by Anna Schmidt
Nola knew that word of mouth was everything for a business dependent on tourists. If the younger generation’s memory of Miss Nola’s was that they were forced to go there with their parents, then what did that bode for the future of her tearoom?
The girl had mentioned ice cream.
Somewhere in the attic was an old ice cream churn. Nola’s father had been famous for the strawberry ice cream he made each year for the church’s annual clambake. What if she could offer a monthly ice cream social? Perhaps on a Friday evening. In the garden. With paper lanterns strung among the trees. After a performance at the cabaret when the young people were on their way home. She closed her eyes and envisioned the scene—girls and boys in pastel clothing chatting together, sharing an ice cream soda, even falling in love.
Nola smiled. A boy and girl who met and fell in love in her garden would surely become customers for life, would surely tell others about the magical place where they had spent so many lovely summer evenings. She imagined a girl with hair braided to her waist sitting across from a tall broad-shouldered young man. They were sharing an ice cream soda and he was laughing at something she said. His face was in shadow but she knew that laugh.
Starbuck.
Nola’s eyes flew open. This daydreaming was a pure waste of time. Of course, he would come to mind. He’d been in and out of the place on a regular basis ever since her accident. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her robe at the same time.
“Judy?” she called as she stood and tied the robe tight around her. “Judy?” she called again above the clang of dishes being washed in the kitchen.
“Oh, bother,” she muttered and walked barefoot into the front foyer and through the closed and deserted tearoom into the kitchen.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Judy demanded. “And no shoes? You’ll catch your death on top of everything else.”
“Do you remember Papa’s ice cream churn?” Nola asked, ignoring Judy’s protests.
“I remember he had one,” Judy replied, momentarily taken aback by the turn in conversation.
“I wonder if it’s somewhere in the attic,” Nola mused as she moved toward the back stairway.
“Stop right there, Nola Burns,” Judy demanded. “If you are so intent on finding this ice cream churn I will send Jasper or Billy to look for it tomorrow after they get through with their play practice. Now you just get yourself back to bed while I finish closing up here. I made you some nice chicken soup for your supper and…”
“I have a new idea,” Nola said as she started gathering a bowl and spoon as well as a plate and knife and setting a place at the kitchen table. She glanced over at Judy, who was observing all of this with her hands planted disapprovingly on her hips. “I’m fine,” she assured her.
Judy rolled her eyes and relieved Nola of the bowl as she slid the cover off the simmering soup. “Sit,” she ordered.
While Judy served up soup and cheese and a slice of her crusty wheat bread, Nola told her about the overheard conversation and her idea to expand the tearoom services to include an ice cream parlor. The more doubtful Judy looked, the more entrenched in the idea Nola became. She was well used to people telling her she couldn’t do something. It had the effect of only making her more determined to prove herself.
“Nola?” Judy placed the back of her hand to Nola’s forehead. “You all right?”
“Of course.” Nola shook herself free of her revelry and expanded on her idea for adding an ice cream parlor to the tearoom.
“What is this really about, child?” Judy asked.
Surprised at Judy’s weary tone, Nola gave the older woman her full attention. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
“I mean, look around you. It’s you and me, my girl. Cooking, cleaning, serving—and you want to start an ice cream parlor on top of that?”
“Ellie and the others are still helping.”
“And look at them. They run to rehearsal then come here then back to rehearsal. When do they sleep? They can’t keep that up, Nola.”
“I know,” Nola admitted. “But…”
“If you ask me—and I know you didn’t—you need to stop trying to put one over on Harry Starbuck and maybe think about what he offered you that first day he stepped onto the porch here.”
“And what is that?”
“A way off this island. I’ll admit I never would have thought he’d be the one to bring you that. That boy was always going against the grain, always testing the waters and stirring things up.”
“Harry has nothing to do with this.”
“Harry has everything to do with it.” Judy reached across the wooden table, warped by decades of rolling out dough and kneading bread, and patted Nola’s hand. “You don’t have to keep fighting, Nola. You did what you promised your mother you would do. You kept the family together. You made sure they were all educated and set out on paths of their own choosing. You paid the bills and kept this house in the family.”
“And now,” Nola protested, “I am simply suggesting a way we can sustain the good life we’ve built. After all, one must keep up with the times and for young people in this day and age a tearoom is simply not fashionable.”
“Don’t you want something more? You are twenty-seven years old, Nola. Isn’t it time you went out into the world and found out if Nantucket is truly where you want to spend your whole life before you just give yourself over to it?”
Nola leaned back and folded her arms stubbornly across her chest. “This island is my home,” she grumbled. “Besides, if this life is good enough for Rachel Williams, surely—”
“Rachel Williams knew exactly what she was choosing. You don’t,” Judy replied bluntly. “Oddly enough it’s her cousin who’s giving you the possibility to see for yourself if indeed you’re like Rachel.”
“Harry is interested in one thing—getting his hands on this property so he can…” She swallowed. “So he can turn it into some monstrous opulent palace for his rich friends and make even more money than he already has.”
