Abigail was waiting for us in the kitchen. Mrs. Twiggs tied a white apron around Abigail’s waist. “Let’s give this a try, shall we?” They stood at the large butcher-block island where Mrs. Twiggs had measured out all the ingredients.
“Abigail, it’s no different than mixing a potion,” Mrs. Twiggs said, watching over Abigail’s shoulder. “Baking is chemistry and following directions. First you mix the dry ingredients together, and then you combine the eggs, sugar, and butter.”
Abigail carefully scooped flour into a measuring cup, half of it landing on the counter.
“That’s a good start, dear. You’ll get it.”
Pixel watched intensely from the small kitchen table.
Abigail wiped her brow, leaving a white tread mark across her forehead.
“Seriously, you’ve never baked before,” I asked, leaving white paw prints on the counter.
“Yes, Terra, I’m sure back in your day everything was real farm to table. What’s the point when I can stop at a bakery?” Abigail said.
“You know, Abigail, the way to a man’s heart…”
Abigail interrupted me and said, “Terra, when was the last time you baked for a man?” She then paused and said, “Oh geez, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m frustrated. It’s getting late and I’m way behind. Honestly I don’t know what I’m doing.”
I took a deep breath. I never had the chance to bake for a man or dance or get married. I never felt a kiss upon my lips, and I didn’t know if I ever would. I felt the need to be alone. I hopped off the counter and ran into the alley. I ran past the dumpster and then stopped, going back to gaze into the broken mirror someone had discarded. No matter how many times I saw my image I was always surprised. In my mind I was still a seventeen-year-old girl, not this ordinary gray alley cat. I had been taking out my frustrations on Abigail, pushing her to succeed where I couldn’t, pushing her to live the life I couldn’t. I was afraid to admit it, but somewhere deep inside I hoped that if I could help Abigail become the witch her great-grandmother was, she could find a way to turn me back. I was so deep in thought I didn’t realize Pixel sat next to me, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He put his paw around me. “Terra, you pretty.”
I let out a low growl and then realized he was trying to cheer me up. “Thank you, Pixel,” I said.
We hurried back to the Leaf & Page. The sun would be rising shortly, and I’m sure there would be a crowd of hungry customers. We slipped in through the cat door. Abigail was taking the muffins out of the oven. She knelt down and picked me up. “I’m so sorry, Terra. It must be so frustrating for you. To be around me. I promise I’ll try harder.”
I wiped the flour off her nose with my paw and nuzzled my head against her shoulder. Mrs. Twiggs came over and hugged us both.
She then opened the front door to let the stream of customers in. Mrs. Twiggs greeted each one as though they were old friends; some were while others were new. They all remarked how wonderful she looked. The enchantment of their turning gave the ladies a youthful glow. Mrs. Twiggs couldn’t disguise the spring in her step. To them she looked eighty years old, but she moved like a prima ballerina. Pixel sat on the edge of the counter, a furry gargoyle watching the commotion. Now and then an elderly woman would walk up and rub his belly. At first he was offended, but then he would roll onto his back and purr.
When everyone had been fed, Mrs. Twiggs tapped her teacup with her spoon. “May I please have your attention?”
The crowded room fell silent, and all eyes turned to her.
“I wanted to thank you all for joining me for the reopening of the Leaf & Page. Please help yourself to muffins and tea on me today.” She winked at Albert.
As the cuckoo struck five, Mrs. Twiggs escorted the last patron out and flipped the sign to Closed. She bustled into the kitchen and filled the three-tier cookie tray with an assortment of fresh-baked cookies, bringing them to the large sideboard in the dining room. She placed chairs around the table, stopping to gaze at the room. It had a festive air. Abigail had hung streamers from the crystal chandelier and placed balloons on the table. Mrs. Twiggs next brought out a crystal punch bowl filled with sparkling champagne punch. Curled up on the table, Pixel reached out his paw nonchalantly, inching his way to the punch bowl.
“Pixel,” Mrs. Twiggs screamed at him from across the room. He turned with an orange sherbet mustache, his orange saucer eyes wide open. He fell off the table with a thud. He mumbled under his breath, shook himself off, and went back to his place by the fire.
As the clock struck six, the cars pulled up in front, jockeying for position on the crowded street. Mrs. Twiggs greeted each of the ladies with a hug, taking their coats and hanging them by the front door. She led them into the dining room, passing out cups of champagne punch. When they all had been served, Mrs. Twiggs said, “Ladies, please settle down.” The conversation ebbed into a single ongoing argument between Mrs. Loblolly and Mrs. Branchworthy, regarding family sides blue and gray. From listening to them, it sounded as if the Civil War were still being fought.
Mrs. Twiggs tapped her glass again while giving them an old schoolmarm stern glance. The ladies quieted down. Mrs. Twiggs cleared her throat and said, “Now, ladies, I know we all have questions for Charlotte, Emma’s niece. She came as quite a surprise to me, but I think it’s important we make her feel welcome, so let’s not overwhelm her.”
The ladies nodded in agreement, saying, “Yes,” “Certainly,” and “Of course.” The silver bell over the transom tinkled. Abigail glanced up, ran to greet Miss Hartwell and Charlotte. Abigail stopped and gave Charlotte the once-over. She was dressed in a designer wrap dress. Abigail smoothed out her rumpled T-shirt and glanced at the holes in her jeans. “Hi, I’m Abigail, Abigail Oakhaven.”
“Charlotte Tangledwood.” They nodded at each other.
“Okay,” Abigail said, taking Miss Hartwell’s light jacket and hanging it up. Miss Hartwell followed the noise into the dining room.
“I’ve always wanted to be invited to a meeting of the Ladies of the Biltmore Society,” Miss Hartwell said, entering the room where Mrs. Twiggs greeted her with a punch glass.
Abigail stayed behind to talk to Charlotte. “Hey, I wanted to warn you, they’ve all been talking about you and have a lot of questions.”
“You don’t have a smoke on you, do you?” Charlotte asked.
Abigail glanced behind to make sure I wasn’t watching, grabbed her leather jacket off the rack, and said, “Let’s go out front.”
I slipped out with them. I had to monitor Abigail to make sure she didn’t say anything until we knew who or what Charlotte was.
They sat on the wood bench in front of the store. It was an unseasonably cool evening for late April. I gazed at Abigail with narrow, disapproving eyes. She lit her cigarette and Charlotte’s anyway. “Is that your cat?” Charlotte asked.
“Not my cat. Kind of a mascot. She hangs around the store.” Abigail shrugged.
I emitted a low hiss and swiped at her.
“Not very friendly, is she?” Charlotte asked in between puffs.
They finished their cigarettes, putting them out on the ground before going back inside. “We better get this over with,” Abigail said.
The two girls stepped into the dining room. I tagged along behind them. “There you are,” Mrs. Twiggs said. “Charlotte, these are the Ladies of the Biltmore Society, dear friends of your great-aunt’s.”