Tea with Aunt Ruth Meredith was always a special event. Her grandparents had moved from England to PEI sixty years ago, and one of the only treasures her grandmother had brought was her tea set. It had been passed down to Aunt Ruth's mother when she married, and then to Aunt Ruth when she married Uncle Bruce, and it would go to either Winnie or Ruthie, whichever wed first, on her wedding day.
Every afternoon at three, Aunt Ruth would get out the delicate china cups and saucers, the elegantly patterned teapot, the tray, the slices of lemon and cubes of sugar with the tiny silver tongs, and the darling little cream jug that looked like something out of a dollhouse. In nice weather, she would set it all up out on the porch; when it was cold or rainy she served it in the parlour.
One always minded one's manners at tea with Aunt Ruth. One did not shout, or grab at the scones or biscuits that usually accompanied the drink, or rush through anything. It was a time of gentility and peace.
For that reason, the cousins were not often invited to tea. Aunt Ruth adored them unreservedly all other times, and her doors were always open to them, but tea was sacred, and young people were not always able to control themselves.
So it was a delightful surprise when Gwen received an invitation in the mail one morning to tea at the old West house the next day after school.
"How nice!" Grandmother said when Gwen showed her the invitation. "Ruth must think that you are finally old enough."
Gwen worried her lower lip between her teeth. "But Grandmother, I'm still awfully clumsy. What if I break something, or spill, or do something dreadful? Aunt Ruth will never forgive me."
Grandmother squeezed her hand. "You will do just fine. I'm going to give you the same good advice Marilla Cuthbert gave me when I was nervous about going to tea with Mrs. Allan for the first time. She said, just think of what will be nicest and best for your hostess, and you will do just fine. Your only problem, Gwen, is the same problem I used to have. You're so impetuous and heedless. You wouldn't be half so clumsy if you just slowed down, stopped to think before you acted."
Gwen sighed. "I know. Mums tells me the same thing. The problem is that life is so interesting, and I'm afraid if I stop for even a moment I'll miss something!"
Grandmother laughed. "Oh, my dear, how that takes me back! I used to feel the same way. Trust me, grandchild of mine, you will be able to enjoy far more and experience more if you stop to take it all in, instead of rushing from one thing to the next."
Gwen recognized this for the sound advice it was. "I'll try, Grandmother. That does make good sense. Meanwhile, what shall I wear to Aunt Ruth's?"
This was a serious decision. She couldn't wear her Sunday dress, since she was going to be at school before tea and might get it dirty. Her usual school clothing, however, was all very practical and not particularly pretty.
"You see," Gwen confided to Grandmother and Lynde as all three stood examining her wardrobe, "Mother and Dad make plenty of money for all our needs, but not for frivolous things like clothes … especially when they know that I'm going to wear them out within a few months time." She looked ashamed as she said this, thinking of Mother's exasperated "Oh Gwen, not again," whenever she would come home with grass-stains on her skirt or holes in her elbows after a ball-game with the boys, or even just a school picnic. She never knew how it happened … it just did.
She did like pretty clothes, like Fanny's, but she never knew how to wear anything fancy or frilly. Mother once told her, "You have to wear the clothes, not let the clothes wear you," and whenever she wore anything with lace or ruffles, that's exactly how she felt.
Lynde shook her head and clicked her tongue over the state of Gwen's clothes. "I can see I'm going to have to teach you how to mend your own things."
Gwen brightened immediately. "Oh, could you? Mother hates sewing, herself, and so she's never taught me, but I would love to know how to do something useful." She suddenly felt worried. "Unless you think I'm unteachable. My Aunt Jenny says I don't have a domestic bone in my body."
"I've never yet met someone I couldn't at least teach how to sew a straight line and bake a decent loaf of bread," Lynde said with grim determination. "We can start lessons this week, if you like and Mrs. Blythe approves. Day after tomorrow, since you're having tea with Mrs. Meredith tomorrow."
"May I, Grandmother?"
Grandmother's eyes twinkled. "As long as I'm able to sit in and watch the lessons, by all means. I do so hate to be left out of you girls' doings!"
Thinking of girls made Gwen think of Lee. "Lynde, would you mind if we invited Lee to join us, too? She might like to learn some of these things, too."
Lynde waved an airy hand. "Invite whoever you like, Gwen. I'll teach 'em all."
"That settles that, then," Grandmother said briskly. "Now all we need to do is see what we can cobble together now for tomorrow."
The next afternoon, promptly at three, Gwen knocked on the front door of the old West house, her schoolbag still slung over her shoulder. Aunt Ruth opened the door with a smile.
"Good afternoon, Gwen! Aren't you prompt, how very nice. Please, come in!"
Aunt Ruth was a very pretty woman, with curly dark hair and sparkling brown eyes. She was petite, and round as a ripe berry, with soft white hands and a rippling voice. She always wore pretty dresses, too, with simple lines and rich colours. Gwen admired her greatly, and always felt like a stick (a clumsy stick) in her presence.
