The Probable Future

“Stick a pin in a candle and light it,” Juliet had advised. “When the flame burns down to the pin, your true love will walk through the door.”

Stella had laughed. “Very scientific.” Preposterous, of course. Still, it might be worth a try. Perhaps just once. “What sort of candle?”

“A plain old candle and a plain old pin. It works every time.”

Stella had found a candle and an old brass holder in the kitchen; these she kept in the tea house dining room, ready to light should there come a time when she wanted to try Juliet’s silly game. But what if Jimmy Elliot was the one who walked through the door, would it mean she was bound to him? And if it was Hap, would she be disappointed?

At last it was Friday, the day Juliet was set to arrive. Juliet would be cutting classes at the Rabbit School and arriving on the three o’clock train. Thankfully, Jenny would not be working on the weekend; she had the time off, but still would be busy, for there was plenty to do at Cake House now that Elinor was failing. Who would have ever imagined it would be just the two of them in the house by the lake? That there’d be so many errands to run? Food shopping at the market in Hamilton, laundry to do in that horrid old washing machine in the scullery, chicken and rice to cook for Argus, whose stomach was more and more sensitive.

By Friday, Jenny was simply wiped out. Her feet hurt from standing most of the day, her hands burned from the soapy dishwater, and she found herself shivering when the wind blew through the open window beside the cash register. It was a dark, rainy morning, which usually meant a brisk business at the tea house. People wanting to put off going to work, lingering over another cup of coffee or tea, something to warm them against a day of wind and chill, puddles and hard work. Stone rain, Elinor called it, the sort of cloudburst that didn’t care about the state of humanity, with sheets that poured down so hard it hurt, enough precipitation to flood side roads and gutters and lakes. The rain had kept Jenny up half the night, hitting against the old slate roof. She kept thinking of Matt Avery, even when she didn’t want to. She was sleepless over him, bound up with some sort of dumb yearning she couldn’t seem to put a stop to. Even when the sun rose, there’d been little difference in the slate-gray sky. The one bright spot of the morning was that Stella had stopped at the counter for a quick breakfast before rushing off to school.

“This brioche is great,” Stella said as she happily munched and poured herself a cup of tea.

Drinking tea was something new. Favoring brioche over cinnamon rolls was, too. Jenny had the sense that with each move away from her, her daughter grew happier. Stella glowed in the dark dining room, brighter even than the candles Jenny had lit on the sideboard.

“Liza! Your brioche is the best thing in the world,” Stella called when Liza came into the dining room with two blackberry pies for the display case. Before going back to the kitchen, Liza came to give Stella a dish of butter and some of her homemade apple cider jam.

“Did you tell your mother about your weekend plans?” she asked.

“I’ll talk to her,” Stella assured Liza, fingers crossed behind her back.

“Talk to me about what?”

Jenny had returned from taking a breakfast order from that ill-humored Eli Hathaway. “Don’t give me any health food,” Eli had demanded. The old taxi driver looked about a hundred years old in the murky dove-colored light. “Strong coffee and two jelly doughnuts. That’s what I want,” Eli had said. “Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

There were no jelly doughnuts, and Jenny sincerely hoped the raspberry strudel would suffice. Eli’s vision was failing and he probably wouldn’t even notice the difference.

“Talk to you about my helping out here on weekends,” Stella said.

Thankfully, Liza had gone back to the kitchen and Stella did not have to actually admit to Juliet’s impending visit. But lies weren’t so easy to tell for a novice, and Stella began to cough as the words stuck in her throat. Jenny patted her daughter’s back and poured her a glass of water.

“Not necessary,” Jenny said. “School’s more important.”

“But Cynthia works here.”

Stella and Jenny exchanged a look.

“Let me guess.” Stella’s expression had soured so that she looked a bit green around the edges. “Working here is good enough for Cynthia, but it’s not good enough for me. You never like my friends, do you?” Stella grabbed her backpack and headed for the door.

“I do like Cynthia. I just think she’s troubled, that’s all.”