Is There a Doctor in the House?

[Beatrice Smith]

for Jacob Walsh

Joseph Smith was an extremely stubborn man, and few knew this better than his equally stubborn daughter. She'd been fighting with him for days, trying to get him to rest, and she'd finally gotten him to take a nap around mid morning, but when he hadn't come back down later that afternoon, she'd gotten worried and gone to check on him. Thank goodness she had; the man was burning up with fever, and his cough had gone from mild to hacking in a matter of hours. Beatrice scolded him soundly as she helped him move from the worn-out sofa to his own bed, but she couldn't entirely keep the panic out of her manner. She forced him to strip down to his underclothes before she allowed him to lie down and put a damp cloth on his forehead.

As soon as she was sure he was asleep again she ran down the stairs back into the shop and nearly fell headlong down them in her rush. She forced herself to slow down, at least a little, as she took a sheet of paper out of the counter drawer and scribbled a note to the doctor: 

"Doctor--  My father has a raging fever, heavy cough, and says that he feels dizzy. He hasn't been quite well in some time as he's getting older, but this is the worst I've seen him.  I fear to leave him, so I am sending this note with a neighbor. Please visit Tasseomancy tea shop on Elm street; knock thrice and I'll know its you to let you in. Thank you in advance - B. Smith"[/b] 

She hoped her spidery handwriting would be legible enough for the doctor; her father was always complaining about it being chicken scratch. Still, she explained enough to the neighbor girl that she gave a few coins to run if off for her to the nearest doctor, so she hoped that at least the general idea would make it through. 

Once the girl had left, she ventured up to check on her father who was sweating even in his sleep. She didn't trust herself to be quiet enough to let him sleep, so she went back down the creaking staircase to pace the shop instead. It seemed like forever, and she was half surprised she hadn't worn a groove in the floor in front of the long shop counter when the knock finally came. 

She hurried to the door and flung it open without a care how crazed she may look. "Please say you're the doctor. My father may be the one who's sick, but I've worried myself halfway there."

[Jacob Walsh]

Jacob was working in the infirmary at the time the young girl ran in with the note. He was just finishing up with a patient, so he was the first doctor the girl could get to. Breathlessly, the note was handed to him and she nervously spoke what Beatrice had told her. Even still, Jacob unfolded the note and read it. Despite the spidery handwriting, he could read most of it, something he took skill in, mostly because he had seen a lot of handwriting in his time, maybe it was needed in his line of work.

Once he finished reading the note, he folded it back up and grabbed his black medicine bag. "Thank you," he said to the girl. The Tasseomancy tea shop wasn't too far off from where he was. He had visited the shop a few times before, especially when Natalia was alive. She was an avid tea drinker and had been the one to actually get him into drinking more of it.

He found his horse, deciding it would be much quicker to ride than it would be to walk. So he rode as quickly as he could until he found the tea shop. He tied the horse just outside before he moved to the door, and as instructed, knocked three times. Hardly a minute went by before the door was flung open and he was met with the crazed-looking woman, frantically asking if he was the doctor. Jacob nodded, giving the woman a reassuring smile, dimples forming on his cheeks as he did so. "I am. Dr. Walsh." He extended a hand to her, shaking hers if she'd offer it to him. "Take a deep breath... I will do whatever I can to help." He moved into the shop, shutting the door behind him. Green eyes quickly scanned the room before returning to Beatrice, "Where is he now? You said he has a fever?"

He was quiet as Beatrice lead him up the stairs, hoping that he really would be able to help her father. Jacob was not in the right frame of mind to fail today. Not that he ever was, really. But he didn't need another reason to drink away tonight. Upon entering the room, he could nearly feel the heat radiating off the man. He stepped up to the bed and placed a hand on the man's forehead. He was still burning up, but sweat was still coming from him--a good sign. He turned to Beatrice and spoke clearly and directly, "could you get me a pitcher of water and some cloths, please?"

The man was sleeping, but he wouldn't allow that to stop him in his work. Carefully, he pulled the blankets down from the man and began to examine him closely. He searched for any wounds, sores, anything that could be causing infection. Jacob then placed his ear against the man's chest to listen to his heart. It was still beating and the man was still breathing.

