Chapter 16

“She’s a fairy-tale come true.”

~P. L. Travers

As July closed its yearly chapter and August awakened again, the hustle and bustle of the last few weeks had not slowed. Jack and Kevin found more opportunities to be on the local lake with Joe, grateful to have found a rare quiet spot where no one discussed sit-down versus buffet-style or asked them if lavender was the same as lilac. Ernie had been called into action with Mike’s grass-cutting service. Zelda and Maddie loved helping Reveena create the floral centerpieces in her garden potting shed. And since Lilia welcomed the respite from Operation Wedding Central by working at the bookstore during the day, Cecelia spent more time with Flora learning Nonna’s traditions.

“Okay,” Flora said, lugging a heavy leather-bound diary from her bookshelf to the living room coffee table. “This is it. The last thing I need to share with you.” She pushed the book closer to Cecelia, who sat on the couch petting Dolce. “This contains Nonna’s family advice, favorite recipes, and own memories... all in her handwriting.”

Cecelia carefully opened the first page and read the title, Tried and True.

  1. Do not go outside with wet hair, ever. You will get sick.
  2. Do not take a bath when you are sick.
  3. Do not use the number 17. It is unlucky.
  4. Always lay your bread facing up.
  5. Do not put your hat on the bed—bad omen.
  6. Never have 13 people sit around your dinner table. 12 is fine. 14 is fine.
  7. Do not sweep your broom over a single girl’s feet. She will stay single forever.
  8. Never make a toast with a full glass of water.
  9. Very important! Tocca ferro! Touch iron to avoid bad luck.
  10. More important! Protect yourself from the evil eye. Always carry a cornicello charm with you.
  11. Do not ever spill salt by accident. If you do, throw some over your left shoulder. It will land in the devil’s eye.

Cecelia smirked and turned the page, but Flora caught her attention before she could continue reading.

“This next section will probably go against some things that Reveena and Raina do. But, of course, you’re learning that even though we are of the same mindset in some areas, our region may dictate in others.

Cecelia’s curiosity was piqued, and she looked at the page. Nonna had scrawled in large letters, Remember.

Flora smiled as Cecelia read them aloud.

“Reveena might just disagree with the tea preference, but I think we’d agree on most of the others. British traditions are slightly different from Italian ones,” she pointed out to Cecelia.

“Come to think of it, Miss Reveena has mentioned her family’s customs along the way,” Cecelia replied. “You know, some people would call them superstitions if I remember my teaching days.”

“Well, whatever one calls them, I do believe everyone has some sense of their own. For example,” Flora looked up to the ceiling, trying to recall the details, “they agree about opening an umbrella inside a building—bad luck will rain down upon you. They also avoid the number 13, walking under an open ladder, and breaking mirrors. However, I bet Reveena will never place a new pair of shoes on the bed! Tempts fate, they say. But we agree about going outside with wet hair. Neither the British nor Italians like to be sick.”

“Isn’t there one other piece of advice, let’s call it, involving silverware?” Cecelia asked, her brow furrowed, trying to remember the details.

“Ah, yes! If a knife falls onto the floor, a gentleman will visit soon. A fork brings a lady. So, of course, a spoon alerts you to a child’s visit,” Flora recalled. “This was Jonas’s family’s ‘advice.’ The Irish certainly had their own!” She laughed, “You see, everyone has their own traditions.”

“I’m noticing that,” Cecelia chuckled.

They both fell into mutual silence. Cecelia carefully turned the pages of the enormous book. She spied recipes for ointments and directions on how to reverse accumulated bad luck by crushing eggshells into the palm of your hand. But the section entitled Malocchio made her stop to read the details. Flora noticed where her hand had stopped.

“Ah, you found Nonna’s most-used part of the book. You might have heard of this ailment in all your years of study, commonly known as the evil eye.”

“Now that one I have heard of, yes. Could your Nonna really detect the evil eye?”

“Oh, yes. Best one in the neighborhood. People from all over Lorry Landing came to be remedied of the Malocchio. Even grown men took it extremely seriously. It was also one of the last traditions young girls would learn, not until they were much older. It’s one of the most powerful if you ask me. All someone had to do was look at you the wrong way or give you a false compliment. These things would unleash -- how does Zelda say it? -- bad vibes!”

“So, how would your nonna deal with that?”

