The Broken Cup
A Story for All Ages by
Aaron McEmrys
Doris was a young mouse who grew up
right here in Santa Barbara, just across the church garden in Starr King. She wasn’t one of the Greynose Clan, the
church mice who live here in the church; she was a Twitch, so named because of
how impressively they their noses twitch when they get excited about something.
Like the Greynoses, the Twitches
have been living here for many generations now, but originally they came from
across the wide green waves of the Atlantic, from a place Doris’ grandmother
called ‘Old Blighty.’
Doris loved to have tea parties
with her dolls. There was a beautiful
old dollhouse in Starr King, a proper dollhouse made of sturdy wood carved long
ago by someone who loved children very much.
At night when all the humans turned
out the lights and went home, Doris climbed into the dollhouse as if she was a
doll herself.
One night a little human had left a
few new dolls in the house, and Doris didn’t have enough teacups to go around
for her new friends. She was one cup
short of the best tea party ever!
That’s when she remembered about
Grandma’s teacup. The special one.
She knew she shouldn’t, but that
teacup was just too perfect to pass up.
Doris crept as quietly as only a mouse can creep into her Grandmother’s
room.
She pushed open the little box
where Grandma kept her most special things, and there it was. The teacup had started out as a human
thimble, but had been a mouse’s teacup for generations now.
It was pale white porcelin, so
delicate with a faint and long-faded design in cornflower blue. “It is perfect!,
“
It was the best tea party Doris
ever had. The dolls were merry, and the
imaginary tea smelled like mint and tasted like hot coco. Everyone was elegantly dressed, the new dolls
fit in just fine as the conversation flowed like honey. Doris was an excellent hostess.
As she was saying good evening to
her guests, one of the new dolls said, “Thank you so much Doris, this evening
has been simply delightful!” and as Doris turned to say “Oh you are so very
welcome, dear, please do come again” – her long tail swept across the tea table
behind her, knocking off Grandmother’s special cup!
It fell in slow motion, but Doris could
not save it. It fell and fell with a
dreadful crack-smash and shattered!
Doris heart stopped and her stomach
dropped as if were duct-taped to the biggest rollercoaster in the world.
She hid the pieces of the broken
cup in the darkest corner of the deepest closet, just past the old mousetrap
that everyone avoided.
Eventually Doris’ father found it,
his whisker’s twitching violently with sadness.
Grandmother was silent for a long
time, and didn’t say a word, but long after the family had gone to bed Doris
could hear the faint sounds of crying.
“Why is grandma so sad about that
old teacup, Poppa?” she asked her father the next evening after the humans had
gone.
His whiskers gave a thoughtful
twitch. “That old cup was all she had left of the old days,” he replied.
“It came all the way from England,
‘Old Blighty’ when the first of the Twitches came across the great sea. It rolled out of a human’s sewing bag and old
Sarah Twitch, the first of the Twitches, saved it because it reminded her of
home.”
“The Twitches of Boston had it for
a long time and when they left for the west, hiding in the bottom of an old
grain sack, that old cup rolled with them, across the Great Plains in a prairie
schooner until they made it all the way here to California.”
“When a mouse got old, she’d pass
it on to her eldest daughter, and so it went for years and years and years
until your Great-Grandmother gave it to your Grandmother for safekeeping.”
“Oh,” said Doris, quiet as a mouse,
“that’s why she’s so sad. It was a
treasure.”
“Yes, a treasure – it really was a
treasure.”
Doris had a lot of thinking to do.
The next morning, Grandmother
Twitch woke up to a strange sight. There
on top of her old box was a ladybug’s wing, a real one, unimaginably delicate
like fine black lace, carefully wrapped in a bit of old satin.
“Hmmm…” murmured Grandmother, as
she noticed a certain mouse’s little head peeking out at her.
“Come out, dear,” she said sternly.
“Do you know anything about this?”
Doris looked at her grandmother’s
dear old face and burst into tears.
“Yes, dear, I understand that you
broke my cup, but what is the meaning of this?” she asked, lifting the satin
coverlet to reveal the beautiful ladybug’s wing.
Doris sniffed, “Poppa told me that
your cup was a great treasure and I heard you crying and I didn’t know what to
do, so I wanted you to have another treasure and this is the only one I have.”
“Treasure? I don’t understand.”
“This is Maryanne’s wing. Remember her, my favorite-ever pet ladybug
friend? When that mean old frog ate her this was the only part left. It also works as a fan. I miss Maryanne everyday, just like you miss
your cup. And I cried and cried just
like you.”
The two Twitchmouses just looked at
one another, their expressive noses saying everything that words could not.
And Grandmother pulled Doris close
just like when she was a baby.
Today, or so I am told, there is a
matchbox, over there, and inside, carefully wrapped in faded satin, are four
pieces of broken china and the most delicately beautiful ladybug wing you will
ever see.