Every Wednesday there's an online order placed for a hot Earl Grey tea, a triple espresso, one chai latte and six hot chocolates with whipped cream. The first time the receipt printed, it nearly gave Maria a heart attack. It just kept coming out of the printer, and when she placed it in the ticket minder, she worried she wouldn't have it ready within the 15 minute window.
Now, she's a master at predicting the time, often starting the order before it prints. She knows even if she can't finish it in time, Frau Schmidt, the kindly older lady who comes to pick it up, will wait. The tea is hers, so Maria always has it ready, (steeped for three minutes, allowed to cool, a splash of honey and lemon) and waiting for her when she comes in. Frau Schmidt often perches at one of their small tables and waits for the remaining orders, while telling Maria stories about the children that are treated to her rich hot chocolates once a week.
Maria knows within a month each of the children's names, and that Liesl is the oldest, (wants desperately to be allowed to order actual espresso, but must settle for a chai latte at her father's insistence) and that Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta, and Gretl's highlight each week is when Frau Schmidt arrives with their hot chocolates, as they are allowed to have them in the parlour with their father, and they love every moment they can spend with him.
The triple espresso is his drink, and from what Frau Schmidt tells her, Maria thinks it must match the man's personality and mood to a tee. Bitter, dark, strong, not a drink for amateurs. She wonders if he sips it, tasting the roast, enjoying the boldness of flavors, or if he merely gulps it down, a means to an end, some caffeine to stave off boredom and headaches. She makes his last, putting it in an extra cup so that it's hot when it arrives to him.
Frau Schmidt has told her very little about "the Captain," as she refers to him, when Maria asks if he liked the last espresso she sent (it was a new blend, something earthier, she had roasted the beans slower and longer for more of a burnt caramel flavour) she replies that he must have enjoyed it about as much as any other, because he didn't say anything against it, and let her place the order again this week. "I only know his opinion on something if he doesn't enjoy it anymore" She shrugs apologetically "In which case he'll tell me to just get rid of it. Last week he decided he hated the curtains in one of the rooms, so they're all being replaced tomorrow."
Maria thinks about this for a minute. She's already surmised that a man with 7 children and a housekeeper, who can afford to spend nearly $40 on coffee must be quite well off. Now she wonders if he isn't eccentric as well. "What are you doing with old curtains?" she asks.
"Oh, I suppose we'll just throw them out with the rubbish."
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I would love to see the fabric. We could use it for curtains here, or tablecloths perhaps! I'm always searching the donation box but I can never find enough of the same fabric, where it won't look so hodgepodge."
"I think I can manage that," Frau Schmidt muses, "The fabric is certainly in good condition still. And it's very cheery. I'll bring it next week."
And so, the coffee shop has tablecloths in a lovely green brocade, and there's enough left over for Maria to make a set of matching aprons, one for every day of the week.