Patterns of Change

by Terri DuLong

  Just over the bridge, I took a left on Beach Street and discovered a row of nice parks along the river. After finding a parking spot, we got out, and Basil and I walked around for about twenty minutes enjoying the beautiful May morning. Huge, leafy trees provided shady spots and the view onto the Halifax River was a tranquil scene. Joggers and other walkers passed us, each one nodding a hello.

  We got back in the car and, with no particular destination in mind, I decided to drive straight across to North Beach Street. It appeared to be a combination of both homes and small businesses. Farther up on my right I saw a sign that jutted out from a shop: Yarrow’s Tea Place. I was pleased that I’d found the tea shop Louise had mentioned and decided I’d come back later in the afternoon without Basil.

  I continued driving slowly down the street, admiring the beautiful old houses. That was when I saw it on my left. The house. The exact same house from my dream. I felt a jolt of recognition as chills crawled up my back. How could this be possible? I pulled over so as not to block traffic and stared at the huge two-story structure. Just as in my dream, the house was situated back from the sidewalk with a fair amount of grassy frontage. A brick driveway to the right, a turret on the top floor, and even the black wrought-iron fence. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but there it was. It was then that I noticed an elaborately carved metal plaque hanging from the fence on a small silver chain. Maybe it was a museum or historical house and I’d seen it in a brochure. I decided to turn around and park across the street directly in front of it in order to see the plaque better.

  When I pulled up, I leaned toward the passenger seat and saw that the sign read “Koi House.” That certainly didn’t sound like anything I remembered from Henry’s information. It actually sounded more like a private home to me. I craned my neck and could just about make out a couple of outbuildings behind it. Tall sycamore trees in full leaf created privacy for whatever was back there. It just didn’t seem possible that a house I had dreamed about could exist in reality. It was then I realized that even the river across the street had been in my dream. The only thing missing was my mother at the front door.

  I had no explanation for what I’d just witnessed. None at all. And I was sure that if I shared it with anybody, they’d think I was nuts. I let out a deep breath and noticed my palms had been gripping the steering wheel and also noticed that Basil had been whining as he stared out the window at the house.

  “No, I’m afraid not, buddy. We can’t go in there, and if we don’t get moving, we just might be arrested for trespassing.”

  His whining increased as I slowly pulled away and I saw in my rearview mirror he had jumped up on the backseat in order to better watch the departing house behind us.

  “Sit down and be a good boy, Basil,” I told him. “We’re going to drive around a little more.” I almost wondered if the next thing I’d see would be the fishpond from last night’s dream.

  But the rest of the morning was uneventful, and finally we headed back home.

  After lunch at the condo, Basil and I took another walk on the beach, and by the time we got upstairs, I saw it was going on two. My usual time for afternoon coffee, which today I’d be replacing with tea. I closed and locked the sliders to the balcony.

  “You be a good boy and take a nap,” I told Basil as I picked up my knitting tote and handbag. “I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

  I easily found a spot to park in front of the tea shop. When I walked inside, the aroma of spices filled the air. Soft classical music was playing and I heard the trickle of water from somewhere. Huge tubs of potted plants flanked the room. A cozy sitting area was in front, with a wooden counter in the back. Behind the counter, glass jars filled a huge shelf area taking up the entire wall. Two women were knitting—an older woman sat in a beige leather club chair and another, around my age, with legs tucked under her, was on the matching sofa.

  “Hello,” the older woman said.

  “Welcome to Yarrow’s Place,” the other replied. “What can I get for you?”

  “Hi,” I said and walked toward the back as the younger woman moved behind the counter. “Gosh, I’m not sure. So many teas to choose from.” I saw little printed signs attached to the glass jars—lavender, chamomile, and a variety of other flavors.

  “Green tea is best in the spring,” she said. “Would you like to sample a little?”

  “Sure,” I said as I watched her unseal one of the glass jars, pour a small scoop of leaves into a glass mug, and remove a simmering kettle from a hotplate. She poured in the boiling water and clicked a timer on the counter. “Three minutes. Tea must steep for three minutes for the perfect flavor.”

