Jane of Austin

by Hillary Manton Lodge

  “So we’re going over for brunch, then?” I asked Celia as the three of us crossed the lawn to reach the great house. “And then dinner tomorrow. When are we going to go look at those properties? The ones you showed us?”

  “In between,” Celia answered. “I know, it’s a lot of socializing for you. I think we’re the shiny new playthings.”

  “Well, I didn’t come to be the floor show. I came to open a tea shop. Although,” I added ruefully, “I shouldn’t complain. Sean’s supposed to come tomorrow.”

  “You look especially nice today.”

  I felt my face flush. “I suppose.”

  I had showered that morning and towel dried my curls, which had decided to behave. And perhaps I was also wearing eyeliner and lipstick, rather than strictly mascara and a touch of tinted lip balm.

  No matter what Celia said, I couldn’t remember having met these family members before, and the impression I’d made the night before was certainly more disheveled than usual. I tended to favor the “start as you mean to go on” approach, but I figured that a little extra primping this morning would cancel out the lake creature who’d appeared in the driveway the night before.

  “Why do you have your purse with you?” Margot asked, squinting at me.

  “Oh, you know. I’ve got a heavier cardigan in there. My phone. Cash if I need to tip the staff. I don’t know.”

  “I might put my phone in there,” Celia said. “If that’s all right.” Soon enough, she and Margot emptied their pockets and stashed the contents inside. “You have tea in your purse,” Margot stated, eyes accusing.

  “I always have tea in my purse.”

  “You’re weird.”

  “I’m idiosyncratic,” I retorted. “That’s different.”

  We made an effort to curb the sisterly bickering as we climbed the steps to the front door and knocked. A uniformed housekeeper answered within seconds.

  “They’re in the dining room,” she said, pointing, but the information was hardly necessary. Shrieks of laughter and chatter came from the left corner of the house.

  “It sounds like a bingo parlor,” I murmured to Celia, who shushed me discreetly before we stepped through the french doors.

  “There they are!” Mariah’s mother, Nina, waved an arm in greeting before setting her plate down to envelop us in hugs. She wore a flowing caftan in bright orange; her hair was pinned up into a dark chignon. “Just look at the three of you, pretty as a picture. Add a cup of water to the soup, Pilar!”

  “We’re not having soup with brunch, Mother,” Mariah chided before turning to us. “You must be so tired from your drive. Did you hit any snow?”

  “No snow,” I started to say, but nobody was listening to me.

  “It’s just an expression,” Nina told her daughter. “You need to relax. Go get a massage.” She turned back to us. “You poor dears, moving over the holidays like that. I hope you got to stop somewhere fun during your drive.”

  “We stopped at Roswell,” Margot answered. “They have aliens painted on the windows of restaurants.”

  “That is exciting.” Nina grinned at us.

  “Also the Grand Canyon,” I added. “Remember?”

  “Yeah, that was cool,” Margot admitted.

  Mariah stepped between us and her mother. “There’s a breakfast buffet on the sideboard. Please do help yourselves.”

  I cast a discreet glance at Mariah and her mother. Nina’s figure was lithe yet curvaceous, where her daughter’s was tall and ruthlessly slim. They shared the same wide gray eyes and, I suspected, might once have shared a nose, but despite the faint similarities, I would never have placed them as relatives, much less mother and daughter.

  Nina nodded toward the plates at the end of the sideboard. “Yes, get a bite, chickadees, and then come sit down. I want to learn all about you.”

  Two hours and a second helping of quiche later, I began to wonder if brunch would ever end. I itched to get out and start looking at properties; if the market was as tight as the agent had described, we needed to hit the pavement.

  We discussed, in no particular order, the health and education of Ian and Mariah’s children, their other houseguest, who was running or riding or otherwise athletically inclined, and ultimately my sisters and myself. Our time at Stanford, our sainted mother, and the currently street-less Valencia Street Tea.

  Over our father and his legal foibles, the Vandermeides drew a veil, though I didn’t trust its longevity. It was too good a story to remain discreet about forever.

