The Tea Kettle Told All

         The Tea Kettle Told All

Suzanne Marsh

How many times had I heard that old tea kettle whistle? I eyed it as a hawk eyes a mouse; I had not seen it since before Grandma passed away. It was my grandma’s tea kettle, why she gave it to me was beyond my reasoning. Grandma never did anything without a reason; so why did I have the whistling tea kettle? I remembered going to grandma’s and having tea with her. I remember she always had black tea. It was loose and I can still see the silver tea ball sitting in the tea pot. I can also remember a mouth full of black tea leaves; I was about six or seven at the time. Grandma told me to wait until the tea was ready. Being the impatient child that I was I poured the tea into the cup, right along with the tea leaves. Grandma thought that was so funny; it was a story she always told until the day she passed on.

The tea kettle had always been a black finish with a chrome whistle. It seemed it had been in my life forever. The question was now that I have it what am I going to do with it? I decided that since grandma had given it to me, I would use it. In little girl fashion, I began to think about having a tea party. I went to the store, purchased a tea ball, a teapot and matching cups. I went to several antique stores before I found just what I was looking for. I then came home; I had also bought invitations. Yes, this was going to be great fun. Imagine, a true, proper tea party. I knew grandma was smiling as she watched over me. I decided that I would invite my cousins

Grandma came from Aruba, in the Dutch West Indies, her people were from the Netherlands originally. She had emigrated to the United States where her parents had a boarding house. She did tatting for fancy collars at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory in Brooklyn, New York. The Shirtwaist Factory burned on Marcy 25, 1911, grandma already had found a better paying job. I think she was also being courted by my grandpa at that time. With that in mind I found myself willing that tea kettle to tell me its story.

I wrote the invitations out that same afternoon; the tea party would be the following Monday evening. The tea kettle whistled and brought me out of my reverie. I wanted everything to be the way grandma would have served tea. I began to anticipate a reunion of my cousins. There was something about that tea kettle that seemed to have a story of its own. The whistle itself seemed to have a life of its own. The sound it made was not a whistle; it was more like a hoot of an owl. That blamed tea kettle seemed to be trying to tell me something about my grandma that I always found rather strange. She always smiled but there was also a bitterness around her mouth. Her face was angelic or at least I thought so. She and mom used to get into arguments about me; grandma did not understand why my mom always worked instead of being home with me. One argument they must have forgotten I was under the dining room table. It was something I will never forget; I am seventy-two now and those words still echo in my mind: “you should be home with her; she has no one to supervise her, she is like a lost soul.”

I remember sliding down the banister at grandma’s with my cousins and grandma telling us not to do that again. Being kids we did it again. Grandma was making tea so we knew that we would be having that black tea soon.

The whistle on tea kettle reminded me of the purpose that I had for making the tea; I wanted a dry run before our tea party. I picked up the tea kettle; headed for the blue ceramic tea pot on the table. I discovered that I still had a silver tea ball in my China cabinet. I was ready to commence my dry run. The China cups and saucers were placed where my cousins would be seated. I poured the tea carefully. This was going to be a wonderful family reunion; all of my cousins had accepted my invitation. Once I was done with my dry run; I carefully washed the dishes; smiling to myself.

I picked up the tea kettle once again. I wanted to see if I could understand the reason its whistle was so strange. I stared at it; the one part of the whistle appeared to be covered with a piece of paper. I knew I was onto something. I decided the best way was to let everything dry then attempt to loosen the paper or whatever it was. Later that evening of the dry run I began to take the tea kettle apart. There was a piece of paper rolled up very carefully. I carefully undid the rolled-up paper. I saw grandma’s handwriting. This did not bode well. There on the paper were dates that were close to the birthdays of my aunts and uncles. That seemed rather strange. Then I looked at the name and the date each was three years off. Now what I wondered. It did not take long for me to discover that grandma was hiding something from the entire family. Three years off of each birth date including grandpa’s. This was beginning to make sense to me in a rather strange fashion. I began to think about a story that my aunt had told me; grandpa could never return to Germany; he had a price on his head. The problem being no one knew why. There was a small piece of paper within the other paper. What I read made my blood run cold. It was a short note grandma wrote:

“When you read this providing, you figure out what is in the whistle of the tea kettle I will

explain why everyone’s birthday is three years off. Grandpa was involved in industrial

espionage. He murdered Rudolph Diesel; hence he could never return to Germany.

He jumped ship in New Orleans, Louisiana. Please don’t tell the rest of the family.

Now if you will remove the whistle and unscrew the tip there is a family ring.

grandpa’s family crest. That is for you to keep; God bless you always.

Love,

Grandma