Tea and Crumples

by Kinard, Summer;

  “I wasn’t allowed to write on walls, but it was because we lived in rentals. The landlords didn’t even let us put up pictures with nails, much less color the walls.”

  “Did y’all move around a lot?” Bethel’s curiosity was direct and friendly, growing so obviously out of open acceptance of others that Sienna decided to answer.

  “Yes. I didn’t see a lot of my grandparents growing up. My parents were at odds with them. Sometimes I think we moved because of lack of money, and sometimes because they wanted to avoid my grandparents.”

  “Well, what a shame. Grandparents can be such a joy.”

  “Not mine. My grandmother pinched me on the few occasions I saw her, and my grandfather talked badly about my father when we saw him. Mom tried to keep the family ties, but I think it was probably best that we stayed clear of them, on the whole.”

  “But you must have had someone older to look up to?” Bethel gaped.

  “Mrs. Johnstone,” Sienna smiled at the memories, “and Mrs. Hopkins. Neighbors near the rent homes we stayed in longest. Mrs. Johnstone taught me to garden, and Mrs. Hopkins showed me how to crochet. I made a doll dress with her one summer, before we moved again.”

  “That’s good, then.” Bethel beamed. She was like a benevolent cherub, blessing Sienna’s personal history with her interest. “Whoops. I’ve got to go finish some accounts before I clock out for the day. Thank you for the tea and chat.” The woman drained her cup and set it back on the counter with a gentle thunk.

  “You’re welcome.” Sienna smiled. A question occurred to her as she watched the woman struggle to her feet. “Why Bethel? You said you’re named after a church?”

  “Oh!” Bethel grinned, clearly glad of the notice. “Grandmother made Mama name me Bethel when the church moved to the other side of town. They settled on ‘Second Baptist,’ but Granny maintained that they ought to have kept, ‘Bethel,’ and that was that. She’s donated near about all the hymnals in my honor, just to get the real church name in them.” Bethel laughed and moved toward the door. “See you tomorrow!” she called.

  Sienna smiled into the woman’s happy wake and began to clear the place setting where Bethel had sat. More than anything, Bethel’s chatter had taken Sienna’s mind off her worries. She reflected that perhaps Marnie had been right in more ways than one that work would be good for her. Between Liz and Bethel and the need to make and clear place settings, Sienna was pushed along by the rituals of tea. The flow gave her the freedom to risk being herself, despite the pain of her situation. In that way, tea was the best part of religion. She took to the rhythms it offered, and by day’s end, she felt that she had prayed.

  Notes from Sienna’s tea files

  Bethel Bailey, 28, accountant, friend, Orthodox, wife to priest in training: Darjeeling with two teaspoons of demerara sugar and sometimes cream. Light and fruity start, substantive finish. Make sure to fill the pot to the top so she gets three full cups from each sitting.

  Liz Elliot, 41, American history professor, friend: Formosa Oolong with honey. Moderate, soothing, deep flavor with light finish.

  Marc Rosen, 37, philosophy professor, Tovah’s husband: Genmaicha, all types. Drinks at all temperatures but will allow when pressed for an opinion that if he had time to be demanding, he prefers good tea at about 185 degrees.

  Chapter Four

  Peter tried to smile, but the effort made him gag. He leaned over the kidne- shaped pan that Nurse David held out in front of him. Sienna rushed to Peter’s other side and rubbed his shoulder.

  “Oh, Beloved, I’m so sorry,” she soothed. The back of her hand brushed his neck, which was cold and clammy. To Nurse David, she asked, “Has he been like this all morning?”

  “Just for about half an hour. It’s a common side effect, especially at the beginning.” He gently wiped Peter’s chin with a warm cloth and supported him as he leaned back.

  “Glad to see you,” Peter managed weakly, and his eyes smiled at Sienna through his pain.

  Down the hall, an alarm sounded with a voice announcing a code. Nurse David stood, moving the pan to the side table. Sienna saw the steam coming out of another pan on the table, where the nurse had placed the clean washcloths. Another bin held the wipes that had been used. Sienna was disconcerted to find that the discarded cloth pile was so tall. How much had Peter suffered in her absence?

