Emma Lea’s Christmas Tea
December 20, 2010
Emma Lea’s Christmas Tea
by Babette Donaldson
It was the last day of school before the holiday break, just a half day for Emma Lea. The school pageant was over, all their assignments turned in and her class had spent the day making gingerbread houses and finishing art projects. Sam’s mother drove the carpool home. He helped her carry her things inside. As she opened the door, they saw her mother asleep on the couch. She put a finger to her lips.
“Shhhh…,” she whispered, “she was up late last night trying to get all the gifts finished.” Even Ginger, their dog, padded quietly to greet her before taking her place back, curled up at Mama’s feet.
Sam saw the piles of wrapped packages, the dining room table covered with boxes, gift wrap and ribbon. Baskets and big felt bags covered the floor and a stack of lists seemed to be the key to matching the right gifts with each family. There was barely room to walk through the living room and the dining room.
His eyes were wide. “So many presents.”
“Not for us,” she explained, “we make the baskets for other families. The gifts are donated then we do the wrapping and deliver them. Then people who can’t afford to buy things for their children still have a good holiday. It’s part of Mama’s job.” Emma Lea’s mother was a social worker who helped families with special needs. “When Daddy gets back tonight, he’ll help us finish. Then we’ll deliver.”
“Wow, this looks like something a dozen people should be helping to do.”
Daddy had been away for a few days. His folk music trio was on a short road trip and Mama never slept as well when he was away. When she thought of all that Mama had done to make the holiday special for so many people; for her class at school helping with their show, for the community and the people who needed extra help, for her family and all the gifts she worked during the year to make, Emma Lea realized that her mother was exhausted. What could she do?
They usually had tea in the afternoon when Emma Lea came home from school. That was the time when they seemed to talk about the most important things that had happened to each of them. Now that she was home earlier than usual, she could fix their tea and have it ready when Mama woke up. She checked the cookie jar. It was filled with some of the broken cookies that they had baked for gifts, and the teas they had on hand were old favorites but they were the everyday teas. Not very special. It gave her an idea of what to do. She jotted a note in case Mama woke from her nap. I’ve gone for a walk. Will be back soon. Don’t worry.
Their favorite tearoom was just two blocks away, an easy walk. She left Ginger curled up on the rug at the end of the couch. “Take care of her while I’m gone.” She scratched behind the dog’s ear to seal their deal and she got some of the money she had been saving for Christmas presents.
Rowena Rose was at the cash register on the check-out counter. Behind her was a wall of large metal tins. Each one held a different flavor of tea, grouped in sections of black, green, white and herbal teas. She was packaging an order for a waiting customer. Emma Lea looked over the list until she was finished.
“My, my, my dear,” Rowena greeted her. “What can I get for you today?”
“I want something for Mama. Something new. Something she’s never tasted before.”
“My, my, indeed. I’m not sure that’s possible. You mom and grandmother have tasted every tea I’ve ever ordered and they’ve helped me create at least a dozen of our special blends.” She tapped her finger on her chin. “Now let me think.” She opened some of the drawers under the shelves and rummages through an unbelievable collection of dozens of different colored bags. Many of the labels were written in different languages. She sorted through them quickly, not finding anything that seemed to be what Emma Lea wanted. Then she turned and smiled broadly, “I have an idea. Come with me.” She gave Emma Lea a long apron, tied her hair back in a rubber band and put a cook’s hat on her head, showed her where to wash her hans and then led her back to the tea packing room.
“Here are some of her favorite black teas,” Rowena explained as she pulled a few containers off the shelf. “These would make a good start to create a whole new flavor.” Then, pointing to the shelves of herbs, dried flowers and dried fruit, “And here are some of the herbs we add to make our own flavors. You can make one just for her.”
“Sounds difficult.”
“We’ll do it together.”
They started with a tea from Ceylon.
“Cinnamon,” Emma Lea started with the jar of broken cinnamon bark, “and cardamom pods, and cloves and nutmeg. I want to make it spicy.”
Rowena pulled down the containers of dried fruit. “These would also make it sweet.” There were tiny bits of dried apple, orange peel, currants, mango, strawberry, cranberry . . .
“Stop,” she said, “I know exactly the flavor for Mama.” She reached for the container of dried cranberries. They were still whole, deep red and when she lifted the lid, the aroma was ripe and sweet. “Cranberries are one of her favorite things.”
