“Welcome,” a kind voice said beside her. A woman with a long braid and a big smile stood near a table piled with service books. “Is this your first time?”
“Um, yes,” Sienna managed. She felt immediately at ease with the woman and had to stop herself from blurting her reason for coming that day. It would be strange enough to pray with new people without telling them she had come by way of a vision and the divine intervention of a transatlantic phone call.
“I’m so glad you’re here. This is the service book for third hour prayers. Everything’s in English.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“Come,” the woman said, holding the door open. She walked with Sienna up the aisle and stopped under a dome in the center of the space. “My children are here.” She gestured to the row of chairs on her right. “You are welcome to sit with us, but we may be distracting. Or you can pick any place where you feel comfortable.”
“Thanks,” Sienna said again, making herself maintain eye contact enough to be polite. She had a strong urge to gaze at the icon of the Savior looking down at her and to study the gentle faces staring out from a field of gold on the iconostasis at the front of the room. She smiled at the woman and slipped into a chair opposite the woman’s family. Directly, the woman and children went up to venerate the icons on the stands at the front of the space. Sienna watched, distracted, as they made the sign of the cross over themselves, knelt and kissed the icons, and bowed. The smallest child was one of the ones who had delighted so much in lighting a candle.
Her attention was caught by a sweet fragrance and the light tinkling of bells. The incense reminded her of the happiness in her dream, and she allowed her sadness and hope to rise up with the sweetness into the broad space above where the Savior silently blessed. A man in a richly-colored garment came forward from a side door in the wall of icons, a cloud of incense floating around him as he smiled at those gathered. It took Sienna a moment to recognize Father Max, so transformed was he in his element as priest. When she did recognize him, it was with the startling knowledge that he would favor blueberry jam in his tea rather than pineapple juice. She almost smiled at the way their gifts worked, both brought out to their fullest in worship.
Father Max smiled at her with kind eyes then beamed a smile at the couple of dozen women and two men gathered and began the service. Soon the prayers were taken up by the women readers at a stand to one side. The chants were ancient and revolved around a central theme of praise. Sienna felt natural rather than awkward joining in on the responses with the others. She sang, “Lord, have mercy” and crossed herself at every glory be. By the end of the short service, one thought stuck with her from all the prayers, the phrase, “For thou art gracious and lovest mankind.”
It was that thought that drew her attention again to the dome where the Savior looked down at her from his glory. She was startled when she looked at the painting, because Jesus seemed to be looking back at her. His eyes, which before had seemed a light golden brown, had deepened into a rich chocolate. Perhaps it was a wisp of lingering incense, or perhaps there was a cobweb in the dome, but she thought she saw a thin line of tears by his left eye. A thought raced through her, that Jesus had heard her desperate prayer of pain and longing, and her heart raced in its wake. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply to calm herself, but she had to stop mid-breath. A sweetness unlike any she had experienced filled her nose and mouth, seemed to fill her whole person. The scent got inside her pain, moved it through her acutely, and left ecstatic joy in its wake. She coughed and opened her eyes, to see Father Max waiting quietly before her.
“Are you well, Sienna?” he repeated.
“Father Max!” she jumped a little at his sudden appearance. “I didn’t see you there. Sorry. I, um,” Sienna glanced up at the icon, which had returned to its usual format, tearless and with gold-brown eyes. She looked at Father Max, confused, and tried to think of something to say. What she said surprised her. “Do you know, Father, how hospitals try to cover the smell of sickness with antiseptics? There is another way. There is a fragrance that actually heals and restores. It’s very like myrrh, I think.” She had reached out to him without thinking, and she looked down to see that he held her hands quietly in his. It was the gesture of one who understood that the confessions that counted most in the Christian life were those of gratitude. Sienna felt a lightness throughout, and she smiled at the priest.
“For God is great and loves mankind,” he said quietly.
“Yes!” she smiled, and released his hands. The kind woman with her children waited nearby.
