Читать книгу A Marriage in Middlebury - Anita Higman - Страница 15

Chapter 8

8

Charlotte plodded down the outside staircase from her apartment above the tearoom and then sat down on the bottom step. After days of little sleep, Mr. Wilder’s funeral, the news from her doctor confirming early menopause, and the strain of helping Audrey plan the reception for Sam’s wedding, life did not feel as though it was coming softly in the night. It felt more like it was tramping squarely on her face! It felt as though God had erased her from his memory and his promise to watch over her comings and goings.

She placed her head in her hands and even though she wanted to weep, she didn’t. There had been enough tears and wrestling with God in her broom closet. She felt exhausted, and her eyes were puffy to prove it. She’d had to apply two slatherings of concealer to cover her swollen eyes and dark circles. Funny, she’d always thought tea could lighten the foulest mood, the bluest heart, but not today. Not this day.

Charlotte glanced around the gardens and the pathways to the other shops and homes. The area was shrouded in patches of heavy mist, which usually gave the cypress trees a fairy-tale look, but today it just seemed dreary. She was in need of a sunbeam—one of those great shafts of light that would unexpectedly burst through the clouds. It was a glimpse of heaven her grandmother had said, letting us, if only for a moment, imagine life beyond our world, believe in grander schemes and not just the piddling struggles of flesh and bone.

Guess she’d have to make do with the fog. She grabbed the railing, heaved herself up off the stairs, and tapped her cheeks. As sure as church bells on Sunday, her customers would be pouring in soon.

Charlotte opened the back door to The Rose Hill Cottage Tearoom and reminded herself why she was here on this earth—to serve. And on most days to serve the little town of Middlebury was more than enough bliss for one day. For one life. She smiled and walked through the door.

Lil greeted her first, “You look ghastly. Like one of those pale vampires all the girls are reading about these days. I think you should go right back to bed.”

Thanks, Lil. “I’ll be fine.” Charlotte peeked around the corner. “Anybody out there yet?”

“We have a sprinkling. Got that new pastor in from Middlebury Chapel sitting up in front. What’s his name?”

“Pastor Wally.”

“Unfortunate man.” Lil stopped her work at the counter. “What was his mother thinking with that name of his?”

“Now, now. His birth name was Wallace, but it sort of digressed into Wally. But I think it has a nice sociable ring to it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Lil shook her spoon in the air. “To be trawled through life as a pastor with a name that either sounds like a fish or a child’s imaginary friend can’t be easy on the ego. I can tell you that.”

Charlotte chuckled. “I suppose it does lack a certain authority, but everyone already likes him.”

Lil went back to finishing two orders of chicken salad on greens. “Did a woman show up at the pastor’s table yet? You know, another blind date? I wonder if it’ll be that new librarian, that Boudreaux woman. Bless her heart. She’s a nice lady, but she’s got enough hair on her upper lip to compete with the pastor’s whiskers, and she’s tall enough to polish every man’s bald spot from here to Magnolia. I hear she sells lawn ornaments on the side. You know, those little rainbow pinwheels. I applaud the entrepreneurial spirit, but that profession is short-lived, since once everybody in town’s got a pinwheel, your career goes kaflewy.”

Charlotte chuckled to herself and cut through to the original question. “It doesn’t look like there are any blind dates for the pastor today.” She loved Lil, but sometimes she served up one too many helpings of narrative. “I have to say, Pastor Wally’s been a good sport about it.”

“Yeah, but I’m telling you, when you coerce a minister into too many blind dates it’s like putting sardines in a scone. It might look okay on the outside, but it isn’t going to smell right.”

Charlotte grinned. “What do you mean?”

“Pastor Wally is a grown man. He can surely choose a woman for himself!” Lil’s silvery waves bounced around outside her hairnet as she waved her spoon.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Course I’m right.” Lil set the heaping plates up on the top counter. She lifted her hand to the bell as if it were a race to get there, and then with one finger, gave it a timorous little ping.

Eliza appeared and snatched up the plates. “I haven’t served the pastor his tea yet. It’s Earl Grey.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Charlotte said.

“Thanks.” Eliza whisked the mounded plates out of the kitchen.

Charlotte stepped into the blending room, dropped a couple of bags of her finest Earl Grey into a small pot of hot water, and settled the lid back on top of the pot. While she slid the cozy over the container to keep it hot as it brewed, she glanced up at the rows and rows of glass canisters full of tea bases as well as flowers and herbs and fruits—ingredients she used to further tweak and tailor teas to fit the various personalities of her long-time customers. Blending teas was one of the most pleasant pieces of her life, but she didn’t know Pastor Wally well enough to make him his signature tea. Not yet anyway. Perhaps someday. There was still much more to be discovered about the man.