Rowena helped her weigh the different ingredients then they brewed, tasted, adjusted, tasted again, added two more secret ingredients before they declared that it was just right. Rowena quickly brewed a thermos and packed some of Mama’s favorite scones and lemon curd to add to the afternoon treat. When Emma Lea tried to pay for the goodies, Rowena refused the money. “I consider this a trade.”
“I can come back and wash dishes or sweep up when you close.”
“There’s something else I want. Come back at closing tonight.”
Emma Lea let herself in through their kitchen door and tiptoed around the room to create their afternoon tea tray. As she poured the tea into her own red-and-white polka dot teapot she heard her mother stir and peeked into the living room. Mama’s shoulders were still hunched over and her head hung down a bit. Her eyes were droopy. Emma Lea couldn’t remember ever seeing her mother look so weary.
“I’m home, Mama. And I made our tea.”
“You’re early, Emmie.”
“It was early dismissal.”
“Then you’re a bit late. Did you go over to Sam’s?” She looked up at her daughter holding the tray. “What have you here?” She leaned toward the teapot when Emma Lea set it on the tea table. She lifted the lid and took in a deep breath of the steam. “What is this? I don’t remember buying anything like this. Is it new?”
“For you. I went to Rowena’s. We blended it just for you.”
Mama loved the new tea and gradually her face lightened and her eyes started to sparkle again. “It’s a perfect holiday spice tea.”
They chatted as they did every afternoon but this time, their stolen moment was a much needed break in the long list of things they had to do.
“Thank you,” Mama said, “you reminded me how much I needed to relax. We’ll get \]it all done, even if we don’t finish before your father comes home.”
They were about to pour second cups when there was a knock at the door. It was Sam and his mother.
“We’re here to help. Two more sets of hands will cut the time in half.”
Fortunately, there was still enough in the thermos to share before they set to work.
“Good tea,” Sam said. “Is this from Rowena’s? What’s it called?”
Now she knew what to give her family and friends. Some of them would receive the art projects she had made in school, but now she wanted to give everyone some of her new tea. The afternoon started to feel like as party and they finished the wrapping, organizing the baskets and cleaning the dining room just before Daddy drove in. He marveled at how much they had accomplished and then noticed the tea cups and Emma Lea’s special teapot on the tray.
“You’ve been using your teapot again. What magic are you brewing today?”
“She brought me a new pick-me-up,” Mama answered and explained about the tea.
“Any more for me?”
“No problem,” Emma Lea answered. “I promised Rowena that I would come back to help her close the tearoom. “There was extra in the batch we made. I’ll bring some for you.”
Emma Lea grabbed her coat and skipped back to the tearoom. She still had her money in her pocket and now she knew what she wanted to buy. It was dark already, almost the Solstice, the longest night of the year, but the street lamps and the decorated houses made the sidewalk as bright as day. Almost every house was decorated, some playing music over speakers. She sang along with a familiar tune and waved to some of the other neighbors who were out enjoying the evening.
Rowena was turning the sign to Closed and waving goodbye to her last customer.
“I’m here.” She got an apron and broom and started to move the chairs to sweep.
“Not so fast. There’s something else I need you to do.” She pointed to a new item on the display counter. Emma Lea recognized the tea in the bowl – her new tea. Rowena had made a sign, Emma Lea’s Christmas Tea and had packaged some in bright red bags. There was a teapot from which she had served samples.
“You’re selling my tea!”
“Like hotcakes. Everyone loved the sample and bought all that I had out. So we have to make more for tomorrow.”
“And for me. I need some for Daddy and I want to give it to Sam and Auntie Mim, Auntie Meg, Auntie Mel, Grammy, Sam . . . “
“That’s quite an order. I’m going to have to buy more Cranberries.”
Emma Lea tied her hair back and scrubbed her hands before they went into the packaging room. Rowena had printed several sheets of labels for the red bags. Emma Lea was very proud of her new tea and enjoyed filling the bags and adding the stickers. One of the stickers she added to every bag and tin of tea she sold read;
Brewing Instructions: Share this with some you love.
Turn off the phones and the television. This tea should
be served with old-fashioned conversation.
A gift of tea is a gift of time.
It was so much fun, she stayed and helped fill other orders until Mama called. She and Daddy were coming to pick her up so they could go out for dinner. Rowena sent her out the door with her own bag of gifts.
“My dear, when you’re a bit old enough, I’ll hire you.” Rowena admired her careful work.
Emma Lea couldn’t think of an after school job she’d rather have. Sometimes the best gifts are things that we have wait for.
© Babette Donaldson, 2010