"How pretty you look, Gwen!" Aunt Ruth added as she stepped aside so Gwen could step into the immaculate hall. "That rose in a lovely colour on you."
"Thank you." Gwen was about to tell Aunt Ruth all about how her pink skirt had been a Sunday dress with a hopelessly stained bodice from dumping a cup of tea down her front one day after church, and how Lynde had simply snipped off the top and turned it into a skirt, and then Grandmother had found a cream sweater that had belonged to Aunt Rilla when she was fifteen and washed and pressed it for Gwen to wear, and Gwen had been extra careful all through school not to trip or slip or spill anything to get her pretty new outfit dirty. Then she remembered Grandmother's advice—think about what will be nicest and best for Aunt Ruth. Did Aunt Ruth really want to hear all those silly little details?
"Grandmother and Lynde helped me," she said instead.
Aunt Ruth laughed. "I should have guessed as soon as I saw the pink! It's your grandmother's favourite colour, on account of her never being able to wear it when she was young. She's always so delighted when any of her granddaughters look good in pink."
So that was why Grandmother always sent her pink dresses for presents.
"Lynde is going to teach me how sew and cook," Gwen now said, following Aunt Ruth into the parlour. "She's very accomplished at that sort of thing."
"That will be very nice," Aunt Ruth said, motioning for Gwen to sit down on one of the pretty upholstered chairs. "My mother always did all the household work, and when I married Bruce I couldn't even boil water! He was so gracious about all my mistakes, but I felt like such a dunce. I had been top of my class in college, and didn't even know how to fry an egg. His mother took me under her wing and taught me everything she knew, but it would have been nice to have a Lynde to show me things before I got married."
"Fanny is the top of our class," Gwen confessed. "I'm not even very bright in school." She very, very carefully took the teacup and saucer from Aunt Ruth and held them like they were made of eggshells. "Sometimes I don't think there's anything I'm very good at, except for getting into scrapes. Oh, and maybe running, now that Coach Flagg has started training me."
"You'll find your niche sometime, my dear," Aunt Ruth reassured her. "I wasn't very good in school, either, until my very last year when I suddenly discovered a passionate love for history, which then carried me through right through college, and has stayed with me to this day! And look at your mother—it wasn't until after she and your father were married that she discovered she had a knack for writing. And now her column is renowned throughout Canada! I've been following her India articles, by the way, and it sounds fascinating."
Gwen brightened, now that they were talking about Mother and not her. "Yes, doesn't it? Mother is so good at writing; I almost feel like I'm right there with her and Dad."
"Instead of here, enduring a cold PEI winter," Aunt Ruth finished with a pretty grimace.
"Oh, I like winter here," Gwen said comfortably, taking a tiny sip of her tea. It was fragrant and rich, reminding her of all the English novels she had ever read … Miss Austen and Mrs. Gaskell's books, and all of the Dickens novels.
"Sponge cake, dear?" Aunt Ruth asked, offering her a plate.
Gwen wasn't exactly sure how to manage both her teacup and a plate, but she didn't want to be rude and refuse the cake—besides, Aunt Ruth's sponge cake was renowned through the region. She hesitated, and then finally broke down.
"Aunt Ruth," she said with disarming frankness, "I would adore some cake, but I just don't know how to hold my teacup and a plate and be able to eat or drink all at the same time!"
She was mortified as soon as the words left her mouth, but to her surprise Aunt Ruth tossed her head back and began to laugh. "Oh, my dear Gwen, how well I remember having the same difficulties when I was a little girl just starting to share teatime with my mother!"
"Really?" Gwen was amazed. First Aunt Ruth—that matchless cook and housekeeper—confessed to not knowing how to do anything of the sort before she was married. Now she was admitting to having once been as uncertain of her own limbs as Gwen herself was!
"Oh, I was terribly clumsy," Aunt Ruth continued, amazing Gwen still further. "Even to this day, I still daren't wear lace on my cuffs or trimming my hem, for fear I'll catch it and tear it off."
"Is that why …" Gwen swallowed the rest of her question, thinking that calling Aunt Ruth's clothing "plain" might be considered rude.
"Why I dress so simply?" Aunt Ruth finished for her. "Yes, one of the reasons. Also because I simply loathe ironing frills and ruffles. You might have noticed that the girls' clothing is all simple, too."
Winnie and Ruthie always looked charming, but thinking about it, Gwen realized that their clothes were well-made but plain.
"Ruthie likes it, but Winnie complains," Aunt Ruth continued. "I've told her that once she is old enough to sew her own clothes, and launder them, and iron them, she may make them any fool way she pleases, but while I still do all that for her, she must follow my whims!"