“Grown men would knock on the back door complaining of excruciating headaches, awful stomachaches, even bad luck at the racetrack. They swore that, for example, the man on the bus that morning who sneered at them gave them the Malocchio. Nonna brought them to her kitchen, sat them down at the table, and put a big bowl of water in front of them. She dripped good-quality olive oil into the water. Only a few drops. She would lift the bowl of oil and water over the man’s head. Then she watched. If those drops globbed together, the sneer was indeed a curse. If the oil scattered as soon as it hit the water’s surface and swam to different parts of the bowl? Well, that sneer was much more than just a grumbled morning. It, too, was a curse. But if the drops stayed right where they landed, not moving at all, there was no curse, just a sour passenger on the bus.”

“So, if I remember my studies, scissors were involved?”

“Yes. Those were part of her cure. If, God forbid, the Malocchio was present, Nonna would open her scissors and use one point of her best pinking shears to make the sign of the cross in the water three times. Then she held the shears above the water and cut the air three times. She put the scissors down and added three pinches of salt to the bowl. There’s more to it, but you get the idea. The one thing I learned from a very early age when I would sneak downstairs to watch Nonna’s Malocchio removal is that she emptied the contents of the bowl outside on the ground where no one walked.”

Cecelia turned the page and saw a photo of a little girl sitting at a kitchen table. It looked like the same kitchen from the original Nonna picture. The little girl sat surrounded by jars of flour and salt. Rolling pins of different sizes lay in front of her. Cecelia squinted to see that Nonna’s broom propped up behind the girl beside the braided garlic on the wall. As Cecelia took in the details, she noticed the girl seemed lost in her own world somewhere far from her kitchen. Then, she noticed she was reading a book, slightly hidden behind a sack of sugar.

“Is this you, Miss Flora?” Cecelia asked.

Flora pointed to the tiny words written under the photo. Il mio piccolo fiore perso tra le nuvole.

“‘My little flower lost in the clouds.’ Nonna always said she could see my spirit soar into the clouds above her when I read my book. Mama explained it as I could easily get lost in my story and tune out everyone, everything, around me.”

“Wait, I recognize that book,” said Cecelia.

Flora patted the well-worn hardcover novel on the side table next to her chair.

“It has been with me since I can remember. One of my first memories is finding it under the Christmas tree and Mamma reading a few pages to me and my cousins every night, tucked in bed in our attic room. I’ve read it so many times, I probably could repeat it word for word,” Flora smiled.

“‘If you want to find Cherry-Tree Lane, all you have to do is ask the Policeman at the crossroads,’” Cecelia recited from memory.

“You’re familiar with it, then?” Flora chuckled.

“Of course, an English major’s must-read,” Cecelia joked.

Flora stroked the faded cover.

“I’ve been rereading it lately. I guess it transports me back to a time when I felt not so alone.” She pointed toward the photo, “Like when I was surrounded by so many people in such a small house. Funny how that works. When I was little, I read to escape the hustle and bustle around me. Now I read to bring back that feeling of the hustle and bustle.”

Cecelia looked over at her friend and sighed.

“Oh, Miss Flora. I think we all do something similar to that when we need to.”

Flora picked up the book and opened it to the first page. A photo fell from the binding onto her lap. She picked it up and saw Nonna smiling back at her. She was younger in the picture; her hair, raven-black, fell free around her shoulders, escaping the loose knot atop her head. Metal silver hoops dangled from her ears, and a black-laced shawl covered her long-sleeved white dress. Her hands already showed years of labor and looked like they belonged to a much older woman rather than the young girl staring into the camera. In those calloused hands, she held a basket of grapes. Her olive skin stood out from the photo’s light background, but her large doe eyes caught Flora’s attention. For such a young girl, a life already lived stared back at Flora; her stare seemed to penetrate the picture. Dark circles stood out under those mysterious big eyes, but there was just the slightest hint of the smirk Flora knew so well. Was she in a hurry, running from one place to the next? Who had taken the photograph? Were they celebrating, or was it just a typical day? All questions that would remain unanswered.

Cecelia noticed the photo in Flora’s hand.

“She’s beautiful! Around Zelda’s age, maybe?”

“Oh, I guess she would be,” Flora agreed. “Meet Maria Althea. My grandmother. Her middle name means ‘healer.’”

“Wow,” was Cecelia’s only reply.