“Oh, I see you know Father.” She smiled and reached out to shake Sienna’s hand. “I’m Maria. A group of us are going to coffee now, if you would like to join us.”
“Sienna,” she introduced herself, shaking the offered hand. “Thank you, Maria. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it today, unless you plan to trek to Durham to my teashop.”
“You own a teashop? Wait. Are you the one supplying Father with good tea?”
“That’s me. My shop is called Tea and Crumples.” She turned and smiled at Father Max. “But I think Father is drawn there for the chess rather than the tea.”
“Both,” he admitted. “And I will be there later. Maria, I’m afraid I have to miss the gathering today, but I hope you all have good conversation.” He made a gesture between a wave and a blessing and walked toward a door in a corner of the church.
“I love tea!” Maria said, patting the head of a child who hugged her enthusiastically around her middle.
“Here.” Sienna fished a business card out of her pocket. “Come in next time you’re in the downtown area, and I’ll set you up with your favorite tea.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Maria said, and smiled. A child at her knees drew her attention for a moment, but she looked up to Sienna once more to say, “It was so good to meet you, Sienna. I hope to see you again when we can talk more.”
“Thanks. You, too,” she smiled. As the woman worked her way by degrees down the aisle with the several children, Sienna looked one more time at the dome icon. Jesus was quiet and still, as he had always been. His stillness and sameness stuck in her like a sharp seed. If he was always the same, then the sweetness and the tear were always there, too. And maybe, she thought as she pulled away, maybe the joy.
Notes from Sienna’s Tea Files
Maria Nicholas, 31, Orthodox Christian, mother, classical guitarist, art teacher. Drinks tea from a glass stein so it stays hot. Strong, malty Assam drunk straight or with a little honey. Would prefer it with English golden syrup (treacle), if she knew it existed. Introduce her to it next time she’s in.
Chapter Seven
Sienna’s visit to the hospital was curtailed by Peter’s unconsciousness. The nurse on duty explained that he had been given an anti-nausea drug that made him extremely drowsy. Sienna sat by his side for a few minutes to look at him and pray. She held his hand, kissing his knuckles. Usually, Peter’s palms were smudged with drafting ink or graphite. The cleanliness was strange on his skin, and she rested her cheek against the places that were usually smudgy, to remind Peter’s hands of whose they were.
“I know you’re asleep, Beloved,” she said quietly, “but I wanted to tell you something. I know you’ve been bearing so much alone recently, but I’m here now. I’m back.” A ripple of sadness glanced through her. “I’m coming back to you.” She kissed his hand again. “I love you so much. And here’s a little secret I learned today.” She paused, trying to put into words the compassion and sweetness and joy she had experienced at prayers that morning. “Well, I’ll have to work on telling you what the secret is, but—” Again she stopped, lost for words. Finally, she stood up and kissed him on the forehead, letting her lips linger there while she thought of the sweetness, of the fragrance that healed. She hoped that the action and intention would transfer the healing joy into Peter’s body, would anoint him with the myrrh that fell from Jesus’ eye. “Surely, Peter, surely you know alr
eady. God is great and loves us. And I love you so much.”
Back at the teashop, Sienna found Lettye double-checking the supplies for that evening’s history department party.
“Is everything set?” Sienna asked, running her eyes over the neatly arranged bottles, glasses, and lists.
“Yes. The white wines are chilled, the food is cooked or ready to be cooked, and we even got in a fresh load of pressed linen napkins.” Lettye smiled at the last item on the list, knowing how Sienna and Tovah loved linen napkins. “Cocktail size and luncheon,” she answered before Sienna could ask.
“You’re a miracle worker, Lettye!”
“Maybe I am.”
“Speaking of miracles, I saw how you calmed down the sorority sisters earlier. What was that about?”
“It seems that someone has been spreading vitriol about us online—and getting her cronies to do so, too.”
“Who would do that?”
“Does cream cheese and Brussels sprouts ring a bell?”
“Elsie? Why would Elsie spread vitriol about us? Surely she didn’t take it personally that we couldn’t sponsor her sorority event.”
