“Only just. It’s so much busier now than when you went away before!” Stepping back, Katherine surveyed her friend. Tall, elegant, with her glossy blonde hair twisted up into a flawless French roll, she looked every inch the gracious English lady Katherine knew her to be. Her usual floral skirt and pastel cardigan gave her a put-together look that seemed to seep out from her very core. Her face usually wore a look of sweet and happy serenity, but this morning, she looked as though she might burst with joy. “You look perfectly radiant.”
“Thank you. I must say, married life suits me so far.”
“I suppose that’s a good thing,” quipped Katherine with a wink.
The shop bell rang again and Harold James stepped in, arrayed in his usual attire of tweed jacket, white collared shirt, dark slacks, and well-shined leather shoes. He held a tweed cap in one hand and reached out to shake Katherine’s hand with the other.
“Hello, Katherine. How has it gone for you?”
“Pretty well. I must admit, I’ve never been happier to see Miss—that is… Mrs…” Katherine turned toward her friend. “Actually, I’ve been wondering, what exactly do we call you now?”
With a blush, the new bride looked adoringly at her husband and said sweetly, “Well, Dearie, I’m rather partial to Mrs. James.”
“What a coincidence—so am I!” the tall reporter interjected with a wink, putting an arm around his new bride.
“Mrs. James it is, then… but it will take a while to get used to saying it.” Katherine smiled. The two were obviously still basking in the glow of newlywedded life. She couldn’t be happier for them, but now that they were standing right there in front of her in all their happiness, Katherine felt an odd little tug, somewhere off in a far corner of her heart, a nagging thing she couldn’t quite shake.
“Well, Dearie, here we are, barging in on you first thing, with no respect at all for your morning baking! Can I help you with anything?”
“I just got the first batch of scones in, and the rest are all ready to go. Why don’t you two sit at your usual table and I’ll make you some tea?—Unless you need to get home. I’m sure you’re tired after all that travelling.”
“I am, a bit… but you know there’s nothing like a good cup of tea for setting me right again.” She looked up at her new husband. “What do you say, Darling?”
“Harriet, I’d give you the moon if you asked it.” he pulled a serious face, but his dark brown eyes flashed out a twinkle as he added, “However, as you’re far too sensible to ask for that, I’ll gladly spring for a cup of tea in lieu of the moon.”
“Right. I’ll set the water on to boil.” Katherine was almost to the kitchen when Mr. James called out,
“And, Katherine?”
She stopped and turned towards him. “Yes?”
“Any chance of a cheddar scone?”
She grinned. “Fresh from the oven any minute now.”
“Wonderful! It’s good to be home again!”
* * * *
The day flew by, just as busy as the day before, yet just knowing Miss Harriet was home buoyed Katherine’s spirits. How she would ever get used to calling her “Mrs. James,” Katherine didn’t know, but she wanted to honor her friend’s joy in her new title. The couple lingered over their breakfast long enough to greet many of the “dailies,” those faithful customers who came in every day.
The sight of the new Mr. and Mrs. James in the tea shop seemed to put everyone in a good mood, although Rosie did grab Katherine’s sleeve as she passed and confide in a stage whisper, “They seem so happy… I only hope it lasts. Most don’t, you know. I was just reading the other day…” She then launched into a lurid account she had probably read in one of the tabloids she habitually carried around in her purse. When Katherine finally got away, she wondered if Rosie would ever find something uplifting to talk about.
The elderly widow everyone called Mrs. Penelope used to be one of their very first customers of the day, but now came in later to eat with Mr. Patten, the town’s senior—and only—bank officer. The genteel pair arrived at the tea shop in the eleven o’clock quiet before the lunch rush—the “calm before the storm,” as Miss Harriet called it. They shared a pot of Earl Grey, two Cornish pasties, and a plate of the small, round, fluffy scones Mrs. Penelope used to order each morning. They would talk quietly while they ate, and when they finished, Mr. Patten would offer his arm and the two would stroll out the door and down the street.
