It was a sunny afternoon, and Lucy was particularly excited. Today was her very first tea party with Grandma, and she wanted it to be perfect. She had picked the daisies from the garden and arranged them in a tiny vase. She placed the tea set under the old oak tree, hoping that the shade would still allow for a cozy feel.
But even as she tried to appear calm, nerves fluttered in her stomach like butterflies. “Do you think everyone will enjoy it, Grandma?” Lucy asked. “What if they don’t like the cakes I picked out or they talk too much?”
Grandma chuckled softly. “Everything will be just as it should be, my dear. Now, why don’t you take a peek to see who has arrived?”
With a flutter of excitement, Lucy peeked out towards the path. Her family members were arriving one by one. First, Uncle Bob, then Cousin Emma, Aunt Liz, and Cousin Sam. They were all dressed so beautifully, she thought, adjusting her own dress nervously.
Finally, Lucy overheard Grandma telling everyone that it was time for tea. As they made their way towards the garden, Lucy adjusted her flowers and delicately poured tea for everyone. The early sunshine danced in the cups, creating tiny rainbows.
“I’m only six, you know, and this is my first garden tea party,” Lucy announced proudly.
“I remember my first tea party!” Grandma said, her eyes twinkling. “I was seven, and I asked my friend, Zinnia, to join.”
“I feel as if I’ve met Zinnia already,” Lucy smiled, remembering the sunflowers that adorned Grandma’s living room.
At that moment, Grandma reached into her apron pocket and revealed an old brass key. “This, Lucy, is the key to the magic tea party!”
“Wow!” gasped Lucy. “Can anyone use it?”
“Only if they have the same love in their heart as you do today.”
Lucy nodded, absorbing Grandma’s words. The tea party continued, filled with sweet treats, laughter, and Grandma’s enchanting stories. As the music of family laughter surrounded them, Lucy realized how important these gatherings were—they kept memories and love alive across generations.
When, much later, Aunt Liz and Uncle Bob departed, she’d feel satisfied about her first tea party. Even more excited, she grabbed Grandma’s hand. “Let us find Zinnia!”
Each family member shared stories of funny occurrences and favorite relatives. The joy flared when Lucy asked about Aunt Liz’s siblings.
“Uncle Bob often brought Monty along to stay with us,” Aunt Liz laughed. “Monty couldn’t resist teasing Max, jumping on him, scratching his nose, while Max, the stoic, sat quietly. Never retaliating, that dog. At least, not until Monty…
That had been an amusing tale, Lucy thought, but not quite as captivating as she’d expected. Montgomery was even named after that particular uncle!
The following week, she and Grandma visited Aunt Liz. Lucy slipped off quietly, playing on a rug in their sunlit parlor. In one corner, beneath a brass umbrella stand, she noticed a sleeping kitty. Running to stroke the soft fur, she discovered a scratch on his nose.
“Hello, Max!” she exclaimed, recalling Uncle Bob’s old pet.
“Oh, do you like him?” a voice interjected. Startled, Lucy looked up to find a girl about her age.
“I’m Juliette,” the new girl smiled.
“I’m Lucy! This is my uncle and aunt’s pet; you see he lives here.”
Lucy and Juliette broke free into fits of giggles, causing Max to wake and blink languidly. “Isn’t he beautiful?” Juliette cooed, looking fondly at the furry blur.
“Yes, with such fine fur!” Lucy exclaimed.
Light entered at the window as if it were chuckling at their foolishness. When Juliette suggested they invite other children tomorrow, Lucy nodded excitedly, thinking of all the fun they could have on her uncle and aunt’s lawn.
“Let us ask Zinnia as well!” Lucy added, remembering her grandma would surely wish to join.
Searching the house for Zinnia, they finally spotted her at the drawing room window, her head cocked adorably as she watched for someone. The two girls approached, and Lucy inquired, “Zinnia, darling, would you like to join us tomorrow for tea and a garden party?”
