Tea for One
by Sue Mayfield Geiger
Fall was approaching and the weather was becoming bearable enough to spend some time out on the front porch. Ella particularly enjoyed sitting in her mother’s old wooden rocking chair with the blue paint chipping off, falling onto the deck. The sound of wood on wood made a creaking noise, just as it had when her mother, Sadie, rocked in it years ago.
The screen door needed painting, but Ella liked the look of paint peeling off, just like the rocker. She had even grown accustomed to letting all the silver patina naturally, giving it that antique look she adored. Polished silver was so garish.
The farmhouse was built in 1904 and had been in Ella’s family ever since. Improvements had been made over time and the homestead provided Ella with everything she needed. She had a large vegetable and flower garden and a few laying hens, plus when she needed any kind of supplies, she’d just call up the general store and they’d deliver them.
Living right on the Texas-Louisiana border with 250 acres, Ella had the best of both worlds—she could run naked through the woods if she wanted to, fish in open streams, sing at the top of her lungs and talk to the trees, because they always listened. Unlike her late husband, Earl.
Earl was employed at the paper mill and had a bad habit of cashing his paycheck and gambling most of it away before he ever made it home. Not to mention the amount of booze he’d consume before he stumbled up to the front door.
Ella could always hear him trying to get his key in the door, which would take him about 15 minutes before he’d finally give up and start shouting, “Ella, open the damn door right now before I break it down! I’ve told you time and time again you don’t need to lock the damn door because we live in the middle of #@&! nowhere and besides, no one would want your sorry ass, anyway!”
Ella would get out of bed and unlock the door, knowing that Earl was just beginning to spew his usual banter—about how he worked hard and was tired of coming home to a fat slob and doubly tired of eating all those bland, tasteless vegetables out of her garden and why couldn’t she go to the store and bring home a side of beef once in a while. Ella knew that if she talked back—especially as to why she could not buy meat since he usually gambled the money away—that Earl would get physical and “box her around” as he’d say.
They’d been married 40 years; no kids. Ella met Earl when he was riding bulls at the rodeo and it was love at first sight. But after the first year of marriage, Ella saw Earl’s dark side. Why did she stay? Who really knows, except when women become victims, they often feel that they deserve it, but aside from that, the rest is fear. Fear of the consequences if you leave. Fear of never being far enough away from the abuser.
The night Earl died, it was declared that death was due to chronic respiratory failure by the coroner. His two-packs-of-cigarettes-a-day habit had no doubt finally done him in. In some ways, it was a blessing because Ella was finally free of his abuse.
She now had peace and tranquility in her life and thoroughly enjoyed spending her evenings rocking on the front porch.
The only thing she liked better was taking care of her garden. She was meticulous about growing organic tomatoes, okra, onions and carrots. She also loved flowers and had an assortment of them peppered throughout the vegetables, like Queen Anne’s Lace. The tiny white delicate blooms were so petite and she liked to arrange them with other cut flowers in a vase.
Next to the Queen Anne’s Lace was a similar plant. It looked a lot like Queen Anne’s Lace, but it was not. It was Conium maculatum, better known as hemlock. And it made a mighty fine tea. Earl particularly liked it with three lumps of sugar and a bit of cream. It went really well with his breakfast most mornings. Bless his soul.
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Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved. Can not be reproduced or used without written permission.
by Sue Mayfield Geiger
Fall was approaching and the weather was becoming bearable enough to spend some time out on the front porch. Ella particularly enjoyed sitting in her mother’s old wooden rocking chair with the blue paint chipping off, falling onto the deck. The sound of wood on wood made a creaking noise, just as it had when her mother, Sadie, rocked in it years ago.
The screen door needed painting, but Ella liked the look of paint peeling off, just like the rocker. She had even grown accustomed to letting all the silver patina naturally, giving it that antique look she adored. Polished silver was so garish.
The farmhouse was built in 1904 and had been in Ella’s family ever since. Improvements had been made over time and the homestead provided Ella with everything she needed. She had a large vegetable and flower garden and a few laying hens, plus when she needed any kind of supplies, she’d just call up the general store and they’d deliver them.
Living right on the Texas-Louisiana border with 250 acres, Ella had the best of both worlds—she could run naked through the woods if she wanted to, fish in open streams, sing at the top of her lungs and talk to the trees, because they always listened. Unlike her late husband, Earl.
Earl was employed at the paper mill and had a bad habit of cashing his paycheck and gambling most of it away before he ever made it home. Not to mention the amount of booze he’d consume before he stumbled up to the front door.
Ella could always hear him trying to get his key in the door, which would take him about 15 minutes before he’d finally give up and start shouting, “Ella, open the damn door right now before I break it down! I’ve told you time and time again you don’t need to lock the damn door because we live in the middle of #@&! nowhere and besides, no one would want your sorry ass, anyway!”
Ella would get out of bed and unlock the door, knowing that Earl was just beginning to spew his usual banter—about how he worked hard and was tired of coming home to a fat slob and doubly tired of eating all those bland, tasteless vegetables out of her garden and why couldn’t she go to the store and bring home a side of beef once in a while. Ella knew that if she talked back—especially as to why she could not buy meat since he usually gambled the money away—that Earl would get physical and “box her around” as he’d say.
They’d been married 40 years; no kids. Ella met Earl when he was riding bulls at the rodeo and it was love at first sight. But after the first year of marriage, Ella saw Earl’s dark side. Why did she stay? Who really knows, except when women become victims, they often feel that they deserve it, but aside from that, the rest is fear. Fear of the consequences if you leave. Fear of never being far enough away from the abuser.
The night Earl died, it was declared that death was due to chronic respiratory failure by the coroner. His two-packs-of-cigarettes-a-day habit had no doubt finally done him in. In some ways, it was a blessing because Ella was finally free of his abuse.
She now had peace and tranquility in her life and thoroughly enjoyed spending her evenings rocking on the front porch.
The only thing she liked better was taking care of her garden. She was meticulous about growing organic tomatoes, okra, onions and carrots. She also loved flowers and had an assortment of them peppered throughout the vegetables, like Queen Anne’s Lace. The tiny white delicate blooms were so petite and she liked to arrange them with other cut flowers in a vase.
Next to the Queen Anne’s Lace was a similar plant. It looked a lot like Queen Anne’s Lace, but it was not. It was Conium maculatum, better known as hemlock. And it made a mighty fine tea. Earl particularly liked it with three lumps of sugar and a bit of cream. It went really well with his breakfast most mornings. Bless his soul.
Back to Sue's Page
Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved. Can not be reproduced or used without written permission.