  I felt like I was getting a course in Tea 101. “Why is that?” I asked.

  “The teas give out substances like amino acids, vitamins, and caffeine,” she explained. “The concentration will reach peak value in three minutes and give the full flavor.”

  “Interesting,” I said and turned around as I heard the older woman exclaim, “Oh, do you knit?”

  I glanced down at my tote and nodded. “Yes, I do. Actually, that’s why I dropped by. I met a woman yesterday, Louise Blackstone, who told me about the shop. She said her best friend’s niece owned it. So you must be Yarrow?” I questioned the woman behind the counter.

  Before she could reply, the older woman laughed and said, “Yes, she is, and I’m Mavis Anne Overby. Very nice to meet you.”

  “Same here,” I told her as the timer buzzer went off. “I’m Chloe Radcliffe.”

  Yarrow poured the tea through a strainer and then handed me the cup. “Try this.”

  I took a sip and felt a burst of flavor hitting the roof of my mouth. “Oh, very nice,” I said. “Yes, I’ll have a cup of that, please.”

  “Come and have a seat,” Mavis said and gestured toward the other chair. “So how do you know Louise?”

  Sitting upright in the chair, knitting away, she reminded me of a southern belle entertaining guests for the afternoon. Her snow white hair was pulled away from her face in a French twist. She wore a beautiful green silk pantsuit and her wrists, fingers, and neck were adorned with what appeared to be quite expensive jewelry.

  I explained that I was renting a condo next door to her friend and had just arrived in town the day before.

  “How nice. Just a vacation?”

  “Well, I’m actually doing research about possibly relocating here,” I said and then went on to explain about Gabe and the plans that didn’t work out.

  She nodded. “Oh, yes, it can be very difficult losing a loved one, but you’re doing the right thing, coming here to see if perhaps this is where you’re meant to be now. It’s been almost fifty years since I lost the love of my life.” She nodded again. “And although I never have gotten over the loss of Jackson Lee Hawkins, he’s always with me.” She pointed to her heart.

  I couldn’t say that Gabe was the love of my life—actually, I had begun to think I’d just be one of those women who never had one—but I sympathized with Mavis’s loss, despite the passage of time.

  “Here you go,” Yarrow said, passing me the glass mug, which was only partially filled. “I prepare tea the correct way here. In China tea has a lot to do with both sense and concept. Many experts believe that tea should only fill seventy percent of a cup, because the other thirty percent is space for your emotions.”

  I was definitely getting an education in tea, I thought as I took a sip. “Very good. How did you get such an unusual name? Isn’t yarrow a plant?”

  She nodded. “It is. According to the Greek myth, Achilles put it on the heels of his soldiers to stanch bleeding from wounds. The plant blooms in August and I grow it in pots at my house. Then I grind up the leaves and we have yarrow tea here at the shop. But it was my mother who chose my name. I guess you could say she was a bit of a flower child back in the sixties when she got pregnant with me.”

  From the look of the woman sitting across from me now, I had a feeling perhaps that hippie gene had been passed on
to her daughter. Yarrow was tall and slim with a thick salt-and-pepper braid hanging down her back. She wore baggy cropped pants, a T-shirt that had “Peace” written across the front, and didn’t wear an ounce of makeup.

  “I like your name,” I told her. “I think it suits you.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid my sister was more than just a flower child. She was a wild one, that girl,” Mavis proclaimed. For a brief second I thought I saw annoyance cross her face, followed by a smile. “But Emmalyn meant well. The most beautiful girl in Ormond Beach. The trouble was that she knew it. And our father spoiled her rotten.”

  I removed my knitting and began working on the lace shawl I’d started a few days before.

  Mavis leaned forward. “Oh, that’s just beautiful. You certainly are a knitter.”

  “Thank you. That’s a lovely afghan you’re working on,” I told her. “I see you’re making socks.” I glanced over to the gorgeous purple-and-rose-colored socks that Yarrow had on double-pointed needles. “Both of you are quite accomplished knitters also. By the way, is there a yarn shop in town?”