Then the lunch rush would hit, beginning with the inevitably dramatic arrival of Rosie a little while before noon. She would burst through the door, causing the bell overhead to jangle in a peculiarly boisterous way, and would plunk herself down in a seat near the front window, breathless—but never speechless—with the excitement of whatever “news” she had to tell.
Sometimes it was an account of a local drama, such as the time a tree fell in the parking lot of the local elementary school. Rosie’s theory was that some of the kids were trying to get out of a test, and figured if the parking lot got blocked, they would have the day off. Official reports on the tree came back with a verdict of “natural causes,” although no one had been able to convince Rosie it wasn’t some kind of a plot.
Rosie’s visits never lasted less than an hour, and usually involved craning her head to see as far down Main Street as possible, in order to keep tabs on what everyone in Harborhaven was up to. Often, she would be joined by six or seven similarly gossipy ladies—all in outlandish hats—who called themselves “the Luncheon Club.” How this club got started, Katherine didn’t know, but they seemed to have been coming to Miss Harriet’s just about as long as the shop had been open.
Rosie was their chosen leader, although Katherine wondered if the group really had much choice about the matter. But they were loyal to a fault, and whatever Rosie said, the ladies of the Luncheon Club heartily echoed, whether it was true or false.
The lunch rush was an odd jumble of tourists and locals that day, and Katherine felt nearly run off her feet trying to keep everyone’s orders straight and deliver them to the right tables in a timely manner. Most of the tourists came looking to be matched up with their “perfect” cup of tea, a skill Katherine had learned from Captain Braddock during her first year at the Harborside. That was what caused the uptick in business for both the shops, since Miss Harriet’s began to stock a wider variety of tea in order to provide what each different customer would like.
Harborhaven had been famous once, long ago, as the home of the Harborside tea sellers, where the Braddock family would tell people exactly which kind of tea would suit them best. This ability, which seemed to outsiders like some kind of magic, really just came down to careful observation. But Katherine was pleased to have picked up “the Braddock gift,” as it was called. It gave her a feeling of being somehow connected to the Harborside, to its history, and to the history of Harborhaven.
Katherine wheeled the little tea cart out from the kitchen and began collecting the last round of teacups, saucers, plates, and silverware from the lace covered tablecloths. Hearing the bell over the door, she turned to see Miss Harriet headed for the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves as she walked. Returning with a fluttery apron tied over her floral skirt and pastel blouse and cardigan, she quietly began clearing the dishes from a table near where Katherine was working.
“It’s good to have you here.” Katherine said, adding a saucer to the stack on the cart.
“It’s good to be back.” The new Mrs. James said with a smile. “Do you know, I actually missed washing up at the end of the day?”
Katherine grinned. “Well, you’re welcome to it any time!”
The two moved the cart to the next set of tables and got to work. Pausing by the cart, Mrs. James surveyed Katherine with a thoughtful look.
“You look entirely done in, Katherine. Tell me how things really went while I was away?”
Katherine took a deep breath. There would be no glossing over things with this tall, graceful, motherly woman. Wrestling with her pride, Katherine finally responded. “It was rough. The lunch rush alone was exhausting and, combined with the baking and my usual jobs of waiting tables. tracking and ordering inventory of the different teas, it was a lot. I don’t know how you did it alone all those years.”
“The shop was less busy then, and we offered far less selection. Mind you, the tourists are good for business. I knew it would be difficult, and I hated leaving you to handle it all by yourself. This just isn’t a one-man operation anymore.” The two fell into silence as they finished clearing the last few tables and wheeled the cart into the kitchen.
Katherine turned the water on and squirted the dish soap into the sink for the delicate China cups and saucers. She stared pensively at the bubbles. There was something on her employer’s mind, something she was waiting for the right moment to share. The nagging something in a back corner of Katherine’s heart suddenly flooded over her and a knot began to tighten in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, she was afraid of the conversation about to unfold.