"But you and the girls always look so nice," Gwen said, setting her saucer down gently on a side table lest she drop it in her enthusiasm. "A person doesn't even notice that your clothes are plain unless one really stops to think about it." It must be, she thought, just like Mother's statement about wearing one's clothes instead of letting them wear one.
"I'm so plump that clean lines and no fuss suits me better," Aunt Ruth said. "Ruffles and lace just make me look even rounder. The girls will be just the same way, although they will hopefully inherit Bruce's height to balance out my shape."
"Oh Aunt Ruth, I think you're beautiful," Gwen said with such obvious sincerity that Aunt Ruth beamed.
"Thank you, dear. You're going to be a stunner if a few years time, if I may be allowed a bit of modern slang."
Gwen giggled.
"Once you grow into those arms and legs, and your hair gets a bit of length to it … well, my dear, you could dress in sackcloth and people would take notice!"
Gwen blushed. "I don't want people to notice me."
"You don't now," said Aunt Ruth wisely, "but you might change your mind in a few years time."
"All I hope," Gwen said wistfully, "is that maybe someday I'll look a little bit like Mother. She never seems to think about her looks at all, but she always is so polished and controlled and elegant."
"Give it time," Aunt Ruth advised. "It will come."
Gwen sighed. "Grandmother says that, too. Sometimes I think waiting to grow up is that hardest thing on earth."
Aunt Ruth sighed too. "Not as hard as the actual growing up."
They turned the conversation to lighter matters then, and Aunt Ruth showed Gwen how to manage her plate and cup, and before long the twins came downstairs after their nap and were allowed a little tea themselves, heavily doused with cream and sugar. With their little round faces, dark curls, and bright eyes they looked just like two little robins, almost ready to leave the nest for the first time.
"They start school next autumn, you know," Aunt Ruth said. "Goodness, how time flies! It seems just yesterday I was holding them in my arms, wondering dazedly how I had managed to carry twins without ever even suspecting it until the time came to deliver the second one! Goodness, how Bruce was shocked as he caught her—Winnie, it was, Ruthie was born first. 'Twins, by Jove,' he shouted, and I told him there had better only be two, because I was not pushing out one more!"
Gwen laughed with her, and even the twins giggled a little.
Soon enough, Uncle Bruce came home, and Gwen realized that she had stayed far longer than was proper for an afternoon tea.
"I'm sorry," she apologized to Aunt Ruth. "I was just having such a good time I didn't even know how late it had gotten!"
"Neither did I," Aunt Ruth said. "I haven't done a thing for supper—oh dear!"
"Let me run you home, Gwen," Uncle Bruce said. "It's getting dark out there."
"Oh no," Gwen said. She knew how expensive gasoline was. "It's not that far, Uncle Bruce. I'll be home before it gets truly dark."
She put on her coat and hat, gave kisses all around (realizing only as she was walking down the hill that she gave Winnie two and Ruthie none), thanked Aunt Ruth fervently for a lovely, lovely time, and darted out the door before Uncle Bruce could insist on driving her.
It was a beautiful evening, despite it being March, a month Gwen privately considered the ugliest out of the year, with November coming a close second. The snow was mostly gone from the ground, though more was threatened for later in the week. The light from the setting sun and rising moon combined to turn the hard, bare ground and black empty limbs of trees into objects of mystery and beauty. Gwen was walking slowly, savouring the beauty of it all, when she heard a firm, quick step coming behind her, and turned her head to look into the smiling face of Oliver Grant.
"I thought I recognized you by your walk," he said, falling into step beside her. "Where've you been, out this time of day?"
"At Aunt Ruth's," Gwen answered, motioning behind her vaguely. She was obscurely pleased to think that Oliver paid attention to the way she walked enough to know it even when he couldn't see her face. "What about you?"
"Oh, I stayed late at school working on a project, and only left when the cleaning lady shooed me out," he said with a laugh. "Then I saw you, and thought I would offer to walk you home."
"That's very kind of you," Gwen said, hoping it was dim enough he couldn't see her blush. "I don't want you to go out of your way, though."
He winked. "Secretly, I'm hoping to get invited to stay to supper at Ingleside," he whispered conspiratorially. "Mum is a wonderful woman, but her cooking is nothing compared to Lynde's."
"In that case, then," Gwen laughed, feeling a little flat at the same time, that Lynde's cooking held more appeal than her company, "you are more than welcome to join me."
"Thanks," he said.
As they walked, Gwen cast shy glances at the young man by her side. Oliver was the second-smartest student in their class, coming right behind Fanny. Of course, with his father as the principal and his mother as one of the teachers, he could hardly help but be smart.
He was handsome, too, with his dark hair and eyes and swarthy skin. Most of the girls in their class were in love with him. Gwen didn't care much about silly things like that, but she did respect Oliver tremendously, and she felt very pleased to be walking with him down the Glen's main road.
Even if he was doing it only for Lynde's cooking, instead of her scintillating conversation!