4. Chapter 4

four

Harper walked past the group of robins gathered by the basement's back door entrance, and for the first time, entered her building alone. From now on, she would park in the lot behind the building and enter through this door. Once she climbed the stairs to the main floor, she walked to the threshold, turned around to look at her shop anew, and took a deep breath. The fresh, invigorating aroma she remembered still permeated the air. She noted with renewed satisfaction the surprisingly neat books, some on shelves, others stacked behind the checkout counter, still more arranged on tables. It was as though they were waiting on her. Then she flipped on the overhead lights to augment the pale, cold January sunlight filtering through the windows.

Amazingly, all of this was hers and hers alone. It felt as though her deepest wish, long hidden, had been granted. But mixed with her elation was a tinge of fear. Okay, now that you own it, what are you going to do with it?

She intended to open a used bookshop under the same charming name, the Robin's Nest. Her own nest would be upstairs. The bird references struck her as ironic: Harper had feared birds since she was a small child. One lonely afternoon, with her parents gone for a few hours and Grandma Sophie unable to keep her, she had turned on the television and, in rapt horror, watched the Alfred Hitchcock movie The Birds. She'd had an unreasonable fear of the winged creatures ever since.

Upstairs, she examined her future living space. She walked around, envisioning different floor plans and imagining how it might be furnished. Right around the corner on Main Street was a highly rated vintage shop, the Bric ‘a' Brac, where she hoped to buy necessities.

For the time being, she was settled into a darling small rental cottage with a golden stone exterior on Poplar Street, on the other side of town. Since it was fully furnished, she'd gotten rid of most of the contents of her house in Raleigh. And she had traded her SUV for her first pickup truck, a mid-sized red Ford with a covered bed, to haul whatever needed hauling.

Exploring the building thoroughly without the constant chattering of Monica, the perky agent, helped ease her anxieties. Now she could focus and develop a clearer sense of the place.

Harper ambled down to the basement, where the walls were painted a darker shade of blue that she had never liked. The color reminded her of her freshman year dorm, bringing back all the loneliness of that miserable time. The paint peeling away in spots revealed the basement's previous shade of yellow. That's what this floor needs—bright, sunny yellow.

This is where she'd start her work on the shop. While carpenters got her apartment ready to live in, she'd be far from the noise down here. She decided one of the first things to do was to have a small elevator installed. That would save her a lot of backbreaking labor. Then she'd move everything she could to the main floor and clean this room out from top to bottom.

She looked up at the four basement windows facing Oak Street in the front of the shop. They were high and small, roughly two feet wide and one foot tall, and level with the sidewalk. Through them, she could see more robins out front, so she stopped to watch them for a minute. They seemed to be peeking in the windows. What is going on with those birds? But she found herself smiling at them—they looked so comical. If she didn't know better, she'd think they were watching her.

Once again, she marveled at the condition of the property. For a building that was constructed over a century ago, it was surprisingly clean and solid. She detected no mold, by sight or smell. It wasn't even dusty. Maybe someone had cleaned it when she called to say she wanted to look at it.

The basement only needed bright lighting and color to make it more inviting. She began making notes to discuss with the contractor.

Looking over the boxes, she wondered about Frank Bailies, the previous owner. Monica told her he had owned and managed the store since 1970. The Robin's Nest had been marginally profitable until the early 1990s. That was when he'd stopped selling new merchandise altogether to focus on used books. At first, he concentrated on pulp fiction and comic books. He held comic book and games club events on the building's top floor until demand for that waned, too. Since then, he'd only resold donations. Frank was in his late seventies when he had a heart attack in this basement only a year before. Since then, the shop had sat unused.

Harper wondered with a shiver if the shop could be haunted. The thought didn't really disturb her, because she doubted, from what she'd heard and seen, that Frank Bailies would make a threatening ghost.

With her early plans decided, Harper headed back upstairs, where she admitted to herself that she didn't yet have a complete vision for the shop. She wanted it to be successful, but maybe not too successful. She didn't want to work too hard or too many hours per week. Perhaps three full days, she thought vaguely, with two additional afternoons per week, would be plenty of time to devote to the shop once it opened. What kinds of books and where to place them had yet to be determined. But she suspected figuring everything out as she went along would be part of the fun.

