A Tea Reader (8 page)

A Tea Cup of Friends

BY
S
TEPHANIE
L
EMMONS
W
ILSON

It was Halloween and a pregnant moon hung in the sky. We were entering the dreary time of year, and the hubby and I were moving back to the Midwest where the weather was even drearier. I wanted to make this move, but the wanting didn't make it any easier. I was leaving behind an incredibly strong network of friends. Two of these friends shared my passionate love for tea. I realized what a treasure I was leaving. I knew our friendships would persist, but it would be a tough break. As the hubby and I drove off in the wee morning hours, heading east under a full moon, I held a tender heart full of excitement and loss. It was a mixed blessing, this move.

In the new town, I was fortunate to continue my corporate job while working from my home office. This situation held many advantages, like working in my running clothes. (That is, until we began using webcams.) Still, I discovered that working from home was harder than expected. While I loved not having to be in the office each day, I was sorely lacking companionship, especially from women. I had never realized how much of my daily social needs were met from work-related social interactions. I was isolated in my own lovely little home office. Once I began to feel settled, I tried connecting with a few women. I even held a tea party. Unfortunately, none of the participants seemed to share my spark for tea and I was growing lonelier. Fortunately, my tea-loving friends in the west were ever-faithful. We regularly chatted on the phone, wrote letters, and held virtual tea parties to keep in touch. These little and big things kept me going as I slowly made my way in a new community.

I looked for ways to get involved and meet people. I made some collegial connections, but it seemed the union of women's deep friendship continued to evade me. By chance, I happened to be in a social-service committee meeting when a woman brought in a homemade cake for a birthday celebration. Through the course of the conversation (and a heavenly slice of cake), I discovered her interest in tea. In fact, she hosted an annual and elaborate tea party for her girlfriends. It was a month away. Would I be interested in speaking at it? Yes! I jumped at this opportunity to connect with another tea lover and share my passion.

Over the next several weeks, my heart sang as I grew to know this fellow tea lover (and baker extraordinaire). We planned the tea party foods, the teas to accompany the foods, the party favors and the program. She introduced me to another creative soul and the three of us formed our own tea adventure trio. Over several cups of tea (and a few tea trips), these new friends introduced me to the gems in my community. The sense of being new to town slipped away, while the sense of being home blossomed.

Now, nearly five years later, I continue to feel very blessed. I've maintained close ties with my western-U.S. friends, feeling just as connected as ever. We hold virtual tea parties, which are fun, creative and connecting. We explore using Skype for video calls. We practice the age-old arts of letter-writing and postcard-sending. In my new home town, I revel in my circle of woman-kinship. I enjoy hosting friends for a simple cup of tea on the porch or a more elaborate tea party in my “parlor” (my living room). These two circles have even cross-mingled, and I look forward to more of that in the future. The tea cup of friends is beautiful.

A full moon, a heavy heart

A tea quilt set in blues

Boxes full, set to depart

Goodbyes and tears from you.

A new home, so much to see

Delight in treasures found

A lonely time, a test for me

A tea friend to be found?

Fates prevail, our paths criss-cross

Tea and cake, the theme is set

A lighter load, and still a loss

With new hope now we've met.

On the phone, the voice is sweet

And letters in the mail

A visit soon, an airplane seat

Then antiques; find the sale!

The finest cup, the kettle start

My two worlds now proclaim

A cup of tea, a friend's dear heart

And tea, my cheer sustain.

After Anna's Marriage

BY
L
OUISA
M
AY
A
LCOTT

Excerpted from
Louisa May Alcott: Her Life, Letters, and Journals
,
1899.

The news of the town is as follows, and I present it in the usual journalesque style of correspondence. After the bridal train had departed, the mourners withdrew to their respective homes; and the bereaved family solaced their woe by washing dishes for two hours and bolting the remains of the funeral baked meats.
¹
At four, having got settled down, we were all routed up by the appearance of a long procession of children filing down our lane, headed by the Misses H. and R. Father rushed into the cellar, and appeared with a large basket of apples, which went the rounds with much effect. The light infantry formed in a semi-circle, and was watered by the matron and maids. It was really a pretty sight, these seventy children loaded with wreaths and flowers, standing under the elm in the sunshine, singing in full chorus the song I wrote for them. It was a neat little compliment to the superintendent and his daughter, who was glad to find that her “pome” was a favorite among the “lads and lasses” who sang it “with cheery voices, like robins on the tree.”

