The Teapot

The Teapot

It stood on the dresser amid old photos and worn greeting cards, still grand despite its circumstances. Pale ivory porcelain, decorated with dainty roses of a deep and striking pink nestled amid just a hint of greenery, the pot was trimmed by a sliver of genuine gold that outlined the graceful curves of the lid, flowing spout and delicate handle. Once there had been cups, saucers and a tray to match, but now the pot stood alone — its companions long since broken or lost.

It was much like the woman who owned it. She sat in the dim clutter of a place where she didn’t belong, and managed to remain tall and graceful, unbowed despite age and circumstance. She wore her distinctive gray hair pulled back in a bun and secured with a hair pin long out of fashion. Her clothes were not new, yet they had been well-chosen, classic cuts and fine fabrics withstanding seasons of washing and wearing. Her jewelry was simple too, a watch, wedding band and simple pair of gold earrings were the best of all she possessed. And though she was forced to use an ugly metal walker to get around after her last stroke, she kept the device off to the side, out of sight, sitting straight and tall in her chair. Of course she made it a point to dress each day before taking her place in the room’s only upholstered chair, facing the door, watching and waiting for what would come next.

This was the sight that greeted Charlotte as she followed one of the nurses on her rounds that early September afternoon. Overburdened and well-used to the demands of her profession, the nurse assessed her patients quickly, though not unkindly, as she made her way through the overcrowded ward. A new aide was just one more thing to see to during an already-exhausting shift. Still, she managed the task aptly enough, without the time to wonder at the wisdom of placing one so young amid the feeble fragments of those who had once been robust — and now struggled with the loss of either mind or body.

"Hey there Mary." She greeted as she entered the room, Charlotte trailing behind. "How are you doing today?"

"Just fine Rita." Came the ready answer, a smile lighting the delicate features. "How are those boys of yours?"

Rita brightened, as she always did when she spoke of her sons. "Great, just great. I told you Matt made first string basketball?"

The old woman nodded. "You did." She paused, glancing to the young girl who stood wide-eyed and watching the exchange. "And who is this you’ve brought with you today?"

"Mary, this is Charlotte, she’s our new aide."

Bright blue eyes turned to the young girl, curious and open. "Nice to have you here Charlotte."

"Nice to be here." The girl managed the lie, though she was shocked and appalled by what she’d seen in this place. It was a horrible, hopeless existence that seemed so cold and heartless it made her want to burst into tears. Secretly she’d decided to finish the shift and never return, no matter how generous the pay might be.

"Catherine not back from dialysis yet?"

The old woman glanced to her watch before shaking her head. "No, it’s usually about another half hour or so." It was the only private time she had, and she relished it, though she would never give any hint of this to the needy, lonely soul who shared the space with her.

"I see your pressure’s up a bit up." Rita remarked, scanning the chart she’d retrieved from the foot of the bed. "And that cholesterol number isn’t as far down as we’d like."

Mary waived a hand dismissively, "You’d think at my age it wouldn’t matter." She sent Charlotte a bright smile, "Now a young girl like you should take care of herself… but me? I’m eighty-seven and old enough to stop worrying."

"It certainly hasn’t slowed you down." The nurse conceded with a smile. How could she argue, for Mary was spry and healthy for her age, her body slowly fading while her mind stayed maddeningly clear, aware of all too much.

"Indeed it hasn’t." The other woman agreed, inclining her head toward the moans that came clearly from across the hall. "Of course it’s more than can be said for some poor souls."

At the sound, Rita set Mary’s chart aside and hurried to the door. "Salma… look at me dear — what is it… " She glanced quickly back to Charlotte. "Stay with Mary while I take care of this."

She was off without another word and Charlotte sent the older woman an uncomfortable look. "I hope everything’s all right over there… "

"It’ll be fine… Salma’s always forgetting she needs the walker." Mary assured her, gesturing to the folding chair that was kept for visitors. "Come and sit down, this is your chance for a break."

Unsure what to do, Charlotte made a tentative move to the chair, "Are — are you sure it will be all right?"

"Of course it will." She was told. "We’ll just say I was telling you about the routine around here."

With no choice but to comply, Charlotte reluctantly took her seat, glancing about the room, now awash with autumn sunshine. It was the first time all afternoon she’d stayed someplace long enough to look around as she did now. Though the walls were drab and the floor cold, Mary had managed to create her own little world in the space given to her. A rich Oriental carpet of rose and blue warmed the floor between her bed and dresser, and she was also allowed a reading lamp, which she’d had them put by the chair facing the door. The dresser that contained all she owned stood off to one side, its worn top covered by a delicate lace scarf on which a teapot, groupings of photos and keepsakes collected over a lifetime were artfully arranged. A bright floral print hung on one wall, a muted seascape on the other. The room was actually… pretty.

