Night of Eden 92

 Chapter 92

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"If something happens, send someone right away. Letters take too long."

"Yes."

"And don't forget to lock your door when you're alone."

"Okay."

"Don't skip meals because you're busy. I've asked Mr. Bilbo to come by every now and then to make sure you're eating."

He didn’t have to go that far.

Dana opened her mouth to reply.

"Don't worry, Noah."

A man's voice, rough as grinding sand, interrupted her. A burly man with wire-rimmed glasses smirked at Dana's side.

"I understand your concern and anxiety for your wife. It almost breaks my heart, but I'm here for you. We, the Merchants' Council, will take care of her."

This was Tony Scott, the president of the Merchants' Association.

He was a very strange man, a saboteur who had been their most troublesome enemy until just before they opened the Porche, and then took Noah under his wing, treating him like his own son.

Dorothy trembled at the mention of Tony Scott. Shortly before opening Porche, they had fought a war with the vicious segregationist, which was why she was so distant from him now.

"Well, your wife would be a lot safer if you didn't open the tearoom door to those filthy bastards every morning, but you're so adamant about your will......."

"Uh, Mr. Scott."

Dana interrupted, sensing the tired repertoire about to begin again.

"I just got some fine tea leaves from Lancaster, and I was wondering if you'd like to try them. If you'd like to come inside, I'll make you some milk tea."

"Oh, really?"

Scott grinned like nothing happened and walked into the teahouse. Dorothy shook her head pathetically from a distance, and Dana smiled.

"Don't worry, Mr. Scott is holding up like that, no thief or mugger would want to mess with him."

"...."

"Ugh, Noah Miller. We're gonna miss our train. Let's go!"

At Dorothy's words, Noah's brow furrowed and he turned around.

"Dana's right, I hate that guy, but I'm glad he's there. Saving people like that."

They turned to the woman washing the windows beyond the door, a large man beside her. They were the temporary workers who would be helping Dana for the next two months.

"What's up with that cranky faucet guy, anyway?"

Dana smirked at Noah's question. Then she replied.

"I thought it was weird, too, but it turns out he had an agenda. He’s got some important guests coming to town this weekend. He said he was so important that not only the merchants' council, but the mayor, asked me to serve him tea, so I went out of my way to save him."

"Aha."

Noah nodded.

"You're going to show your skills.”

"Yeah, it’d better be good. I'm hoping they can get the word out. Honestly, there are no real foodies here, just douchebags like that Tony Scott guy who doesn't even know that salt tea and milk tea are the same thing."

Dana just laughed.

"Well, I hope the important guy gets a taste of your tea, and then we'll be really big, won't we? If we get enough afternoon customers, we won't have to worry about the morning crowd at all."

"Yeah, that's why I'm trying to do it right this time, too bad you and Dorothy aren't here."

Before they knew it, they were at the train station.

"Come on, let's go. Say hello to the pastor and his wife and the others for me."

"Yes, I will."

"Noah was right, if anything happens, send an errand boy. It'll be faster than a slow mail wagon. Don't think about the money."

"Okay."

They exchanged a final goodbye.

Before he handed his ticket to the attendant and turned his back to the cramped passage leading to the platform, Noah found himself strangely unable to take his eyes off Dana.

"Why do I feel so uneasy?"

Noah muttered to himself, even after he was completely away from Dana.

Dorothy watched him, a hint of pity crossing her face.

"I think, Noah."

She opened her mouth cautiously.

"I think it's because I remember when we arrived at Dodge so long ago, and you look exactly the same now as you did then."

Noah recognized the implication immediately. His mood stiffened.

"But now that time has passed, nothing has happened, and I feel a little regretful. I'm a little sorry that I was all alone in my delusions and confided in you....... and I'm sorry to Dana."

It was Dorothy and Noah's secret, and Dana had no idea.

Yes, he wished she hadn't known,

Noah felt a frenzy in his chest as he remembered the truth.

Three years ago, it wasn't Edwin Hastings who made Dana want to run away.

It was the bastard who had caused her the most unimaginable heartache.

Theodore Macmillan.

Every time Noah thought of that despicable bastard, it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

At the time, even knowing the truth, all he could think about was running away. That's why he'd deliberately switched ships and erased all traces of his departure from the Federation.

At the time, it seemed natural to run away.

He was powerless, and his priority was to settle into his new world and protect the two women from harm.

But as the year passed, and then two, Noah found himself drowning in strange feelings.

Why should Dana run away?

She wasn’t guilty of anything.

What about him?

He couldn't even set foot in his hometown of Dorset. He'd been separated from his sister for life, and sometimes he felt like he was wandering around like a ghost.

He was bitter and resentful. Gradually, his anger grew.

One day, he wanted revenge.

He could never forgive the man for the way he had treated Dana.

Even if it took decades, he would find him before he died.

He would make him kneel before Dana and beg.

In some way, shape, or form, the bastard would pay.

***

The first day was a near disaster.

It was Dana's first time running the tearoom without the two of them, especially Dorothy, and the two clerks she'd hired from the Merchants' Association made one mistake after another.

When Mick, the male clerk, kept mixing up the order of the waiting customers, an unsuspecting Mrs. Sampson stepped in to show him the ropes. Rachel, the female employee, broke a teacup and cut her hand in the frantic cleanup.