When Beatrice returned, he gently questioned her, "When did this start? Do you have any idea what could have brought this on? He wasn't injured or anything, anyhow, was he?" He understood that in her worry, she may not want to answer the questions, but they were relevant to his diagnosis.

[Beatrice Smith]

Beatrice blinked for a moment before she finally took the doctor's hand and shook it--he wasn't what she'd expected at all. In fact, she recognized him, she was fairly certain...Although she couldn't quite remember why. He must be a customer, but if he came in often, she'd remember, wouldn't she? His warm smile and pleasant manner served to put her at ease, although the feeling of forgetting something important nagged at the back of her mind even as she stepped out of the way to let the doctor into the shop.

"Ah, yes, we live upstairs. Right this way." She startled into motion, feeling silly that she'd been too distracted to take him there right away. "And yes, he was feeling fatigued this morning, and achy, so I convinced him to lie down." She explained as she guided him up the stairs, through the living room with its mismatched and worn furniture, and into her father's room, where he lay in the bed, practically drenched in sweat. She didn't even realize her hand had drifted up so that she could push her bottom lip into her mouth a little farther to bite the dry skin and pull it with her teeth, not until the doctor turned to her and she dropped it in a hurry. The sudden movement ripped the skin on her lip farther than she had meant to, and she could feel it stinging, probably bleeding, but she didn't waste any time on that. 

"Yes, of course," she agreed immediately, whirling on her heel to rush off. The kitchen was downstairs, connected to the shop. She rushed down the stairs so fast she nearly lost her footing, and barely caught herself on the banister. She needed to stop doing that... She walked with more deliberation, at least until she hit the main floor and she was rushing again, pulling a ceramic pitcher down from the shelf and filling it from the pump before snatching the old flour sack full of clean rags from its spot near the door. She tucked the bag under her arm so she could have two hands on the pitcher, and hurried back up the stairs. 

She held out the pitcher to Dr. Walsh as she considered his questions. "Well, he did go to bed early last night, but I didn't think anything of it. This morning he had a cough, and when I pressed him about it, he admitted he was feeling 'run down.' It took me nearly an hour to convince him that he should rest, and I could handle the shop..." She couldn't help feeling guilty that it had taken her so long to realize something was the matter. He was just so stubborn! He refused to admit that he needed to take care of himself unless she made it too inconvenient to keep working. She looked down at him, lying there without seeming to notice them at all, and sighed. "No injuries, or anything strange.... If anything, he just pushed himself too hard. It's happened before, where if he ignores his body for too long, it will force him to stop. But this...I don't think I've seen him this sick since I was a girl. It frightened me."  

"I don't scare easily, but when it comes to my father..." She shook her head and gave the doctor an apologetic smile.  "I apologize if my note was a bit apocalyptic."

[Jacob Walsh]

The doctor continued to examine the old sleeping man and as Beatrice returned and answered his questions, he never stopped to look at her, but only listened to her answers. He poured some of the water into the basin and dipped a cloth into the water, soaking it before bringing it to the man's forehead. He placed another wet cloth behind his neck.

Jacob finally looked back to Beatrice and nodded in understanding. "You don't need to apologize... You're not the first family member I've seen panicked and worried over their loved one..." He gave her a warm, sympathetic smile and nodded again before he sighed and looked back to her father. "We need to work on getting the fever down...And to get fluids into him or he will become dehydrated, especially with all the sweating he is doing right now." He frowned and moved to the water basin, dipping another cloth into the water before wrapping it around the man's foot and then another on his other one. He did the same around both his wrists. "The cold water on the feet, wrists, and head will help cool him down. When he wakes up...A cold bath?"

He looked to Beatrice again as if to question her if that would be possible. "Otherwise, just keep the cloths cool on him." Jacob had noticed that he entered the tea shop and he thought for a moment. "Green tea and Echinacea?" He questioned her, but also with a suggesting tone. "I believe those will help him fight this off, too."

He gave her a reassuring smile, "and most importantly..." He paused, looking at her father over once again, "you need to rest, too... You will be no help to him if you worry yourself sick and don't get sleep or rest." He looked back at her and let a concerned look. "I can stay a bit if you'd like?"