"I can tell by the look on your face you haven’t seen many rooms like this."

In truth, there hadn’t been one. "I didn’t know you were allowed… "

"Who said anything about allowed?" Mary scoffed with a shake of her head. She’d spent so much of her life challenging rules it always came as a surprise when someone made mention of them. "I do as I please… and since there are precious few spunky old ladies about, they don’t have the heart to argue with one. "

Charlotte could see the spirit behind the twinkling blue eyes, and she found herself smiling. "Sounds like you’ve got everyone just where you want them."

"I’ll be glad to show you how it’s done, that is, if you decide to stay on."

The elderly woman’s perceptiveness startled the girl, and she blushed, embarrassed that her thoughts had been so easy to read. "H — how did you know?"

"It’s only natural." The other said simply. "Believe me, you’re not the only one who’d love to get out of here and never come back… " Her voice trailed off, and for a moment she was consumed by a longing for the home, the life that age and frail health had taken… too soon. There had been no other choice, and she thrust the thoughts aside, determined to make the best of what little remained. "But, we must deal with what is."

"I suppose that’s true."

"As for you, I imagine the pay here is most generous for a girl your age."

"That’s true."

"Well then, as I see it, you’ve got two choices. Let the worst parts of this place scare you off a good paying job. Or," Mary paused, lowering her voice. "Put up with old biddies like me and put aside a nice bit of money."

In fact, she’d have the money she needed in half the time. "I’m saving for a car."

"A girl your age with her own car? How exciting." Mary’s blue eyes twinkled at the thought of how it must be to be young and free… with a lifetime before you rather than behind. "Tell me, what are you planning to buy?"

"Oh anything I can afford I suppose. Though I’ve always wanted a convertible."

"Dan and I had a convertible." She said with a smile at the memory of the summer’s they’d had in that car… taking it to the lake with the kids those first few years until it had needed brakes and they’d traded it for something more sensible. "I think everyone should own one — at least once."

It was not the reaction she’d expected, certainly not the one she’d gotten from her parents who were quick to point out the impracticality of her preference. And yet, this woman, almost a stranger, could appreciate the appeal of that kind of freedom. "I know it would be the best… and Mom and Dad did say I can buy what I want. But first I’ve got to save the money."

"Very smart your parents." Mary observed approvingly. "These days it’s easy to give kids the most you can, but sometimes it’s not the best thing. You’ll probably appreciate that more when you’re older."

"Now you sound like my parents."

She could understand the girl’s frustration and she sent her a sympathetic smile. "So I do." She sighed, though it bothered her not a bit. "Of course you know how expensive a car can be… not just to get, but gas, insurance… A nice paycheck could make all the difference."

It was true, and Charlotte sent the older woman a speculative look. She’d never known her grandparents, and beyond an elderly aunt she saw on holidays, this afternoon had been the most time she’d spent around anyone near to Mary’s age. These few moments had been unexpected… intriguing… almost… fun. "Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to convince me to stay?"

"You found me out I’m afraid." Her companion replied with a laugh, a light, gentle sound that was most contagious. "Guilty as charged. Somehow I have the feeling you’d brighten up this place. And believe me, it could use it."

It was at this moment that Rita returned, glancing from one to the other in some surprise. "Well… you’ve settled right in I see." She said to Charlotte, and then to Mary. "You telling her all our secrets Mary? You’re not scaring her off are you?"

"Quite the contrary." Charlotte replied, rising and folding the chair with a quick motion. She sent the older woman a grateful smile. "She’s convinced me this is exactly the job for me."



It was to be the first of many times that Charlotte and Mary spent together as that autumn progressed inevitably toward winter. Outside the chill air had taken hold, leaves having spent their color and been pulled down to collect in piles on the ground. But inside there was the hustle and bustle of the holidays. Just after Thanksgiving Mary brought out her small ceramic Christmas tree, against the rules of course, and displayed it proudly on the stand made from the trash can. Of course there were presents too.

"Oh Mary… you shouldn’t have!" Charlotte exclaimed over the array of stylish headbands that lay displayed before her. The older woman smiled, making a mental note to thank Rita again for running this holiday errand for her. Charlotte’s blonde hair was long and unruly and she’d been searching for a way to manage it that didn’t involve blow dryers and hairspray.

