Tea and Crumples

by Kinard, Summer;

  “What is this miracle that I’m meant to see, gentlemen?” Sienna smiled and approached the chess table. Cleotis and Father Max stood as she drew up a chair. They resumed their seats and took up their own teacups.

  “You aren’t afraid of miracles,” Cleotis said to her. He waited.

  “Um, no,” Sienna said, flustered at the sudden leap into the depths. “Well, yes, really. They aren’t exactly tame things.”

  “But you’ve seen them.”

  Sienna nodded, thinking of her years on the healing prayer team. “Yes. Peter is alive.” The men regarded her in peaceful silence. “Peter’s a huge miracle, and very special to me, of course. But yes, I’ve seen others. Most of them are more gradual.” She looked at the board as Father Max moved a piece several spaces into the fray. “I think about most miracles like I think of the garden. You have soil and roots and stems and leaves, and sometimes a flower. Most of the story of a blossom is told before it appears. The flower is just the amen of the garden.”

  Cleotis regarded the board and moved a piece. He turned his gaze back to Sienna and nodded for her to continue.

  “What’s awful,” she swallowed, “what’s awful is the pain. It doesn’t seem to go away. Like, miracles are wonderful, but they don’t make suffering end. It’s hard to explain.”

  Father Max moved another piece, then looked up at Sienna.

  “It’s like we’re all Lazarus,” Sienna continued. “We might be raised, but we have to die again before the last day.”

  Cleotis moved another piece. “Check.

  “And God may make them beautiful, but miracles are also deniable. I’ve heard women cured from cancer tell people how glad they were that the multiple MRIs and biopsies were somehow mistaken. Or a little boy who was unharmed after being run over by a truck, because his head was crushed into the mud from recent rain. The family thanked God for the rain, but they didn’t seem to see the gritty way God had saved their child.”

  Father Max made a move. “Check.”

  “One time a woman came to us worried her mother would commit suicide. The next week, she said her mother had made an attempt, but the gun had jerked to the side when it fired. Her mother shot herself in the elbow instead of the chest. The blow had stunned her out of her suicidal thoughts. That woman understood, though. She came to us rejoicing over God’s guerilla tactics. Her mother refused to accept the grace of God insofar as she determined to shoot herself, but God’s grace prevailed in that an angel knocked the gun out of her hands. You see, that was the woman’s prayer all along. She asked God to please help her mother not to shoot herself, but that if she tried, to please make her miss.”

  Cleotis moved a piece. “Check.”

  “And there was a man who prayed for his drug addict son to run late every day so he would miss his meetups with dealers. That man and the woman who prayed her mother would miss, they had a grasp of the way grace is rooted in everyday things. Schedules, and meetings, and the basic physicality of effort.”

  Father Max moved a piece and leaned back. He didn’t speak, but Cleotis tipped over his king. The men shook hands and sat back in their seats, grinning.

  “I suppose you two wanted me to come talk about miracles for some reason,” Sienna said, looking between them.

  “Did you see it coming?” Cleotis asked.

  “The miracles?”

  “The checkmate.”

  “No.”

  “I did. It didn’t have to happen, but I saw the possibility. So did Max. That makes him a good opponent.”

  “But a better partner,” Father Max said. “To be able to see the way to victory through the fogs of war. Chess is a war game.”

  “You wanted me to see your chess match?” Sienna knit her brows and looked from one game piece to another. She wasn’t an expert player herself, but she enjoyed the ambience of the game and the chivalry of its rules. “What does that have to do with miracles?”

  “Just a reminder,” Cleotis said. He sipped his tea and let the quiet stretch out like a basking cat. Sienna, wary to the way the men’s prior silence had prompted her to talk at length, sipped her tea, too, and waited.

  “The Christian life is filled with joy and love and peace and all the fruits of the Spirit,” Father Max said. “But it is also war and struggle. We don’t always see the miracles coming, but the victory is a foregone conclusion.”