Flora handed the photo to Cecelia, who studied the young girl’s face for a moment. She could feel the same buzz of energy holding the picture as she did holding Nonna’s recipe cards.

“She must have been a force to be reckoned with, even at this young age,” Cecelia observed.

“Most definitely,” Flora answered. “Kind of like another young spitfire, you know.”

Cecelia looked up from the photo and saw that familiar twinkle in Flora’s eye, that spark she had seen in her Aunt Cordelia’s and Reveena’s eyes.

“I’m in for quite a ride, aren’t I?” she jokingly asked Flora.

“I’m afraid so,” Flora answered.

“Hi, Miss H! Something smells fantastic!”

“Hello, Mike. Cookies are baking,” Cecelia welcomed Ernie’s friend into the house. “E’s upstairs.”

“Thanks,” he acknowledged and sprinted up the steps.

She closed the front door no sooner than she heard a sharp knock. She opened it and saw Carter, seemingly a foot taller than the last time she saw him.

“Why, C! Long time no see!” She chuckled at her lame Mom joke.

He grinned and adjusted his heavy backpack from one shoulder to the other.

“Hello, Mrs. H. I’ve been taking extra classes this summer, but I’m finally done,” he announced, smiling a little more brightly.

“Well, E and Mike are upstairs,” she said, ushering him towards the staircase. No sooner had Carter hit the fourth stair than Cecelia heard someone running up the front porch steps. Bentley had taken leave of his station in front of the oven, undoubtedly waiting for whatever delectable dessert to fall in his direction, and met Cecelia in the entryway.

“Well, B, it’s that time of year. All the chickadees come back to the nest,” she directed towards the dog as they watched Shelby jog up to the front door.

“Hey, Mrs. H. What’s up?”

“Just baking, you?”

“Just got back from Mackinac Island in Michigan. Nice B&B, but awful cell reception. Rode my bike, but loved the golf cart,” she updated Cecelia and stepped into the entryway.

“Well, thanks for the travel tips; I’ll keep them in mind. They’re all upstairs,” she added.

“Thanks!” Shelby said and trotted up the front stairs. Bentley stretched his legs, yawned, and followed closely behind her.

Cecelia peeked out the door and glanced around before closing it and heading back to her cookies. On her way back to the kitchen, she almost smacked into Zelda, with Maddie right behind her.

“Oh, Momma! I want you to meet Mack!” Zelda pointed behind Maddie towards a new face in the house. A slim boy, Zelda’s age, brought up the end of the line.

“So, you’re the musician of the crew, huh?” Cecelia asked warmly.

“Yep, that’s me!” he exclaimed with a wide smile.

“Well, welcome home, Mack. You’ll see that most of the neighborhood makes their way here at some point or another,” Cecelia said as the stove’s timer loudly beeped.

She dashed to the stove and pulled the trays from the oven. As she placed them on the stovetop, the back door swung open, someone knocking on it simultaneously.

“Hello?” Reveena sing-sung as she walked into the kitchen.

“Hello, Miss Reveena! How was story hour?” Cecelia asked, transferring the cookies from the trays to the countertop cooling racks.

“It went swimmingly! Those smell divine, my dear!”

“Thank you, Miss Reveena,” Cecelia smiled. “Have a seat. I’ll make you a cuppa.”

“Oh, thank you. My joints are aching in this humidity.”

“That’s Western PA summer for you,” Cecelia pointed out as she filled up her kettle at the sink.

“Ah, yes. My bones are certainly not used to this climate yet.”

“Well, you just sit down and rest up while the water boils.”

Cecelia busied herself with collecting the teacups and saucers while Reveena pulled out a chair from the table and sat down with a sigh of relief.

“Oh, these feet? They better get used to this blasted mugginess before the wedding. I plan on dancing all night long!” Reveena giggled as she rubbed her sore calves.

“It is right around the corner, isn’t it,” Cecelia replied.

“That it is,” Reveena said and accepted the teacup from Cecelia, who then sat across the table.

Deciding to let her tea cool for a bit, Reveena asked Cecelia, “How are things going with Flora?”

Cecelia placed her cup in front of her before she replied.

“Great, actually. I’m happy to pull from my own studies and learn so many new things, too. She shared, as she calls it, ‘the last thing;’ her grandmother’s handwritten journal,” she explained and looked over to Reveena to gauge the older woman’s reaction.