[Beatrice Smith]

Once more, she failed to realize she was chewing her lip again until she tasted blood; apparently she'd torn the skin more than she thought earlier. Drat. Well, it was too late now, and she wasn't going to give it up. She bit further towards the other side, pulling the dry skin little by little as the doctor worked and talked. She held still whenever he glanced back up at her, but he seemed far more interested in her father, and for that she was grateful. She almost wished she could take notes on what he was saying, but she filed it to memory instead: cool cloths on his wrists, ankles, and head. Cold bath. All to lower the fever.

She nodded when he turned to her about the bath--the well water would be practically freezing if she didn't heat it first, so that was easy enough. She nodded again, more enthusiastically, at his tea suggestion, finally releasing her poor lip so that she could smile. "Mhm, I can certainly put some of that together." He smiled, and the way he trailed off on "most importantly" gave her a sense of foreboding. Oh dear, what had she done wrong? Should she not have told him to rest? Should she have taken the blankets from him? She was relieved when he looked away, letting her out of his attention, but his words made her cringe. Rest herself? That was the one thing she was absolutely terrible at. She and her father had more in common than she'd like to admit. Chagrin was still written all over her face when he glanced back at her with concern.

She hesitated, clasped her hands behind her back, and inspected her feet as she considered her options. Should she really ask him to stay? It would make her feel better, to have someone watch over her father while she made tea, and perhaps made up a bed on the lumpy old couch just outside the bedroom so she could stay closer to him. Her own room was the attic--far enough away that she wouldn't hear a peep unless her father hollered at the top of his lungs. She didn't like to impose, but if he was offering...well, she'd better be wise enough to accept. She looked back up at him and gave him a reluctant smile. "As long as it's not too much trouble, I think that would make me feel better. That way I can get the tea going and make sure I have a place to sleep tonight that won't be too far if he needs something." She frowned, just a little. "I'm afraid I haven't been much of a hostess. Would you like some tea as well? I can put together something different for you if you don't want echinacea. Something fruity, perhaps?" She still couldn't remember why she thought that, but she had a notion that the doctor liked the blueberry rosehip tea. Where on earth was she getting that? It was like she had it on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't reach it.

[Jacob Walsh]

When he looked back at Beatrice, he noticed the blood coming from her lip and he briefly looked concerned, but she was already speaking and he wasn't about to interrupt her. He had caught her biting at her lip at one point and realized it was most likely self-inflicted. It was best to not bring attention to it. At least not yet.

He offered her another reassuring smile and nodded, "no trouble at all. Promise." He turned away to continue tending to her father until she apologized for not being much of a hostess,, and asking if he would like some tea. He smiled again, remembering how much his fiancee had loved the tea shop below them and had dragged him there several times. The tea was good and he enjoyed it, so he really didn't mind when she had. "I would love some tea, thank you. Something fruity sounds delightful." He grinned, those dimples quickly appearing at his cheeks.

Jacob motioned to the chair that was nearby the old man's bed, "may I?" He asked politely, and if she allowed, he slowly sunk into the chair and began digging through his bag, pulling out a small jar of salve and lifting it up and towards her. "For your lips...You should not bite at them." He smiled, knowingly at her. "But you probably know that already..." It was a habit, he knew--one that was probably not easy for her to break. But the salve would help soothe whatever dry chapped skin there was.

[Beatrice Smith]

Beatrice was stunned for half a second as the doctor grinned back at her offer of tea. Her surprise was twofold. One: that was one hell of a smile. She knew well enough to know which of her customers were handsome, and every once in a while she'd meet someone who caught her attention, but that smile was driving the doctor to the top of the heap for the day. Dimples! That was just cheating. Two: She finally realized why she recognized him. It had been a while, but he'd definitely been to the shop before. It was the smile that had done it; she remembered having the same reaction the first time she saw him laughing with whoever had brought him in. She wished she remembered more, but at least she was making progress. Maybe the tea would jog her memory.

She was soon smiling and nodding again, though, her shop-keeper skills returning to the surface when he asked if he could sit. "Goodness, of course. Make yourself at home, please. It's not much, but you're quite welcome here." She was about to turn and head for the shop when she heard him rummaging through his bag and turned to watch in curiosity. She was already stepping forward to accept what he offered before he said what it was and she winced. She gave him an apologetic smile that was more of a grimace as she finished leaning forward to take it. "Oh yes, I certainly know it. It's a terrible habit, but one I can't seem to shake." She chuckled and held up the salve. "Perhaps this will be the cure."

