“That’s right.” A.C. grinned and took another sip of his coffee. “Fact is, today there are hardly any bodies who would stick around a place fifteen years, so’s they could figure out what they loved and what fed them spiritually.”
“You mean, the way people church shop willy-nilly, or the way they just drift away?” Sienna fidgeted uncomfortably after she asked, thinking of how she had not been to her home church since Peter got sick.
“Maybe,” A.C. considered, “May be.”
“Sienna here has been interested in Orthodoxy lately, A.C.” Cleotis said, not looking up from his consideration of the chessboard.
“That so?” A.C. lifted his eyebrows. “Did you grow up Orthodox?”
“No, but I find it comforting. I like the icons and the chanting.” Sienna felt the lack of a teacup in her hands as she fidgeted. She finally settled on twirling one of the hard-won pawns from A.C.’s captures.
Cleotis lifted his queen and quietly replaced her on the board. “Check.”
“Well, now,” A.C. answered Sienna, as if he were not in dire danger of losing the match. “Sounds to me as though that’s just God trying to get your attention where He can.”
“What do you mean?” Sienna asked, her brow creased. She hoped he was not going to call her experience into question. The sweetness from the prayer service was so real and rich in her memory.
“Well, the Lord is in all parts of his body, whether we acknowledge one another or not. The way I figure it, is that sometimes we grow familiar and stop paying attention. So He catches us, right where He thinks we’ll notice.” He paused to move his bishop again. “Check.”
“I’ll be,” Cleotis muttered through a smile. He moved a rook, but remained silent, a grin gradually overtaking his face.
“So, maybe I have just stopped paying attention to God at my church, you mean? That’s fair, I guess. I’ve been telling myself I was too busy to go, since my husband got cancer, but I used to be there twice a week.”
A.C. glanced at Cleotis, exchanging the rapid communication of lifelong friends. He leaned back in his chair for a moment, considering Sienna. Then he picked up his coffee cup and sighed. “Ms. Sienna,” he began, reverting to the Southern familiar formal address, “I’ve been on this earth for over four-score years, and I have seen a little of God and the ways He loves us in that time, I’m glad to say. What I figure is this: That when we live through a lot of hurts in a place, we start to go numb for a spell. We stop noticing the sweetness in the harmonies or the brightness of the flowers or the way the regulars dress and laugh. While we’re bleeding, the color bleeds right out of the places we love. But by and by, if we stay there, we start to come back alive. We start to love the people and the prayers and the music and the place again, newer and deeper. And God catches our attention right where we’ve always been.”
“But is it better, really, to stay there, even if He’s caught our attention elsewhere?” Sienna swallowed a lump in her throat.
“That’s just the thing, Sienna. God catches our attention after the sorrow because we realize later that he was always there right with us, in it.” There was a silence as A.C. reached toward the board. “Checkmate.”
“Yes, it is!” Cleotis beamed. He stood to shake A.C.’s hand. A.C. rose as well, and the men hugged across the table. Sienna, still seated, noted that only two tall persons could have hugged that way.
“Well, gentlemen, that calls for a round on the house!” Sienna smiled. She hurriedly gathered the empty teapot and carafe and walked toward the back. Her heart pounded against joy and pain as she replayed A.C.’s words in her mind. God right with her in the sorrow? The thought would have comforted her if it were not so frightening.
Notes from Sienna’s tea files
Tasting Notes: India Palace house blend spiced tea (loose leaf black tea, orange peel, star anise, cinnamon, white pepper, dried ginger chunks, cloves, nutmeg).
Provenance: Black tea is Assam; spices imported; orange peel house made from Florida oranges; ginger from local growers.
Liquor: Warm brown like cherry stain.
Astringency: Clean bite; bracing, not overbearing.
Body: Surprisingly round; the orange and chunked ginger fills out the middle with unexpected brightness.
Fragrance: Rich, comforting.