The old lady turned and beamed at them, placing her hands on both their heads. “I would be honored, my dearest Lucy and Juliette.” As if understanding, the sunshine brightened with the joy of the request.
“We’ll be able to see a world full of tea parties through Zinnia’s eyes again tomorrow,” Juliette said as they walked back.
The next afternoon, under the old oak where Lucy’s party had been held days prior, they each held an empty cup and plate. “Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Juliette.
Zinnia looked at the soil below. “I want not to go once again through the eye of memory to rooms lit by lamps,” she said.
And, with soft voices, the children recited a quaint rhyme.
“It is the sunlight that opens wide the window,
Shedding mellow light on our terrace and meadow.
It is the hum of the droning bee
That beckons forth the butterfly.
It is the gentle violation
That will light up our tea party’s fruition.”
The air grew dense with dreams streaming through, while the sun laughed in unison with the bee’s buzzing.
“I don’t understand,” Lucy whispered under her breath, but felt something new born within her.
“Now, my darling, pour out the tea!” Zinnia said.
Holding the pot, Lucy poured it into her plate. The contents smelled fine and refreshing; the plate felt warm, and she carefully set it down. Each child poured tea onto their plates, and then listened as Zinnia recited a lovely poem about a tea party.
After reciting, she watched the children pour out the tea as if it were not mere water.
“Is that a lullaby?” one child asked, though no one else could save her from dreams.
Then Zinnia led the children closer and closer towards the end, where she pointed to her bent spoon. The two little girls, sympathizing with the lad who could not find peace, recited “That queer old man” twice over. The frightened doll became less troubled, while the tall shoe rake leaned so far that one might shockingly imagine him swinging up as children do.
One long, lonely minute, when scarcely a breath of air entered the room, filled Zinnia’s plate where invisible couriers sped ceaselessly around.
Max, the tearful dog, happened to catch sight of the boat sinking. Could he believe his eyes, or was he only dreaming once more of the good old time? However, coming close to the dogs and the dragonflies drowning in the cups of hot tea, he recognized the unhappy animal and felt relief not to have lost his own tail.
While he contemplated the affair, the children fed the teacups with tea from their plates. A bee, a happy bee, was also dressed in curtains for thirst, suddenly poking its head into the stream where it danced a bivouac followed by the dreaded fate of being conductors for a heavy downpour of rain. With drenched radio, the cheerful press was unable to sing; while a bee raised on Peter Pan floated toward the rain coming in with the evening light.
It is curious to note how the rain in each spot settled down to play the discords of a “Rainsong” on grandma’s delightful harpsichord within hearing distance, though the instrument was closed.
Should anyone hope to listen regretfully for tunes remaining unheard, disappointment would be invited.
Yet, if dreams come lumpily, this tea party becomes lovely as the best child, and surely some are confused at feeling so.
The happiest and most eligible at all feasts on this earth remain Max, Monty, the kids watching the dogs, and Zinnia.
The hour sounded, while a capital messenger, colored blue instead of black, rushed off to the telegram office and sent for playmates.
“Remarkable children, both of you, at six and seven years of age! Oh, what a pleasure for the old lady,” our secretary thought in sending off his private note. Each truth struck our secretary as he enjoyed the discussion about these two charming opposite affairs held today at the same hour.
So, all children who accidentally peruse this description, that they too may invite Zinnia to their own house tomorrow week without further formality. They may pour white wines and essences in their cups, and even what haunts their parents; but tea nowadays is gladly sectarian; and if one school uses it with pancakes, protestant do make them sweet and hot at tea parties, just submerging the top crust. The skirt (that means the cup) ought to be empty to galette for dipping slices or for cakes d’Amiens.
Whether children will antedate adults, so corrupt, with flesh-preserving pastes and worry saves them hopelessly cleft mouths. Tea, without change, they’ll tolerate, while nursing their bedsides. Pancakes remain never stationary, or they’ll cloister over the gentle man that defends them.