  Mavis shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not,” she said and I caught the expression of downturned lips she sent to Yarrow. “The closest ones are either Orlando or Cocoa Beach. I’ve been telling my niece to turn this place into a yarn shop. She could still have her tea, but this community needs a yarn shop.”

  I wasn’t sure I should volunteer the information that I had been a partner at the yarn shop in Cedar Key and decided not to say anything. “That would be nice. Combining both businesses,” I said.

  Yarrow shook her head. “Aunt Mavis refuses to understand that this shop simply wouldn’t be large enough to carry stock for knitting plus the items needed to run a tea shop. Besides, trying to juggle both businesses isn’t something I’d welcome.”

  “Well, you know I have the perfect location for a combined yarn and tea shop, but I won’t pester you.” She put her knitting in her lap and removed her reading glasses as she shifted in her chair to face me. “I think you’ll like our community. It has a small-town feel once you get to know it. Not a tourist town like those around Orlando.”

  I nodded. “That’s what I’ve heard. Are you from here originally?”

  “Oh, my, yes. Born and raised in Ormond Beach. My father was the town doctor, so we knew pretty much everybody in town. I’m the oldest of three and our mother passed away when I was fourteen. My brother, David, was twelve but Emmalyn was only eight. I think it was the hardest on her to lose her mother so young.”

  I nodded. “I can understand that. Do they still live here too?”

  “No, I’m sorry to say that Emmalyn passed away quite young—at twenty-eight—but my brother lives next door to the house we grew up in. Which was where I lived until three months ago. I had a nasty fall, ended up in the hospital with knee surgery, and he insisted I move in with him and his partner, Clive, until I could manage the stairs. I must admit I do enjoy being waited on and having my bedroom on the main floor.”

  It was then that I noticed an elaborate cane propped beside her chair.

  “Yarrow was only ten when she lost her mother, so David and I had her come and stay with us until she went off to college.”

  “Oh, how nice,” I said. “And do you still live together?”

  Yarrow shook her head and laughed. “Oh, Aunt Mavis would really love that, but no. I own my own house. Just a small cottage over the bridge behind the old Ormond Hotel.”

  “Well, that’s good. At least you’re still very close to both your aunt and your shop.”

  Mavis gave a sniff and said, “Yes, and I just rattle around in that big old childhood home of mine. All by myself. Alone. So I’m grateful to be with David for a while.”

  I saw the wink she tossed my way and I smiled. “Are you in the downtown area also?”

  She gestured toward the door. “Oh, yes, just down the street. A very short walk from here to Koi House.”

  For the second time that day, I felt chills go up my back.

  Chapter 8

  A few days later I found myself back at the tea shop due to an invitation from both Mavis and Yarrow. They told me that Friday afternoon many of the other women would gather for their group knitting and they urged me to stop by.

  I had come to no conclusion about the connection between my dream and Mavis Anne Overby’s owning the exact same house. It truly defied explanation and it was difficult not to wonder about it. Without ever having been inside her house, I knew without a doubt that she had a fishpond on her property. Hence, the name Koi House.

  There were a lot more cars in front of the tea shop this time when I pulled up, but I managed to find a parking spot and went inside. Once again, the shop was filled with an exotic aroma and classical music was playing, but the room now had a buzz of female chatter.

  Mavis saw me and waved a hand to call me over. I glanced around and saw six other women knitting, but none of them was Louise Blackstone. Yarrow was behind the counter preparing various mugs of tea.

  “Have a seat,” Mavis said, gesturing to the sofa. “Hey, everybody, this is Chloe Radcliffe. She’s thinking about possibly relocating here.”

  She then proceeded to introduce everyone, though none of the names stuck in my brain. They were a mixture of women in their fifties and sixties and two of them had probably seen their eightieth birthdays. All of them were friendly and welcoming, asking questions about where I was from, where I was staying, and saying they hoped I’d like Ormond Beach. After giving them a brief bio, I headed to the counter for a cup of tea.