  The nurse explained to her the procedure should Peter need assistance again. Then he left, leaving Sienna with the precious double gift of being alone with Peter and having something to do to help him.

  Long years of hearing him breathe told her that Peter was awake, though his eyes were closed. The room was quiet but for a piano sonata playing on speakers Sienna had brought over the weekend. It was Peter’s favorite, one of the lesser-known movements of a Beethoven sonata. They had driven to Washington, D.C. a few years prior in order to hear Murray Perahia play it. The memory pearled before her, and she touched it in lieu of tears.

  “Remember when we heard this together?” she asked. Peter’s eyes wrinkled in the closest approximation of a smile that he dared. “That was the night you told me about winning the renovation contracts. We finally had the money to build our house.” She reached for his hand and sandwiched it between her own. “On the way home, way too late at night, we debated wall colors.”

  “Hat rack,” Peter added, not attempting to open his eyes.

  “Yes! How could I forget? That was when you bought me the hat rack made from deer feet and antlers at that truck stop.” Sienna giggled. “And it really does look lovely in the house.” Peter squeezed her hand. “Who knew that we would have such a perfect spot for it in the laundry room?” She smiled, letting their old joke settle into the closing chords of the music.

  “Tea,” Peter mumbled. The word was nearly swallowed in a grimace.

  “Oh? Shall I make you some? I brought the things up last night, but I thought, with the chemo, that maybe you wouldn’t be up for it.” She stopped at the slight shake of Peter’s head.

  “Shop?” he finished.

  “It’s going well. Too well, almost. It’s almost overwhelming, how blessed that place seems. Tovah and Lettye and Nina are amazing, and even zany Jessie is exceeding expectations. We have this one customer,” Sienna began, pushing aside the thought of another customer, a handsome one she did not wish to talk about, “her name is Bethel Bailey. She comes in a few times a day, and even for afternoon tea on Sunday. That woman could talk a brick wall into a yoga class. Yesterday, she told me about how her grandmother gave a Waterford crystal chandelier to the parsonage. Only, it was too big for the room, so that it only cleared the table by eighteen inches. To hear her tell it, her grandmother would put a brass memorial plaque on absolutely anything related to church.”

  “Missed her calling.”

  “Probably,” Sienna sighed. “So many women of a certain age became busy bodies when they were kept from serious ministries by their churches.” She and Peter liked their parish in part because one of their priests was a woman. It set an inclusive tone. “But, hey, Bethel’s granny keeps the trophy shop in business, single handed.”

  “That’s something.” Peter’s voice was a bit stronger. Sienna watched him swallow slowly. Even though she could see how the effort must cost him, she hoped he would be able to talk with her. She missed his burring, beautiful voice. At length, he continued, “How is the manuscript table?”

  “It’s one of my favorite things at work,” she shook his hand in excitement. “There’s a morning crowd and an afternoon crowd. We have postcard and letter writers, a couple of journalers, and at least one woman who is definitely writing a book there. She comes in the late afternoon and asks intelligent questions about the teas before ordering strong-brewed Keemun and almond pasties. And!” she paused to smile as Peter cracked open his eyes a little, “almost no one has stolen a pen from the jar.”

  “That’ll please Tovah.”

  “Oh, it does,” she grinned.

  “What else? Favori
te?”

  “Well, I didn’t expect it, but the chess table is probably the best part of the store. These two old men hold court there in the mornings, and they seem to have a small following late in the day. I even heard a woman trying to convince them to have a ‘toynament’ the other day. I think she was from New Yawk.”

  The dogs? Home yet?”

  “No, I haven’t been able to be there enough to make the effort. But I have visited them twice, and they are crazy, as usual.”

  Nurse David returned then. “How is our patient?” he asked Sienna. To Peter, he said, “Good. Your stomach is settling.” Then, to both, “You two make a good team.”

  Peter squeezed Sienna’s hand and smiled a very small smile.

  “We’re going to try for lunch today, Peter. Broth and Jello first.” He paused for Peter to wince. “I know. It’s gross. But it’s protein. Tomorrow you can eat normally. Which means,” he turned toward Sienna, “feel free to bring in requests. Favorite foods usually help. This type of chemo dampens the appetite a bit.”

