branches still covered with bark. The tables were crowded with teapots, china plates, and three-tiered platters holding scones, sandwiches, and cookies. A tearoom, however rustic the décor. They were certainly getting popular in the city.
When I opened the door, the aroma of warm butter and sugar made me remember that I hadn’t eaten in over twenty-fourhours. I’d get something, then. It would give me an excuse to chat with the patrons, one of whom
must
have noticed the antiques store down the block. I sank into an Adirondack chair, which I suspected was going to be too low to the ground for comfort, but turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. The woman I’d accosted on the street looked at me and whispered something to another mother. I decided I might as well jump right in before they concluded I was a pedophile.
“I’m sorry I startled you before,” I said. “I’m trying to locate a jeweler who had a shop on Cordelia Street. You see he was fixing my father’s watch and now the store seems to have moved.”
The notion of losing a family heirloom instantly galvanized the crowd of mothers. “That’s awful,” the mother of a little boy in a red fleece hoodie said. “There’s no forwarding address on the storefront?”
“No. And I don’t even have the man’s name. Have any of you ever been in the store? It’s halfway down the block on the south side.”
The women conferred and discussed and resolved that no, no one had ever noticed a jewelry store or an antiques store or a watch-repair store on the block even though they all regularly traversed Cordelia Street between their homes and preschools and parks and shops. A woman whose little boy she addressed as Buster summed it up for the rest of them: “It’s strange there’d be a store there that none of us ever saw.”
I concurred. It was strange.
“But you should ask Fen,” another woman said. “After all, she works here.”
Realizing they meant the baker behind the counter, and also noticing that there was no table service, I thanked the womenand heaved myself up from the Adirondack chair. The woman behind the counter was just pulling a tray of scones out of a small convection oven. She was wearing a brown corduroy jumper over a cream turtleneck and a matching brown corduroy tam with green trim that sat straight on top of her light brown hair. She wore small round-framed glasses balanced on a diminutive nose. She looked as if she’d escaped from a Beatrix Potter illustration. If she had turned to reveal a bushy gray tail, I wouldn’t have been too surprised.
“The reason none of them remember the shop is that it was hidden by the mist yesterday,” she said before I could ask my question; clearly she’d been listening in on my conversation with the customers. “How did you find it?”
“I ducked into its doorway to get out of the rain,” I said.
“Ah.” Fen the baker pushed her glasses up her nose to look at me more closely. “You see,
they
all had umbrellas and raincoats and stroller canopies to keep the rain from chasing them into doorways. But you didn’t, did you?” Her gaze traveled from my face down to my hands and fastened there.
“No, I didn’t. The forecast didn’t say rain.” I wasn’t sure why I felt that I had to defend myself against the baker.
“No, it didn’t.” She looked up from my hands and into my face. “It didn’t say fog or mist either, did it? When I saw the fog rolling in from the river, I knew that something was up and now I see that it was you. Dr. John Dee’s Watch Repair and Alchemist hasn’t been at that address for quite some time.”
“John Dee, is that his name?” I asked grasping at the one solid piece of information to come out of the baker’s serpentine rambles. The name was familiar, somehow, but I couldn’t place it right away.
“One of them,” she replied. “Oh! My scones are done. You look half-famished, by the way. I’ll pack up something for you to take home for
When I opened the door, the aroma of warm butter and sugar made me remember that I hadn’t eaten in over twenty-fourhours. I’d get something, then. It would give me an excuse to chat with the patrons, one of whom
must
have noticed the antiques store down the block. I sank into an Adirondack chair, which I suspected was going to be too low to the ground for comfort, but turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. The woman I’d accosted on the street looked at me and whispered something to another mother. I decided I might as well jump right in before they concluded I was a pedophile.
“I’m sorry I startled you before,” I said. “I’m trying to locate a jeweler who had a shop on Cordelia Street. You see he was fixing my father’s watch and now the store seems to have moved.”
The notion of losing a family heirloom instantly galvanized the crowd of mothers. “That’s awful,” the mother of a little boy in a red fleece hoodie said. “There’s no forwarding address on the storefront?”
“No. And I don’t even have the man’s name. Have any of you ever been in the store? It’s halfway down the block on the south side.”
The women conferred and discussed and resolved that no, no one had ever noticed a jewelry store or an antiques store or a watch-repair store on the block even though they all regularly traversed Cordelia Street between their homes and preschools and parks and shops. A woman whose little boy she addressed as Buster summed it up for the rest of them: “It’s strange there’d be a store there that none of us ever saw.”
I concurred. It was strange.
“But you should ask Fen,” another woman said. “After all, she works here.”
Realizing they meant the baker behind the counter, and also noticing that there was no table service, I thanked the womenand heaved myself up from the Adirondack chair. The woman behind the counter was just pulling a tray of scones out of a small convection oven. She was wearing a brown corduroy jumper over a cream turtleneck and a matching brown corduroy tam with green trim that sat straight on top of her light brown hair. She wore small round-framed glasses balanced on a diminutive nose. She looked as if she’d escaped from a Beatrix Potter illustration. If she had turned to reveal a bushy gray tail, I wouldn’t have been too surprised.
“The reason none of them remember the shop is that it was hidden by the mist yesterday,” she said before I could ask my question; clearly she’d been listening in on my conversation with the customers. “How did you find it?”
“I ducked into its doorway to get out of the rain,” I said.
“Ah.” Fen the baker pushed her glasses up her nose to look at me more closely. “You see,
they
all had umbrellas and raincoats and stroller canopies to keep the rain from chasing them into doorways. But you didn’t, did you?” Her gaze traveled from my face down to my hands and fastened there.
“No, I didn’t. The forecast didn’t say rain.” I wasn’t sure why I felt that I had to defend myself against the baker.
“No, it didn’t.” She looked up from my hands and into my face. “It didn’t say fog or mist either, did it? When I saw the fog rolling in from the river, I knew that something was up and now I see that it was you. Dr. John Dee’s Watch Repair and Alchemist hasn’t been at that address for quite some time.”
“John Dee, is that his name?” I asked grasping at the one solid piece of information to come out of the baker’s serpentine rambles. The name was familiar, somehow, but I couldn’t place it right away.
“One of them,” she replied. “Oh! My scones are done. You look half-famished, by the way. I’ll pack up something for you to take home for
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