Father put the finishing stroke to the spectacle by going off at full speed, hoppity-skip, and all the babes followed in a whirl of rapture at the idea. He led them up and down and round and round till they were tired
;
then they fell into order, and with a farewell song marched away, seventy of the happiest little ones I ever wish to see. We subsided, and fell into our beds with the new thought “Annie is married and gone” for a lullaby, which was not very effective in its results with all parties.

Thursday we set our house in order, and at two the rush began. It had gone abroad that Mr. M. and Mrs. Captain Brown were to adorn the scene,
²
so many people coolly came who were not invited, and who had no business here. People sewed and jabbered till Mrs. Brown, with Watson Brown's widow
³
and baby came; then a levee took place. The two pale women sat silent and serene through the clatter; and the bright-eyed, handsome baby received the homage of the multitude like a little king, bearing the kisses and praises with the utmost dignity. He is named Frederick Watson Brown, after his murdered uncle and father,
⁴
and is a fair, heroic-looking baby, with a fine head, and serious eyes that look about him as if saying, “I am a Brown! Are these friends or enemies?” I wanted to cry once at the little scene the unconscious baby made. Someone caught and kissed him rudely; he didn't cry, but looked troubled, and rolled his great eyes anxiously about for some familiar face to reassure him with its smile. His mother was not there; but though many hands were stretched to him, he turned to Grandma Bridge, and putting out his little arms to her as if she was a refuge, laughed and crowed as he had not done before when she danced him on her knee. The old lady looked delighted; and Freddy patted the kind face, and cooed like a lawful descendant of that pair of ancient turtledoves.

When he was safe back in the study, playing alone at his mother's feet, C. and I went and worshipped in our own way at the shrine of John Brown's grandson, kissing him as if he were a little saint, and feeling highly honored when he sucked our fingers, or walked on us with his honest little red shoes, much the worse for wear.

Well, the baby fascinated me so that I forgot a raging headache and forty gabbling women all in full clack. Mrs. Brown, Sen., is a tall, stout woman, plain, but with a strong, good face, and a natural dignity that showed she was something better than a “lady,” though she
did
drink out of her saucer and used the plainest speech.

The younger woman had such a patient, heart-broken face, it was a whole Harper's Ferry tragedy in a look. When we got your letter, Mother and I ran into the study to read it. Mother read aloud; for there were only C., A., I, and Mrs. Brown, Jr., in the room. As she read the words that were a poem in their simplicity and happiness, the poor young widow sat with tears rolling down her face; for I suppose it brought back her own wedding-day, not two years ago, and all the while she cried the baby laughed and crowed at her feet as if there was no trouble in the world.

The preparations had been made for twenty at the utmost
;
so when forty souls with the usual complement of bodies appeared, we grew desperate, and our neat little supper turned out a regular “tea fight.” A., C., B., and I rushed like comets to and fro trying to fill the multitude that would eat fast and drink like sponges. I filled a big plate with all I could lay hands on, and with two cups of tea, strong enough for a dozen, charged upon Mr. E. and Uncle S., telling them to eat, drink, and be merry, for a famine was at hand. They cuddled into a corner; and then, feeling that my mission was accomplished, I let the hungry
wait
and the thirsty
moan
for tea, while I picked out and helped the regular Antislavery set.

We got through it; but it was an awful hour; and Mother wandered in her mind, utterly lost in a grove of teapots; while B. pervaded the neighborhood demanding hot water, and we girls sowed cake broadcast through the land.

When the plates were empty and the teapots dry, people wiped their mouths and confessed at last that they had done. A conversation followed, in which Grandpa B. and E. P. P. held forth, and Uncle and Father mildly upset the world, and made a new one in which everyone desired to take a place. Dr. B., Mr. B., T., etc., appeared, and the rattle continued till nine, when some Solomon
⁵
suggested that the Alcotts must be tired, and every one departed but C. and S. We had a polka by Mother and Uncle, the lancers by C. and B., and an
ètude
by S., after which scrabblings of feast appeared, and we “drained the dregs of every cup,” all cakes and pies we gobbled up, etc.; then peace fell upon us and our remains were interred decently.