  A few tables cleared and a fresh wave of customers came in. Sienna grew antsy seeing Lettye and Nina try to juggle them all. She wasn’t sure what the men had wanted her to say or to see, but she was anxious to get back to her work. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to see here. It’s too much to take in from a distance.”

  “We can talk again,” Father Max said. “You’ll want to get back to your customers.”

  “Thank you.” Sienna started to get up, but a question niggled at her. “What were you two talking about before I came over, that you wanted me to hear?”

  “Ah.” Father Max nodded. “A small question. Whether miracles usually remind people of God’s greatness or his love.”

  “Or if they ever notice that the love and greatness are the same.” Cleotis’ eyes twinkled.

  “So nothing deep or anything.” Sienna smiled. “Thank you for letting me talk. Next time—” she pointed a stern finger at each of them “—you have to tell me about miracles.” The men agreed, and Sienna returned to the tea bar.

  Maria and her children had moved to the stationery area, where they were examining sketchbooks and thick sheets of premium wrapping paper in elegant prints. Bethel must have sneaked in while Sienna was at the chess table. Her customary tea was sitting at an empty seat next to where Maria’s family left their half-finished cups. Sienna could hear the energetic clip of Bethel’s Southern accent in the stationery alcove. The children seemed to regard her as a favorite.

  Sienna waited on a few graduate students, a grassy green tea drinker and two jasmine oolong lovers, and went to the kitchen to check stores for the tournament. She prepared a dozen large trays of cookie dough and put it in the refrigerator to chill. She stepped out of the cooler to see a familiar face peeking around the door to the shop.

  “Greg!” Sienna said. She had forgotten all about Greg. Part of her had wondered if he would stop coming to the shop now that his temptation had subsided. She found that she was glad to see him. She wanted to tell him about Peter’s recovery. It might be awkward at first to remember her mixed feelings over the past several weeks, but her earlier insight had been right, too. Greg had strong spiritual gifts, and she hoped that they could strengthen each other in friendship once the gifts were properly directed. Greg smiled so that his grey eyes lit like light in clear water. Eventually, she thought, but not quite yet. They could be friends eventually, but her body’s memory queue needed to clear first.

  “Sienna,” Greg said. He fixed a smile at her, but the fox was gone from it. “I’ve brought someone for you to meet.” He gestured toward the front. “Please.”

  Sienna followed Greg to his accustomed spot at the manuscript table, where a honey haired woman sat in front of creamy pages of stationery, scritching along with a silver pen. “Tamsin,” Greg began. The woman looked up, her deep blue eyes sharp and kind. She stood. “This is Sienna. I told you about her tea.” He turned to Sienna as Sienna reached out to shake Tamsin’s hand. “And her good sense.” Tamsin had a strong handshake that brooked no lies but implied impeccable good breeding.

  “Glad to meet you,” Tamsin said in a chocolatey low voice that made Sienna wish that Tamsin were singing. “I’d like to try the tea you choose for me.” She looked at Sienna levelly, then tilted her head slightly, humbly. “I’m rather in need of a new habit. If tea is to be my vice, I’d like it to be an enjoyable one.”

  “Well.” Sienna said, taken aback at the woman’s frankness and clever humility. Tamsin and Greg were a good match. She wanted to honor that in her hospitality. “Let me see what I can come up with. How about one for you, one for Greg, and one to s
hare?” Tamsin nodded and turned to Greg, whose eyes were on his wife. They sat down, and Sienna went to make them tea.

  She prayed as she went, and a brisk smell came to her mind. She tried to sift it into its components. Caramel, mint, green, sweet, and sturdy round sunshine. She smiled and pulled down three pots. One for Greg’s usual Moroccan mint, one fragrant orangey rooibos for Tamsin, and a clear glass pot for the tea they would share. Into the last pot, she scooped a handful of the flowers Marnie had brought her that morning. When the tea was brewed, she set the pots on a tray with extra cups, dark sugar, and honey.

