****
Captain Braddock sat at his desk in the small “office” room in the back of the Harborside looking over a stack of papers. Things were lean, to be sure. The captain’s rough manners, along with the wild rumors which spread soon after his arrival, had indeed pushed the customers away to a worrying extent. There were the regular orders, like Miss Harriet’s, which kept the shop afloat for now.
Besides, he reminded himself, the Harborside’s weathered leaner times than this in the past and come through all right.
No, what really worried the Captain was the fact that without his capable and competent sister Serena to manage the shop, he found it difficult to keep things running. He would never have breathed a hint of it to anyone, but he found himself unable to juggle the many daily tasks necessary to keep the Harborside afloat.
With a heavy sigh, he stood and strode into the storefront. Turning the lock on the door and pulling the dark green shades over the windows, he turned and surveyed the shop.
“I suppose I’ll have to hire on a first mate if I’m to keep things running.” His deep voice echoed slightly in the empty shop. He had known for a while that he would need to hire an assistant; but saying it aloud made it final, somehow.
He had known since the first day Katherine entered the Harborside that she was the one he wanted to hire. In her eyes, he had read her heart and found her eager, joyful, thirsting to know all the shop’s secrets, but too respectful to attempt to pry any of them out of him. That was just what he needed.
After all, he chuckled to himself later, she’s never even asked about my sister.
All the locals who came into the shop inquired about Serena. In fact, they usually only ever came in for that express purpose. They never succeeded, however, for the Captain would only reply, “she’s doin’ just fine where she’s at, thank ye.” with even more gruffness than usual in his voice and an overexaggerated sailor’s accent (the authenticity of which no one could quite determine).
This quelled all but the most curious inquirers, and those few presumptuous gossips determined to have the details and impertinent enough to pursue them were met with even more gruffness. But all this mystery made it so that few felt at ease in the shop, and even fewer enjoyed their visits.
Captain Braddock sat down at his desk with a sigh, pushed the papers into a stack, and pulled out an old ledger book. He looked over the month’s sales. Most of the Harborside’s business came from the few consistent weekly orders now: the old hotel, a handful of restaurants up and down the coast, a small bed and breakfast outside of town—and Miss Harriet’s.
He sighed. Ironically, Miss Harriet’s represented the largest and most lucrative of his ongoing orders, which was why he had submitted (albeit grudgingly) to the degradation of supplying her with the much-despised bagged teas. That, and because it gave him a supply for tourists who came in looking for the familiar and caring nothing about quality or the shop’s heritage. The bagged teas had boosted sales considerably, but didn’t attract the kind of customers who appreciated the Harborside for what it truly had to offer.
Captain Braddock walked over to the old sea chest full of the boxes of bagged teas, ruefully wondering if that would be his only mark on the Harborside.
If so, he shuddered, whatever will the next generation bring in?
It had never occurred to him before what a strange thought that was to think. He knew that there were no prospects of a “next generation” to whom the Harborside could be handed down. There must be some distant relatives somewhere, of course; but he knew of none that bore the Braddock name, which was a vital qualification in the captain’s eyes.
He and his sister had been the very last of the Braddock line, so far as he knew; and neither had fulfilled their father’s hopes for a Harborside heir by bringing forth children of their own.
If only one of us had.
He sighed again and looked around him, remembering the days of his boyhood when three generations of Braddocks bustled about the shop. None of them would have imagined that in a few short decades, one lone Braddock would be standing there, wondering how he was going to keep the Harborside running for a generation of Braddocks that didn’t even exist.
Yet somehow, Captain Braddock felt sure that the Harborside would continue on, and that it would indeed be passed to some sort of a “next generation.” Who that might be, he did not know; but he could not conceive of the idea of the venerable shop closing or dying away, or passing out of the family after so many years.
Belief in the Harborside’s past, present, and future had been ingrained into his very being from childhood, and he could not imagine any different. He just had to keep the shop afloat until the time came to pass it on.
5 The “Dailies”
As Katherine settled into her work at Miss Harriet’s, she soon noticed that some customers came with almost clockwork regularity. Miss Harriet lovingly referred to these guests as “the Dailies,” for they came every day without fail. These faithful customers were greeted by name, their preferred seats reserved, and their usual orders made ready for their appointed time.
Each had such steady habits that if ever one of them failed to appear, it caused great concern. Miss Harriet would call, just to make sure they were all right, and had even been known to deliver their regular order to their homes, on occasion, if any of them were under the weather.
“Of course, I couldn’t go during business hours before now,” she explained one day, “because I had no one to mind the shop. But with you here, Katherine, it will be so much easier!”
Katherine loved Miss Harriet’s maternal care for each of her guests. She had never known anyone who took such great delight in serving others.
The first customer of the day was always Mr. Harold James. He was a middle-aged man with black hair, and a mischievous twinkle that flickered every now and then in his dark eyes. He always wore a tweed sportscoat and collared shirt, and topped them off with a smart tweed cap, which he removed immediately upon stepping through the door. He looked quite professional and carried a brown leather briefcase, which coordinated with his neatly-polished leather shoes.
“Quite a gentleman.” Miss Harriet had said, “Always so polite and well-dressed.”
Each morning, he arrived punctually, a few minutes after opening, with a polite “Good morning, ladies.” Then he would walk to his usual table, situated in the front corner of the shop, with his back to the wall and the window to his right.
“He prefers that seat,” Miss Harriet had quietly informed Katherine in the kitchen her first morning, “because he likes to watch downtown Harborhaven wake up and start to go about its daily business. But it’s quite a legitimate interest, you see, because Mr. James writes for the city’s newspaper.”
Katherine had peeked through the kitchen door with interest. “He seems distinguished enough. Do you get many journalists in the shop?”
“Just Mr. James.” Miss Harriet replied, then said with a wink “But he’s more distinguished than you might think. He’s the only one of his kind in Harborhaven.”
“You mean he’s the town’s only journalist?”
“Yes. The newspaper’s staff consists only of Mr. James, an editor, a secretary, and the man who runs the presses.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose it makes sense that a small town would have a small paper.”
“Yes, but Mr. James takes his job very seriously, nonetheless. He is, after all, a very serious man, though not without a sense of humor. And he’s very industrious. You’ll notice that his breakfast here each morning is always a working breakfast.”
Katherine watched Mr. James in the mornings to come, and soon she knew his routine as well as Miss Harriet did. He would seat himself by the window and move the floral arrangement out of the way. Then he would take from his leather briefcase the tools of his trade: his laptop, a fountain pen, and the small legal pad on which he took notes for his articles. Some days, books replaced the laptop, and Mr. James would pore diligently over their pages, making careful and copious notes on the legal pad.
Other days, he would take out only the pen and notepad, leaving the flowers where they were. This alerted Miss Harriet that Mr. James would be conducting an interview that morning, and she would have Katherine lay another place setting at his table and hold his order until his guest had arrived. Mr. James often stayed at the little table in the corner for much of the morning, working diligently while he sipped his English Breakfast tea and ate his cheddar scone.
