A Buss from Lafayette Page 8

  As if to illustrate this, another huge blast of lightning arched across the sky over our heads. Fury jumped again at the thunderclap that followed, but Dickon held tight to her bridle and kept her from bolting again.

  “Lancelot hates lightning, too,” said Dickon, chuckling. “Although not so much as Fury, I guess.” He turned to me, the rain running down his face. “It seems that every time I see you, your pigtails are dripping with water.”

  I leaned forward, still a little breathless from my fright. “You are none too dry, yourself, Dickon! But my goodness, ’twas bravely done, stopping Fury as you did. Bravely done indeed. Maybe ‘Lancelot’ is not such a silly name after all. That was a rescue worthy of a knight! I thank you. Come, shake hands.”

  Dickon slid off his horse, walked through the downpour to the side of the whisky, and shook my hand. “Quite an adventure for you, Clara. Here, I will help you down.”

  “Very well. I believe I would prefer to walk the rest of the way, rather than chance it with Fury. She actually lived up to her name, for once! And maybe that was a little bit too much whisking for me!”

  Dickon reached up and put his hands on my waist. I placed my hands on his shoulders, laughing a little nervously as he lifted me over the large wheel. It was obvious that Dickon was every bit as strong as Joss. Or stronger. My goodness. “Thank you, Dickon. This stupid skirt does make it hard to get in and out.”

  “Are you going to help me down, too, Dickon?” teased Joss. “You are so very gallant and knightly today.”

  “Sorry, Joss. I do not help people down who are not wearing ‘stupid skirts.’ But I can help you haul this canvas top up. You might already be drenched, but perhaps a bit of shelter on the way back will keep you from getting any wetter.” He looked down at his own soaked linen shirt and leather riding breeches. “If such a thing is possible,” he added with a grin. A rather charming grin, actually.

  I dashed to the store and watched from the doorway as Joss and Dickon wrestled the folding cover of the whisky up into place. Then, waving goodbye to Dickon, I marched inside, my heart pounding. At last I was going to see my plan succeed!

  Saturday, June 25, 1825

  What a confusing day!!

  1. Hetty arrived (bad) but I did hear something about Hetty meeting the famous Nation’s Guest that made me feel a bit less jealous of her (good).

  2. I learned that jealousy can be unpredictable (good and bad).

  3. My stepmother surprised me with my birthday gift (good) and an unexpected demand (bad, although it turned out to be good).

  4. There were even some (good) surprises from Dickon Weeks.

  The only true disappointment today was that my hair continues to be very, very red. When will it turn the promised “beautiful shade of black????” I have run that comb through my hair so many times that my right arm is near to falling off! (So is my left!)

  CHAPTER 18

  On Saturday morning, before we had even sat down to breakfast, Dr. Ebenezer Lerned arrived to examine my stepmother. When that was done, the physician declined an offer of breakfast, but accepted the offer of a cup of coffee. He joined us at the kitchen table while the rest of us breakfasted on eggs, ham, and potatoes.

  “I suppose you have heard all about the big celebration welcoming Lafayette to Concord on Wednesday,” Dr. Lerned said. “Folks say it was the most exciting thing to happen around here since, well, ever. And before that, there were big doings in Boston, too, when Lafayette dedicated the Bunker Hill monument. How I wish I were still a student down there so I could have witnessed that historic event.”

  I asked, “You went to Harvard College and then to Dartmouth to study medicine, is that not correct, Dr. Lerned?”

  “I was fortunate enough to do so, yes.”

  “Then your name is remarkably appropriate, sir.” I grinned.

  The doctor chuckled. “You are not the first to notice that, Clara, but I think you are the youngest. You do seem to enjoy making puns, so no wonder it caught your notice.”

  “Annoying habit, puns,” put in Joss, his mouth full of ham.

  Prissy’s sidelong look made him swallow rapidly. “No, puns are the mark of high intelligence, Joseph,” she said. “Your mother was the best pun-maker I knew. I was quite envious of her quicksilver wit.”

  For a moment, she appeared lost in thought, and then she said something that surprised me. “Actually, Clara is just like Caroline. She has a very nimble mind. I regret that she has not been able to get more schooling.”