  “Caffeine free,” Sienna said, setting the rooibos in front of Tamsin. “But let me know if you want something stronger. The advantage to this one is that it can stew all day in hot water without growing bitter.” She turned to Greg and put a pot in front of him. “Your usual. Cool Morrocan mint with extra sugar. I’ve put extra cups so you can share with Tamsin.” She lifted the last pot from the tray and placed it between them. “But this one is for you both.” They looked at the flowering herbs floating in the delicate pot. A red petal flipped in the current from Sienna’s movement.

  “Bee balm,” Greg said.

  “Yes. Or wild bergamot. It’s a classic American tisane. Grows in the hot weather, restores year round. Perfect for rebels and people of high principles. Good for people who speak for a living, as it soothes throats. Good for headaches, too, for when people get to be a little much.” While she spoke, their faces brightened and their eyebrows raised. They turned to each other and smiled. “Enjoy,” Sienna said, and started to walk away.

  “Sienna,” Tamsin said. “Thank you.”

  Notes from Sienna’s Tea Files

  Tippett Couple (see Greg and Tamsin’s cards): Bee balm tea, served hot and plain alongside brown sugar. Restorative.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The day of the tournament dawned cold. Sienna exclaimed at the chill when she got up to turn off her alarm. Peter pulled her back into bed.

  “Stay here where it’s warm.” He nuzzled against her neck and found her ear.

  “Mmm.” Sienna turned toward him. “I wish I could. But potentially dozens of chess enthusiasts will be waiting for their tea this morning.”

  “You don’t want to disappoint the chess enthusiasts,” Peter said. He hugged her closer so that she wanted to do just that. Sienna groaned a little and pulled away.

  “No. I shall exert myself and resist your charms.” She leaned toward him and kissed him on the lips. “Just this once.” She winked and got back out of bed. “Besides, you don’t want me to get on the bad side of the chess people. They’re Machiavellian. In the best way, but still.”

  “I thought you said the likely winners were an old man and a priest.”

  “Yes. Well, them, especially.”

  Peter grinned and pulled himself upright.

  “Will you stop by the shop today?”

  “I don’t think so. I have a client meeting, and I’m not quite up to snuff enough to make two big trips in a day. My energy’s great, but healing bones takes time.”

  “Tomorrow, then. I want you to see it in action. We have a surprise bridal shower coming in. It’ll be a fun group.”

  “After the service, before a nap with the dogs. I think I can work it in.”

  “Great.” They made their way to the kitchen, where Peter started the kettle and Sienna started toast. “I don’t know why I bother eating breakfast at home. Tovah is always finding an excuse to feed me again when I get to the shop.”

  “She was worried about you.”

  “I guess. Bethel showed me a photo she took of me a few weeks back. I looked worrisome. Pale, distraught. Like a pining heroine in a nineteenth century novel.”

  “That’s good news, isn’t it? Those heroines all had happy endings.” He paused and set the blue teapot on the counter. “Well, most of them did.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Sienna planted a smooch on Peter’s neck.

  “Was it one of the Susan Was Here photos?” Peter held the tea-infusing basket in his left hand with a tin of leaves suspended over it. He never measured the leaves; he had a knack for getting the amount just right. Sienna leaned on the counter next to him and nodded, and he continued sifting in the tea leaves in small, fluid motions. “Because I was thinking. We should go to those places sooner rather than later. I’m getting better with my leg. I should be able to go out with just a cane in a week or two. Let’s go hiking before it gets too cold. I hear that decrepit old men with canes feel the cold in their mended bones.”

  “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. It might be emotionally painful. And if you reinjured your leg, we might make the wrong kind of memory.”

  “I’m well, Sienna.” Peter held her hand in his and cupped it to his chest. “The X-ray showed knitted-together bones. I’m just sore, is all, so I’m taking things slowly for another week.” He kissed her hand and looked into her eyes. His expression shifted, and he leaned in for a long kiss.

  “I like it when you take things slowly,” Sienna sighed. She looked up at him and smiled. “Okay. You get into a smaller cast, and I’ll take your decrepit-cane-walking self hiking with me. Only, a walking stick would probably be better for hills.”