She walked around, examining the shelves that lined the walls almost floor to ceiling. Frank's niece and nephew had decided to sell the building as it stood, thinking the seemingly worthless inventory not worth dealing with. Harper felt grateful for their lack of imagination.

But, looking at the books, she could understand why they decided to leave them there. The inventory was out of date. Table displays held paperbacks propped spine-side up, but all of them were worn and spotted.

She saw science fiction, fantasy, Harlequin romances, westerns, and horror titles aplenty. Most of those she'd get rid of. She decided to research the rest before donating any that weren't too brittle to charities.

She stopped when she came to a small section of children's books. Beautiful old hardbacks were interspersed with paperbacks and poetry volumes. Harper adored vintage children's books.

At the rear of the main floor, she was surprised to see that a folklore section took up the entire rear wall. Above and underneath the large windows, it claimed a surprising amount of the shelving along the right wall, as well. She hadn't noticed these books before. Maybe folklore was a hot topic of study at Sequoyah, a small liberal arts college on the outskirts of town.

As she thoughtfully examined these shelves, she came across a few books lying face down, open on the floor. As she bent down to pick up the copy of Celtic Twilight by W.B. Yeats, she was interrupted by a knock on the door. Quickly propping the book against the shelf, she went to see who was there.

Through the glass, she saw Monica Tolbert, the chatty realtor, standing outside. Even the woman's perfect, pale blue suit and styled dark hair annoyed her. She reminded Harper of the world she had escaped. An angry little knot forming below her throat, Harper wondered what she could want now.

"Hello there, I saw the lights on and thought I'd stop by to see how you're getting along. Is there anything I can do to help you out? Any questions you'd like answered?" Monica's smile faded as she looked at Harper's face.

Smile! Harper prompted herself right before plastering a pleasant expression on her face.

"No, Monica, I don't think there's anything you can do. I'm just taking a closer look at the inventory before deciding what my next steps should be." Then a thought occurred to her. "But maybe you could email me the list of contractors we talked about?"

"Sure, Harper. I won't keep you. But I did want to tell you to expect a visit from the Whippoorwill Gap Chamber of Commerce Welcome Wagon. They'll have goodies and information for you, too. Of course, they'll want you to join the Chamber of Commerce." She paused and looked at her. "It would be a good thing to do."

Harper nodded silently and fixed her large hazel eyes on the agent.

"Well. Call us if you need us. We're always happy to help our new residents. Remember, we're right up the street. Have you found a place to stay yet?"

"Yes. I'm renting a two-bedroom cottage on Poplar Street until I get settled here." Harper's eyes strayed longingly to the doorway.

"That's nice. Beautiful old houses in that part of town." Monica glanced at her phone. "Well, I need to run. I'll get the list of contractors to you. Oh, and I would imagine you'll want to get acquainted with Bryan Greene. He owns and operates the bookstore on Main Street. They don't sell used books, so you won't be competitors—unless you decide to sell new books too, of course. He'd be a good source of information. Have a good day!" And with that, Monica swept out into the crisp, cold, windy morning.

Harper locked the door behind her and noticed there was a shade above the door. She pulled it down, but brittle with age and sun exposure, it broke apart in her hand. She whipped out her list and added "Get a shade for the door" and "Cover the windows with paper." Until she was ready to open the shop to the public, she didn't want people looking inside.

A short while later, her growling stomach prompted a trip to the health food store a few doors up the street, the Great Green Grocer's. She decided to pick up lunch along with a hot pot and some tea. While there, she met the owner, Evie Adams, who, dressed in the most voluminous black skirt Harper had ever seen, seemed friendly enough. As Evie checked her out, her bronze bracelets jangled merrily. She decided she and Evie would get along just fine.

Back in the Robin's Nest, she used the hot pot to make a cup of jasmine tea to accompany the clam chowder she'd bought. After munching on a Honeycrisp apple for dessert, she headed to the park for a quick walk.

Puckett's Park was deserted on this bracing, blustery January day. Harper, happy to have the place to herself, scrutinized the park's trail map on the welcome display. While the park connected with the River Walk she had hiked with Gina, it also had its own half-mile walking trail that meandered through the park's five acres.

