Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Cup and Saucer (08/28/14)
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TITLE: Pride and Prudence | Previous Challenge Entry
By Ann Stocking
09/04/14 -
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I was staying with my grandmother in town. My mother had gone to a mysterious place called "confinement," and I was promised a grand surprise after my sojourn with Grandmother. I wondered whether it would be the long-wished-for pony or the doll in the Eaton's catalogue.
As it was the middle of May, the Ladies Missionary Society was having its Spring Tea, hosted by Grandmother. My best dress was ironed, and Grandmother made me a new butter-yellow pinafore, with a wide sash and ruffles. She curled my hair and tied a matching satin bow in my hair.
"Am I pretty, Grandmother?"
"Pretty is as pretty does. Now, stay out of mischief. Read your story book." And she left. I flipped the pages of the book; it was the tale about the silly rabbit in Mr. McGregor's garden. When I came to the page where Peter Rabbit's mother gave Peter a cup of chamomile tea, I had an idea. And so, one thing led to another, as it often does.
I tiptoed downstairs. Grandmother was busy in the kitchen, I knew, slicing lemon loaf, garnishing custard tarts with raspberry preserves, and boiling water for tea. I crept past, to the dining room, which had already been prepared for the church ladies. A snowy tablecloth graced the table, along with silver spoons and forks and Grandmother's precious Royal Albert dishes. A bouquet of lilacs sat in the centre of the spotless expanse, accompanied by the cream pitcher and the sugar bowl. Usually I'd dip my fingers in the sugar, but Grandmother'd said to keep out of trouble, and I didn't want to be naughty like Peter Rabbit, even though the sugar beckoned.
Alongside the table was the sideboard, where Grandmother's good dishes lived between missionary meetings and Christmas dinners. And above the sideboard was the object of my desire.
A mirror.
To my disappointment, I was too short to see more than my hairbow. I jumped, and that gave me a brief glimpse of bouncing curls. However, since Grandmother had never said I must not stand on the furniture, I dragged the nearest chair closer to the sideboard, relieved that I could still hear Grandmother clinking and clattering away in the kitchen.
That was better. My ruffles were divine, and the collar of my dress was perfectly splendid. I turned this way and that, admiring myself from curls and hairbow to... but, I couldn't see my shoes.
Carefully, I stepped up onto the table. Now, I had a full view of my beribboned and beruffled self. I turned, better to see the bow in my sash.
And lost my balance.
I grabbed the nearest thing to steady myself, the bouquet of lilacs. Over the vase tumbled, and as I scrambled out the way of the ensuing surge of water, a cup and saucer flew off the table.
There I was, standing on the table with a spray of crushed lilacs in my hand, looking with great dismay and shame at the fragments of china, like pastel petals, scattered across the floor.
And Grandmother, with an equally miserable countenance, was suddenly there, and without a word, lifted me down from the table. I never knew what happened after that, for I galloped to my room and hurled myself on my cot, heedless of my sash and fancy frills.
For my next birthday, I received a cup and saucer from Grandmother, an odd gift for a six-year-old, perhaps, but perhaps not, considering they were of the same design as the pieces I'd broken, from the Royal Albert pattern so fittingly named Prudence, a delicate design of pink roses and dainty flowers. But, her true gift to me, forgiveness for my childish folly, overflowed from the fragile cup.
* * * *
I breathed in the fragrant aroma of the Earl Grey tea steaming from my Royal Albert teacup, as I had every morning for the past 75 years. Eventually, I'd inherited Grandmother's entire set of china, the dinner plates, serving bowls, creamers, and platters. The overblown roses have faded, and the gilt edging has been worn away, but the message is still radiant. Mind your manners, Lillian. Avoid vanity. And, above all, freely forgive.
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Well done.
God bless~
You've caught the era and maintained a child's POV beautifully. Great job.
Excellent work! This piece is lush with imagery that still swirls around in my head.
Wonderful story.
So believable that I was surprised to see it was labeled fiction.
Fabulous story.