  “True.” He leaned over as a quantity of dog brushed against him. “And Pogo would like that, too, wouldn’t you, boy?” Jonquil walked calmly up to him and sniffed his leg. She snuffed approval and bumped his hand with her head. “Alright, girl, I’ll let you out. See, Sienna? Even Jonquil can see I’m better. She’s letting me open the door for them again.”

  Sienna grabbed a piece of toast straight from the toaster and munched hungrily. “Too hot!” she panted around the chunk of too fresh toast, then swallowed and resumed her meal, crunching through the toast as fast as she could without choking. “Needs tea,” She said when she had finished off the first slice.

  “And butter.” Peter smiled. “Slow down, there, Speedy. I don’t want you to choke. Or are you really in a terrible hurry and I’ve held you up with my irresistible romantic advances?” He looked as though he were going to make another one. His expression changed to one of mild concern when Sienna grabbed a second piece of toast and wolfed it down, too. “Seriously, Si, are you alright?”

  “Yes,” Sienna nodded, dusting toast crumbs off the front of her robe. “Just a sudden rush of nerves. Jumpy stomach. We’re going to be so busy today.” She attempted a sexy smile. It was queasy but sincere. “But I like your advances.” She looked out the window, where the sky was lightening. “I’d better go get ready. There will be a crowd early today. Could you maybe bring me a mug of tea for me to drink on the drive?” Sienna put her arms around his neck and kissed his lower lip.

  “You’ve persuaded me.” Peter returned the kiss. “I’ll do it.”

  When she drove past the shop, a line of men, women, and a few older children was stretched down the block outside the door. She had to park a block away. Tovah and Nina were in the kitchen when she walked through the back door.

  “Did you see the line?” she asked.

  “Did you see this?” Tovah responded. She held up a section of the local newspaper, which heralded the tournament on its front page. “Listen to this. ‘Notoriously reclusive chess grand master Cleotis Reed convened the chess tournament in support of his favorite café, the tea and stationery shop Tea and Crumples.’ Then it gives our address and says spectators can pay a flat fee to enjoy refreshments for each level of the tournament.” She pulled a tray of fresh cookies out of the oven and slid another in. “I got here early and made more cookies. Luckily, Nina saw the paper, too.”

  “‘Notoriously reclusive?’ Can you believe that, Miss?” Nina wore an apron over a starched blue oxford as she removed piping hot churros from a large pot of boiling oil. Sienna noticed that Nina wore pearl earrings that drew attention to her face. She smiled at Nina’s newfound confidence reflected in her dress and bearing. “Mr. Cleotis as a recluse.” She harrumphed. “I mean
, he’s quiet, but it’s not like he’s hiding.”

  “Not from us, anyway,” Sienna said. She slipped an apron over her head and jumped into the fray. “Do you know when Lettye will be here?” She addressed Tovah as they worked side by side to count out plates of cookies.

  “Oh, she and Jessie are already here. They’re setting up extra game tables and chairs in the chess area. I had them take down the larger round tables to make room.”

  “Good.” Sienna raised her eyebrows at the evidence of her team’s competence. “Then we might be ready for the crowd. We may need the overflow site before noon, though. I don’t know what the fire department will think of Cleotis Reed’s fan club out there.”

  “Well, now that you’re here, we can manage.”

  “Tovah. You know you would manage with or without me.”

  Tovah turned Sienna toward her and held her by the shoulders so that she had to look into her friend’s face. “You listen to me, Sienna Bannock. When Peter was sick, when you were recovering after Susan, when you were out of your mind with grief and fear, even then, you were always necessary to the success of this business. You are the soul of this place. Do you think I would open a shop with just anybody? We need Lettye. We need Nina. We need Jessie. But we also need you. I need you.” She hugged her friend, strong and warmly, then pulled back just as suddenly, all business. “Now, don’t you forget it.” She glanced sideways at Sienna, taking in her appearance head to toe. She reached across to the other counter and turned Sienna to her again. “Here.” She opened Sienna’s hand and placed an almond butter pastry in her open palm. “Eat this before we go out there. You look piqued.”