“Are you a photographer, then?” Sienna asked.
“Me? Not professionally. We’re in property management in my family. But I have a pretty nice camera, and I like to click a bit. Ben, now, he has a gift. No time to develop it,” she snorted at her pun, “but he has an artist’s touch with a camera.”
“Peter is the artist in our family. I can do gardens and rooms and cooking, but Peter can draw. Well, of course, he’s an architect, so he draws for a living, in a way, but he can also capture the feel of a place or a person with a few lines.”
“You sound worried about him,” Bethel observed, turning onto the street to the restaurant.
“He’s in the hospital with cancer. It’s been less than two weeks since we’ve known, but he is already really sick.”
“I’m sorry. Do you have family in town to help you?”
“No, we don’t have much family. No one close, Sienna said.
“Well, I’m sure they would make a long trip under the circumstances!”
“Actually, I meant they aren’t close emotionally. Peter’s parents had him when they were older, and they both passed a few years ago. My dad died the summer I graduated high school, and my mother hasn’t spoken to me since.”
“Wait a minute!” Bethel yelled, “Your own mama hasn’t spoken to you in years? Bless her heart! Why would she do such a thing?”
“I was with my dad when he died. We were in an accident, and he asked me to stay with him while he died rather than running for help. Mom never forgave me for staying with him. She convinced herself that if I had run for help, he would have lived. But, of course, he was already dying when he asked me to stay.”
“That is so sad. And now you are bearing all this alone. Did she at least come to the funeral for Susan?” Bethel glanced at Sienna, saw her wince in pain, and turned back to watch the road. “I’m sorry. My big mouth. You don’t have to answer that.”
“She didn’t come,” Sienna said quietly. She swallowed and looked out the window.
“I have a mind to share a few choice words with that woman, with all due respect,” Bethel said through tightened lips.
“She wouldn’t answer.” Sienna smiled sadly. “I’ve written her at least once a month since Dad’s funeral. You have her to thank for my love of stationery, in fact.”
“How’s that?”
“At first, I thought if I found the perfect card, she would be convinced that I loved her and forgive me. Then, I tried to appeal to her artistic sensitivity. I found the most beautiful papers I could, wherever I went. I even made my own paper a few times in college. But after awhile, I started to look at the letters differently. I started writing them for me as much as for her. I find a beautiful sheet of paper and say things that help me feel good about my life.”
“It’s the way you’ve found to keep your dignity in the situation,” Bethel nodded.
“Yes. I’d prefer happiness, but dignity will have to do.”
“So you and your Peter have had to go through a lot by yourselves.”
“Not entirely. You know Tovah, and you’ve heard about Marnie, and now there’s you, helping me right now.”
“I’m glad to be here with you, Sienna. I only wish there was a way for me and Ben to help Peter as well.” She nodded to herself. “We’ll pray about it, and when Ben gets back in town, we are going to get together with you two. Try to put a smile back on both of your faces.”
“Thank you, Bethel.” Sienna did not often allow herself to be on someone’s project list, but she thought she might make an exception for Bethel’s goodwill. “When I see him in the morning, I can show him the beginnings of this project, and that will make him smile. I have a feeling he has been waiting to see me heal for a long time.”
Bethel parked, then reached across and patted Sienna’s shoulder, “come on, let’s get your healing started.”
They met Savitri on their way into the restaurant. The courtyard was full of diners taking advantage of the perfect autumn day that had followed brief morning showers, and Savitri bustled with hospitable energy. She stopped and set down a water pitcher when she saw the women.
“Sienna! I haven’t seen you in months.” She hugged Sienna to her warmly. While they embraced, she said, “I heard about the baby. I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. I have been praying for you.”
“Thank you, Savitri. That’s why we’re here, actually. My friend Bethel,” she gestured to the woman beside her, “told me about a way to honor the baby’s life. We’re going to take photos of me at the places where I went while I was pregnant, to celebrate and remember Susan’s life.”