Chapter Ten
Tovah and Sienna stocked a beautiful array of creamy cotton papers that afternoon, drawing paper lovers to the back of the shop. A mother bought her little boy his first set of notepaper to write his grandparents. He was the sort of boy people write about, all large blue eyes with an effusive smile. Her heart was glad after watching him stroke the smooth paper and look up to his mother with obvious joy and gratitude.
“Mama, can I even draw a planet on it?” he asked, clearly taken with the possibilities of blank pages.
“Yes,” said the plump, round mother with a rich, warm voice. “You may write or draw anything that you love.”
“Yippee!” he sang, just as the afternoon sun slanted through the front window and lit his straw-colored hair into a halo. Sienna was reminded of the sweet clarity of boy choirs in that moment, and she allowed herself to grin broadly at the recollection until Nina tapped her shoulder shyly.
“Oh, dear,” Sienna said to Nina, “Is it 4;00 already?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Let me get my things, and we’ll head out.” She waved goodbye to Tovah, who was helping the little boy with his purchase, a smitten smile on her face.
In her car with Nina, Sienna turned to the girl and smiled reassuringly. “Where to?”
Nina gave directions, and Sienna pulled out into the slow traffic. Downtown was flocked with pedestrians for one of the cheerful street parties that had become a regular feature of revitalized city life over the past few years. Sienna watched as Nina’s dark eyes grew wider to take in the colorful scenes. When they were headed toward the north part of town where Nina lived, the girl turned toward Sienna.
“Do you always listen to this kind of music?” she asked.
“Hmm?” Sienna had forgotten she had music on. She listened for a moment to the rich choral harmonies from a sacred music mix CD Peter had made her. A male choir was just finishing a glorious arrangement of Pablo Casal’s “O Vos Omnes.” She sighed in self-recognition. She had not noticed the music because it was narrating her heart. To Nina, she responded, “Sometimes. That particular song is from Lamentations. Do you know what it means?”
“Not really. At first I thought I recognized it, but it’s Latin, isn’t it, not Spanish?”
“That’s right. It means, ‘Is it nothing to all you who pass by? Behold and see if there is any sorrow like unto my sorrow.’”
“Whoa.” Nina gaped. “It’s so sad, but it was so beautiful. I felt like those voices were surrounding me.” She looked down. “Or something.”
“I think that’s what they were meant to do. Church music is supposed to bear witness, not only to God, but to other travelers on the journey. We have to stand and sing to each other.”
“Oh! I get it.” Nina straightened, and she spoke brightly. “Weep with those who weep, and rejoice with those who rejoice!”
“Yes. Exactly.” Sienna smiled a small smile. She did not want to pry into her employee’s affairs, but she was struck with an urge to share more about the beauty they had both witnessed. She considered for a moment how best to broach the subject. “Nina, have you by chance ever gone to Holy Week services?”
“Every year. We at least go to midnight Mass. Why?”
“Maybe you’ll remember that passage from the song. In Holy Week, we have the laments, and those words are spoken as though from Jesus to each of us sinners.” She grew quiet, thinking of how the services would never be the same, now that she had passed through so much sorrow herself.
“I don’t think so, Miss.” Nina answered quietly. She trained her eyes out the window as they pulled to a stop at a shabby corner to wait for the light to change.
; “How do you mean, Nina? You don’t think so,” she prompted.
“Oh, I have heard it. I remember what you’re talking about. But I don’t think it’s Jesus talking to us sinners about what we did to him. At least, not only that.” She blushed and looked at her hands.
“Go on, Nina.”
“I think he’s talking to you, Miss. About your sorrow, not your sinfulness. ‘Is there any sorrow like unto my sorrow?’ Because he will help you through it if there is. If you are in that kind of sorrow, then he’s inviting you to let him help you carry it. That’s why we say it when we talk about the cross. It’s so we’ll hopefully remember that other thing he said, about coming to him if we’re weary and heavy laden. And he knows we are, and that’s why it’s ‘all you who pass by,’ because he doesn’t want us to think he doesn’t get it.” She had warmed to her theme, sounding more confident as she spoke with an authority beyond her years. “There’s no one with sorrow like his, because he carries all of our griefs and sorrows.” She paused, then turned in alarm. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Thank you, Nina,” Sienna managed. She blinked to clear her eyes as they pulled up in front of a shabby white house with brown shutters and dead, weedy grass. Though the property was run down, the yard was cut short, and the front bed by the house boasted a row of tall tomatoes in cages, still heavy with red fruits. Hanging baskets on the tiny porch overflowed with purple and green foliage, and pots of herbs lined the broken and narrow cement path to the door. Sienna turned to Nina with a smile that was only slightly dampened by her show of emotion at Nina’s insight. “Is this your home?”
