Page 56 of Because I Could Not Stop for Death

“No! No,” Miss Lavinia said quickly.

“I know why you have your doubts. It’s not common for a Black woman to own a business in Virginia, but I can assure you it’s mine free and clear. When Miss Flora Macintosh, who started this place and ran it for forty years, died, she left it all to me, her most trusted employee. She was a good woman. Always treated me well and was my friend more than my employer.” She looked at the three of us. “Now, are you here for tea?”

Miss Lavinia’s face was bright red. I guessed it was from embarrassment over the questions that she asked.

Emily spoke up. “We certainly are, Miss...”

“Abigail. You can call me Miss Abigail. That’s what Miss Flora always called me, and I like the sound of it, especially in your accent. Miss Flora was from up north too. She moved here to get married, but her husband-to-be died in an accident just before their wedding.”

“That’s awful,” I said.

“She’s a survivor. You have to be to be a woman nowadays. She scrapped together what she could, opened this place, and lived here alone the rest of her life.” She pointed at the tearoom. “Sit wherever you like.”

Emily led Miss Lavinia and me to a small table by the window. From here we could have a clear view of the front door and the street. If Mr.Johnson left the inn or he returned to it, we would see him.

Miss Abigail had so many teas to pick from, and she claimed they were from all over the world. I chose the black currant tea. Emily chose jasmine tea, and Miss Lavinia unsurprisingly went with a simple black tea.

With our teacups in hand, we sipped and waited for Mr.Johnson to appear.

Over two hours later, it seemed to me that Mr.Johnson wasn’t coming. Miss Lavinia, Emily, and I sat at a table in the inn’s small tearoom alone. Miss Abigail circled our table for the fifth time. “Is there anything else I can get you ladies?”

“We’re fine.” Emily sipped what had to be cold tea at this point. She had been nursing the cup for the last forty minutes. “We are enjoying this lovely room so much.”

“Yes, well, I can understand that, miss, but the tearoom closes soon. We don’t serve supper.”

“We aren’t here for supper,” Emily said. “I adore your tea. I love the teapots and teacups too. I can’t stop looking at them.”

Miss Abigail’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “Thank you. Miss Flora had been collecting them all of her life. She always said she didn’t have any children, so that gave her the liberty to spend her money on teapots. I have added a few of my own to the collection. As for our tea, we acquire the very best tea all the way from China. With our tearoom this close to President Washington’s final resting place, we believe that we should only serve the very best.”

“I agree,” Emily said.

“Would you like me to warm your tea for you, then?”

“Oh no,” Emily said. “I like it just like this.”

Shaking her head, Miss Abigail walked away.

Miss Lavinia leaned across the table toward her sister. “Emily, I’m usually up for your little stunts, but what exactly are we doing here? Don’t you tell me it’s because you love the tea. We have the same tea back home in Amherst.”

“It tastes different here,” Emily said. “It must be the different water they have this far south.”

Miss Lavinia made a huffing sound and threw up her arms. “Sometimes I feel like the older sister.”

“I would think you would always feel like the older sister.” Emily swirled her tea.

When Miss Abigail came back, Emily stopped her on one of her laps around the tearoom. “Miss Abigail, is there a man staying here by the name of Elmer Johnson?”

Miss Lavinia gasped as if she just put together why we were here. Emily would be hearing about that later. I likely would be, too, because Miss Lavinia would assume that I already knew this, and she would be right.

“Why yes. He has been here for a few days. Do you know him?”

“He lives not far from us,” Emily said. “I heard that he was in town on business.”

Miss Abigail sniffed. “If you don’t mind me saying so, miss, I don’t think young girls like you should be speaking to such a man.”

“Why’s that?” Miss Lavinia asked.

Miss Abigail looked at the door as if she expected Mr.Johnson to walk into the tearoom at any moment. “He just doesn’t seem like a kind man to me. He is cordial and pays his bill in a timely fashion, but he doesn’t smile. He has a terribly unfriendly demeanor. Also, he must be forty, far too old for you girls.”

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