Like Cordelia and her journals full of leaves and sketches, Nonna filled her book with her favorite recipes and memories. Cecelia learned that not everyone gets to sneak a look into such a diary. It was no surprise that Reveena’s white brows rose above her cat-eye frames. Cecelia noticed the now-familiar dimple at the corner of the little lady’s cheek.

“Flora must have enjoyed showing it to you.”

“I think so, but it also made her feel melancholy,” Cecelia said. “She had such a close relationship with her grandmother. It honestly takes my breath away when I think about it.”

They both sat for a moment, pondering that immense feeling and sipping their tea.

“So, that’s why we couldn’t bring our car onto the island with us,” Shelby announced.

“That’s kinda cool,” Mike replied from his space on Ernie’s floor; Bentley sprawled across his lap, thoroughly enjoying the belly rub. “Dude, the hair! Why’s he shedding enough hair to create another dog?” he asked, waving his hands to disperse the accumulated stray hairs.

“So, what’s been going on with you, E?” Carter asked, avoiding Mike’s question.

“Well,” Ernie cleared his throat, “we met Miss Reveena’s sister; she’s visiting for the summer. Miss Flora from the bike shop has been hanging out here lately, and everyone else is completely obsessed with Hadley’s wedding. I’m just trying to stay out of the way. Every time I go downstairs, they ask me ‘what does this smell like,’ or ‘what about the weight of this paper?’ And, of course, they never like my answers. Sorry, I’m honest,” he rattled on before Mike interrupted his train of thought.

“Bruh, should I be concerned with how heavy the paper is? I mean, is there a wrong weight for paper? And who actually weighs their paper?”

Carter pulled out his trusty iPad from his backpack and tapped the screen.

“It says here that basically, the heavier the paper is, the thicker it is. Something about a ‘more professional look,’” Carter explained, using air quotes with his fingers.

“More than paper and ribbons happened, E,” Zelda said as she walked into his room with Maddie and Mack following her.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” Shelby asked, scooching over to make space on the floor for the trio.

“You didn’t tell them?” Zelda eyed her brother.

“Tell them what?” Mike asked.

“Momma’s became a witch,” she announced to the group.

“A what?” Mack asked.

“A witch,” Zelda answered.

“A what?” he asked again.

“A witch,” she repeated.

“Not this again,” Ernie mumbled.

“You have so much to learn about this crew,” Carter warned Mack.

And with that, the kids wove their own tales of the past year’s events.

The next few days flew by as Ernie and his friends tried to squeeze in as much summer as possible before thoughts had to return to school. Each morning, Ernie woke up early to meet Carter at the old oak tree. Then they would walk to Mike’s house to collect him and proceed to the candy shop in town. After their sugar stop, some days they ended up at one of Castor’s many parks, or on other days they found their way to the banks of the Oyo River to watch the tugboats and cool off under the large shade trees.

One particular morning, Ernie shuffled out of his room and ran into a half-asleep Zelda.

“Hey! Watch it,” she grumbled.

They both seemed to head to the same bathroom.

“What are you doing out of your basement?” Ernie greeted his sister, echoing her cheery disposition.

“What are you doing, not hibernating?” she countered.

“End of the summer rush,” Ernie said matter-of-factly.

As the siblings barbed against each other in the hallway, Kevin slyly walked past them and slid into the unoccupied bathroom. Ernie and Zelda realized their father beat them to their destination only when they heard the door shut.

“Hey!” they both exclaimed

“Hey, nothing! Only one of the three of us paid for this house, so wait your turn!” Kevin yelled back through the closed door.

While they bided their time, Zelda peeked into her old bedroom and noted the changes done since she moved downstairs. Cecelia started using Zelda’s old desk and added bookcases along the far wall. A bed and small nightstand sat in the corner by the window, waiting for any guests who would need a comfortable space to sleep. Zelda wandered into the room towards the desk. She noticed the usual pile of books to be read, the bookstore’s financial spreadsheets, and lists of old website passwords. Under the jumble of junk mail, Zelda spied a hard-bound journal on the tabletop. It looked altogether different from her mother’s usual notebooks for research notes, outlines, and brainstorming ideas. Gold gilded edges gave way to a border of vintage-style scrolls of flowers, which surrounded a painting of a young girl sleeping on the ground under a copse of trees, her long golden hair spread around her. It screamed magic at the top of its lungs, waiting to be filled with secrets, memories, dreams, and deeds. Zelda did indeed wonder what her mother might write to fill up this unique book.