“That’s beautiful,” Savitri said, her warm brown eyes deep with compassion. “Come,” she gestured for them to follow and set off at a quick pace into the restaurant. When they were seated in front of a richly-colored rug, Savitri sat two mugs of steaming chai in front of them. “What would you like for lunch? I would like to cook for you.”
They ordered uttapams, chole, and a curried goat dish. Bethel got out her camera and leaned over to Sienna. “Now, I wanted to surprise you.” She slid a thick card across the table and grinned. “Mama’s a calligrapher. She whipped this up for you when I told her why I would be taking a long lunch.”
The card read simply, Susan was here.
“It’s perfect.” Sienna brushed the words with her fingertip, feeling the brief indent of the name inked there.
Savitri returned sooner than Sienna would have guessed was possible, laden with a tray of delicious foods, lovingly prepared. The familiar smells wafted up, of spices and laughter and hope, and Sienna allowed herself to feel nourished by the kindness of her hostess. She suddenly knew the best way to start her project of remembering.
“Savitri, would you pose with me?”
That evening, just before she finished loading silver trays with cookies, Sienna felt her phone buzz. It was a text from Marnie. She had quoted a folk tune, as prescient as ever.
When Jesus wept, a falling tear in mercy flowed beyond all bounds.
When Jesus groaned, a trembling fear seized all the guilty world around.
Bless you, SiSi.
So Marnie knew about the weeping Jesus. It did not surprise Sienna. She did not always feel close to God, especially in the darkest moments of grief, but she had never felt abandoned by him. There were too many people around her who refused to let her go; she was never quite able to believe that God was done with her. Still, her friend’s choice of words disturbed her. Why quote the entire verse, when the first line seemed most relevant? She slid her phone back into her pocket and went back to preparing trays.
Liz called out to her as she set cookies and mini pizzas out on the manuscript table.
“Sienna!” Liz bustled up and squeezed her upper arm affectionately. “If I were the type to declare, I would. Oh, heck. I declare!” she smiled. “This is amazing. Sippy cups for the little ones and everything. And good thing, too, because a few of our graduate students have large families.”
“I’m glad you like it. Let me know if you need anything special. I’ll be coming in and out of the kitchen to keep an eye on things.”
“Well, there is one thing.” Liz let go of Sienna’s arm and turned to dig in a huge lime green leather bag slung over her shoulder. “Can you play this as the soundtrack tonight?”
Sienna raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Big bands? I’d love to.” She looked over the CD insert and laughed at the names of a few of the songs. “This is a Durham band? I’ve never heard of them. I have got to get out more, I guess.”
“They are so much fun, too. Next time they play the armory I’ll take you. Oh, but you have to promise to wear that red lipstick! It’s so retro.”
“I think I can manage.” Sienna smiled, showing her usual red lips to their best effect. “It’s a date.”
“Good. I’m going to go find the wine before my research partner arrives and tries to talk to me about nylons and war rations.” She rolled her eyes and puffed her cheeks
in mock exasperation, then finger waved as she spotted the wine at the tea bar. “See ya.”
Sienna returned to the task of laying out food. She had several additional trays of mini pizzas lined up to be heated for the grown-up guests, but she suspected the children would rather have their food a bit cooler. Peter had always said she had a quiet thoughtfulness toward children; it would make her a good mother.
Soon the first wave of students arrived, a passel of children in tow as predicted. The children exclaimed when they saw the table laden with pizzas and cookies and the crayons and brown paper set out to help them pass the mealtime pleasantly. Jessie greeted them, and soon they whirled around her happily, the pizzicatos of their voices answering her invitations. She helped each of them settle into the ease of the shared table, then touched the side of her nose and retreated to the kitchen. Sienna smiled at the children and greeted the parents warmly when they looked up from their earnest discussions of cloth diapers and racquetball. She supplied the children with sippy cups of lightly sweetened decaf iced tea and returned to the kitchen.