  “As to that, ma’am,” Dr. Lerned said, “I have been meaning to talk to you about something. I have been thinking about starting a school in Hopkinton for older students. I know that you worked for many years as a teacher in Boston, and I would like to consult you about setting up such a school. We are thinking of calling it ‘Hopkinton Academy.’”

  “Older students? You mean my age?” I said breathlessly. My goodness, I thought, all my dreams might be coming true after all. Yesterday, the comb; today, the possibility of going to a real academy.

  “Oh, yes, your age and older. Although it will likely take some time to set my plan in motion, so you would be older yet before you are able to enroll.” Dr. Lerned peered at me from under his heavy, arched eyebrows. I always thought that they made him look a bit like a devil, although quite an amiable one.

  “I would be most eager to attend, sir,” I said.

  “I believe you would be an ornament to any classroom, my girl,” the doctor went on, much to my astonishment. “You have a mind as bright as your hair. I have always thought so.”

  My “bright” mind was whirling with all the unusual attention it was getting. Still, it managed to send the right words to my mouth, along with a blush to my cheek.

  “I thank you, sir,” I said politely. I glanced at my stepmother and was surprised to see that she was blushing as well.

  “I would be most happy to confer with you about your school, sir,” she said, almost shyly. “I must admit I have missed the classroom, although, of course, I would not have been allowed to teach after I married, even had I stayed in Boston.”

  I was dumbstruck. I had always thought she married Father to escape the drudgery of teaching.

  I was still trying to fit this new information into my brain when Prissy asked the doctor if he knew anything more of General Lafayette’s travel plans. “Will he be coming through here? I would like the children to see him, if they can.”

  “Not sure, ma’am. After the Concord celebration, he and his retinue went to Maine. But I believe he will be coming back to Concord tomorrow night, before leaving for Vermont on Monday.”

  Father smiled. “I am afraid you are shocking my wife, Doctor. She has strict views about traveling on the Sabbath.”

  “For a great man such as General Lafayette, I shall make an allowance, Samuel,” his wife said briskly, but her eyes revealed her amusement at his teasing.

  “We must hope that your baby does not decide to arrive tomorrow, then, for I doubt I would qualify as such a great man,” Dr. Lerned commented wryly. “And as Reverend Hatch often reminds us, no one is supposed to labor on the Sabbath. Except the good parson himself, I suppose. And giving birth involves a good deal of labor, ma’am, for the both of us.”

  He assured her that she would not be confined for at least another week, then put down his cup and pushed back his chair. “Cannot stay here gossiping all day, Samuel. I must be off.” He looked at his patient. “I shall see you soon, Mrs. Hargraves—but not too soon, I hope.”

  He bade us all farewell and went outside.

  “Oh, Samuel,” said my stepmother, “I am so glad there is such an able physician in Hopkinton to attend me at this birth.”

  “The Hopkinton doctors are all quite capable, my dear, even Dr. Flagg,” Father replied. “And although Joseph Flagg is not particularly reliable, he is competent enough when he’s sober. I am glad we have secured the services of Ebenezer Lerned for your confinement, however.”

  With
a pang, I remembered the excellent care Dr. Lerned had given my mother at the end of her life. A picture of Mama’s thin, pallid face flashed into my mind. For a moment I could almost hear her terrible, rasping coughs as she labored to breathe. I also remembered the heartbreaking moment when Mother’s coughing was finally stopped by death, and Dr. Lerned carefully closed her eyes.

  And now the good doctor would be helping someone else labor to begin a life.

  To my surprise, I found myself hoping that all would go well. After all, I thought, that is what my dear mother would have wanted for her sister.

  CHAPTER 19

  Soon after the doctor departed in his workaday chaise, a somewhat more luxurious open carriage came up the hill and pulled into the farmyard: Uncle Timothy’s barouche.

  My heart sank. This could mean only one thing: Dread Cousin Hetty had arrived.

  Hetty’s mother, Aunt Penelope, always put me in mind of a rather tottyheaded chicken. The gowns and bonnets that she wore—always extravagantly decorated with lace and ribbons that fluttered like feathers—made her look like one, too. I was fond of her, however, and had always affectionately called her “Aunt P.”

