Jane Orcutt: All the Tea in China

I ran my fingers through his queue, loosening his hair. “And I, you. So much has happened. I have so much to tell you.”

His put his fingers to my lips. “First, let me speak.” He reached into the leather pouch and removed what appeared to be a large golden cake. “Do you know what this is?”

I shook my head.

He smiled. “Do you not recognize tea leaves? These are the golden ones.”

I touched it with awe. No wonder he had sought these leaves. They shimmered in the light of the room like beautiful treasure. I did not know if they were as delicious to drink as he had said, but they were wondrous to behold.

“This represents the labor of my time away from you,” he said.

“This is all? One cake?” I smiled. “For this you hope to bring down the East India Company? It might fetch a nice sum at auction but hardly enough to put that venerable firm out of business, I believe.”

“And your belief is accurate.” He frowned, sinking wearily to a chair. “This is all I brought home.”

I knelt beside him, my hand on his knee. So it is over. “The Americans have taken the rest? They will sell it and begin to work against the East India Company?”

He closed his eyes. “I no longer care.”

“What?” I rose. “It is what you have worked for so long.”

Phineas took my hands and rose to face me. “The Americans,” he said bitterly, then tried again. “The American trading company will be no better than the British. They too are bringing opium to trade in China. Indeed, it is how they acquired the money to finance our expedition. I told them I would have nothing further to do with their venture.”

“I am sorry,” I said and meant it, though once it would have been a lie. “You worked hard for what you believed was right. I am also sorry that the Americans have taken the tea leaves for their own.”

“It does not matter, for I learned a secret from one of the monks in Hupei. Tea leaves undergo different processes to achieve different colors. Black is heated the most, green only lightly so, and white, even less.”

“White? I have never heard of such.”

“It is a tea primarily for royalty in China,” he said. “It is made from tender new buds plucked from the top of the plant. Much like the golden leaves, which grow only in a certain part of the mountains.”

“But that is no secret. You were aware of that already.”

He smiled. “The leaves are golden but undergo no heating at all. Which means that they will never make the long voyage to America-or England-without withering and becoming useless. They must be used quickly and thus can only be drunk in China.”

“Will you tell this to the Americans before they leave Canton with their supply?”

Phineas folded his arms and grinned.

I smiled in return. He took me in his arms and held me close. I felt his heart beating solidly. “I do not wish to be parted from you again,” I said softly.

“Nor I from you. When I learned the truth, I thought about what you have said these many months regarding revenge. I saw how foolish I would have been, even had my plan succeeded. I do not want to tilt at windmills when it would be time and effort spent apart from you.” He cupped my face. “You are the love of my life, Isabella. I want nothing more than to live with you, raise children”-he gestured at the cake of leaves, smiling-“and yum cha.”

He kissed me before I could say anything in return; indeed, there was nothing I could say, for he had expressed my desires as well. His attentions made my head swim, and I knew that all my news would have to wait, for I was about to forget everything.

“We can return to England if you like,” he murmured, scarcely ceasing with his kisses. Oh, he was a fiend with his kisses!-never allowing them to stay in one place for long, but placing one on my cheekbone, then one at the corner of my mouth, and another near my ear. “I am certain you are ready to leave this house,” he whispered. “Macao, Cape Town… wherever you wish to live.”

I shuddered, trembling. “I want to live here.”

“Canton?” His lips moved to my temple.

I could scarcely speak now! “Your mother’s house,” I finally managed to whisper.

He laughed softly, whispering against my ear. “You will have to tell me about this madness later, Wife, for it appears you have cast a spell on more than just me. I, however, am completely bewitched at the moment.”

With that, he lifted me into his arms. The tea cake dropped softly to the floor, where it remained until much, much later.

Every culture, nay, every generation, has a story to tell. Mine has been that of two cultures and hopefully many generations yet to come. Phineas and I still have the dogeared original and copies of the Gospel According to St. Luke. Like St. Francis of Assisi, we believe in preaching the gospel at all times-and if necessary, to use words. St. Francis’s statement is what I learned being a true missionary often means. We also still have the sword that has been in Nai Nai’s family for many years. We pray that it will never be needed again, but we are prepared, like Wo-Ping and Mei, to battle for righteousness.

And now, dear friend, I close my tale with the happy report that tea is also still important in our lives. Every year, Phineas and I travel together to the Mo Tong mountains to gather golden leaves, which we brew and drink with everyone we love, from the oldest to the youngest.

Jane Orcutt is the author or coauthor of twelve books, including the bestselling Porch Swings and Picket Fences.

Born with a serious heart defect, Jane faced surgeries and long recoveries from the age of five. But these solitary times only strengthened Jane's love for reading, and her dream of one day becoming a writer.

On Sunday, March 18, 2007, after a long battle with acute myeloid leukemia, she passed away.

She lives in the Fort Worth, Texas, area with her family.