Jessie was there, humming something familiar but unexpected enough so as not to be recognizable. Sienna tried to sort out the tune while she heated pizzas and helped Jessie transfer mini quiches onto trays. It was when Jessie loaded her arms with trays and slipped out the door to the crescendo of the chorus that Sienna remembered the hymn. “Come, ye disconsolate.” It had a catchy beat and spoke of mercy in such a cheery way that one almost forgot the suffering that made the healing so vital. Rather like Bethel, Sienna thought, and smiled.
For the next hour, Sienna stayed in the kitchen, timing food and loading trays that Jessie and Nina quickly replaced with empty ones. She peeked out at the tearoom and saw Lettye holding her own with a red-nosed older professor and a waifish young student. Lettye listened, added to the conversation, and poured steady glasses of wine for students and professors who approached the bar. There seemed to be about a dozen more people than Liz had told her to expect, and the crowd, punctuated with an occasional child’s squeal, was noisy. She decided to make a turn around the room to check on things. Jessie and Nina could handle the next round of food, now that the eating was slowing down a bit.
“Are you the owner?” a young mother wearing a pixy cut, trendy glasses, and a baby asked. Sienna almost stumbled on her when she stepped from behind the bar.
“Yes.” Sienna extended her hand, which the young woman shook awkwardly with her left hand. The other hand held a glass of iced tea and two gummed cookies sticking from a linen cocktail napkin. “Sienna Bannock. Lovely to have you here.”
“Well, I was coming to find you to say it’s lovely to be here.” The woman raised her voice to be heard above the crowd. “So few places are hospitable to babies, but my partner says you have a fully stocked changing table in the men’s room. I was just going to check out the one in the ladies’. Thank you so much for welcoming our littlest ones!”
Sienna smiled and bid her welcome. She tried to keep the conversation short. It was jarring to be thanked in shouts, and the subject matter made it hard to keep up her happy façade. The changing tables were supposed to be for her benefit as well, and for Susan’s. She was glad when the woman’s baby cried, expediting the trip to the restroom, where Sienna expected the woman would avail herself of the nursing corner as well.
A group of older children had surrounded the chessboard and seemed to be setting up for a game. Sienna hoped they would be kind to the expensive chessmen. She decided just to check in on them since the pieces were on loan. Halfway across the room, someone grabbed her elbow.
“Sienna! Just the person I was looking for.” It was Liz, and she was none too sober. “Great party! I was just telling Harold here about how you can guess which tea people like. Do Harold!” she shouted jovially. Sloshing her wine a bit, she pushed a thirty-something man in corduroy forward.
“Um…” Sienna was uncomfortable at the phrasing and at the request. She was distracted by the crowd and her duties. Straight away, she could only tell that he liked matcha, nothing more specific. It would be too awkward to tell a stranger, “So, you like matcha?” as though she were assessing the sports fandom of someone wearing a team jersey. She smiled tightly and was about to excuse herself when Liz interrupted.
“Come on. Ask God which kind of tea he likes. That’s how it works, isn’t it? You can tell what people like through prayer?” Liz seemed louder than ever, but Sienna guessed she only seemed so because Liz was exposing herself. People saying things that embarrassed her always seemed to shout.
Harold reddened and tried to pull Liz back toward a table. He mouthed an apology to Sienna and leaned forward to ask Liz an inconsequential question. Too drunk, Liz forgot the previous topic and laughed. Sienna heard her say, “Nylons!” before she was out of earshot.
The children were playing politely with the chess pieces. A young African-American girl in braids was playing a tousled hair blonde boy of about the same age. They moved slowly and stood up to look the table over before each decision was made. Though it was early yet in the game, Sienna thought the little girl was winning. She asked the surrounding children if they needed anything then left them to their game and the attentions of Jessie.
In the middle of the crowd, amongst the animated chatter, some academic, some related to family and home, Sienna stopped to breathe deeply. The air smelled of electricity and tea, of wine and cheese and beeswax crayons. What it lacked was chocolate. She decided to remedy that, and she headed to the kitchen to make hot chocolate.