  Needless to say, I had never called Aunt Priscilla that. Not only did she disapprove of nicknames, but I was too intimidated to call her anything of that sort.

  When Aunt P. entered the house, there was her usual flurry of hugging, kissing and, well, clucking.

  Uncle Timothy came in behind his wife. He looked every inch the dignified country lawyer that he was. His looks were a bit deceiving, however, as there was nothing he enjoyed more than impishly teasing his only child, not to mention me, whom he called his “favorite-albeit-only-niece.” He bowed to his sister-in-law, heartily shook hands with his brother and nephew, and finally bussed me on the cheek.

  The last of the family to enter the house was Hetty. As usual, her carriage dress was of the latest fashion, with sleeves ballooning to her elbows and three stiff flounces belling out the skirt. It was the exact same blue as her eyes, matched by the blue ribbons and plumes of her stylish bonnet.

  After Hetty flounced into the house, she shook hands with her aunt and uncle.

  Then she gave Joss an unnecessarily lengthy hug, at least to my eyes. I know that first cousins are allowed to marry, I thought, but I do hate to see Hetty throwing herself at my poor, unsuspecting brother.

  Finally, my cousin directed a distant nod towards me.

  Quite a difference from the way she used to treat me, I mused. She would play with me by the hour. I remember that often, after one of our “tea parties,” she would pick me up and twirl me around and call me her “dear little shadow.” Well, she obviously does not want me to be her shadow any longer.

  “You must tell us all about meeting Lafayette, Henrietta,” said Prissy, motioning them all to follow her into the parlor and to sit down. “How very interesting that must have been!”

  Hetty looked around the room as if in search of the piece of furniture most becoming to her attire, then sank down gracefully on the blue damask sofa. She pulled out a lacy white fan and waved it in front of her face. “La, it was quite wonderful. Such a handsome gentleman! So noble. And so famous!”

  “What a thrill for our Hetty,” Aunt P. said with a girlish giggle. “But I think that Lafayette was very pleased to meet her as well. I am certain that even he seldom sees such a beautiful girl. He spoke to her directly, you know, and more than just a greeting. He was not able to exchange words with all the other girls, except for the usual ‘howdeedos,’ of course.”

  Uncle Timothy chuckled. “But we should tell them exactly what Lafayette said to Hetty, my dear. It was quite droll. I am happy to tell that tale.”

  And he did, although Hetty did not appear pleased with his recital.

  Apparently Lafayette had gone down the line shaking hands with the girls—all one hundred or more. When he went to shake Hetty’s hand, however, he saw that she was wearing his portrait on her gloves.

  “Then he said ‘Sorry, my dear girl.’” Uncle Timothy grinned. “’I have stopped kissing the hands of ladies wearing my portrait on their gloves. Smacks too much of égotisme. I feel a bit uneasy even shaking hands with myself, so I will just do this.’ Then he bowed to her.”

  “’Twas a most elegant bow,” sighed Aunt P. “So very courtly and low. He probably bowed in just such a way in his youth to the poor French king.”

  Hetty preened like a peahen. “It is too bad you will not be able to meet him, Clara. A French nobleman! A marquis! And so very rich! But I fear he will not be visiting every tiny village school like the one you attended.”

  “Actually, Hetty, very soon I will be attending Hopkinton Academy. And, by the way, Lafayette is not a marquis anymore,” I said. “He gave up his title during the French Revolution.” I looked at my cousin, who was glaring back at me in a markedly hostile manner.

  My goodness, why is she acting like that? I wondered. I should think she would like to know the facts about the famous man she was lucky enough to meet.

  My stepmother did not seem to notice Hetty’s hostility, and nodded in agreement with my statement. “Yes, Lafayette did give up the title, and not just because people with titles like his lost their heads in the French Revolution. He truly believed no one was more ‘noble’ than anyone else simply because of an accident of birth. I understand that he now prefers to be called ‘General.’”