Judy got up and began clearing the table. “You don’t believe that—and neither do I. Seems to me that you’re being as childish about this as Harry is. The two of you are like kids in the schoolyard, each determined to show up the other. Well, this isn’t a game, Nola. This is life—your life. I don’t think God intends for you to keep wasting that precious gift by trying to beat Harry at his own game. Now eat your supper and get yourself back to bed and I’ll have Jasper or Billy check on that ice cream churn tomorrow.”
Chastened by Judy’s outburst, Nola ate her supper and watched the woman who had been like a mother to her move around the kitchen. She couldn’t help noticing how from time to time the older woman grimaced as she reached to replace a dish on a high shelf or hoisted a heavy water-filled pan onto the sink counter to soak. It was true, then. In her zeal to avoid change, Nola had failed to consider the effect her stubbornness might have on Judy. What would she do when Judy could no longer bake and cook? When Nola herself could no longer keep up with the large house? Why had it never occurred to her that Judy and Jonah might be ready to take some time to themselves without having to work?
She wasn’t even aware of the tears that were staining the satin lapels of her robe until Judy paused on her way out to the sideboard in the tearoom, her hands filled with clean cups.
“Oh, honey,” Judy said softly as she set down the cups and pulled Nola to a standing position and embraced her. “If you want to make ice cream, then order the berries and I’ll search the files for your father’s recipe.”
“This is all I know, Judy,” Nola blubbered against the older woman’s soft shoulder. “Losing this place would be like losing a part of myself.”
Judy rubbed her back and held her close. “You can’t lose what you never had time to look for, darling girl. That’s all I’m saying.”
On the Sunday before the church’s annual clambake, Nola was back in church, but she left so quickly Har
ry didn’t have a chance to talk to her.
“One can only hope that the blow she suffered has brought her to her senses,” Harry heard one choir member whisper as she watched Nola say her goodbye to the minister and hurry off.
“Well, I do think it was nice of Mr. Starbuck to allow his actors to help out while she was convalescing,” the woman’s husband replied.
“Still, the sooner she cuts those ties, the better. After all, she has to live here long after those people pack up and leave.”
The woman had a point. Harry could not deny the improvement in attitude he’d seen toward Nola once he decided to move the actors to the cottages and hold rehearsals at the hotel. And maybe this woman was right. Now that Nola was up and around again, maybe it was time to cut those ties. Since he was still in the habit of dropping by the tearoom daily to check on her progress, he decided that he would have to stop that, as well. He would call on Nola later in the afternoon just to be sure she was truly recovered and if so, then he would end it.
While he was at it, he could return a sheet of music that had fallen from her loose-leaf binder at services. He’d seen the page drift to the floor and realized that in her haste to leave, Nola had failed to notice the loss. Of course, he could have given it to someone else to take to her. He could have let it lie. But instead he retrieved the music, folded it neatly and placed it in his pocket.
At his cottage, he prepared himself a cold lunch of leftovers from his supper the night before at the hotel and carried the plate out to the side yard. Sitting at the rustic table he’d inherited from the former owner, he ate without really appreciating the food or his surroundings. He pulled out the paper and pressed out the folds with his palm. As he chewed on his lunch, he mentally played out the notes, beating out the time with his hand.
A fugue, vaguely familiar and yet different. He hummed aloud, following the rhythm on the page. And then he smiled. Nola Burns was trying her hand at composing. He was certain of it and if these few lines were any indication, she was quite good at it. And then in light pencil at the top right corner of the page he saw two words that had been erased. Simple Faith.
“Well, well, well,” he murmured as he left the remains of his lunch for the birds and headed back down the lane toward town. “So, you’ve had some thoughts about my operetta after all, Nola Burns.”
The tearoom was closed and yet the place seemed alive with distant chatter—even laughter—accompanied by a percussion that sounded like someone grinding rocks. Harry followed the sounds around to the side porch and saw Nola sitting in a wicker chair under an arbor of roses, her face alight with laughter. In front of her, Jasper sat on the ground arduously turning the handle of an old-fashioned ice cream churn while Billy fed the thing chunks of ice. At a side table Ellie and the Kowalski sisters were surrounded by full bowls of capped strawberries. Olga observed the activity with her usual expression of disdain.
Billy spotted Harry first. “Come on, boss, give it a turn,” he called. “Our arms are about to give out.”
Harry liked Billy Andrews. He was a talented actor without the usual insecurities that caused other performers to fall back on haughtiness as protection against the outside world. His love for the theater matched Harry’s own and the truth was that Harry was keeping Billy in mind for the role of leading man if his operetta ever made it to Broadway.
Harry strolled the rest of the way down the side porch, removing his jacket and tossing it onto one of the rocking chairs. He rolled back his sleeves as he approached the churn. He could feel Nola watching him closely but he did not meet her gaze. “Looks like hard work to me,” he commented.
“Yeah,” Billy replied, “but the pay is great. Fresh strawberry ice cream on top of Mrs. Lang’s lemon pound cake capped off by whipped cream.”
“Your turn, sir,” Jasper said, relinquishing his place at the churn.
Harry pushed back his hat and scratched his forehead as he studied the situation. “Seems to me, boys, that if we moved this thing onto that table there out of the sun, the ice wouldn’t melt so fast and we’d be in the shade as well.”