  “I’m glad you could join us,” Yarrow said. “My special today is raspberry lemon.”

  “Sounds good. Oh, you have baked goodies too?” The display case held assorted cookies and muffins.

  She nodded as she began preparing the tea. “Yeah, nothing fancy, but the ladies like a little something to go with their afternoon tea, so I bake a few things fresh every day.”

  “That blueberry muffin looks great. I’ll have one of those too.” So much for trying to lose those ten pounds.

  “I’ll bring it over to you,” Yarrow said and I headed back to the sofa.

  “So are you here by yourself?” one of the women asked.

  “Yes, just me and my dog, Basil. I’m divorced and I thought it was time for a change in my life.”

  “Lord knows we can all use that now and again,” the woman I thought was named Barbara said and all of us chuckled.

  “I came here with my husband about twenty years ago,” one of the older women said. “But Mike has been gone ten years now. I can’t imagine living anywhere else, especially with all my friends here.”

  Gatherings of women have been occurring since the beginning of time. Whether it was a sewing circle popular in the eighteen hundreds, a knitting group during the war years of the forties, a coffee klatch in the fifties and sixties—women had been drawing together to socialize and bond. It was universal and it didn’t matter where the location was. Women gravitated together to form connections.

  “Same here,” a few of the others agreed.

  “I hope you’ll like Ormond Beach,” said a woman whom I remembered as Maddie. “I came here alone also about five years ago. Divorced, my daughter was grown and gone, so I decided it was my turn. I’d always wanted to own a florist shop . . . so that’s exactly what I did.”

  “Thanks,” I said as Yarrow passed me a mug of tea and a muffin before sitting down to join us.

  “Maddie owns the florist shop in town,” Yarrow explained.

  “That’s really great,” I said. “I guess nothing compares to fulfilling your dream.”

  Maddie laughed. “Well, I can’t say it was easy, but . . . anything worthwhile usually isn’t. It took me a couple years to save the money I needed and then I was able to secure a small business loan, and after eighteen months . . . I’m no Donald Trump, but I’m doing pretty well.”

  “Good for you,” I said, and we all looked toward the door as a flustered L
ouise Blackstone came rushing in.

  “I’m here, I’m here,” she announced before plopping into one of the club chairs.

  I saw Mavis Anne shake her head as a grin crossed her face. “Without the drama, tell us what happened,” she said.

  “Whew.” Louise puffed out the word. “Well, I was all set to leave and little Ramona just didn’t want her mama to leave her behind. Usually I can just give her a little treat and she’s content. But not today. She refused the treat and every time I headed to the door to leave, she whimpered.”

  Nobody said a word, waiting for her to go on.

  “So I tried explaining to her that I wouldn’t be gone very long. I took her outside one more time, thinking perhaps she had to piddle again. She has such a tiny bladder, you know. But nope. None of that worked. I talked to her, I cuddled her, and she continued whimpering, telling me she just didn’t want me to leave.”

  “And who’s the boss here?” I heard Maddie mumble under her breath.

  “Yes, okay, Louise,” said Mavis Anne, exasperation in her tone. “So . . . what did you do?”

  It was then that I saw the red leather Namaste bag on her shoulder was wiggling.

  “Well,” Louise said, as she slowly unzipped the bag and the cutest little furry head peeped out, “I just had to take her with me, of course.”

  Yarrow threw her arms up in the air. “You’re damn lucky that Sylvia isn’t here today. She’s allergic to dogs and she’d pitch a fit. Besides, I serve tea and food. You know it’s against health regulations for her to be in here.”

  An apologetic expression covered Louise’s face, which was now being licked by the adorable Ramona. “I know, I know and I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to miss the knitting group.”

  Yarrow shook her head and I could see she was fighting to suppress a grin. “Does anybody have any objections to Ramona staying?”

  All heads shook in a negative motion.

  “Okay,” Yarrow said. “But try to keep her in the bag. I don’t want her running around the shop.”