“Yes, Miss. Would you like to come in? I’m just going to be making supper, but my grandma and little cousin might be there.”
“Oh, thank you, Nina. Ordinarily, I would love to, but I’m hoping to catch my husband awake this evening at the hospital.”
“Oh, of course. Then, another time. I’ll cook you and Peter my arroz con pollo when he gets better. It’s a family recipe, but I make it better than my abuela.” Nina winked.
“I’m looking forward to it. Please send my best regards to your family. Tell them they have a wonderful, well, you.” She waved as Nina got out of the car and walked briskly to the front door. A small dark-haired boy threw it open as she approached, and Nina swept him up into a hug. She waved to Sienna just as the boy wrapped his thin arms around Nina’s neck and kissed her on the cheek. The image stayed in Sienna’s mind and, combined with the beautiful words from that surprising young woman, served to distract her as she tried to navigate her way back to the south of town.
She arrived home to very hungry dogs. After feeding them, she brushed them and gave them each a hug. Jonquil whined, as though she knew what Sienna was going to tell them.
“Now, little ones,” she said, “I have to go see your daddy, and I have to work. You are going to have to be brave dogs and stay at day care for a few days again, just until your daddy gets better.”
Pogo barked, and Jonquil sighed. Both dogs cooperated when she got their leads and took them to the car. Jonathan met them at the doggie day care, a deep sympathy in his dark brown eyes. He assured her that he would care well for the dogs, and she thanked God for the quiet, gentle young man.
The evening was waning as she parked in the hospital parking deck. The year was still warm during the days, but that night, a cool breeze blew on her as she crossed the street to the main building. She pulled a thin sweater closer around her and tried not to think of her cold hands and how they might never be warm if Peter didn’t pull through.
Someone had made tea for Peter. He was sitting up in bed, a steaming melamine cup on the tray before him. He was pale, but the fragrant tea made him seem more himself. Sienna went to him and kissed him softly. Peter stroked her face with his right hand. His left was covered in tubes, and he kept it under the tray. She could tell he would have held her with both hands if not for those tubes; he did not want to worry her.
“My dear one,” she said, and kissed the crinkles where his eyes smiled. It was a statement, not a question. A thousand worries had chased around her mind that day, but now she was there with him, she did not want to waste precious time on anything less than cherishing him.
“Beloved,” he replied, his voice sounding weary.
She pulled up a chair and sat by him. She ran her fingers through his limp hair and brushed a strand behind his ear. He looked at her in the quiet way he had. His love was simple and present. He loved her, even if he was too weak to talk. After a few minutes of loaded silence, Sienna noticed that Peter was not drinking his tea.
“How is it?” She nodded toward the cup. It smelled fine, but that did not always indicate with tea. She sipped it. It was good. A thought crossed her mind when she saw the wry turn of Peter’s mouth. She raised the cup to his lips, gently, and he sipped.
“Thank you,” he croaked.
They carried on silently for a few moments. Raise, sip, rest, raise, sip, rest. Then Sienna fell into the familiarity of tea with Peter, even in this new form. She told him about her day, about A.C. and Nina, and how perhaps God would lead them right where they were. He nodded slowly and smiled.
“Yes,” he said. “Ubi caritas et amor,” he began, but he winced and went pale at the effort.
“Deus ibi est,” Sienna finished for him. “Where there is charity and love, God is there.” She raised the cup once more, and he finished the tea. “Do you mind if I move this?” She asked, palm extended to the bed tray.