Billy gave his head a smack. “Now why didn’t we think of that?” With Jasper’s help, he heaved the churn onto the table next to Nola. “Guess that’s why you’re the one in charge, right, boss?” he teased.
“Guess so,” Harry replied and he finally looked directly at Nola.
“Anyone for lemonade?” Ellie called.
Billy’s hand shot up as he and Jasper headed for the kitchen door.
“Excellent,” Ellie said with a grin. “Come inside and squeeze the lemons for me.”
Once the others had gone inside, Harry concentrated on churning the ice cream and silently thanked Ellie for giving him this moment alone with Nola.
“I should go help,” Nola said.
But when she made a move to rise, she faltered. Immediately Harry reached for her, steadied her and eased her back onto the chair. “I’m pretty sure that even a bunch of actors can handle making a pitcher of lemonade,” he said. “Looks like you’re not yet fully recovered.”
“Just a bit dizzy. My father would have said I don’t quite have my land legs yet.” She leaned back in the chair.
“Must have been hard on your mother with your father being off to sea so much,” Harry commented as he returned to his churning but kept one eye on Nola.
“My mother had a difficult life.”
“And you?”
He saw her eyes widen at the unexpected question.
“My life has been just fine,” she replied, but she sounded less confident than she had in the past.
“Don’t you ever have dreams for a different future, Nola?”
She folded her arms around herself as if the balmy temperature had suddenly dropped by several degrees. “My dream is to stay here. You’re the one who went dashing off to find adventure. Did you find what you wanted?”
Harry shrugged and continued churning. “Maybe.”
“There’s no denying that you’ve certainly made your mark. To be such a success in business and also—”
“My business success is nothing more than a means to an end.”
“To what end?”
“To earn enough money so that I can comfortably devote the rest of my life to writing for the stage—to creating plays devoted to teaching God’s lessons while entertaining the audience.” He stopped churning and untied the bandanna from around his neck, then used it to wipe his brow. Stuffing the bandanna into one pocket, he pulled out the sheet of music from the other. “You dropped this at church this morning.”
He watched as she unfolded the single sheet, saw her cheeks color slightly and heard the barest intake of her breath as she realized what he’d found. “Thank you,” she murmured and quickly refolded the page and tucked it into the pocket of her skirt.
“I’d like to give that melody a try in rehearsal, Nola. If you don’t mind.”
“No, it’s not nearly ready—not nearly good enough.”
“It’s a work in progress,” Harry replied, then grinned. “Like my operetta. Give it some thought, Nola.” He returned to the churning. “Almost ready,” he said, removing the top to test the ice cream. “You made enough for an army here. No wonder it took so much churning.”
“Nola’s going to offer ice cream here in the tearoom garden,” Ellie explained as she arrived with a pitcher of lemonade and set it on the table with the berries and whipped cream. “That’s the test batch. Mimi,” she called back toward the kitchen, “ice cream is ready for tasting. Bring out the cake.”
Harry looked down at Nola who met his gaze with defiance. “It will be good for business,” she informed him. “We need to attract a younger clientele.”
“I didn’t say a word,” he pointed out, then offered her his arm to escort her to the table where the others were already cutting hunks of lemon pound cake and placing them in bowls.
“Jasper and I are going to the beach,” Billy announced once they’d each prepared a
sundae and taken a seat around the long table. “Do you girls want to come?”
Harry saw that this was directed at the Kowalski twins who eagerly accepted.
“Ellie?” Billy asked when he realized she hadn’t been included.
Ellie laughed. “That’s for you young people,” she replied. “I’m going to take the rest of this afternoon for a nice walk and then some reading.”
“Countess?”
Olga lifted one eyebrow. “I walk in the evenings…alone.”
“Right,” Billy murmured. “I forgot.”
“Nola? How about you?” Jasper asked.
“Sounds like an excellent idea,” Harry said before Nola could answer. “Salt air and sunshine will do you good. You four go along. Miss Nola and I will see you down there once we get everything squared away here,” he announced.
Instead of looking at Nola for agreement, he polished off the rest of his sundae and began gathering empty dishes onto a tray. “You’re not planning on being open during the clambake? Everyone will be down at the beach, not here in town.”
“Not everyone. But no, the tearoom will not be open. How could I deny these wonderful souls the pleasure of an old-fashioned clambake?” She smiled at Billy as he scraped the bottom of his bowl and added it to Harry’s stack.
“Nola’s going to give away free samples of her ice cream at the clambake,” he said. “It’s her way of advertising the opening of her ice cream parlor.”
“Really?” Harry couldn’t help but be impressed. The woman had a head for business. He’d give her that.
“Well, not an ice cream parlor per se. I mean the plan is to use the garden here for the occasional ice cream social. Something for the younger set to enjoy.”
Harry glanced around at the space. “You’ll need more tables,” he said more to himself than to her. “I have some small café tables with matching chairs that I ordered for the cabaret, but they aren’t right for that space. They’d work here, though.”
“I appreciate the offer but I can’t afford to buy new furnishings until I see if the idea is a success,” Nola said.