"I hear those are all the style now. Of course if you don’t like them… "

"Don’t like them!" The girl was appalled at the thought. "I love them. Finally hair stuff that’s just mine, no little sister to have to share with. Thank you so much Mary. Truly."

Her genuine delight was a most wonderful sight, and the old woman drank it in before turning her attention to the delightfully wrapped package Charlotte had presented to her. She paused a moment, hating to open it, and then with a thrill of anticipation removed the wrapping and lifted the lid. Her jaw dropped as she stared at the delicate tea cups and matching saucers cradled in tissue. "Oh, how lovely!"

"I thought if there were cups maybe we could have tea…"

"Why, they’re almost a perfect match to my pot…" Mary’s voice trailed off as her gaze moved to take in the teapot, standing proud on the dresser. She thought in that moment of its former home, as the centerpiece of the china cabinet that had dominated the dining room where holiday dinners had been held year after year… until she’d been left to cook and eat the meal alone. That last Christmas she’d made a tuna melt and a pot of tea and sat in the grand room alone but not lonely. "What a wonderful gift Charlotte. I thank you."

"I know they don’t match exactly." Charlotte went on, misunderstanding the look that had taken hold of the bright blue eyes. "That pattern is out of production — I checked everywhere — even online. No one makes it anymore."

Mary laughed at this, "I’m not surprised. That pot was given to me on the day I got married by Dan’s Aunt Aggie. That was over fifty-three years ago."

"When I saw these they reminded me of the pot… all pink and pretty." Charlotte continued. "But I won’t be offended if you don’t like them… "

"I love them child. Really I do." Mary told her, rising to embrace the girl before she moved to take hold of the pot. "As a matter of fact, let’s order up some tea and have it right now, for Christmas."

"I was hoping you’d say that." The girl smiled, reaching into the backpack she’d brought for the sugar cookies she’d made the night before. "How about a cookie to go with the tea?"

"It’s just the thing." Mary grinned. "Just the thing indeed."



They made the teas a regular event after that, sharing everyday happenings and tough times as they enjoyed the warm tea and cookies that always seemed to find their way into the ritual. Sometimes Charlotte would tell the old woman about the travails of her girlfriends or the calamity of being partnered with the geekiest guy in class for the rest of the quarter. "Just think how much better you’ll do in the class." Mary pointed out with a smile. "Besides, those are the ones, the quiet, smart ones, who turn out to be the best husbands."

"Husband! Oh that’s revolting!"

Mary had laughed heartily at this, barely able to remember a time when she felt as Charlotte did now. She’d spent her youth working as a hat check girl in a downtown hotel, the extra money she made going to help the family put food on the table and keep the roof over their heads. There had been no movie dates or proms dresses… only the hard work of living brought by necessity to one too young to bear it properly. "You’ll see. One day, you’ll see."

Of course there were the serious talks too, chances for Charlotte to unburden herself before someone with a whole different perspective. Mary was the one who she worried to about slipping grades and her father’s sudden job loss. It had been the older woman’s wise words that had gotten her through her mother’s breast cancer scare and the loss of a childhood friend who moved abruptly when her parents split up. And to the old woman, these were the times she came to value most of all, a chance to be useful again, to offer advice and see it followed, to know that the next generation hadn’t forgotten those who came before.

And it was to this girl, who’d managed somehow to become more family than friend, that Mary confided the news the doctor’s brought her one winter afternoon. Leukemia, advanced and quickly ravaging her body, was the cause of her lack of energy of late. There was no treatment to be offered, nothing to be done. Nothing but wait for the march of days until the last had come and gone. She sat staring out the window after Charlotte had reluctantly left, her gaze fixed on the snow-covered garden used in warmer weather, and she knew then that she would not see the blooms of spring again.

It was hard to believe that she would not reach her next birthday… so hard to know there was an end, counted out in months not an indeterminate number of years. The realization overwhelmed her, giant and looming… blotting out all else.



As she got weaker, Mary didn’t have the strength to rise and dress as she had always done. Now she spent her days in bed… saving her physical energy to fight the pneumonia that had taken brutal hold. Her condition had won her an unexpected benefit — a private room. Her things were moved with care into the new space, the orderlies taking great pains to follow Charlotte’s directions as to where the carpet and pictures should be placed. Those few who had come to know Mary well were there as she was settled into the comfortable room at the end of the hall. Charlotte took great care in placing the teapot and cups on the cart she’d secured for just this purpose.

"Once she’s settled, why don’t you two have tea?" Rita suggested, anxious to give her patient something pleasant to do, a short space of time where the terrible inevitability of her condition could be forgotten… if only for a moment.