She turned and headed for the door, stopping to look back over her shoulder for a moment before she went to make the tea. "Thank you, really. It's usually just Papa and I, and we're both too stubborn to take much care of ourselves." She smiled softly, then resumed her path. "I'll be back in a jiffy!" she called on her way down the stairs, already opening the little container, using her finger to apply a little to her lips as she went. It stung where it met the cut, but the rest was cooling in a pleasant way. She'd have to ask what was inside.

[Jacob Walsh]

Jacob understood bad habits all too well. If he were not here right now, he would probably be about to begin on his own bad habit that had developed after the passing of Natalia. It was something he wasn't proud of--but when he wasn't keeping busy to keep his mind from it all, the alcohol helped numb it a bit. It helped him get to sleep. Or rather pass out.

He smiled again as she suggested the salve he gave her may be the cure to her habit. Again, she was thanking him and he shook his head slightly, "really, it's no problem. I am happy to help." It was also his job. What kind of doctor would he be if he did not offer up his assistance? Sure, he didn't need to stay as he was now, but he truly didn't mind. It kept him busy and kept him sober for the time being.

As she left, he turned his attention back to the man in his bed and sighed quietly. Jacob was slightly jealous of the fact that the father and daughter still had a close relationship. He had been close with his mother, but that was now gone. His father, however, was a different story. The two were estranged- mostly from his own doing because his father never bothered to be around. He hadn't been there for his own wife as she lay on her deathbed. Did his family even matter to him?

It had gotten too silent as the woman was gone to get tea. And he knew whenever it was quiet was when his mind began to race with thoughts. So, he stood from the seat and began to examine the man again, even though nothing had changed since the last time. But the cloths were already warm from the man's heat, so he started to busy himself with changing them, dipping them back into the cool water and replacing them on the man in order to try and bring his fever down.

[Beatrice Smith]

Beatrice went to work as soon as her feet hit the floor of the tea-shop. Almost without thought she drew two teapots from beneath the counter, each completely different from the other. One was cast iron with flowers upon it, while the other was glass painted with stars and moon. They were different shapes, one short and squat, the other taller and thin, but each held approximately the same amount of water.

She hooked a filter basket into each one, then began mixing the teas, muttering to herself as she did. "Green tea with echinacea for Papa, just a touch of honey to soothe his throat. Two scoops of green, one of echinacea, and a dollop of honey." She measured each item as it was mentioned. "Blueberry rosehip for the doctor and me. One part blueberry, one part rosehip, half part hibiscus, pinch of lemon peel. Sugar to taste." She added a decent spoonful of sugar to the pot, feeling like she could use something sweet, and so could the doctor. "Hot water, steep for five minutes. Do not press to drain."

She ladled hot water from one of the large cauldrons into the teapots--the cauldron's burners had been shut down along with the store, but the cast iron of the vessels held heat for quite some time. With that done, she took each teapot by their handle (overhead on the cast iron and side handle on the glass) and was about to head upstairs when she realized she was forgetting something important. Cups. She slipped a teacup into each pocket of her apron, then hooked one onto one of her pinkies before picking up the pots again. That should do, so long as she didn't drop anything, or slam into anything... So, she needed to move slowly. Slower than usual, anyway.

She walked slowly and deliberately up the stairs to the doctor, and smiled softly when she saw he was checking on her father again. "Not one to sit still, Doctor?" she observed, not quite a question, but not not a question, either. "I know I'm not. If I don't have something to do I'll go positively out of my mind."

She somehow managed to set the teacup on the nightstand without dropping it, and slid the cast iron teapot of green tea onto the surface after it. "That's the echinacea, but it's still brewing. It will be a few minutes before we can pour it." She held up the glass teapot for a moment to show him, then set it on the dresser. "The one with stars is the blueberry rosehip, and..." She plucked the other teacups from her pockets and set them next to the pot. "Cups for each of us."

She moved back towards the door, and called over her shoulder to the doctor, "You're welcome to come out to the living room if you'd like to chat. I'm going to set up a bed for myself on the sofa." She moved quickly through the living room toward her room, opening the door to the left of hers to grab out clean sheets and an extra blanket. She popped into her room for a moment afterward to get her favorite pillow. If the doctor cared to look in behind her, he'd see a surprisingly neat space, save for the little desk next to the bed, which was strewn with papers. The quilt on the bed was dark blue, and a stack of three or four books sat on the nightstand next to it. A ribbon bookmark dangled from the top one.

