Where the Coffee makes Itself

- Chapter One -

-Part Two-

The splintered door opened with both a creak and a bell, making a subtle entry impossible. Still, no one seemed to be inside.

Georgie let down his cumbersome backpack and breathed in the nostalgic must of old books. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the shop, he was overcome with vellichor.

There must have been over ten thousand books crammed into the single, dilapidated room, which in fact appeared to be the entirety of the cottage interior. Dust sat on their covers, hung in the air and clung to the cobwebs that festooned the rafters.

With creaking floorboards as a soundtrack, Georgie gingerly stepped further into the shop, heading towards a towering stack of books to his right. With a forefinger, he wiped clean the thick layer of dust to reveal the title A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. It was a book he’d wanted to read when he was younger. Indeed, Georgie even thought that he’d downloaded the ebook once, but had been too busy to read it.

Blowing off the dust, he picked up the archaic book and opened it on the first page.

In his head, he read the words...

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us...

The words seemed to sing from the page in mellifluous tones, inspiring breath-taking awe as such eloquence so often does. Georgie re-read the sentence, then read it a third time, glutinous in his love for the language. In a world of LOL’s and BRB’s, the old-truck driver relished the opportunity to indulge in such masterful use of a dying language.

“Ahh, Dickens.” Came a voice from the shadows.

It was a kind voice, soft and wistful, and yet the shock of it caused Georgie to shriek in fright.

A woman, perhaps in her forties, stood at the back of the room, half hidden behind another ginormous stack of hardbacks.

“Jesus!” Said Georgie. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m terribly sorry.” Said the woman, who now stepped out from behind her book-barrier. “I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

Her clothing was very much like her bookstore: of a different age. She wore an ankle length dress of light blue with white polka dots, black ballet shoes, and a yellow bow in her hair. Her spectacles were large and round, and made her tiny facial features appear even more mouselike in size.

She took a step closer to Georgie, who still hadn’t recovered from the scare. Nonetheless, he was able to stammer out, “Oh that’s alright, just umm, caught me off guard.”

The woman smiled with warmth and gave an understanding nod.

“Yes, that’s the magic of Dickens.” She mused. “He’ll take you to another world, he will. As will so many of the authors you’ll find here. Why, just now I was lost in the works of Emily Brönte. Never even heard you come in. Don’t know why I bothered to get that bell. Don’t get anyone in here, and when I do, I’m off in dreamland, too far gone to be reached by a distant ringing. I only got up to make a cuppa tea. That’s when I saw you there. Sorry again for giving you a jump.”

It took Georgie a moment to respond. He wasn’t used to people speaking to him at such length. No one was. Not anymore. And especially not a stranger! It was all rather a lot to take in. When he did find his manner, and his mind, Georgie managed to get out a simple, “Not to worry.”

“Oh good.” She started up again. “Well anyway, my name’s Anna.”

“Georgie.”

“Pleasure to meet you Georgie. Would you like to join me for a cuppa tea? I haven’t had anyone in here for God knows how long. The company would be nice.”

Georgie almost collapsed. A stranger, offering tea and company to a dishevelled traveler? Was she mad?! Did she not read the news? People were dangerous. Murderous even! And those that weren’t were sick; kill you by accident. Come to think of it, what was Georgie doing getting himself into such a predicament. It was quite possible this middle-aged lady was one of those terrorist gangbangers he’d heard about on the radio.

He glanced back at Anna.

She didn’t really look like a terrorist gangbanger. She looked rather lovely, to be honest. Someone he would very much like to have tea with. But was this a trap? How was he supposed to know what a terrorist gangbanger looked like. And how could he be sure she wasn’t sick?

“Sorry.” Anna said, interrupting his spiralling stream of consciousness. “It’s just, well you haven’t said a word for about thirty seconds and you have the facial expression of someone chewing a wasp...are you okay?”

Georgie suddenly snapped out of it. What was he thinking. This woman wasn’t some nefarious killer. She was just being friendly, like people used to be.

Georgie laughed. “I’m fine.” He said. “It’s just been a while since anyone offered such hospitality.” He beamed at Anna, who returned the kindness with gusto.

“I’d love a cuppa.”

“Splendid.” Squealed Anna. “I’ll put the kettle on.”