  You hear that, Peter? I can bring you my new scones,” she teased. Peter had suffered through many revisions of the scone recipe over the previous year. “Or tarts or quiches or pastries.”

  “Almond croissant?” Peter asked hopefully.

  “Almond croissant it is,” she replied quietly. A knock came at the door, and an unseen woman announced catering.

  “But first, broth!” Nurse David said.

  Sienna looked at the clock. It was already 12:30. “Oh, no! I’m late for a meeting. I’ll be back this evening.” She kissed Peter’s forehead and stroked the hair over his temple. “I love you.”

  “Love you.”

  Elsie Pinkwater did not seem amused. She glared at the young Latina who served her. “What’s this?” she demanded. The girl had set a mug of dark, fragrant tea in front of her, alongside a tiny pitcher of cream and a small bowl of brown sugar crystals and a small spoon. “I asked for plain black tea with sugar.”

  “Yes, Miss. This is the Keemun, English Breakfast,” Nina gestured gracefully to the tall mug, then to the sugar bowl, “and the sugar.”

  “Well, I don’t know how you all drink tea where you’re from, but I am accustomed to good black tea bags and white sugar.”

  “I could get you some white lump sugar if you’d like, Miss, but this is the only granulated sugar we have.”

  “Well, what about Sweet’N Low?”

  “We don’t carry artificial sweeteners, Miss. I could bring you some stevia extract to try.”

  Elsie huffed. “No, I guess I’ll make do with this,” she snapped mistrustfully. “I don’t suppose you know when your boss will be here, do you?”

  “She called a minute ago to tell us that she might be a little late. Her appointment ran late,” Nina said protectively. She didn’t want this mean old lady to know that Sienna was hurting.

  “Well, why didn’t you tell me?” the woman roared.

  “May I be of assistance?” Lettye asked, appearing at Nina’s side. “That’ll be fine, Nina, thank you. Could you see to Mr. Reed’s table, please? He just got a new opponent.” Lettye calmly watched as Nina walked out onto the floor, then turned her attention back to Elsie Pinkwater, who was eyeing Lettye with poorly disguised disgust.

  “I don’t know. Is your boss usually late?” She pointed to a small wristwatch with hours marked in diamond chips. “It’s already five till 1:00, and we had a meeting.”

  “Yes, Ms. Pinkwater. I saw your name on the schedule for Sienna’s 1:00 meeting. I’m sure she will be here as soon as possible. In the meantime, may I offer you a pastry? Or lunch?” She watched the woman’s eyes widen at the selection in the pastry counter and cooler, then narrow suspiciously. “It’s on the house, for the inconvenience of your wait.”

  “Do you have quiche?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lettye explained the varieties.

  Elsie chose a slice of quiche by pointing.

  “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for your comfort,” Lettye smiled, setting the heated quiche in front of the old woman.

  Elsie fell to, and the plate in front of her was bare but for a few crumbs when Sienna arrived at 1:05. Sienna rushed up to the stool where Elsie sat sipping and scrutinizing the tea in her mug.

  “Ms. Pinkwater?” Sienna asked. “Sienna Bannock. I’m so sorry I’m late. I hope you enjoyed the quiche.”

  “I did, thank you.” Elsie perked up. “Your people did their best, but I’m not used to having to wait for meetings.” She cast a withering look toward Nina, who was explaining green tea varieties to a blond woman at the manuscript table.

  Sienna suspected that the woman’s disgruntled attitude might have had to do with the brown skin of the tearoom staff rather than their quality of service. She breathed deeply and answered simply, “I understand. If you’d like to join me at a table, we can talk about your event ideas.”

  When they were settled with a fresh pot of tea delivered by Lettye as soon as they sat, Sienna began pleasantly, “So, your email said that you organize tea parties. Would you be interested in having the parties on site, or would you rather discuss catering or tea sources?”

  “Tea parties?!” Elsie drew herself up and looked at Sienna with disdain. “No, I’m a TEA party organizer.”

  Sienna stared blankly.

  “You know? T-E-A, the sorority? We have a fair number of members and alumnae in the area. I chair the committee for our fundraising events, and I schedule parties locally.”

  “Oh,” Sienna said simply. Her mind whirred to switch directions with the new information. “Then, would you want to plan for an after-hours event here?”

