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“Looks like we’re going to need your help on Friday,” Theodosia said.
“No problem, you know I’m always happy to come in and help serve,” Miss Dimple said. She struck a coquettish pose. “Since it’s your Breakfast at Tiffany’s Tea, shall I wear my black cocktail dress and pearls?”
“You know,” Theodosia said, “that’s a really terrific idea.”
The two of them got busy then, setting up for their Poetry Tea. Theodosia had already selected their Wedgewood Wild Strawberry china, and while Miss Dimple pulled plates, cups, and saucers out of the highboy, Theodosia had printed out poems by Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, and Walt Whitman onto pink, blue, and peach place mats and now those went on the tables. They were followed by the china as well as vases of shaggy white Gerber daisies. Theodosia added ceramic busts of Keats, Shakespeare, and Robert Burns that she’d borrowed from a friend who ran a museum-type store, then placed stacks of poetry books, borrowed from Lois at Antiquarian Books, on each table. At each place setting she arranged feathered pens and tiny gold notebooks as favors for her guests. Finally, dozens of small white candles were placed on the tables and lit, and overhead lights were turned way down.
Finished with their decorating, Theodosia and Miss Dimple stood back and gave their handiwork the once-over.
“Looks good,” Theodosia said.
“Very romantic,” Miss Dimple said. She reached out and picked up a book from the top of a stack. “Look at this,” she said in hushed tones. “Emily Dickinson, one of my favorite poets.”
* * *
At ten to twelve, their guests began to arrive. Brooke Carter Crocket, the owner of Hearts Desire Jewelry, and Susan Monday, owner of Lavender and Lace, came in. Then some of their regulars, which included Jill, Kristen, Allie, Linda, Jessica, and Joy, piled in. And Judi Cooper and two of her friends had driven all the way from Savannah.
Then Leigh Carroll, the entrepreneurial Black owner of the neighboring Cabbage Patch Gift Shop, showed up with her friends Tenesha and Kimberly.
“Girlfriend,” Leigh said. “Your tea room is drop-dead gorgeous. What did you do?”
Theodosia grinned. “Turned down the lights?”
“Oh no, you did more than that. You always do. Say, when are we going to do a tea luncheon together?”
“Whenever you want, dear friend.”
When everyone with a reservation was seated, when two late-comers without reservations arrived and were gently wedged in, Theodosia walked to the center of the room. This was the part she loved; this was also the part she feared, because you really never knew how a new tea event would be received. And job number one for her—for all of them—was to please and enchant their guests.
Turns out Theodosia didn’t have a thing to worry about. She’d barely said, “Welcome to our first ever Poetry Tea,” when she was met with warm smiles and a spatter of applause.
Heart thumping, palms tingling, she smiled back at her guests (never let them see you sweat!) and finished the welcoming words she’d prepared.
“This is an event tea we talked about at length, but never hosted before,” Theodosia said. “Now we’re fortunate to have all of you lovely people gathered here to celebrate some of the world’s great poets. As such, we’ve also created a fairly inventive luncheon menu as an homage to all their wonderfully crafted words. As Robert Frost once said, ‘Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.’ ”
Then, with all eyes still upon her, Theodosia said, “And now for a rundown of our menu, which really is a kind of tongue-in-cheek ode to some of our best and brightest poets.” There was more applause and then she said, “First course today will be Oscar Wilde Berry Scones.”
As laughter rang out followed by more applause, Theodosia continued. “Which will be followed by our Shakespeare Salad paired with T. S. Eliot Tea Bread.”
Now she had her guests in the palm of her hand.
“Our hot entrée is William Blake Seafood Bake, a delicious casserole rife with halibut, scallops, shrimp, and white wine. And for dessert we’ll be serving Elizabeth Barrett Brownies and Ezra Pound Cake.”
“I love it,” one woman cried out.
“So creative,” another cried.
“But tell us about the tea,” a third woman shouted.
“Drayton,” Theodosia said, waving a hand and stepping aside. “That would be you.”
Drayton, dressed in his pin-striped jacket and cream-colored slacks, stepped to the middle of the tea shop and posed like he was about to conduct an orchestra. “We’ll be pouring two of our custom house-blended teas today,” he said. “Our Lewis Carroll Chamomile and our Emily Dickinson Darjeeling.”
That pretty much brought the house down and kicked the luncheon into high gear. Theodosia and Miss Dimple served the scones along with Devonshire cream and lemon curd, while Drayton made the rounds with a teapot in each hand. The salad was served and enjoyed by all, and when the entrée was ready, Theodosia, Haley, and Miss Dimple ferried it out in individual steaming ramekins.
A few of the guests requested special teas—one woman wanted a pot of Formosa oolong, another table asked for Russian Caravan—so that kept Drayton happy and hopping.
As dessert was being served, Theodosia and Drayton stepped to the center of the room again.
