Tea with Pere Dantes

Here’s a scene with Dantes the Elder, Mercedes, and Edmond.

The Dantes had one of several apartments in a building not far from the market. In the center of the courtyard was a fountain that had been emptied in preparation for the cold weather, which was now full of leaves. Dantes the elder gestured up to a balcony, the windows lined with flower boxes. “That one, it is ours,” he said. “If you ask anyone in the neighborhood, they’ll say, the apartment with all the flowers is the apartment of Dantes. Do you grow flowers, Madamoiselle?”

“I wish I had the time to, Monsieur. I spend my days selling fish, spinning, or mending. I have helped my parents grow vegetables before, but I have not a delicate hand with flowers. Mdm Marchand says that you do, however.”

We began to climb stairs to the second floor. “There is really only one secret to raising flowers and that is to treat them like you treat your children.”

“Treat them with kindness,” Edmond recited, “and expect them to grow straight and tall.”

“You are laughing at your father again,” Dantes laughed.

“Never, Sir,” said Edmond. He opened the door onto a hallway. I hung my shawl on a peg, and Edmond excused himself into a small room in the back that was probably the kitchen.

To some the rooms might not have seemed like much, but the room we entered after the hallway would have held the whole of my house. Monsieur Dantes started to stoke the fire. I made a gesture to take the poker, but he refused to let me, and so I found myself sitting on a straight backed couch, watching him fuss with the fire until it showed the promise of crackling. Then he sat down in a chair across from me. “I believe,” he said, “Edmond mentioned you were from the Catalans?”

“I am,” I affirmed.

“You look it,” he said. “Well, well.”

“Your son has been very generous to me,” I said. “You’ve raised him well. I see you expected him to grow straight and tall.”

The old man spread his hands and raised his eyebrows, as if to graciously acquiesce to my assertion. “You have listened to and remembered my most important piece of advice,” he said.

Edmond came in with tea and cups, one of which was chipped. “We are poor bachelors, Father,” he said. “The chipped cup is mine.”

“I won’t presume any airs,” I said.

Dantes laughed. “It’s nice of you to not take offense.”

I took the saucer and held the china tea cup. It was delicately painted with a pink flower. A sip of delicious tea later, and I noted that Edmond was stoking the fire. Then he took a seat on the other end of the stiff backed couch. There was none of the seriousness of the first officer about him in the company of his father. He was easy, the dutiful son. “Do you like the tea?” Dantes asked.

“It’s very good.”

“Edmond brings different flavors to me from his travels. I understand this tea is from Ceylon.”

“It is very fine.”

“Are you hungry, Madam—” Edmond stopped himself short. “Mercedes?”

His father raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “I am not hungry,” I replied. After a pause, I added, “Edmond.” Edmond almost dropped his tea, but he looked a bit like a happy idiot. I almost laughed out loud. Make no mistake, however. I noted that happy idiot, and I felt my own stomach flutter nervously at my joke.

Edmond’s father looked somewhat satisfied. “We could make you something. I think we have some soup.”

“No, thank you,” I said.

“It’s no good, Father,” said Edmond. “She eats like a bird. All women do.”

My mouth dropped open. Well! Edmond Dantes could give as well as he received! “On second thought,” I said, “I believe I will have some of that soup, if Edmond will fetch me some.”

“I’ll set the table,” said Edmond. He moved to the cabinet and busied himself with dishes.