He shook his head slightly. She scooted the tray aside and carefully climbed up beside him on his right side, avoiding the various tubes and wounds. She balanced on her hip and leaned up to kiss the pulse in his neck and the scratchy, unshaved cheek. So close to him, his low fever was more obvious. Sienna placed her head on his shoulder, held his right hand in her left between them, and placed her free hand on his heart. She closed her eyes and prayed as she and Marnie had prayed for so many. She let her fears and grief and worries fall away, and she became gratitude, she became love, she became the healing power of God for this person before her, her husband who was like her own flesh. The prayer was one, above all, of presence. Only this time, in addition to the usual sense of unheard music and unseen light, Sienna remembered the sweetness from the icon and the gentle instruction from Nina. She remained caught up in a long amen, and gradually Peter slept. She felt an ebbing away of the prayer that left peace in its wake, and she gently rose from the bed.
She straightened the blankets over him and kissed his face lightly. She was about to sit and watch with him awhile when the phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Fran from the altar guild, and it was far too late for Fran to call. Sienna dimmed the lights in Peter’s room and answered the phone quietly.
“Hello?” she said in the low voice reserved for talking near sleepers, “Sienna here.”
“I’m so glad I caught you, Sienna. I was just at the church setting up, and I noticed there were no flowers.” Fran was a longtime teacher, and she liked to give information so that people could draw their own conclusions. Unfortunately, Sienna was too tired to understand the significance.
“Oh?” Sienna responded.
“Well, I just wanted to make sure that you were still going to be able to do them in time. I know it’s late tonight, but I will be here an hour before the service tomorrow, if that would help.” She meant the early service that started just before 8:00 in the morning. “I can open the sacristy for you then.”
“Oh! Yes!” Sienna said, realization dawning. “Of course. I can bring them then. I’ll see you at seven. Thanks, Fran.”
“You’re welcome. And Sienna,” she said uncertainly, “I want you to know that we’re praying for you and Peter.” Fran was a very private woman, and her admission of prayer must have cost her. Sienna was grateful that she made the effort. It was so precious not to be alone.
“Thank you, Fran.” They hung up.
Sienna looked across the room at the
slow rise and fall of Peter’s chest. He was lovely even in his weakness. She kissed his temple and turned to leave. The next day was their wedding anniversary, and she wanted to make the altar flowers glorious in thanksgiving.
Notes from Sienna’s tea files
Fran Lehman, 63, altar guild chair, high school trigonometry teacher. Chocolate caramel blend: Keemun, roasted cocoa nibs, vanilla, toffee bits, steeped strong and long. Serve with plenty of demerara sugar and a dollop of cream. Or in a pinch, hot chocolate.
Chapter Eleven
Sienna rose well before dawn and dressed in a long, thickly woven coffee-colored linen skirt, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and her batik blazer in reds, golds, and browns. She pulled her hair into a chignon and fastened it with a simple wooden hair stick. The mirror told her that she looked like a mourner, even with the bright jacket. She added several long strands of amber and colorful wooden beads and dabbed on lipstick. It would have to do.
The garden was dewy and peopled only by a rabbit and a few curious birds. They hopped away from her when she approached the various beds, shears and flower pail in hand. She worked quickly in the semi-darkness, clipping stems by memory and fragrance as much as by sight. The bucket filled with dark pink dahlias, tall mint, red and orange coreopsis, and the seven remaining sunflowers. She sketched an arrangement in her mind, but there seemed to be something missing. She set down the pail and paced the lawn, searching. The damp thyme filled the air with a bite that cut through the chill. An impression of red caught her eye in the porch light, and she nodded. Gathering the last stems, she hurried to get on her way to the church.
The sacristy was empty when Sienna arrived, but she was glad to see that Fran had set oasis blocks to soak already. She found the plastic liner for the tall, wide grapevine basket, settled in the saturated floral foam, and set to work. She managed to transfer the arrangement into the basket and wheel it to the table in the apse with twenty minutes to spare. Only the curate and an ancient parishioner were already in the nave, both making their way about their tasks slowly, the man to his arthritic genuflection, the curate to her candle lighting.
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