“I couldn’t say. But she could. Here. Read this.” Lettye pulled a paper from the bottom of the stack on the clipboard she carried and handed the sheet to Sienna.
“Oh, my,” Sienna said. “Sounds as though maybe some of the younger members of the sorority took exception to Elsie’s news that we couldn’t sponsor them.” She drew a steadying breath as she read through four nasty reviews, each more offended in tone and less factual than the next. The final one listed several spurious character defects as the reason none of the staff could ever have joined the exalted sorority they were shunning. “Well, when you put it like that, who needs four letter words?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Any ideas? I mean, is there anything we can do about these?”
“Tovah reported the reviews to the web admin as offensive and malicious, but they may not be able to do anything since the reviewers all used different email accounts. My friends Sharonda and Deniece said that they would ask their sisters to post good reviews after the event on Saturday, and they will write up their good experience from this morning. Other than that, we could just ask that other folks go on with positives and hope for the best.”
Sienna sighed. “I don’t feel right asking customers to post reviews in general. How about we mention it to our regulars if it comes up? Liz and Bethel and maybe some of Cleotis’ crowd, you think?”
“And maybe the postcard man,” Lettye added. “But I agree, nothing in general. I’ll ask Jessie and Nina to refer anyone to me or you if they ask about the reviews. Till then, we do our best and hope that it bears good fruit and the shop prospers.”
“Agreed.” Sienna sighed, relieved. She smiled at Lettye, who had quietly and confidently returned to her checklist. “Thank you, Lettye. I really don’t know what we would have done without you.”
When she returned to the front of the shop, Bethel was struggling up onto a pink barstool.
“Sienna! Just the lady I wanted to see!” Bethel arranged herself and smiled at Nina, who had already started Bethel’s usual tea to steep. “Thank you, Nina.” She turned the smile on Sienna. “I hear that you were at my husband’s parish this morning.”
“Um, sorry?” Sienna said, eyebrows raised. She had not imagined Bethel as Orthodox, especially given the provenance of her name. If she were honest, Sienna also had not imagined bubbly Bethel as married. “I thought you were Baptist.” She hoped Bethel did not guess the reasons for her astonishment.
“Oh, I was. I sort of still am. My husband is in seminary to be an Orthodox priest now, and even though I’ve converted officially, well,” she leaned toward Sienna and whispered, “I still sing the hymns.”
“Do hymns count?”
“Depends on who you ask. But since my husband is a subdeacon now, I have started secreting away my Baptist hymns.”
Sienna laughed at the incongruity of Bethel sneaking hymns like some women hid shoes and handbags. “And what does your granny think of that?”
“Well, she encourages it, of course,” Bethel grinned. “Every time I’m at the house, she goes on about how it would do her soul good to hear me play and sing a hymn or two.”
“What do you play?”
“Standing bass,” Bethel deadpanned.
“Really?” Sienna stifled a laugh.
“No. Piano.” She smiled as Sienna lost her battle with the laugh. “But I made you laugh. Could you imagine? Well, now that’s not right fair of me! I did know a little bitty lady who played bass once, but it was quarter sized.”
“I suppose if your talent is bigger than your body, it’s good to have modifications.”
“Isn’t that so?”
“So your husband is in seminary? Is he at a local one?”
“No. He’s away on a three-week run of classes. Does it show? I get so lonely when he’s away. Daddy says I haven’t talked so much since I was nine, and if I carry on so while Ben is home, I’ll worry him into another religion.” She paused to pour tea, then lifted her cup to her lips before continuing, “Daddy believes women generally drive menfolk to all sorts of extremes. He holds me accountable for Ben’s conversion. Mama says that she doesn’t regard one change or another, as long as, one, we’re Christian, and two, she gets grandbabies.”
“So, no pressure.”
“Well, there’s one place where Mama is kinder than you might think. She’s ready to bide her time on the grandbabies.” Bethel looked into her cup. “Especially after we lost the first one.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Bethel.” Sienna reached out and held Bethel’s hand, struck with sharp compassion. “It’s such a horrible thing to go through. I had no idea, or I would not have pressed.”
