wanted to sell her. Amaryllis Moore hadn’t liked waste.

Savannah removed the bag from the button box and set the tin on the ground. She untied the ribbon, watched it flutter in the soft breeze, and in that moment, a wave of grief struck her so hard that she literally swayed, then broke. Tears fell and she released the sobs she’d held back for so long. She cried for her grandmother, for herself, for the cruel acts committed against her family. She wept for the losses she’d endured.

It was a fierce storm, but also a fast one. Cleansed of the dark emotion, a calm, warm sense of peace spread through her and strengthened her. She lifted the open bag up in front of her like an offering at an altar and said, “Rest in peace, Grams. You were my teacher, my nurturer, my family. You were my rock. I will miss you until the day I die.”

Leaning over the railing, she shook the bag, waving it back and forth like a flag, and the fine particles of ash spilled from the bag and floated on the breeze. Savannah watched the ashes float and dance and dissolve against the blue springtime sky with a bittersweet smile upon her face. “Goodbye, Grams.”

Once the bag felt empty, she checked inside it and frowned to see a significant amount of ash clinging to the inner seam.

She turned it inside out and, holding it by one corner, she leaned over the railing once again and shook the bag hard. Once. Twice. On the third shake, she lost her grip and the bag floated to the surface of the rock just beyond her reach.

Savannah scowled at the bag. She couldn’t leave it lying there. It wasn’t completely empty. Besides, she wanted it for a keepsake.

Did she want it enough to climb out onto the rock?

Great. Just great. At some point, the breeze would certainly
blow it off the rock surface and it would fall to the ground. Where it would lay and rot.

“Wonderful,” she repeated. She glanced around for a stick or something else she could use to retrieve the bag even as a gust of wind scooted it closer to the edge of the rock. Savannah watched it and knew she should let it go. It was only a bag. The ashes were ashes, the dust was dust.