  Dad’s scandal, though, didn’t seem to affect Ian’s opinion of us. “My financial man just retired,” he told Celia, “and I need someone to keep watch over my books and my investment profile. If memory serves, you did that in California?”

  Celia sputtered for a moment before recovering. “I did, yes, several years ago.”

  “Interested in getting back into it here?”

  Her eyes widened. “I’d have to become licensed,” she said. “Take the tests…”

  “Perfect! Well, it’s perfect if you’re interested.”

  “Yes, of course!”

  “See?” Nina said, pouring herself another mimosa. “It’s nice to see that women in this day and age can be smart and pretty. You have to have left broken hearts behind in San Francisco.”

  I shook my head and hoped that if I answered quickly and thoroughly enough, my answer might satisfy for all of us. “The salon kept us busy. I hardly ever date.”

  Nina’s eyes widened. “You? With that hair and those legs?”

  “If I’m in the shop or my rooftop garden, I’m not out on dates,” I answered. “It’s as simple as that.”

  Nina’s gaze slid to Celia. “What about you, Miss Celia?”

  Celia shifted uncomfortably on her chair. “I’m not seeing anyone currently, no.”

  “California men.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re here now, at least. You’ll both be engaged in a year; mark my words.”

  “Celia had a boyfriend,” Margot said. “California men aren’t all stupid.”

  “Margot!” I shot my younger sister a sharp look with a quick shake of the head.

  Margot slumped in her seat. “Well, she did.”

  “Oh!” Nina fixed her gaze more sharply on Celia. “Do tell!”

  And I watched as Celia, poised and collected Celia, froze.

  That was it. Me interrogating my sister at home was one thing. Even if it was friendly fire, it was still friendly fire in a room full of strangers, and I didn’t like it.

  “Can I make anyone a cup of tea?” I blurted, my face flushing pink.

  “Pilar can make tea,” Mariah said, lifting a hand to signal her housekeeper.

  Celia shook her head. “Not like Jane.”

  “What kind of tea?”

  “Green tea,” I said. “From my own leaves. They’re from my plants, from seeds I brought back from Japan.”

  Celia’s eyes widened. She knew I kept that supply dear.

  “They let you do that?” Nina asked. “Bring in seeds?”

  I shrugged. “I had to get a permit; it wasn’t so bad. Anyway, I raised these plants from seedlings, and I’ve been able to harvest them the last few years.”

  “Don’t spend your best leaves on us,” Nina said. “We wouldn’t know good tea from bad tea if it were speaking aloud and telling us what’s what.”

  “What about the Dragonwell?” Celia suggested, regaining her voice. “That’s really nice.”

  “I’ve got that one in my bag,” I said.

  Mariah goggled at me. “You keep tea in your purse?”

  “Occupational hazard.” I said, over the sound of Margot’s soft snickering. “May I borrow a few things from the kitchen?”

  Gratified that the room’s attention had shifted from our personal matters—and any questions that would cause Celia to turn even paler than normal—to the subject I felt most comfortable with, I followed Mariah into the kitchen, and the others trailed after us. Pilar found a teake
ttle, teapot, sieve, and thermometer.

  I found bottled spring water in the fridge and used it to fill the kettle. I brought the water to a boil and then used hot tap water to heat the cups that Mariah set out. I calculated the ounces of tea for the pot—two grams per serving.

  While we waited for the water to heat, I used the tap water to preheat the teapot as well. I measured the temperature before pouring, and waited until I was sure of a 180-degree reading before blanching the leaves through a sieve.

  They unfurled just a little, and the color brightened.

  “What’s that for?” Mariah asked.

  “It cleans the leaves,” I told her, giving the sieve a gentle shake. “And they begin to unroll, so they’ll infuse better. In a proper tea ceremony, I would do this with every serving and pour the water into the cups to warm them. But today we’ll focus on making a larger pot of tea.”

  I poured hot water into the teapot, discarded it, and then placed the tea leaves inside with a pair of silver tongs.