She intended to walk the shorter park trail today. But then she noticed a small, unmarked and unpaved path past the sign that appeared to head down toward the river. With the afternoon sun shining brightly overhead, she decided to take the path to see where it led. Once she got to the river and looked around a bit, she'd walk the park trail before heading back to the shop.

As she started down the path, she heard an owl hooting. What is it with the birds around here? Looking up behind her, she saw the large owl in a tree, which unnervingly, once again, seemed to be looking directly at her.

She plucked up her courage. "Hello, how are you this afternoon?" She waited. The owl blinked at her. She was still uneasy at the thought of turning her back to it; she could imagine its talons closing on the crown of her head and pulling out her hair. She backed down the path a few steps. To her relief, the owl spread its wings and flew away, towards the park.

Harper turned and made her way down the bank. But even though she was heading straight towards the river, she somehow missed it. That was perplexing because she could hear it running. It must be close by. The path became narrower, and it twisted, turned, and even forked a few times. The thickening trees seemed to be closing ranks about it, giving her a sense of claustrophobia. Twice, she tripped over unexpected tree roots which jutted from the ground. She continued taking the downhill path and became increasingly frustrated when the river never came into view. After tripping yet again, she forced herself to stop and listen. She could no longer hear the river, the birds, or even the wind sighing through the branches above. All was completely silent.

Then she began to hear low music. It sounded like a bell choir was practicing around the next bend in the path. Rustling sounds and muffled laughter led her to believe that perhaps a group of people were enjoying an afternoon of play in these woods. Curious, she made her way toward the source, but after following the sounds for what felt like twenty minutes or so, she never found where they came from. Instead, the noises unaccountably changed directions.

Bewildered, she gave up and in irritation, turned back, but was alarmed to see that the sun was sinking rapidly behind the hill. She guessed from its angle that she had only an hour or so of daylight left. Worse, the sound of the river had returned, but seemed far away. Finally, the path abruptly ended at a bright tangle of greenbriers. She turned around again to find there was no path behind her either. In terror, she realized she was completely lost.

She stood quietly, willing her heart to slow, and listened for sounds of the music, the river, or traffic. Except for the wind blowing through the pines, all was silent. Harper felt in her pocket for her phone and cursed to herself—since she'd only intended to take a short walk, she had left it in the shop. The idea of spending the night out here alone terrified her. And as cold as it was, she would likely freeze. Not knowing what else to do, she did what she always did when upset: she pulled out Grandma's mirror.

As soon as the mirror left her pocket, she heard fluttering up ahead. Looking up, she saw robins hopping about on the path, which had miraculously reappeared. Before that could register, she heard an owl's hoot and looked up. Once again, the owl was looking directly at her. "What do I do?" she whispered to it.

The great bird spread its wings once again and flew away. Then she looked toward the robins, who were chirping excitedly; they, too, followed the owl. But they flew ahead only by a few trees and stopped.

With nothing to lose, Harper walked to the tree where they perched. As soon as she reached the tree, they flew off to land in another about ten feet away. Harper followed them until she once again heard the river and found the footpath. She almost cried with relief. From there, it was a short walk uphill back to the park.

By now it was almost completely dark. The robins vanished, but she heard the owl and looked up at it.

"Thank you?" She wasn't sure if it had saved her or gotten her into the predicament in the first place. But she was so overjoyed to see her truck and the shop that it didn't really matter.

She picked up her phone and purse from the shop's checkout counter, where she'd left them. Looking at the phone, she saw four hours had passed since she'd left for her short walk. Outside, the streetlamps were already on. How was that possible? If forced to guess, she'd only been lost in the park for an hour at most.

As she started for the basement, she remembered the Yeats book she had propped on the floor when Monica stopped by that morning. She had always wanted to read that book and decided to take it home to enjoy tonight after dinner. Maybe it would help her relax.

But when she reached the bookshelf where she'd left it, it wasn't there. She looked around the floor where she had first seen it, but it was gone. Shaking her head in perplexity over the entire baffling afternoon, she suddenly spotted the book, one shelf up from the floor, between Katherine Briggs's encyclopedia of fairies and Yeats's Irish Folk and Fairytales. She pulled the book off the shelf and placed it in her bag.

As Harper made her way to the basement stairs, eager to get back to her cottage for dinner and a warm bath, she failed to see two small, round black eyes that watched her from the top of the bookshelf.