Beatrice caught the door with her foot on the way out to close it, since her hands were full. She moved back to the couch and set the bundle of bedding on the mottled coffee table so she could shake out just the sheet and begin tucking it around the lumpy-looking couch cushions. The contrast of the bleached white sheets made the ugly butterscotch and brown plaid of the couch look even more hideous than usual, but Beatrice was used to it.

f the doctor had taken her offer and come out into the room, she'd speak to him while she worked, beginning with the question, "Did you always know you wanted to be a doctor?"

[Jacob Walsh]

Jacob was deep in thought when Beatrice returned, that he almost was startled by her question/not question. He had to process the words for a moment before he registered them enough to respond, a bit delayed. "Oh- yes. The life of a doctor." He smiled at her. "Always on the feet, not a lot of time to rest." He would probably go out of his own mind if he didn't keep busy. Or drunk.

His gaze followed as she indicated which tea was which, and he nodded in acknowledgment before going back to ensure her father had newly cooled cloths on all the spots that he initially placed them on. Beatrice was stepping out again to the living room, inviting him to come with her if he wished to chat. About what, he had no idea. While he was a nice and genuine man, he always felt he was horrible at conversation. Unless it was about his profession.

Once her father was settled, he moved to pour the blueberry rosehip tea into the two cups and he moved into the living room, catching her as she was leaving her bedroom. He quickly set down the cups and moved to help her set the bundle of bedding onto the coffee table. He watched her as she began to tuck the sheets into the couch and he moved to help her, not wishing to stand and watch her as she worked.

At her question, he grinned slightly. It was a question he was often asked. He didn't mind, though, because he knew most people were curious about why he wanted to be a doctor. What motivated him. "Not at first," he started. "As a boy, I always followed along with my father, who was a merchant sailor. I loved the sea and going out on his boats and learning everything. Everyone thought I would follow in his footsteps." He smiled and once they were finished with getting the bedding situated, he stood straight up and moved to get the cups of tea, handing her one and holding onto the other, finding a nearby chair to sink himself into. "But as I grew older, I realized how he never being around really affected and hurt my mother. She was a nurse and a midwife." He smiled proudly before taking a careful sip of the tea. It was good and he was suddenly reminded of Natalia. This had been one of her favorites, he remembered her having him try it every time she ordered it, and he couldn't forget that taste. He felt a pang of sadness shoot through him, then and he lowered the cup down to his lap, holding it in both his hands.

He pushed his feelings down before continuing, forcing himself to smile, "I started volunteering and helping at the infirmary she worked at... And I enjoyed it, so here I am." He shrugged a shoulder and lifted the cup of tea to take another sip, but stopped himself, lowering it to look at her. "The tea is good... Have you always known you wanted to get involved with tea?" He smirked, his question mimicking her own to him.

[Beatrice Smith]

Beatrice paused for a moment, startled when he was automatically helping her with the bedding. She hadn't asked or expected any help with it, and frankly, she was used to doing things for herself. Her father may insist on doing more than he should in the shop itself, but household tasks were her domain. It had been that way since she was old enough to cook on her own--and even as a child she'd been a better cook than her poor father. It hadn't even occurred to her that the doctor help. She almost shooed him away so she could do it herself, but she swallowed her argument. This kind of thing would be easier with two sets of hands, anyway.

She listened to Dr. Walsh explain how he'd become a doctor as she worked. His voice was nice to listen to, she decided, and she was interested to hear more about him. She knew they'd met before, now, but that didn't silence the curiosity she had. Something was still bothering her, and it was only getting harder to figure out what it could be.

His father was a sailor, hm? That put her in mind of some of their other customers. Maybe his father had been in the shop before, too. He'd be around Papa's age, she thought, but that didn't narrow things much. She was almost going to ask his name when the doctor's story was changing paths, explaining how his father's wide-ranging travels had broken his mother's heart. Perhaps her distant imaginings of going off on an adventure someday were a bit far-fetched, and more than a little selfish, now that she thought about it. She'd do better to stay right where she was.