Charlotte was quick to agree. "You see Mary, this cart will keep everything out of the way, but ready for us to have our tea, whenever we want."

Mary turned to look, and she smiled, well pleased. "A fine idea child. Just fine."

As the disease progressed and the end grew closer, tea was the only thing that Mary could keep down, her body losing its ability to do almost anything, and she suffered each of these indignities with all the composure at her command. Her days passed one after the next, each taking just a bit more out of her, leaving her just that much weaker. She was slipping away, and she knew it.

"It’s not that I’m afraid, you see." She told Charlotte one late winter afternoon as they sat together. They’d been having a very open discussion about faith and the afterlife, sharing their views and recognizing each in the other.

"You’re not?" Charlotte managed to get the question out over the lump in her throat.

"No, I’m not. Not really." Mary continued, a sort of simple peace coming to take hold of her pale features. Belief was there, plainly and without restraint, the steadfast faith of a child. "I believe in God, and I’ve lived a good life. Certainly I have few regrets."

The words stayed with the girl long after she’d left the old woman’s side. There was a simple dignity in them, and she recognized the mark of a life well lived, with good times and bad, challenge and reward; but in the end contentment and a clear conscience. The realization was a lightening bolt to the girl’s senses — and she knew then that the direction of her life and how she would measure it in the end had been profoundly changed by the simple words of an old woman.



The end came when Charlotte was off duty and had gone home for a few hours rest at the bidding of the nurses on call. "We’ll let you know when it’s time," they told her, and so she stood for a final moment before the pale shell of a woman who had only a short space of time before been lively and laughing. Mary slept almost constantly now, and when she was awake, she seemed to have detached herself from this world, saying little, hardly recognizing those she would have welcomed before. There was no family left to come and visit, to stand vigil by her bedside, so Charlotte and the nurses took turns, holding her hand and whispering words that went unheard.

On that last afternoon, Charlotte held her hand, helpless and wishing she could do more. "I’m going to go home for a bit, but I’ll be back. I promise."

She’d cried for a half hour out in the parking lot before starting the car she’d bought the month before — an electric blue convertible, a choice her father had supported despite his misgivings. She’d selected the car as a tribute to Mary… sharing the news with her though her friend gave little indication that she’d heard. Still Charlotte was convinced that Mary knew… and would be a part of the trips to the lake on warm summer days… beside her as the wind blew her hair… smiling down at her from the cloudless sky of a spring morning when everything was alive and all was possible.



The call came later that night, Rita’s voice somber and sorrowful as she broke the news. Mary had passed silently, easily, in her sleep. It had been a peaceful death, without pain or suffering, though Charlotte could not help but think of the anguish the news had caused the old woman as she recognized the end of her days were fast approaching. In this, there had been suffering.

It had been hard to go in for her next shift, though Charlotte forced herself to do it, again as a tribute to the friend she missed most heartily now. Her heart beat painfully in her chest as she made her way along the ward, blinking back the tears that came when she passed the room that Mary had made her own. Glancing in, she could see Catherine sitting in the chair, staring listlessly out the window at a gray, windswept sky.

"Charlotte, glad you’re here. I need to talk with you."

It was Rita, harried and hurried as always, though she put aside what she was doing to take hold of the girl’s arm and lead her back to the small area the nurses used for breaks. The room was deserted, and Charlotte settled in at the table. "What’s up?"

In answer, Rita retrieved a sturdy shopping bag and placed it on the table. "Mary asked — asked me to see that you got these things after she passed."

Overcome, Charlotte felt tears sting her eyes, though she tried to blink them back. "For me? She left something for me?"

"You brought her a lot of joy Charlotte." Rita told her, reaching to rest a hand on the girl’s arm. It was a hard thing to watch someone so vibrant, so alive slip so suddenly into sickness and then be gone, almost as if they had never been.

"She did the same for me." Charlotte replied, "I can’t imagine getting on without her."

"But you will."

"I miss her."

"I do too."

Charlotte could see the other woman’s loss was equal to her own, and she stood to look inside the shopping bag. Carefully packed and wrapped in brown tissue was a familiar sized object, the golden tip of the teapot top just peaking out. Alongside the cups and saucers had been carefully wrapped and packed. "She loved her tea."

"Take care of the pot… for her." Rita advised, her own voice thick with emotion. "And when your children ask where you got it, tell them about Mary."

"I will do that. I swear I will."

Rita smiled, believing her, "And don’t try and hide your sorrow. Mary was a wonderful woman, worthy of your tears… someone to be missed and remembered."

Charlotte knew that she would be, always.