1
It seems that this is Alcott's facetious way of talking about how they all felt at “losing” her sister Anna.

2
Captain John Brown and his family were friends of Louisa's father Bronson Alcott. Brown was an abolitionist who organized and led a raid on an armory in Harpers Ferry, Virginia (now West Virginia) in 1859. He was trying to begin an uprising that would liberate Virginian slaves, and later slaves throughout the south. Brown and his men were captured. Brown was tried and hanged for treason. Here, in 1860, Brown's widow has come to stay with the Alcotts.

3
Watson Brown was John Brown's son. He was shot during the raid.

4
Frederick Brown was killed in 1856 when the Browns were trying to defend the Kansas from a group of pro-slavery Missourians.

5
This is a reference to Solomon, the son of David and King of Israel in the Hebrew Bible. He was known for great wisdom.

Midnight Tea

BY
S
IR
W
ILLIAM
R
OBERTSON
N
ICOLL
(A
KA
C
LAUDIUS
C
LEAR
)

Excerpted from
Letters on Life
,
1902.
¹

There were four of us round a dinner table one Thursday evening. Our kind hostess had arranged her guests as in a restaurant. The four were two celebrated lady novelists, one gentleman novelist, and your correspondent. We will call the ladies Miss A. and Miss B., and the gentleman Mr. C. The conversation turned, as it often does in these days, on the question whether people are on the whole happy or unhappy. Miss A. resolutely argued that unhappiness was the rule. She said that, if you watched a number of travelers coming out of a railway train, the question was settled forever. Their general aspect was one of unmistakable discontent and weariness. Mr. C. took up the opposite side. He maintained that life was full of small comforts which were all the time making for happiness, and that we did not sufficiently appreciate them. For instance, it was a happiness to waken in the morning and look back on a night of sound sleep. It was a great happiness to have a cup of tea, not too strong, and yet not weak—a nice, refreshing, homely liquor, not the pale, straw-colored infusion of Lady Dedlock, nor the washerwoman's rasping
bohea
.
²
Then there came the newspaper, with something to interest and to talk about. A kind or encouraging word in speech, or in writing, or in print, revived the heart. A good book, old or new, need never be wanting. There were for many domestic solaces, and others deprived of these were not less happy in their friendships, friendships usually more intimate and unreserved than in the case of those whose first thoughts and feelings were claimed by those who belonged to them. Miss B. expressed her agreement with this view of the case, but Miss A. was unconvinced. At last Miss A. declared that she believed that the great reason why people were not happy was because they had lost the power of falling in love....

...After coming home I began to think of our conversation, and especially of pain as an antagonist to happiness, and I remembered an essay written twenty years ago by a great sufferer, with the strange title which I have borrowed today, “Midnight Tea.” The essayist confessed this title was practically a misnomer. She was thinking of two, three, or four in the morning. She suffered from one of those forms of illness which eat the sweet kernel out of sleep.... Well, then, there are two friends, let us say, or a man and wife, or a mother and daughter, who pass the night together in order that one of the two who suffers may receive the help which only one hand can give. The immediate pain suddenly ceases. Then springs up a sudden thought out of the new, sweet peace: “Let us have a cup of tea.” It can be managed at once. The tea is forthcoming, the spoons tinkle in the cups, the sweet incense goes up, and there is for a time calm and cheer, a soothed feeling, a quiet triumph in human resources, a genial gleam of light in the long tract of the dark hours. There may be no conversation, save that highest form of conversation which passes between two who, through the love and intimacy of long years, understand what each is thinking, and interchange ideas without words.... There is hardly any such tie between human beings as “Do you remember?” and “Do you remember when we had midnight tea?” brings back many softening, hopeful thoughts.

1
[Certain British spellings have been amended. Ed.]

2
“
Bohea
” is an inferior grade of black tea.