  “And I am afraid he’s not quite so rich any more, either, Hetty,” said Father. “He spent nearly two hundred thousand dollars of his own fortune to help the American cause. That is an astronomical sum to have, let alone to give away!”

  “And I am afraid that he lost most of the rest of his fortune during the French Revolution,” Prissy added.

  Hetty looked stricken. “Not a nobleman? Not rich? Well . . . maybe he is really not so very handsome after all. In truth, he is rather chubby, although I thought it rude to tell you so before.”

  Father, with an odd expression on his face as if he were trying not to laugh, explained that Congress had recently voted to give Lafayette two hundred thousand dollars and twenty-four thousand acres of land in Florida. “So the General has pockets lined with gold once more,” he said.

  Uncle Timothy chuckled. “Does that make him any handsomer or—at the very least—skinnier in your eyes, Daughter?”

  Hetty could not quite frame a reply.

  I could not resist saying, “Rich again and a very noble man, though no longer a nobleman, Hetty. And still famous. Do not forget that!”

  Aunt P. apparently decided to change the subject away from one not showing her adored daughter in the best light to an announcement that they would be spending the night. Without a full moon, it was too dark to drive home after the dance. “That means the children will have plenty of time to visit,” she trilled, “and so will we, Priscilla.”

  Oh, goody, I thought. Plenty of time to visit with Hetty. Just what I was hoping for.

  “We must start for home early tomorrow, however,” Aunt P. blithely went on. “Timothy must be home for Monday morning appointments, and Hetty for school.”

  “Traveling on the Sabbath?” Father teased her. “I thought you were against that, Penelope. As is my wife.”

  His lawyer brother teased his own flustered wife by pointing out that although traveling on Sunday was still technically against the law, this law was not enforced any more. “We will simply have to go to church with you tomorrow morning before we leave for home,” Uncle Timothy went on. “That should balance out any Sabbath traveling, no matter how sinful or illegal!”

  Hetty clapped her hands together. “I can hardly wait until the dance tonight!”

  I am so glad I am not going, I thought. I do not particularly want to watch Hetty flirt with the whole town of Hopkinton.

  “And I have the loveliest new ball gown! It is pale pink satin, with a white lace overskirt with pink satin roses around the bottom!” Hetty gushed, sweetly smiling at the adults. “We had it m
ade in Boston, you know.” My cousin turned to me with a smirk that was not quite so sweet.

  Goody Two-Faced is such a good name for her, I thought.

  “Well, Samuel, I believe it is time you showed me that young filly of yours,” said Uncle Timothy. “No sense in staying here to talk about ball gowns and such. Flame, is it? I imagine she is fully grown now.”

  “Of course, Brother, let us make our escape. Joss, are you coming?”

  “Yes, let’s go. Flame promises to be a real ‘goer,’ Uncle,” Joss said excitedly. “I hope Father will allow me to ride her when I join the Troop. Only horses of a certain size and quality are allowed, and I believe that Flame will . . .” His voice faded as the men went out the door.

  CHAPTER 20

  After we four females had been left alone, Prissy turned to me. “The other birthday gift I promised you is finished. Wait here a moment and I shall fetch it.”

  A few moments later, I saw her come back into the room carrying what looked like a cloud of fabric. Fabric that looked like white silk embroidered with pale green leaves. Fabric that looked like . . .

  “Mother’s wedding gown? You have done something to Mother’s wedding gown?” I spluttered. For as long as I could remember, I had treasured that gown and had secretly hoped to wear it for my own wedding day, if that day ever came.

  “Well . . . yes,” Prissy said, looking a bit nervous about my reaction. “I had Mrs. Rix make it over into a ball gown for you, Clara. Caroline’s wedding gown had long sleeves and a very full skirt gathered at a high waist in the style of that time. There was enough material for Mrs. Rix to make up a new bodice with puffed short sleeves. That’s our dressmaker here in town,” she explained to her sister-in-law. “Mrs. Rix also created a new, lower waistline. My goodness, waists have recently dropped so that they are almost at the real waistline.” She looked ruefully down at her voluminous maternity gown, billowing out over her distended belly in lavender-flowered folds. “For those ladies who actually have waistlines, that is.”