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The Tea Party
Daleni and I are sitting in the parlor waiting for the M&Ms, who should be here any minute. Tommy is napping in the study, across the entry, where I can see him. Mrs. H. went upstairs to change out of her wet clothes and “put herself back together”. She didn’t say much when we were walking back to the house. I let her carry Tommy because she looked like she needed that. She also kind of looked like my mom does when she has a migraine coming on.
Daleni and I aren’t saying much either. I can’t believe the things that have happened since this morning, when my biggest issue was deciding which shoes to wear with my sophisticated, green and white dress. At least I’ve gotten a little used to the crazy events at Willow House. Daleni is probably freaking out. I look over at her. She looks at me. She looks okay. She doesn’t look like she just saw a ghost, which is actually what probably just happened.
She’s the first one to speak, “Ella, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
“Yeah.”
The jangle of an old-fashioned telephone, interrupts us. It’s that brass doorbell. Daleni and I both stand to answer it. Mrs. H. calls down from upstairs, “I’ll be down in a minute, girls. You can escort your friends to the dining room.”
I open the front door and I’m happy to see that Mandy and Melanie have also put effort into their fashion choices of the day. Mandy has on a bright yellow sun dress and Melanie’s is bright orange. They look like very pretty M&Ms. The four of us spend a few seconds complimenting each other on our dresses, but then the beautiful entryway snags their attention. I step out of the way so that they can have a better look.
“This is amazing,” Mandy whispers like she’s in church.
Melanie is nodding her head. “This is really beautiful, Ella.”
“Thanks,” I say. I’m thinking thoughts I’m not quite ready to say out loud. They have to do with a new feeling that I belong here. This house belongs to my family. Great-Grandpa Frank is Mrs. Hallovich’s son - Henry.
The girls follow Daleni and me into the dining room. Their eyes grow big and they gasp, and I know I won’t have any trouble convincing them to have the tea party inside. I’m about to offer them a seat when Mrs. H. enters. She’s dry and looks fresh as a daisy.
“Welcome to Willow House, girls!”
I make all of the appropriate introductions. Mrs. H. is putting on a brave face like nothing happened, and I can see that the M&Ms are comfortable. In fact, they seem excited to be here. Mrs. H. tells us all to have a seat while she gets a few more things from the kitchen.
We’re barely settled in our chairs when she returns with a china, tea service: a fancy teapot, sugar bowl, and cream pitcher, all with a beautiful weeping willow design. They match the five cups and saucers that are already sitting at our places.
I’m a little worried because I’ve never really liked tea. I’m going to drink it though, because that’s the polite thing to do. Mrs. H. goes around the table filling each of our cups then sits at the head of the table.
“Go ahead, girls. It’s not too hot.”
We all pick up our cups. I notice we all extend our pinky. It must be an instinct from prehistoric times. We take a small sip. It’s delicious!
Our faces all light up. I think maybe the other girls were afraid they weren’t going to like it either.
Mrs. H. is nodding. “It’s my mother’s recipe. It’s made with oranges and lemons straight out of the greenhouse. This was the only tea I could stand the taste of when I was young.”
After that, it’s a real party: a well controlled and polite free-for-all with our pinkies extended. I’m not sure you’re supposed to stuff yourself at a tea party, but there’s no way to stop eating all the yummy things she made for us. There are finger sandwiches, and fancy breads, and fruits, and vegetables, and dips, and pastries, and of course, potato chips. Most of the platters, as well as our plates, are empty when she says, “I have one last thing for you girls.”
When she leaves the room we all groan and complain and laugh. How can we squeeze in one more bite?
Mrs. H. returns in a couple of minutes with a pile of pink boxes. Each one of us receives two; a smaller box on top of a bigger one, tied together with a pale yellow ribbon.
“Go ahead and open them,” she says.
Inside the top box is a beautiful, little jar of the strawberry jam she had been working on when Daleni and I arrived. Inside the bottom box. . . a fancy cake that looks like a beautiful girl in a ball gown. The doll part is stuck down into the vanilla cake part and each of the dolls has on a different colored dress with ruffles of icing and candy pearls.
“I thought you girls might be too full to eat them, so I made them to take home.”
“Eat them?!” I say. “How can we eat these?”
“They are so beautiful, Mrs. Hallovich!” says Melanie.
“Thank you!” says Mandy
“I can’t wait to show my mom!” says Daleni.
“Enjoy them!” Mrs. Hallovich says. “But please do eat them! I don’t want to hear about my cakes growing any green, fuzzy stuff.” She laughs.
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