“This is yours.” Ellen placed the package on the bar and then removed her coat and hung it over her arm, her gaze sweeping past Ava. “So this is the tearoom Kristen keeps talking about.” Ellen walked slowly around the room, her gaze lingering on the unfinished walls and discolored wood floor. She paused to point to the floor. “Original wide-cut planks. That’s fortunate.”
“They need some work. I was thinking of whitewashing the floor and stenciling it with the names of the teas.”
“I wouldn’t. Even with a high-gloss polyurethane, your baristas will spend all their time trying to keep it clean. I’d stain it a deep color, something to complement the brick.”
Ava sighed. Dylan had said the same thing. “You’re probably right. I love whitewashed wood, but I guess it’s not practical for a floor.”
“If you ask me, that is where you should put whitewashed wood.” Ellen nodded to the wall behind the bar. “I’d use reclaimed barn wood, as it has an interesting texture. A lighter stain would make the bar more of a focal point too.”
That was a good idea. A really good one. “I could stencil the types of teas there.”
“You could. It would make a nice contrast, especially if you put shelves here and there stained to match this dark mahogany.” Ellen ran her pale hand along the bar. “A beautiful piece. Edwardian, I would think?”
“That’s what I was told.” Ava folded the tarp, placed it back on the floor, and went to join Ellen. “I’m going to follow your advice about the wall. That would be lovely.”
Ellen’s expression softened, a faint smile touching her mouth. “I’ve overseen a number of renovations of older buildings much like this one. My firm has a crack team of designers and over the years, I’ve learned a few things from them.”
“A lot of things, from the sound of it.” Ava pulled the package closer. Across the paper, scrawled in Julie’s familiar loopy handwriting, were the words “The Ripening, for Ava Dove’s new tearoom. Good luck!”
Ava’s chest tightened. Oh, Julie. Thank you.
When Ellen and her daughter, Julie, had lived in Dove Pond years ago, Ava hadn’t known either of them well. Ellen tended to keep to herself, and Julie—though friendly—was much older than Ava. They’d gone to different churches, too. Eventually, Ellen and Julie had moved away, and Ava had rarely thought about them until Julie returned ten years ago, this time with her six-year-old daughter, Kristen.
At first, no one knew how to take Julie, who was so moody, she seemed like two people in one. Most days, she’d breeze into town and talk everyone’s ear off, but those were followed by days or even weeks when she’d hunker down in her house, only coming to town when necessary, scowling and muttering to herself while refusing to speak to anyone else. Later on, when Kristen was older, it wasn’t unusual to see the young girl running the household errands whenever her mother was in one of her “solitary moods,” as they came to be known.
Ava now knew that Julie had bipolar II or, as she called it, “bipolar lite.” When Ava had begun visiting Julie during her last months, Julie had opened up about her condition, describing herself as a “too” sort of person—too loud, too assertive, too happy, too much. But then, at other times, her mood was too heavy to hold, like an overfilled sponge.
Not that it mattered. Over the years, the people of Dove Pond had accepted Julie as one of their own, enjoying her brighter days and leaving her alone when she wished it. They admired her art, too. Almost everyone had a few paintings they’d purchased from her earlier days when she used to have a booth at the summer farmer’s market. And everyone had been sad when she’d started to lose her battle with breast cancer. Worried, Ava had asked Kristen if there was anything she could do, and Kristen had reluctantly admitted that her mom was having trouble sleeping because of the pain.
At the time, Ava didn’t know Julie well, but one look at the older woman’s face and it was obvious that there was more to her sleeplessness than pain. The truth was, Julie was afraid of going to sleep, worrying each time that she might not wake up, and she was desperate to prolong her time with Kristen.
It had taken Ava four days to make the tea, and when she’d returned, she’d brought a canister with a label that read FOR JULIE FOSTER TO ADD ENERGY AND EASE. STEEP FOR FIVE MINUTES IN BOILING WATER. ADD SUGAR. AND PLEASE, EAT MORE CHOCOLATE.
The tea had allowed Julie to sleep because it had eased her anxiety so that she could savor her remaining days with her daughter. Kristen had been grateful, but it had been the relief in Julie’s face that had made Ava return every day after that. She’d said she was coming to monitor the tea’s effectiveness, but the reality was much simpler. If there was one thing Ava had learned from her connection with plants, it was that life’s ebb wasn’t always as peaceful as one might hope. Like some plants, some people fought to stay alive with every atom of their being. Julie was dying, but she couldn’t accept it, and whenever her gaze rested on Kristen, it was obvious why.
In her daily visits, Ava finally got to know Julie and quickly grew to love the creative mind behind the paintings that had made “J Foster” a huge success. Ava also got to know the big heart that burst with energy for days at a time only to be pinched into a painful knot as Julie’s moods swung down.
Ava lifted a finger and traced her name where Julie had written it across the brown paper. I miss you. Ava wistfully blinked back tears and, aware Ellen was watching, carefully untaped the package. As Ava peeled away the paper, four two-foot-by-two-foot paintings were revealed. She spread them across the counter and took in the muted gold, minty green, lavender, soft blue, misty gray backgrounds. The series was of a couple, a blond woman and a mysterious auburn-haired man. Their faces were never visible, but the paintings conveyed an instant feeling of intimacy and breathtaking, burgeoning love. The scenes were beautiful and quietly dramatic.
“Oh my,” Ellen whispered.
Ava looked up to find Ellen a few feet away, her gaze locked on the paintings. Ava could feel Ellen’s deep grief fighting for release behind her taut expression.
To give her some privacy, Ava turned back to the paintings. “Julie was so talented. I have one of her paintings at my house. It’s of a little girl walking across a sunlit field. I’m pretty sure it’s Kristen, because they have the same hair color, but I can’t be sure, as Julie never painted faces.”
Ellen turned away, saying over her shoulder, “She was talented.”
The words were clipped, and Ava could tell Ellen was still struggling for control. “Julie was an amazing artist. She had quite a large following, too.”
Ellen nodded, suddenly intent on studying the antique bow window, which kept her face turned away. After a long moment, she managed to say in a voice that quivered only a little, “I met with the attorney this morning. Julie was doing well. Very well, in fact.”
Ava could hear the surprise in Ellen’s voice. “You didn’t know.”
Ellen returned to the bar, absently rubbing her hip. “Julie and I hadn’t spoken in ten years.”
Oh wow. Ava tried to remember what Julie had said about her mother and realized that she’d never mentioned her at all. “I see. Ten years is a long time.” Ava picked up two mugs from where they rested on a tray behind the bar. When the tearoom eventually opened, she’d serve the tea in china cups, but sturdy mugs were better suited for a work zone. “I believe I said something about tea the other day. Would you like some?”