Charlotte picked up the teapot and headed to the front of the tearoom where the pastor was seated.

Wally smiled. “Hello.” He stood to greet her.

How polite. “Hi there.” Charlotte set the pot of tea on the table and shook his hand. She was a little taller, but whatever the pastor lacked in height he made up for in friendly animation. She pointed to the pot. “Let that tea steep for a bit.”

“Will do. I hear you blend teas to match your customer’s personalities. When will I get to taste your ‘Wally’ creation?”

Charlotte held up her finger. “Ahh, but I haven’t known you long enough to figure out what combination of flavors might be right for you.”

Wally pulled out the chair next to him. “Well, if you have a moment you’re welcome to sit with me and we can do that very thing,” he said in his Georgia drawl.

Charlotte smiled. Hmm. Well, she’d walked right into that one. She liked the new pastor but not in the marrying way. Besides, she was seven years older. According to the local talebearers, Pastor Wally was a mere babe of thirty. But since Sam was getting married, moving beyond the Wilder dream would need to happen soon.

“All right. Thanks.” Charlotte sat down across from the pastor, thinking of all the times she’d told her customers to keep an open mind about falling in love. Perhaps she should take her own counsel. She was like the hairdresser who never ran a comb through her own hair. “Tell me, what are some of your favorite things?”

Wally perked up at the question. “Well, I like mornings just like this one. Not quite cold with the mist rising on Middlebury Creek. I like reading for pleasure, which I never have enough time for. My favorite novel being, To Kill a Mockingbird.”

“Mine too.” Charlotte surprised herself with her sudden excitement.

“Is it? You have good taste.”

“Thanks.” It did help that Wally wasn’t wearing his clerical collar. That formality might have been a real hindrance if there ever were any amorous inclinations.

“Let’s see,” he went on to say, “I also like not having so many blind dates.”

Charlotte laughed. Maybe Lil was right.

“The people in my congregation mean well. They really do,” Wally said, “but I think I can ask a woman out on my own.”

“I’m sure you can.” Charlotte poured Wally a cup of steeped Earl Grey. Well, so far so good if this had been a real date. She had given dating a try over the years, but she always ended up feeling like Goldilocks—either finding the porridge too hot or too cold. Never just right.

He leaned over the cup and waved the aroma toward his face. “Irresistible.”

“It’s the bergamot oil in the tea that you’re loving,” she said quickly. Maybe a little too quickly.

“From Italy?”

“You knew.”

Wally grinned. “Speaking of fragrant. I like the whole smell of this town. What is that?”

“It’s the eucalyptus trees. We’re close enough to the Texas coast that they do fairly well here. The garden club planted some around town, and they suddenly took off.”

Pastor Wally blew on his tea and took a sip. “What’s something I can know about you? How did you come to own a tearoom like this?”

Charlotte picked up the tiny vase of rosebuds and smelled them. “When I was a kid I played tea party with my mother, well, like thousands of other little girls. But I loved it enough to see it as a profession. And now I’m living the dream.” She tore off several wilted rose petals and stuck them in her pocket.

Wally pointed to her pocket. “Zuzu’s petals.”

Charlotte laughed. “Yes, I guess so.”

“But what made you different from the other girls?” Wally asked. “What made you see it as more than just playtime?”

Charlotte cupped her chin in her palm. “No one has ever asked me that. Let’s see . . . ” She had to admit their chat was going better than expected. Maybe she would give the pastor a chance. Perhaps she’d been like a little boat that was aimlessly at sea. She was moving, but if she didn’t put in a little effort rowing, she’d end up forever adrift. “Well . . . during teatime the girls acted differently. You know, pretending to be all grown up, and everything, but there was a light in their eyes too. Like what we were doing brought them joy. Anyway, I came to see it as a happy profession. And I still do.”

“Nicely said.”

“Thank you, Pastor—”

“Please call me Wally.”

“All right . . . Wally.” Things were going well enough that she tried to take her mind off the pastor’s mustache, which was a new addition to his face. The wooly thing wriggled so much when he talked it was as if a hamster had taken up lodgings on his upper lip. Charlotte Rose Hill, you’ll never get married if you don’t try harder!

The door to the tearoom opened, and Charlotte glanced toward the newcomer. In spite of all the kind and inquisitive and furry distractions at her table, she was thrilled to see the very person who’d been dancing through her thoughts. Sam Wilder.

When Sam linked gazes with Charlotte, his smile flew around the tearoom like a golden finch and fluttered circles around Pastor Wally’s head.

Charlotte rose so swiftly she knocked over her chair. “Pastor, have you met Sam Wilder yet?”