A Quiet Customer

     Although Happy Valley never saw a true summer’s day, with picnics, water fights and sandcastle competitions, the long hours of daylight meant the air still held a warmth through the night. Even though feet would still need to stamp off wind-blown snow at the porch, the trees could shake off their canopy of ice and stretch out their leaves to bask in the sun.

     But now Autumn was fast approaching. There was a definite bite, brisk and sharp, in the morning, and Neopians throughout the Valley were eying up their neighbours’ chimneys, waiting to see who would be the first to crack and light their fire. Like a game of Wilbreth, no one wanted to be the first, but as soon as one plume of smoke rose, all the rest would follow.

     Secretly, Stana was pleased. She had always preferred the chillier times of year. It was a good excuse to bring out the chunky knit jumpers. All summer long, she had been knitting a new one for the season. The neckline was interlaced with Altadorian knots, which had taken her the best part of a week to get right. Today was the first day that she felt was cold enough to warrant wearing it.

     It was early in the morning. Leice was expected soon, but was still out picking up the ingredients for the day’s specials. Much to Leice’s chagrin, the delivery team were out on holiday this week, so Leice had needed to wake up early to go shopping himself.

     Stana hoped that today’s special would be a pie. It was a pie sort of day. She hummed to herself as she wrote the new season’s drinks on the board. The bell rang with the opening of the door, as a blue Kacheek pushed his way in, hands filled with two bulging paper bags of vegetables, legumes, and other sundry foodstuffs. Leice’s upper half was still resolutely dressed in only a t-shirt, but Stana wryly noted the unmistakable puckering of goosebumps along his arms.

     “Mornin’ wee Stana,” said Leice, making his way to the kitchen, “surely it cannae be pumpkin spice season already?”

     “Afraid so!” twinkled Stana in reply, “I think we can safely say it is officially Autumn. Why, we might have our first snowfall this week. At least, that’s what the Neopian Times is suggesting.”

     “Psht,” came the muffled voice of Leice through the swinging door to the back, “Aye, and there’ll be a sandstorm in Maraqua. Don’t trust those Times folks. They’re shifty.”

     Stana rolled her eyes good humouredly. Moving to the café window, she turned the sign from “closed” to “open”, before beginning her customary sweep of the seating area with a long-handled broom.

     Before long, the bell above the door chimed again. Stana looked up from her task to see a Xweetok framed in the doorway. They wore a long woollen coat, the hem damp from the snow, and a slightly puzzled expression. Stana noted a small case slung across the customer’s shoulders. She couldn’t quite make it out, but it didn’t seem to be rectangular.

     “Good morning!” called out Stana brightly. The Xweetok’s head turned and smiled softly in response. “I’ll be with you in just a moment,” Stana continued.

     After making her final sweeps with the brush, Stana placed the broom in the corner and moved back behind the counter. She smoothed down her apron and tried to tuck a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. The Xweetok was looking from her hands to the menu on the wall and back again. Eventually, she emptied her hands, placing a few Neopoints on the counter space.

     “One small coffee, please,” she said in a low voice, barely above a whisper.

     “Coming right up,” replied Stana, “Do feel free to take a seat wherever you like, and just let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.”

     Stana busied herself with the order. Over the hissing of the espresso machine, she could hear Leice clattering around in the kitchen. Stana found a medium-sized cup, filling it with a shot of espresso, before topping it up to two-thirds with freshly drawn hot water. Looking around the room, she saw that the Xweetok had taken a table by the window. Stana approached.

     “Here you are, ma’am,” she said, placing the cup down in front of the Xweetok, “I have left a little room in case you need some milk, and just let me know if you need a top-up.”

     The Xweetok murmured a thanks in response, reaching out to wrap her paws around the cup. The case had been placed on the table. Stana tried her best surreptitious look, and saw it was shaped like an elegant teardrop. It was unmistakably a case for a violin. Embossed in gold-edged letters along part of one side was a name: Archibald E. Thornkirk.

     “Oh!” Stana exclaimed before she could stop herself. “Do you play?”

     The Xweetok looked up, a timid look of surprise crossing her face. Her eyes flicked from the case to Stana and back again.

     “Um, yes, a little,” she said quietly. There was a brief pause before she continued, “It was my grandfather’s. He was the real musician.”