  And then I poured. For those moments, the chatter stopped, and all eyes were on me as I poured the water over the leaves in the teapot. “There,” I said, closing the lid. “It steeps for three minutes.

  Mariah eyed the teapot suspiciously. “Do you use spring water in your shop?”

  Celia nodded. “For an extra fee, and always for the premium teas.”

  “We’re getting the very best then,” said Nina. “I can’t wait to taste it!”

  I waited and then sniffed the teapot before pouring, using the sieve to catch any leaves. The tea had turned the perfect shade of very pale green, and I flushed with happiness to see it.

  That was my tea; my hands had harvested the leaves and spread them onto drying racks back home.

  I handed Mariah the first cup, then poured tea for Nina, Ian, Celia, and Margot.

  Celia gave me a smile over her cup, one I couldn’t quite read.

  Mariah peered into her cup. “Does it need sugar?”

  “No,” I answered flatly. “It does not.”

  I raised my own cup to my lips, letting the crisp, buttery taste wash over my taste buds. My eyes closed as I let the flavors work their magic.

  Perfection.

  “Tea party?” came a low voice from the doorway.

  My eyes flew open.

  “Beckett! There you are,” said Ian, setting his cup down long enough to give the other man a clap on the back. “Come meet my cousins! They’re the ones I told you about. They’ve just moved here from San Francisco. This is my old friend,” he said, slinging his arm around the other man. “Captain Callum Beckett.”

  He was tall, this new man. Tall with dark-brown hair, gone silver at the temples. A nose just shy of hawkish. I couldn’t quite tell how old he was. But then, from my post in the kitchen, I couldn’t see him well.

  Callum stood next to Ian and gave us a nod. “Hello. I apologize,” he said, gesturing to his exercise-wear. “I was out on a walk,”

  Ian introduced each of us by name. Celia gave her warmest smile and extended a hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  He shifted his hands then to shake her hand. And that’s when I noticed. He held a cane in his right hand, and of the legs visible beneath his shorts, one was a jointed prosthetic. His left leg had been amputated above the knee.

  A Perfect Cup of Tea

  4 heaping teaspoons tea leaves

  4 cups water (ideally filtered), plus more for preparation

  Set a kettle of water to boil. When hot, use the heated water to preheat the teapot and cups. To preheat, fill each vessel about a third full, wait 30 seconds, and discard the water.

  Add the tea leaves to the teapot—about one heaping teaspoon per cup of water. If you choose to use a tea infuser, use the largest size that will fit in your pot. You want lots of space for the leaves to unfurl.

  Pour a splash of hot but not boiling water over the leaves to blanch quickly; discard the water but retain the leaves. Note: most high-quality teas will come with a recommended water temperature. You can use a clean food-safe thermometer to gauge the temperature of the water.

  Once the leaves have been blanched, they’re ready to be steeped. Heat the water to the temperature recommended for your tea; 185 degrees will suit most teas. Pour 4 cups of that water over the tea leaves; allow them to steep. For green tea, allow 3–7 minutes. For black, 3–5. Be careful not to oversteep! If the leaves steep too long, the tea becomes bitter and tannic.

  Decant the tea liquid through a fine mesh strainer or remove the tea infuser.

  Pour the tea into the cups, and savor with friends.

  Serves 4.

  6

  Out on these Texas plains you can see for a million lives

  And there’s a thousand exits between here and the state line.

  —CAEDMON’S CALL

  Callum

  Walking toward the kitchen, I thought it was Lila. Not Lila as she was when I’d last seen her—the Lila who existed in my deeper memories, the days before Cameron. The woman in the kitchen had the same energy, the same kind of focus that made you want to pay attention because whatever it was she devoted herself to was worth your time.

  As I got closer, reality and rationality won out. This woman stood taller, her features more delicate, her curls a deeper shade of chestnut.

  And she hadn’t been broken by life. That was the biggest difference.

