The two finished the preliminary straightening and made everything tidy, apart from the overflowing box on the floor. Just as they finished making the shop ready for its first customer’s arrival, the kettle began to sing. They sat down at one of the tables and sipped their tea. Katherine, curled up in the straight-backed chair, began to look a little less tired as she drank her tea, and soon her employer broke the silence.
“Katherine, what do you think makes you so dislike seeing your parents?”
Katherine sat, blowing gently over her tea, pondering the question. She answered slowly, “I think… I think it’s because… I just…never quite feel welcome now. They were actually pretty good parents, and I know that I probably don’t have any real right to complain, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Katherine set her cup gently on its saucer and continued as Miss Harriet poured her some more tea. “I suppose it might be as much because of my own attitude than anything else. I just don’t seem to feel like there’s room for me. Not just in their home, although that’s a fact, but in their lives, somehow. It’s painful to feel like that, like I don’t matter anymore.”
“And what do you think would make you feel you do matter?”
“I don’t know. I think that’s part of the problem. I don’t even know where to begin.”
Miss Harriet took a sip of tea and looked thoughtfully out the window. Then she turned back to Katherine and said, “When I was a child, there was one day when a classmate got mad at me at recess and said something mean—something very mean—about Papa.” She set down her cup, and Katherine leaned forward with a face full of sympathy.
“I was devastated, and it was all I could do to hold myself together until school was finished. I ran home and sobbed it all out to Mother when she got home from work. What my classmate had said hurt, and it had dredged up all the hurt of Papa’s leaving all over again. I felt abandoned by Papa, rejected by him and by my classmate. That was the first time the full weight of it really hit me.
“Mother, as usual, let me cry myself out, and then gave me one of her gentle little talks. She told me that it didn’t matter that Papa had left us—at least, that it didn’t have to matter. I was shocked, and thought, That can’t be right, but she took me to a verse in Psalms that said, ‘When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord shall take me up.’
“She explained that the only thing that needed to matter was that God loved me with a love that could never end. He had promised never to leave me, never to forsake me. She told me that even if everyone on earth abandoned me, God’s love was big enough and strong enough to satisfy my heart. I listened, for I knew it was true; I had seen her live it out ever since Papa left.”
Katherine’s eyes glistened with tears, and Miss Harriet squeezed her hand and gently asked, “Could it be, dear Katherine, that what you’re looking for from your parents may be something God is wanting to give you Himself? Could you make mattering to God what fills your heart?”
Katherine silently shrugged, unable to speak. The bell over the door jingled merrily and Miss Harriet stood to greet Mr. James. Then, leaning towards Katherine, she said softly,
“You just finish your tea, and we’ll put the decorations up when you’re ready.” She gave Katherine another gentle smile, then hurried off.
Katherine sat for a while, thinking, trying to process what Miss Harriet had said. After a while, she got up, went upstairs to freshen up and remove the traces of the tears that had spilled out of her brimming eyes. Taking a deep breath, she came back down to the tearoom, ready to help Miss Harriet disperse the contents of her box.
The two did get the decorations up before anyone else arrived, much to the amusement of Mr. James, who watched them from his table in the corner. Katherine was surprised what a difference was made by just a few garlands and a scattering of orange and red throughout the room. It still looked like Miss Harriet’s, but it now looked festive and cozy and fit seamlessly with the quickly changing autumn foliage dotted here and there throughout the downtown blocks.
Katherine hopped nimbly off one chair as Miss Harriet stepped gracefully down from another, having just put the last touches to the garland over the windows opposite the counter. The brilliant white of the lace curtains (which were always kept closed on those windows to hide the unromantic and very unlovely alleyway on that side of the building) made the bright leaves and flowers seem even brighter and cheerier, and gave a sense of completeness to the room.
Mr. James, perceiving that the decorators’ efforts were now finished, applauded loudly from his table, proclaiming,
“Well done, ladies. It looks very autumnal. In fact, it looks fit for a celebration. You should throw a party.”
“And so I shall, Mr. James.” declared Miss Harriet, turning to face him, “and, if you please, I shall rely on you to help with it.”
The reporter looked intrigued and answered politely, “Of course! And when shall this celebration take place?”
“On the fifth of November, of course!” Light dawned in the reporter’s eyes.
“November fifth? What is there to celebrate on November fifth?” Katherine asked with a puzzled frown.
Miss Harriet flung out an arm and declared intensely, her eyes large and her voice dripping with uncharacteristic drama, “Gunpowder, treason, and plot!”
Katherine looked even more puzzled.
Mr. James chuckled and explained “Guy Fawkes day. It’s an English holiday and usually includes something delicious to eat, if I remember correctly.”
He concluded with a wink at Katherine, then turned back to Miss Harriet. “And what part can a humble reporter play in such a dramatic celebration?”
“Well,” began Miss Harriet, returning to her normal down-to-earth self, “I want to do a real Guy Fawkes’ celebration, and at home, we always had someone read the poem—you know, the one that begins ‘Please to remember the fifth of November.’”
“I’ve heard of it.” Mr. James replied, nodding.
“Well, I was wondering if you would be willing to be my reader? I don’t have a dramatic enough voice to do it justice, and I don’t want it to seem like just a publicity stunt for the shop. I think it would feel more like a community event if I weren’t the only one up in front of everyone.”
Mr. James made a show of checking his calendar, then looked up with a grin. “I suppose I could squeeze it in.”
“Oh, I am glad!” cried Miss Harriet.
“It sounds like it will be quite the occasion! Do let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”
Miss Harriet smiled broadly. “I surely will!”
12 Harborside by Lamplight
The unusual warmth and sunshine of September shifted almost on the dot with the arrival of October. The puffy, white clouds which had drifted through the bright blue skies of September were suddenly replaced by a flat grey expanse, from which a light drizzle perpetually seemed to fall.
Katherine hummed softly as she dusted the jars, enjoying the cozy light from the large Victorian oil lamp which hung from the ceiling near the window. Another large oil lamp stood on the counter, and a third on a bookcase in the “Captain’s quarters,” as Katherine like to call the office room. Outside, the light—already gloomy to begin with—was fading, and the lamps, though they gave off a surprising amount of light, were beginning to lose their battle with the dusk which slowly crept in from the darkening pane of the storefront window.
Captain Braddock came in and set his ledger on the counter.
“Looks like it’s about time to switch the lights on” he said, reaching behind the stiff sails of a model ship, strategically placed to hide the small black button-type light switches. Instantly, the room was filled with a rosy glow, as the round globes on the wall blinked to life. They were hung atop ornate brackets and had frosted glass shades that were white, but faded into pink towards the top.
Katherine turned from the shelves to admire the lights. “It’s like a timeline of lighting in here.”