When she had distributed small cups to the chess children—the girl had won and was laying into her next opponent—and the eye-rubbing younger ones at the crayon table, she had only one cup left. She decided to offer it to the nursing mother who liked the changing tables. Sienna found her at a table near the stationery, leaning in to speak to an older woman in a long batik skirt. She smiled brightly when Sienna offered her the cocoa.
“Thank you!” Relieved of her baby duties, the woman stood and hugged Sienna. She sat back down, and the older woman smiled warmly at Sienna. It was too loud for conversation between standers and sitters, but the woman made a telephone gesture and handed Sienna a business card. Sienna nodded, smiled, and slipped the card into her pocket.
Back in the kitchen, Jessie washed dishes. Sienna could tell that she was singing under her breath, but the tune was again unclear. Whatever it was, the tune reminded her of a hope so beautiful that she forgot it had died with Susan. Sienna had wanted Susan to learn music with Jessie, whose pick up group music lessons at local libraries and gardens had caught Sienna’s attention a few years before. Sienna had liked Jessie and admired her talents ever since the first time Jessie taught her to play a chord. But it was the thought of her daughter that inspired Sienna to bring Jessie on board at the shop. She had rubbed her belly and mused that the tiny kicking girl in her belly would take up ukulele or standing bass one day alongside the pink song that was Jessie. She touched the cold steel prep table and suddenly remembered that Susan could not sing. She busied herself for a few minutes setting plates and glasses into the washtub while Jessie worked her way across the line, rinsing and sterilizing and stacking, all the while humming the tune that tugged Sienna’s hope into the open.
Sienna dunked a cup into the water and watched it fill. Wasn’t heaven meant to be full of song? Perhaps Susan was singing, too. She held her breath to hear it, but she had to stop and breathe when she swayed into the tub. It was Tovah who called the sink a tub. The thought made Sienna smile. Tovah had a gift for making the shop feel hospitable. She tucked the edges around the staff by calling the wide front window a cubby and the sink a tub. No wonder Jessie felt comfortable enough to sing here. Singing’s what women did at home.
The shop had quieted down by the time Sienna had finished stacking dishes. She thought of Liz and decided to check on her. The professor would need sobering up, but it was best to save face while offering a pep-me-up. She assembled a carefully laid
tray with a clay pot, clay cups, a carved mother-of-pearl spoon in the shape of a turtle, an intricate bamboo whisk, and a jar of the finest matcha. Behind the bar, she stopped to fill a carafe with steaming water.
Harold looked up as Sienna approached. “Would you do us the honor of pouring?” she asked him. He looked at Liz in surprise, then smiled so that deep roots fanned out around his eyes.
“Yes. Thank you. I would be honored.” He cleared a few empty wine glasses from the table between them and gestured for Sienna to lay the tray.
He began to make the tea. Silently, Liz reached up and grasped Sienna’s hand. Liz smiled an apology, and Sienna smiled forgiveness. Liz squeezed Sienna’s hand and pulled her into the empty chair. They accepted cups of bright tea from Harold when he offered. Sienna noticed that he gave Liz the cup of honor. She smiled into her own cup while she sipped. Perhaps not all the men in Liz’s life were foolish after all.
After they were all served, Harold prepared more tea. He handed Sienna her second serving. When she sipped and smiled gratitude, he asked, “How did you know?”
“Liz was right in substance —“
“If not in style!” Liz, sobering, interjected.
“Yes,” Sienna grinned, “I suppose. Though you’re not the first person to fall prey to French wine.”
“Look at that woman over there!” Liz thumbed toward the mother with the pixy cut, her stage whisper drawing attention to the frayed edges of her composure. “She blames at least half the Reformation on the effects of European booze!”
“Well…” Harold looked as though he was tempted to take on the question of booze and the Reformation, but he exerted himself. “Surely you don’t mean that the wine turned you onto my love for matcha?” he asked, redirecting Liz toward a more sedate conversation.
“Hmm?” Sienna looked puzzled for a moment, then caught up to the turn in conversation. “Oh, no, of course not. As I was saying, Liz was right about it being a gift. Only the prayer is so automatic that I don’t even think about it. I hear the answer before I ask the question.”
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