  Even when I knew it wasn’t, couldn’t be, Lila, I still couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was flanked by a fair-haired woman with the same fine features, and a teen with a mop of gold curls—sisters, I guessed. Ian, Mariah, and Nina stood nearby and watched as she made tea like a chemist in a lab. She measured the water temperature and everything.

  My mom used to put a handful of Lipton teabags into a Pyrex measuring cup and microwave it until the water turned nearly opaque. Casual inference told me that this woman wouldn’t consider that to be tea.

  I smothered a laugh when Mariah accepted her cup of tea and glared at it with suspicion. I knew Ian’s wife liked her tea iced and sweet.

  The leaves were aromatic, and the scent pulled me deeper into the room. I wanted to meet her. When I stepped forward, Ian saw me and greeted me like his long-lost best friend. Which…I supposed I was, before making the introductions. “This vision is Celia,” he said, introducing the blond sister.

  Celia offered her hand, but the instant I couldn’t shake it, I felt my broken parts illuminate. I watched as the women looked lower, but not in a flirtatious way. No—it was clinical. That’s what happened when most of your leg wasn’t your leg anymore. And today, there wasn’t a possibility of coolness. I was leaning hard on my cane because the walk around the grounds had my leg, hip, and back aching.

  Oblivious, Ian continued with the introductions. “This young lady is Margot, and this is Jane,” Ian finished, finally gesturing toward the woman I was most interested in meeting. “She’s making us tea.”

  Such an old-fashioned name, but it suited her. She had a level gaze, a small but stubborn chin. Not the sort of person who tolerated idiocy. But she was clearly passionate about tea, so she had to have a whimsical streak.

  But maybe that was just me projecting, thinking of Lila.

  I hoped that maybe there was still a chance to make a good impression though. I drew myself up, squaring my shoulders, but as I saw her face, I knew it was too late.

  I could already see the pity in her eyes.

  7

  My dear, if you could give me a cup of tea to clear my muddle of a head, I should better understand your affairs.

  —CHARLES DICKENS

  Jane

  I gathered myself as quickly as I could. The last thing Ian’s guest needed was me standing and staring like an idiot. “Hi,” I said. “Would you like some tea? I just made some for everyone else; it’s no trouble to make you a cup.”

  “Retired captain,” he said, amending Ian’s introduction. “And that would be nice, thank you.”

  Like e
very other southern man, he had lovely manners. “I’ll resteep the leaves; it’ll only take a few minutes.” I reached for the teakettle. “The great thing about using good-quality tea leaves is that you easily get three steepings from them without a loss of quality.”

  He didn’t answer, just waited.

  Callum. Callum Beckett. He seemed nice, just…serious. Older. And injured.

  I took extra care with his tea.

  Nina asked about my plants, and I obliged, explaining how and when I picked the leaves and buds, how many plants I had, that they didn’t flower like camellias.

  I watched Callum’s tea closely and presented it to him when done.

  He lifted it to his lips immediately. “That’s very good,” he said after a moment. “Tastes like…” He smiled. “Not like I expected. But good.”

  I found myself smiling back.

  Mariah suggested taking our tea to the living room and called the au pair to bring down their oldest son to play the piano for us, but Celia gave our regrets—we were meeting our leasing agent shortly.

  “We might be staying for free,” I said once we got into the truck to go meet Chad, the agent, “but that doesn’t mean the rent isn’t high, not if we’re looking at a number of mornings like that.”

  “The Vandermeides are very kind to let us stay,” Celia said as she buckled her seat belt. “It won’t be for long.”

  “I mean, Ian’s super generous, but Mariah isn’t what I’d call warm, and Nina is nosy.”

  “I like Nina,” Margot said, fastening her seat belt. “She’s funny and nice.”

  “Yes she is,” Celia agreed, before turning back to me. “Shall we go look at some spaces?”

  I pressed my hands together in exaggerated supplication. “Yes, please!”

  We met Chad at the edge of Shipe Park, at the corner of East 44th and Avenue F. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” he began. “The space on Duval? They accepted a tenant just this morning.”

  “No, really?” Celia’s face fell.