“What are you doing in here?”

Ernie’s question caused her to jump, dropping the journal onto the desk.

“Just looking,” Zelda answered.

“For what?”

“I’m really not sure,” Zelda replied honestly, “But there’s something... grrrr... I can’t think of the words.”

Ernie shook his head as they both heard the bathroom door finally open. Zelda glanced at the book before she followed her brother into the hallway. Why did an empty diary intrigue her so much?

Flora closed the apartment door after double-checking that the lock on Dolce’s hutch was secure. The rabbit had become quite the escape artist as of late, ever since she felt the freedom of the fresh, green grass of the Hawthornes’ yard, even if it meant wearing her leash. Flora followed the same path she had for decades. However, it felt different this time as she walked down the back steps and found herself standing in front of the Squeaky Wheel’s service door. She reached her hand in front of her and gently, lovingly, touched the aged wooden sign Jonas had nailed onto the door so many years before. She thought back to that day, young and full of life, so in love and ready to face the world, one bicycle at a time.

“Oh, my Jonas. Have we come to this point already?” she asked aloud as her hand rested on the sign. “I know it’s the best decision for me right now, and I’m sure you can see I’ve found my groove again,” she chuckled. “But, Jonas, I miss you with every breath this old body takes.” She sighed and removed her hand from the door, kissing her palm and placing it back on the sign. A quick morning kiss she had done many times since Jonas left her.

She unlocked the door, walked into the workshop area in the store's rear, and flipped on the bright overhead lights. That day, Flora would hand over the shop’s keys to its new owner. Even though Flora stopped spending every day behind the counter and had been handing more responsibilities over to Jack, she felt the rip in her heart as she walked behind the worn wooden counter and found her stool, diligently waiting for her to start another new day. She sat down in the quiet stillness and looked around at Jonas’ old tools hanging on the workshop’s pegboard and the wide bulletin board at the front of the shop. Through the years, Flora and Jonas hung up hundreds of old and new photos, generations of children, to the board, some beaming with toothless smiles, others showing off their first-accident bandage, all who received their first bicycles from the Squeaky Wheel. She brought her attention back to the countertop, where Jack had installed an updated computer system with a touch screen for customers to use when signing in for their rentals and purchases. Looking at the set-up and trying to follow all its wires and plugs, Flora realized that she genuinely had made the right decision.

“Jonas, these contraptions would confound even you. We belong to a different time, my dear, but I’ve realized that’s not always a sad thing.”

As she finished her talk with Jonas, she heard Jack open the back door, and with that, the transfer of ownership was official.

Later that afternoon, Flora found her way to Sunny’s. She wanted to check in on the wedding plans now that they were mere days away. Walking through the door, she spied Cordelia sitting by the front window in the café area, so she made her way over to her friend. Cordelia wore a blue gingham cotton sundress with, upon closer inspection, tiny embroidered red lobsters. She had her usual cup of coffee sitting in front of her.

“Whatcha up to, chickee?” Cordelia asked Flora and motioned for her to sit across the table from her.

“Not much,” Flora replied.

“Your frown speaks volumes,” Cordelia observed as the little lady sat down. “Oh! Today’s the day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Flora stated, trying to sound confident and content. However, her voice betrayed her as it trembled on the last word. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, but Cordelia handed her a handkerchief before they could escape her eyes.

“I really am happy. Really,” Flora insisted as she held the hanky to her face.

“Are you trying to convince yourself or me?” Cordelia asked.

“Probably a little bit of both,” she replied with a smile.

Lilia spotted Flora from her position at the counter and walked over to the table.

“Miss Flora, I know today must be a mix of emotions. But Jack and I both just want to thank you—” Lilia started, but it seemed she could not find the words to describe such a generous act.

“No need to say anything more about it. Just missing my Jonas today, a little more than usual,” Flora said, dabbing the stray tears from her eyes, “I am excited about where we all go from here!” And with that, Cordelia and Flora chatted about the last-minute additions to Operation Wedding Central while Lilia helped a customer choose a new book from the local author section.

Life seemed to be back on track, albeit on a different route than some seemed to have started on at the beginning of the summer. The train of time continued to chug along, and the eclectic group from Castor and Trestle Cove were entirely on board for whatever came next.