“You weren’t to know. It happened when we were newlyweds, almost two years ago now.” Bethel looked into Sienna’s eyes, which had filled with tears. “You lost one, too.” It was not a question.
“In the spring. Nineteen weeks. Her name was Susan Rose.”
“Is Susan Rose,” Bethel squeezed her hand. “May her memory be eternal.”
Sienna swallowed back her sadness and nodded. “Thank you.”
“What have you done to remember her?” Bethel asked, uncharacteristically quiet.
“There was a funeral, and she has a stone in the churchyard.”
“And her life? Have you found a way to mark her time with you?”
“How do you mean?” Sienna asked, thinking of the garden where she had wanted Susan’s portraits.
“Well, this may not work for you, but when we lost ours, little Gabriel, we called him, that’s when I knew that Ben was going to be a good pastor as well as a priest—I was beat, Sienna, just beat—I couldn’t think of what to do with myself. So Ben took me out one night to our favorite restaurant, and after the waiter took our order, he set a little card on the table with three words on it.” She paused for tea.
“I love you?” Sienna guessed.
Bethel smiled. “Sort of. Gabriel was here.” She waited for a moment while Sienna went through several expressions. “Ben took me to different places that weekend, and at each one, he brought out that little card. Gabriel was here. We made a little scrapbook of me and Ben holding that card at all the places that seemed special while I had been pregnant. It helped me remember our baby’s life instead of just his death.”
Sienna caught her breath and stared at Bethel, not sure whether to sob or smile at the wave of hope and recognition that Bethel’s story produced. For the first time in months, she had a way forward in her grief. “That’s beautiful,” she choked out, tears welling up again. “Sorry,” she amended, dabbing her face with a paper napkin from the tea bar.
“Listen, Sienna, what are you doing right now?” Bethel asked, looking at her with concern.
“Um, well, I’m probably mostly just taking up space.” She chuckled darkly. “I have to be here tonight, but right now, I thin
k I’m just a blubbering mess.”
“How about I take you to lunch?”
“Um, well,” Sienna flustered. She was not sure she should take advantage of a customer’s compassion.
“We’ll go Dutch, but I’ll drive.”
“Um, okay,” Sienna relented. “But where?”
“Did you have a favorite restaurant when you were pregnant? Any place you craved?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Savitri’s café Love and Lentils. I could not get enough of her uttapams with Susan. Peter had to take me at least twice a week.”
“Savitri’s it is. Give me ten minutes to go get my camera and my car and tell Daddy I’m taking a long lunch, and I’ll be back to pick you up.”
“Thank you.” Sienna sniffled. “I’ll be ready.”
Bethel scooted off the stool with more good humor than grace and set out. Sienna made a carafe of Bethel’s favorite tea to take along. She was stashing the carafe along with a couple of paper to-go cups in a canvas tote when Tovah approached.
“What’s up with you?” Tovah assessed her swiftly. “You look happy.”
“It’s Bethel. She’s taking me to lunch. We’re going to remember Susan.”
Tovah raised her eyebrows in surprise, then shrugged. “You pray for healing, you get lunch with a little Baptist lady. God’s mysterious ways.”
“Only, she’s not Baptist anymore.”
“To be honest, Sienna, I can’t tell most of you Christians apart. But I’m glad she’s helping you. If she wants a lifetime of free tea, that’s worth it to see the light in your face again.”
“Thanks, Tovah.” She hugged her friend, then noticed a little bright green VW bug pull up in front of the store. “I’d better get out there before Bethel stops traffic. See you tomorrow for the run-down of the history bash.”
“See you then.”
On the way to the restaurant, Bethel told Sienna about her baby book, the highlight of which was a glorious panorama from the top of Hanging Rock, with a perfectly focused shot of Ben and Bethel holding a banner with the healing words.
Tea and Crumples Page 10
