Ch 2: Tea
They walked downstairs in companionable silence, save for the click of Boris’s nails on the hardwood floors. He also knew it was tea time. Sara’s sitting room was small but warm, and Ram Dass had helped make it wonderfully comfortable. A few cushions, a low table, a well-loved rug, and her precious books transformed it into a haven.
Sara smiled as Boris flopped down at her feet while she took her place at the table.
After pouring the tea, Becky asked, “Are you ready for today’s gift from Mr. Carrisford?”
Sara smiled. “Papa George is such a dear.”
She had begun calling him that not long after she came to live with him. At first, she had tried Uncle Tom, as others did, but it had never felt quite right. One evening, as they read side by side after supper, Sara told him, “You are the only one who loved my Papa as I did, and I miss having a papa.”
“I would love to be your second papa,” he had said, his eyes soft. “You know, your father called me George, and I dearly miss hearing that name from someone I love.”
“Then Papa George you shall be!” she had replied at once. And from that moment, it was settled.
Becky, however, would not call him Papa George—nor Uncle Tom, nor anything but Mr. Carrisford. Even though Sara insisted they were sisters after all they had been through, Becky held fast to her choice. She had her reasons, though no one quite knew what they were. Mr. Carrisford had gently asked once, and Sara more than once, but Becky simply shook her head.
“Perhaps,” Sara had said one evening as they sat by the fire, “perhaps it is her memorial to the Time Before. Just as I keep the attic bare, maybe it reminds her of something dear and precious no one can take away.”
“Miss Sara? Are you ready for today’s surprise?” Becky repeated, smiling.
Sara started and turned back to the table, her mind having wandered. Becky never minded—she knew that a wonderful story was sure to come from it sooner or later. Mermaids were her favorite, and she insisted that every story include at least one. Sara had invented transforming, land-walking mermaids just for her, so the stories didn’t always have to be near the sea.
“Let’s wait for the surprise until we’ve finished our tea.”
“You mean Boris finishes our tea!” Becky huffed, spying the roll Sara had slipped under the table. Boris licked his chops.
“Have you ever wondered who lives across the street?” Sara asked quickly, hoping to distract her.
There were two trees that framed the view of the house across the way, so all the girls could see was the front steps and a rather quiet yellow door.
“It’s haunted,” Becky said matter-of-factly, passing Sara a biscuit. “This one is for you,” she added with a pointed look. “He is quite fat enough.”
Author's Note: I am letting the illustrations be less than perfect because they are just rough ideas and almost impossible to get right with AI. Like, the book was supposed to be wrapped in brown paper, and the light should match between the two illustrations, slightly more in one and less in the other since it's London. Oh well.
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