"Oh. I'll do it."

Mr. Bradley bent down, and several other customers joined him.

"The lady is busy, so let's serve the biscuits ourselves for the time being!"

Everyone could only nod in agreement as the once famous boxer from Brunton's gambling hall nailed it.

The next day, thanks to the help of the guests, things got pretty organized. Mick and Rachel had memorized the table positions and knew how to bring out biscuits for waiting customers. They even cleaned plates and teacups without being asked.

The third day was even better.

Dana rarely had to call their names in a hurry. Everyone was so used to not having to fetch their own biscuits that they were able to help themselves.

In the lull of the morning's business, Dana brought tea to the two of them, who were exhausted.

Mick and Rachel's eyes widened, as they always do when they taste salt tea. They took another sip and looked up at Dana at the same time.

"This is so good, I can see why someone like Mr. Bradley comes here every day."

"But why is it salt tea?"

"I put some salt in the milk tea, that's why it's called salt tea."

At any other time, she would have told them a little more about the tea.

"Tell them the origin of the tea leaves, the type of tea, the anecdotes behind it, that's the basics of being a tea sommelier.”

Celeste's words stuck in Dana's head.

But just as she opened her mouth to say something, something on the windowsill caught her eye and froze her in place.

"...?"

She walked over to the window, puzzled.

There was a newspaper. The guest must have left it behind.

If it had been one of the Federation's more common newspapers, she wouldn't have been so surprised. But when she got closer and read the headline, Dana was horrified.

[Daily Morning Transcript]

It wasn't a Confederate paper. It was from the continental mainland.

The long title had surely been included in the thick bundle Butler Stan of Belvida had received from the delivery man every morning three years ago.

As she stared down at the familiar type, her heart began to pound. Her legs felt weak and her head felt a little dizzy.

Dana had been deliberately avoiding news from the mainland. Luckily, not many people talked about the mainland. If they did talk about it, they never mentioned the names of specific families or knew anything about the nobility. She was among immigrants, not the upper class of the Federation, and it was more likely to come from their mouths.

Thankfully, she was able to get over it quickly.

She thought she was over it.

But she was ridiculously mistaken.

Just looking at the newspapers from that place made her pulse quicken.

Memories of the past that she had forgotten, or tried her best to forget, came flooding back.

One by one, the waves hit the bottom of Dana's consciousness and began to unlock the memories she had kept sealed away.

Are they all well?

Bessie must have become head maid, and Leah is probably married.

What about the head maid? Butler Stan?

How is Master Edwin doing?

As she set up shop, she realized how hard it must have been for him.

She had to deal with so many unforeseen challenges just to run this little tea shop, including bookkeeping, the merchants' association, and customer complaints.

And yet, as the head of a family, he had to lift up an entire clan.

He had to care for his ailing father and marry off his younger sister.......

Dana's consciousness naturally drifted to Lady Liana.

No, no, no.

No, no, no.

Dana shook her head harshly. If she thought of Lady Liana, she would definitely.......

"Are you okay?"

Rachel asked, sounding concerned. Dana turned her pale face to face her.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

As she searched Dana's face, her eyes widened when she spotted the newspaper.

"Huh? Isn't that the imperial newspaper?"

"Really?"

Even Mick raised his head and looked at the newspaper.

"Oh, that's interesting. The paper is much better quality."

"You can read, though?"

"Yeah, a little."

"Really? Then you can read the comic section?"

"Let's see."

The two excitedly flipped through the newspaper.

Dana was about to tell them not to touch it because it belonged to someone else. But then, in the middle of a large section of the paper, she spotted the words.

[The heir to the Macmillan family finally wins by defeating Rhonda's Golden Eagle!]

Dana froze, frozen like a trapped animal.

The heir of the Macmillan family.

She didn't know how many times she wanted to rub her eyes.

That person....

Dana staggered to a random chair and sat down, her hands clasped together trembling. She bit her lip tightly.

No, no.

She tried to shake it off.

But she was already caught in the cobwebs, and no matter how hard she struggled, she couldn't escape the memories that flooded her mind.

Rhonda's golden falcon? What was that? Oh, yes, Bessie, the socialite had said that that was what everyone called the Crown Prince.

Speaking of winning, was it a polo match? Or rowing? As Dana recalled, clay shooting didn't have big competitions.

Whatever it was, she imagined him on the podium, looking down at everyone with satisfaction.

The man with the ecstatically beautiful eyes had crept into her consciousness.

In fact, she often thought of him. When no one was around, late at night, or at random times.

Strange how memory worked. Her body always reacted first.

The body of the man who had thrust into her so hard, as if to take her down, came back hot and alive from her lower body. The ragged, uncontrollable breathing, the voice that begged her to say it was okay, the insistent acts that felt like a fiery tidal wave, were imprinted on her body like a kind of brand.

Dana often dreamed of that day, and each time she woke up drenched.

She could forget everything else.

But the marks he had left on her body would never be erased. It had only been one night, one time.

Dana felt sick to her stomach.

"Can you put that away?"

Her voice was harsh, and Mick and Rachel, who had been watching the comic excitedly, widened their eyes.

***

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