He clearly admired his mother, though, and that brought a smile to her face as she accepted a cup of tea and took a seat on her 'bed.' She appreciated that; as someone who'd never had a mother, they always seemed like a treasure to her. When children didn't obey or care for their mothers, or people tried to complain about them to her, she often wound up losing her patience. It was a weakness of hers, as much as she hated to admit to having any weaknesses at all. She would never be able to give up that little pet envy, wishing that she hadn't lost her mother before she had a chance to even know her.

She didn't hesitate before taking a gulp of her tea--she loved drinking tea while it was a little too hot for the average person, so she could feel the warmth suffuse her chest from the inside out. It was like her own little bit of magic. She wondered briefly what Dr. Walsh was thinking of while he looked down at the tea--did he not like it? She could have sworn he liked this one, before. But maybe she'd gotten it wrong. Thinking too hard about that, she almost missed his question, although she laughed softly when she caught up to his playing off of hers.

"Yes, actually. My mother died when I was born, so it's always been just Papa and I. But since Tasseomancy is a family business, and has been for generations, I always knew it would be mine someday. There's no one else to give it to, after all! It only seemed natural to learn everything I could and be the best owner I could be. If I'm the only future this place has, I plan to make it a spectacular one." She smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "Maybe that's a bit dramatic of me, but I don't do anything by half measures. I've got to give it my all."

[Jacob Walsh]

That was the thing- Jacob couldn’t just stand by idly and watch others do things without helping where he could. Perhaps it was in his nature. Once he had been able to do things on his own, he always had. He never had to be questioned by his mother to help her with things, he always had just jumped to the occasion. Maybe he didn’t wish to see her more upset than she already was when his father was away.

He settled in the chair he sat in as Beatrice told him how she had basically grown up at the tea shop with her father and was the only one to keep it going now. He smiled, nodding in understanding and in admiration for her excitement in what she did. He did not often see people so invested and excited about what they did.

When she suggested that she was being dramatic, his brows lowered and he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so at all. It’s a great goal and something to strive for.” He smiled, reassuring her. He did not think she was being dramatic at all. “I throw myself into my work as much as possible. Not just to stay busy, but also to honor my mother... She fell ill and no one could really help or save her. So I strive to learn and be better so that doesn’t happen to anyone else’s loved one.” He forced a smile and glanced down at his cup of tea as he thought for a moment.

Jacob lifted his cup and took another sip of his tea, smiling again from the taste of it. Though his smile was tinged with a look of sadness. “This tea reminds me of my fiancée. If I remember correctly, it was her favorite. Blueberry rosehip, you said?” He forced a small smile before taking another sip. After that sip, he slowly set the cup down on the table next to him. He didn’t know why he felt the need to tell her that, because he really didn’t want to talk about her or what happened. So Jacob quickly changed the subject, pushing away whatever sadness seemed to loom over him in that brief moment.

“So what is the most interesting thing you’ve learned about tea? I would like to learn more, perhaps… Sometimes tea could be great remedies for things... Such as the green tea and echinacea I suggested for your father.” He smiled at her and shrugged his shoulders.

[Beatrice Smith]

Beatrice’s surprise showed for just a moment, but she soon recovered with a warm smile. Something good to strive for, hm? She must have gotten a little too used to people thinking it was over-ambitious for a ‘girl’ to want to run her father’s shop. A hint of sadness still lingered behind her smile as well as his when he continued. How terrible, to have lost his mother when he could actually remember it. Perhaps in some ways, she was lucky not to have known hers. Still, it was hard not to wish for at least a little more time with her, or one good memory to hold on to.

“This tea reminds me of my fiancée. If I remember correctly, it was her favorite.”

Beatrice nearly dropped her tea as the memory came washing back over her–a pretty dark-haired woman who smiled so lovingly at her fiancee, who told her all about how she’d fallen in love with a man who would do anything to take care of her. The two of them had both been healers, one for people, and one for animals. She’d only met him a few times, but the woman had been in often. They hadn’t been close, not really, but Beatrice had genuinely liked her. She’d been surprised when she suddenly stopped coming in, but it had never occurred to her that something terrible had happened to her.

All that struggling to remember, and all it took was a few simple facts to trigger the landslide. She looked at her cup of tea as if accusing it of something before she took another sip, mulling over the taste along with the image of the fiancee. What was her name…Natalie? Natalia? She wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to keep him dwelling on painful memories.

