Jane Orcutt - All the Tea in China

“My soul and stars,” Flora said, laying a hand over her heart as we entered our home later that day. “I am thankful to be here.”

I watched through the crack in the closing door as Phineas Snowe drove away in his rented carriage. I reluctantly closed the door. “What is that you said, Flora?”

She removed her shawl and straightened the mob cap she insisted on wearing in public because she thought it made her look French. “Run upstairs and divest yourself of your clothing, dear. All of it. I plan to boil everything thoroughly before wearing it again. Phew! What a misbegotten part of town.”

“Those poor people cannot help where they live, Flora,” I said gently. “It is the best they can afford. It is true that some of the men are not good providers for their families, but there were so many widows and children… women grateful for the least crumb of bread we brought them. They have no one to turn to, the poor lambs.”

Flora removed my shawl, grumbling. “That missionary group would do well to stay in Oxford and help them who need it. Instead, they fancy themselves missionaries out to save the Chinese.” She snorted. “At least the Methodisticals stay mostly at home.”

“The London Missionary Society has a different calling than the Methodists. Both lives of service are worthy.”

Flora put her hands on her hips. “Listen to you, Miss Isabella. You sound just like that Phineas Snowe. ‘We intend to go into all nations and serve,’” she said, mimicking his somber voice, “‘and in China there is a great need for not only food and blankets but the gospel.’ Such talk! Now upstairs with you, and I’ll draw a bath. Tobias Fitzwater would have my hide if you get a horrible disease from our experiences today.”

I obediently trotted upstairs and soon found myself unceremoniously tossed into the tub we used for bathing. Flora not only drew my water-as hot as I could stand, I might add-but stayed to scrub me with one of her fancy soaps. “Nothing but French milled will work against this grime,” she muttered under her breath as she attacked even my nails with a scrubbing brush.

“Ow! Flora, I am quite certain that no vermin could escape your ministrations. Though the soap smells divine.”

“I got it from Gemma, who visited Bath this summer with the Pembertons.”

“She is a governess?”

“Yes.” Flora attacked my hair with the same vigor as my skin. “She’s given up on finding a husband and resigned herself to life with a merchant’s family.”

“I have abandoned all hope as well,” I said thoughtfully. Flora stopped scrubbing and sat back on her heels. “Now, Miss, you have your uncle and me to look after you. And while we’re not the same as a husband and family of your own, we care about you.”

“I know you do, Flora. No one could love me more, I am certain. But I must find something to do with my life. I must be of some useful service, or I will go mad with pining. I live within one of the world’s largest and most prestigious universities, and yet I am not allowed to use the knowledge I have gained from the many tutors Uncle has chosen for me. I cannot believe that God would have me content to read books with no one to discuss them with nor to write papers for no one to read.”

“Miss Isabella…”

“And what is unused learning, anyway, but puffed-up vanity and pride? It is not as though I can teach anyone else, as Uncle Tobias does.” I shook my soapy head. “No, Flora, there must be something higher to which I might aspire. If I pray about it, I am certain that God will reveal his answer.”

She sighed. “You pray then, and I will retrieve your rinse water.”

And while she did that, I did exactly as she suggested. After I had dressed, I chanced upon the Chinese version of the Gospel According to St. Luke that Mr. Snowe had given me. I thumbed its pages, marveling at the mysterious foreign characters. They held the very wisdom of God-breathed writing, surely no less in substance than my own authorized King James version. I concluded my prayers and contemplated instead on deciphering the curious Chinese characters.

I picked at my dinner that night, thinking about all the poor Flora and I had seen that day. What were they dining on this evening, if at all? Flora was right that their existence was squalid and, I must confess, somewhat repulsive. But I could not attach their circumstance to any lack of moral character on their part, as some did. The women kept their homes as tidy as possible and often tended to far more people than their strength allowed… not only children but parents, grandparents, and the occasional drunken husband.

The weight of these women’s fates seemed heavy on my shoulders, and I wanted to pitch forward into my sumptuous food and weep.

“Is everything all right, Izzy?”

“Oh, Uncle…”

He patted my hand. “If it will make you feel any better, I sent word to Mr. Snowe that I would return him to China with a contribution for his missionary efforts. Your recommendation was all I needed.”

“That is wonderful, but what have I to contribute?”

“Why, whatever is in my name is in yours as well, dear Isabella.”

I shook my head. “If you could have but seen the women and children in need of the common things…”

Uncle Toby’s expression softened. “I have tried to shield you from such ugliness in life. The poor we will always have with us, true, but you were born to a better station. It is our responsibility, of course, to help those less fortunate, but you must not let it discourage you from leading your own life.”

“But I have no life,” I mumbled. I was close to wallowing in self-pity, a most undesirable state, but the emotions of the day had coupled with my own.

Flora bustled to the table, teapot in hand. “Miss Isabella, would you like some tea? It is a special blend straight off His Majesty’s most recently arrived East India ship. Cook got it at the market just today.”

“Where is the tea from?” I inquired listlessly. “India, I suppose.”

Flora shook her head, smiling as though to burst her apron strings. “China! Wouldn’t Mr. Snowe be impressed?”

I glanced at Flora, and the beginnings of a smile tipped my mouth. She stared at me. “Miss Isabella, are you all right?”

I turned my attention to Uncle Toby, a full smile in bloom now.

“Izzy?”

I clasped my hands in my lap, trying vainly to contain my joy. “I prayed that God would show me my purpose today, Uncle.”

“And?”

“The tea! It is from China. Just like the Gospel According to St. Luke that Mr. Snowe gave me. My pink slippers also were presented to me with Chinese letters.”

Uncle Toby and Flora stared at me.

Did they not understand? It was obviousness itself. “All three are answers to my prayer. I know what my purpose is! God intends for me to travel to China with Phineas Snowe’s missionary group.”

Teapot in hand, Flora stood frozen. Uncle Toby as well, until a smile lit his face. “I cannot discount any message from the Lord, but you are prone to spontaneity, Isabella. I must wonder if your deduction has been reached in haste.”

“I cannot believe it has been. I feel such a…” I drew in a deep breath. “A rightness about this.”

Flora set the teapot on the table and fled the room, apron at her mouth.

“Why, what is wrong with Flora?” I said.

Uncle reached across the table to take my hand. “It is not every day that a gently bred young woman announces her intentions to give up civil life for that of a missionary. In a country halfway around the world, no less.” His expression softened. “I have my own doubts, Isabella.”

My resolve crumbled. I thought they would be pleased. “But… it is a worthy calling.”