     Stana nodded, worried that she had stepped into overfamiliarity. Fortunately, at that same moment, Leice stuck his head through the kitchen hatch.

     “Stana. I think you’re in luck, lass. Thanks to your not-so-subtle hints, I have been able to pick up the ingredients for a pie. Happily, pumpkins were a real bargain today. What say you?”

     Stana smiled over her shoulder, “Perfect. A slice of pumpkin pie with a mug of pumpkin spice latte. What could be better?”

     The Kacheek’s head withdrew from the hatch with only the slightest rolling of the eye. Stana turned back to the Xweetok, but she had lowered her eyes, her paws still curled around the warm coffee cup. Stana laid her fingers gently on the table in an attempted gesture of comfort and half-apology, before leaving the young Xweetok to her thoughts.

     The Snowdrift Café slowly began to fill with the usual suspects. A pair of bundled-up Usuls giggling together and a sleepy-eyed Tuni coming in for her morning pick-me-up. It wasn’t long before the air was filled with the sound of chatter and the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. Throughout, the Xweetok remained still, almost unmoving except for the occasional sip of coffee.

     It was nearing midday when the bell above the door rang again, letting in a brief blast of cold air and a flurry of snow. An elderly Krawk poked his head in, then immediately waved cheerfully at Stana.

     “Table up front free, Stana?” the Krawk called.

     “You know it, Oscar,” Stana replied, “I’ll bring the tea and cake over to you. Will your daughter be joining us today?”

     “No, she’s had to head down to Neopia Central. Urgent appointment at the bank.”

     As she ushered Oscar toward his usual spot, Stana passed by the Xweetok’s table and paused. “We’ve got a pie on special today. It’s fresh out of the oven. You’re welcome to stay, if you like.”

     The Xweetok blinked. “Thank you. I might,” she said softly. Stana smiled again, then moved on.

     It was later, after Oscar had departed with a soft of his cap and Leice had retreated into his midday grumble and nap, that the Xweetok finally stood up. Stana watched out of the corner of her eye as the Xweetok reached for her case. She held it in both paws for a long moment, then brought it to the counter where Stana was wiping down mugs and doing her best to look like she had not been watching.

     “May I?” she asked simply, holding up the case.

     Stana looked up, her hands stilled in surprise. “Of course.”

     The café was quiet by now. Only two customers remained, chatting in low tones by the fireplace. The Xweetok turned and crossed to the far side of the room, away from the fireplace. There, she placed the case on the table, carefully unclasped it and pulled out the violin. Even to Stana’s untrained eye, it was clearly old, but lovingly kept. The wood was a burnished amber, lighter in parts where heavy use had worn it over time. The Xweetok raised it to her shoulder and tightened the bow with an experienced, but unpracticed, hand.

     Then she played.

     The sound was delicate at first. The first snowfall caught the leaf tips of the evergreens. A single note trembling in the air. Then another. Then a line of melody so clear the room seemed to still before it was a soaring Wherfy, dipping in and out of an early winter storm, hiding and playing. The Xweetok played with her eyes closed, her brow furrowed ever so slightly.

     The song wound through the café. It wasn’t loud, but the room quietened and stilled. Stana saw Leice move to the doorway of the kitchen, leaning on the frame as he watched. The music played on until the last note lingered, then faded. The Xweetok lowered the violin slowly, her paws trembling slightly as she returned it to its case and closed the lid, flicking the clasps back into place. She turned to Stana, her ears slightly pink.

     “That was his favourite song,” she said, her voice clearer than before, her fingers touching the embossed name on the case.

     “I think he could only be proud,” said Stana softly in response.

     “Aye,” said Leice. His voice was a quiver. “Stana. You give this young lady as much coffee as she wants, and the biggest slice of pie we have left.”

     The Xweetok smiled, eyes glassy but bright.

     “Thank you,” she said, before sitting in the nearest chair. Her voice had returned to a whisper.

     Stana placed the warm plate before her, steam curling into the quiet. As she prepared a special pumpkin spice coffee for the violinist, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of Leice stifling tears. Outside, the first flakes of autumnal snow fell. Autumn had arrived in Happy Valley.

     The End.