Chapter Three
“D id you do it?” Seymour asked as soon as Ivy swung by his table and set down a frosted cinnamon roll on a little china plate for him. He always arrived promptly at eight, the others more inclined to straggle in over the next half hour.
Marjorie, her bright red hair newly styled in a chignon, popped in next and sat by Seymour. “Yes, did it work?”
Hazel came in chatting with Ivy’s aunt Lydia. They settled themselves at the table, hands folded before them. It was 8:05. All four pillars turned their expectant faces up at her.
Were they holding their breath? “I only just baked the cookies last night. So, we’ll see.” Ivy gave a little shrug, even as her eyes drifted to the tin. Their gazes followed hers. “I haven’t gifted them yet.”
“Ah,” they murmured in unison, veneration clear in the single drawn-out syllable.
“I made up a little song,” she added.
The four looked at her blankly. Hazel blinked several times. “A song, dear?”
Ivy nodded. “You know, to speak the blessing while I baked the cookies.”
Seymour glowered, his bushy, white eyebrows pinching down and together. He leaned toward Lydia. “Is that allowed?”
Lydia shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Ivy bit her lip. “Come on, hasn’t the blessing ever been set to music?”
Hazel frowned. “You should be careful. Deviation could have unexpected consequences.”
“Unexpected good? Or unexpected bad?” asked Ivy.
“Unexpected,” said Lydia with a solemn nod, “is unexpected.”
Seymour nodded sagely in clear agreement.
“Don’t look so upset. Expected doesn’t necessarily mean calamitous. It—could go either way,” said Marjorie, with an over-bright smile.
Ivy widened her eyes. Tepid tea! Her rule-breaking propensities would be her undoing, but— fun , she reminded herself. None of this was really real , right? Fun was the important bit.
“Was it fun?” asked Lydia.
Ivy nodded and relaxed. “So. Much. Fun.”
“Then it’s good,” said Lydia.
They all beamed.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, dear.” Marjorie recentered the day’s jaunty orange daisy in the center of the table.
“I’ll just get your tea. Today’s blend is black Irish tea with blackberry leaves and pineapple skin. I’m calling it I Pine For You.” Ivy scurried away as Holly said at her ear, “Question for you.”
Ivy jerked. “Why do you do that?”
Holly gave her a blank look.
“Just pop in and scare me. You have your own business to run.”
Holly’s lips quirked in a sideways smile. “I like to check on yours. Your tea shop adjoins my bakery. We share a kitchen. What you do in your little business ,” she said in her lofty, patronizing tone, “reflects on my very successful business, which runs like clockwork. Everything in its place, all my employees working diligently.”
“In fear of you cracking your whip.”
“They’re employees . I pay them to work hard and make it look easy. They like it. They take pride in a job well done.”
“I do, too.” Her eyes wandered to her tin.
Holly frowned. “So, what exactly were you doing here at four thirty a.m.?”
“Wait, why do you care? Were you spying on me?”
“My early crew of bakers saw you in your car.”
It shouldn’t matter what she was doing, but Holly was waiting, foot tapping just the tiniest bit to highlight her impatience. Aware of her sister’s scrutinizing gaze but reluctant to share the truth, Ivy hedged. “I couldn’t sleep, what with that crazy windstorm. I wanted to check on the shop.”
“What windstorm?”
Ivy blinked. “That wild cyclone last night. It rattled the whole building and knocked little branches off the trees in the square. You can’t have slept through that.”
“There was no wind last night. I’m sure of it. The weather report was clear.”
“Well, a storm gusted here at the shops.”
“But not across town where we live. So, the question remains, how could you have even known?” Holly narrowed her eyes.
Ivy hopped into motion. “Sorry, I need to get this out to my customers. She hefted the tea tray for the historical society, overloaded with pastries of all kinds, along with a lilac-flowered teapot with a hand-crocheted tea cozy in deep violet. The cups rattled with purpose as she carried them out. She struggled a little, afraid she might drop the tray. But she didn’t dare goof up with Holly’s critical eyes on her. She’d never hear the end of it.
She plunked the tray down on their table, and Hazel twitched at the noise.
“Sorry, it’s a little bit heavy.” Serious understatement, that. “But I wanted you to be able to sample everything. We have several special offerings today.” Seymour’s eyes lit up. His weren’t the only ones. Even Marjorie’s eyes brightened at the selection of raspberry scones, glazed cinnamon rolls, and molasses crinkles. The four dived into the offerings with gusto.
“Love these.”
“Oh, these are the best.”
“Hum,” said Hazel, with a mouthful of raspberry scone.
Ivy blinked. Had she said Yum, or Hum? “I’m sorry?”
Hazel swallowed and waved her arthritic hand. “Your tune, for the blessing, hum it.”
“Oh, okay.” Ivy started, made it through about three notes and stopped, trying to remember how it went. She started again and gave a nod as she hummed. Yes, she had it this time. Then, the tune vanished from her mind. “That’s odd. I hummed it all last night. Now, I can’t remember how it goes.” She gave a pouty frown. “I guess I’m tired.”
Seymour glowered in disappointment.
Ivy shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll remember. I promise I’ll share it when I do.”
Lydia raised her eyebrows. “Could be a blessing thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Part of the mystique,” said Hazel in a loud whisper.
“Inspired,” said Marjorie. “I like that. I’ll check the historical writings and see what I can find about singing the blessing.”
“Quite curious,” said Lydia, “My niece is special. She might be the very first to ever put the blessing to music. How delightful. Try to remember it, and we can make a recording of it for posterity.”
“I don’t think it’s that significant.”
But the pillars were nodding, beginning to argue as to the best way to record the song she’d made up and whether to write it down as a score or record her singing it. Ivy left them to discuss the history of the blessing and argue about how exactly to set it to music.
She stumbled through her day, bit by bit, the tune floating in and out of her mind, but never enough to be able to share with anyone. By noon she had her second wind, and she’d given up on remembering the song, instead humming favorite show tunes about dreams coming true. Plans to expand her offerings at the tea shop filled her head. She loved the new recipes she’d typed up the night before. By late afternoon she’d prepped for the next day and planned to come in early. As she set up her menu board for Friday, she fretted about how concerned the pillars were with the blessing being sung. She was especially glad she’d said nothing about adding the nutmeg.