He was already ahead of her, it seemed, and fishing them out of the silent mourning. She looked up from her tea to listen to the question and hummed slightly as she considered her answer. “Well, it surprises most people that black tea, green tea, and white tea are all made from the same plant, just treated differently after when picked. And herbal teas aren’t really ”tea“ at all, in that sense of the word, since they don’t have that plant in them.” She shrugged. “To me, it’s all interesting. Tea is something that can be good for your body–like the echinacea, as you said–but also for your heart and soul. It holds memories, and feelings, it can change your mood… It’s an art, in some ways.”

[Jacob Walsh]

Jacob noticed the surprise on her face when he commended her for running her business and to work towards her goals. Then he realized that Tresteria was not often supportive of women being so independent. It never really fazed him because his mother had always been strong and independent. She had learned to raise him on her own for the most part, while working a rather demanding job. He had been raised to respect women and treat them as his equals, which he knew was rare for Tresterian men. He smiled slightly but said nothing, pretending as if he hadn’t noticed her surprise.

He sometimes forgot that Natalia had died, as sometimes he tried to convince himself, or pretend that they both had busy lives and just never saw one another. And then at night, he got himself too drunk to care or notice. He still mentioned her as his fiancée. Not former. Not late. She still existed, he was still going to marry her. Though he didn’t know many of Natalia’s friends or who she interacted with outside of their own circle of friends, so he didn’t think anything of his words or if Beatrice would know who his fiancée was and that she was dead. Jacob seemed to forget that she had visited the tea shop many times- at least every day, he imagined. He always tried to hide the sadness but sometimes it just showed without him realizing.

As she explained to him the different teas, he listened attentively and with interest. He was only partially aware of the fact that the different teas came from the same plant (mostly because of his studies), but he wasn’t entirely sure how they were treated to make them what they were. And he did not know that herbal teas were not actually tea. He gave her a surprised look and then smiled. “I did not know that,” he told her with a slight laugh. And then he nodded in agreement regarding tea being good for the body and the heart and soul.

“It holds memories, and feelings, it can change your mood.” Yes- like the tea he had just drunk, reminded him of Natalia and visiting Beatrice’s shop several times. That sadness ran through him for a brief moment as he thought of her again, but he quickly pushed aside those thoughts as Beatrice claimed tea was an art. He nodded in agreement. “I can see how it would be.” He lifted his cup again and took another sip from it. “Are you aware which teas can aid in different ailments? I think I could use that knowledge or help in my practice.” He smiled softly and looked at her with curiosity. Perhaps they could work together somehow if she could aid him in finding a use for the different teas.

[Beatrice Smith]

Beatrice held her teacup at her chin, breathing in the fruity steam as she considered his question. She loved that, feeling the warmth and moisture coat her sinuses and soothe her throat. It made her feel at peace.

Carefully, she combed through her memories to make sure she could tell him something useful. Teas that would work as a medicine? There were several she knew of, and she was certain there were more she didn't.

"I do have several that I grew up on. Ginger or peppermint for stomach issues; echinacea or lemon with plenty of honey for a cold; vervain, catnip, and chamomile for insomnia… And I think that Father said something about grandma drinking rosehip and lemon balm tea for her arthritis… but I'm not as sure about that. I'd have to check her old notes. They're around here someplace, I'm sure." She gestured at the rather disorganized bookshelf full of journals across the room. "Herbalists make tinctures and things, I know. That's similar to making an herbal tea, but with alcohol. So I imagine some of the same things could work as a tea if you ever wanted to mix and match and give a lower concentration. Some things might not make a pleasant tea, though.

Rather belatedly, she realized she'd better caution him on the vervain. She'd learned the hard way. "Oh, and be careful with the vervain one, it can be quite strong if you're not careful. Too much and you'll hibernate instead of getting a good night's sleep, and in theory, you could overdose…" She shivered at the thought. Going in your sleep would be peaceful enough, but to do it by mistake would be horrific. She couldn't imagine suddenly just...not waking up. But she was getting sidetracked, again. She smiled at him again.

"I'm sure you're well aware of that kind of thing, as a doctor, though. What's poison in large amounts is medicine in smaller ones."