  “Well, no, actually. I was hoping to have you all donate tea and things for our Fall Charity Ball. It benefits University Hospital’s Cancer Center.”

  Sienna reeled at the mention of the hospital where Peter was being treated. She tried to think straight. “I’m sorry, Ms. Pinkwater. We just opened a few weeks ago, so we aren’t yet in a position to donate substantially.” Sienna wanted to continue, to offer an alternative way that the shop could help, but her feelings prevented it. She looked down at the teapot while guilt and longing and confusion grappled for her attention. “Would you like another cup?” she asked at length, lifting the pot toward Elsie’s cup.

  “I guess not.” Elsie said, glaring around at the shop. Sienna could hear Nina offering a free sample to a couple at a nearby table, while Lettye’s warm, “on the house!” carried from the grad student booths where she was distributing samples of cookies. Sienna felt her face go warm at the contrast between their generosity and her words to Elsie.

  Just then, Tovah came out of the office. She walked toward the table. “Hello. Tovah Rosen, co-proprietor. Ms. Pinkwater, right? Have you decided to have an event here? We do great quiches!”

  “No, your associate here has just informed me that you aren’t in a position to make substantial donations this autumn.” Elsie eyed the tea tray and glanced toward the bar where she had eaten lunch, her face drawn in conclusion.

  Before Tovah could correct her on either score, Sienna jumped in, “Ms. Pinkwater represents the TEA sorority fundraising committee. She organizes parties.”

  “Oh, well, I’m sorry we couldn’t help you at this time,” Tovah said. “But I hope you’ll stop by personally, for lunch or tea.”

  “I did like the quiche,” Elsie conceded.

  “How about I get you another piece to go, for your troubles?” Tovah asked. “Which kind did you have?”

  “Cream cheese and Brussels sprouts,” Elsie answered confidently.

  Tovah and Sienna exchanged confused glances. After a moment, Tovah’s brow cleared. “Oh! The artichoke and chèvre quiche.”

  “No. It was definitely Brussels sprouts and cream cheese. I ate it. I should know.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sienna interjected, “But we don’t make that variety here. The artichoke chèvre would look similar.”

  “If y
ou say so.” Elsie drew herself up. Lettye arrived with the quiche in a to-go box at that moment. Elsie picked it up, nodded at the three women, and made her way toward the door.

  “Thank you for coming in!” Sienna called to her retreating back.

  “Lord, have mercy!” Lettye breathed.

  “I second that,” Tovah agreed. “What? She walked into a shop owned by a Jew and an Episcopalian, saw our black and Latina staff, and thought we were pulling one over on her?”

  “To be fair, she mentioned the Cancer Center, and I froze up. I’m sure she could tell something was wrong, and we clearly are generous here. She must have thought we had something against her sorority, to not want to support its event,” Sienna reasoned. “We may have just invited her into a situation that made her uncomfortable. I doubt she’s used to anyone refusing to donate to her causes.”

  “That’s no reason for her not to have even paid for her tea. She got here fifteen minutes early and started in on how you were late,” Nina added.

  Sienna started, not realizing the girl was there. She would have to nip the gossiping in the bud. The last thing she wanted in a business was a bitter wait staff. “Well, let’s forgive her that debt. I’m sure she was doing the best she knew how, and we did invite her to the meeting, even if we were going on a misunderstanding. Best to look at all of our customers in the best light possible. That way we can treat them the way they ought to be treated.”

  “Amen,” Lettye said.

  “Besides, maybe she was just hungry.” Tovah added. “And now we’ve fixed that, so perhaps she’ll be nicer to everyone all day.”

  Nina nodded and walked behind the counter. Sienna joined her, carrying the tea tray from the truncated meeting.

  “That was for me, huh, Miss?” Nina asked, taking the tray and unloading it.

  “What was for you, Nina?” Sienna answered, looking into the girl’s dark, intelligent eyes. Nina raised an eyebrow in challenge, and Sienna relented. “Yes, Nina, that was for you. But for the rest of us, too. We all need grace, and dispensing it is part of the vision for this shop. I don’t want any of us to get upset over little things. Ms. Pinkwater was in a difficult situation, maybe outside her comfort zone.”