A Buss from Lafayette (13 page)

“You will be just like Cinderella at the royal ball!” Aunt P. clasped her hands together in excitement, setting her ribbons a-flutter.

I did indeed feel as if I had wandered into the Cinderella story.
How confusing that my fairy godmother and my wicked stepmother are turning out to be the same person,
I thought.
But my stepmother is not really wicked. She is just not my mother.

I looked over at said stepmother, who was still
holding the gown and looking back at me with a hopeful expression.

She is trying to please me,
I realized with a jolt.
And she has done all this so near to her confinement that she should not be exerting herself, especially in all this heat. The least I can do is fall in with her plans for me. It is only one night, after all.
Then something else occurred to me, something that made me chuckle.
Instead of two wicked stepsisters, I only have one
fairl
y wicked cousin
and
one
reall
y irritating big brother.

“Very well, ma’am, I will go to the dance, but surely you do not expect me to wear glass slippers with this gown. Glass slippers always sounded most uncomfortable to me,” I said with a grin.

“Oh, no, I have bought
these
for you. I hope they fit.” She held out a pair of white leather dancing slippers with green ribbon ties.

I took them into my hands. “They are soft as butter, ma’am. I am sure they will be a good deal more comfortable than glass slippers. I do thank you.” I curtsied my thanks, and this time it was in genuine gratitude.

“I have some new slippers, too,” Hetty said petulantly. “And my gown is even more
à la mode
than yours. It was made by a Boston
modiste
, not by a village seamstress. And it is
new
, not made over.”

Even Aunt Penelope looked taken aback by what her daughter had said.

My stepmother and I looked at each other.

“Your ball gown might be brand-new, Hetty,” I said quietly. “But it does not have what mine does. My new gown is filled with love and thoughtfulness. My mother’s love and . . . my stepmother’s thoughtfulness.” I reached over and took my stepmother’s hand.

Her eyes filled with tears and she drew me into her arms. “I am so glad you think so, Clara,” she said in a choked voice. Then she let go of me and stood up straight. “Well, now, we have a lot to do today. Joseph also needs to be beautified for tonight’s festivities, so I must heat up my sadiron and press his best shirt and cravat—a real act of love on a day as hot as this.”

“I shall iron the fancy duds for Joss, ma’am,” I said. “I can carry out that ‘act of love’ and save you the trouble.”

My stepmother smiled at me, a radiant smile that I had never seen on her face before. “Thank you, my dear. When you have finished, we shall start on you young ladies. Since neither Penelope nor I are really fairy godmothers, this will take more time than the wave of a magic wand to accomplish.”

“Well, I
am
actually Clara’s godmother, do not forget,” said Aunt P., somehow missing the point.

My stepmother and I looked at each other and burst into laughter. Hetty and her mother looked at each other as if baffled by our amusement.

C
HAPTER 21

I was not quite so amused a few hours later. I had enjoyed my bath in the tin tub brought into the kitchen well enough. It had also not been too awful to sit still while Aunt P. put curling papers into my hair. Even when later she brushed out my hair, threaded my green birthday ribbon through it, and pinned it all on top of my head, it had not been completely unpleasant. What I was facing now was not pleasant at all.

Aunt P. was holding up a boned cotton garment with menacing-looking strings hanging down from metal grommets. “Stays, my dear. I am sorry, but you must wear these under your gown, else it will not hang correctly.”

“It looks like an instrument of torture to me. The ‘Iron Maiden’ and all that,” I said.

Aunt P. turned to lace her daughter into just such a contraption. “You shall get used to it, dear, just like Henrietta.”

“
Tighter
, Mama, you must pull the strings
tighter
. I do not want to look like a
dowd
!” her daughter said impatiently.

“Oh, very well.” I rolled my eyes. “I suppose I can stand it for one night.”

My stepmother helped me into the stays and laced them up, then said, “Um. There is also this.” She held up something that looked even more peculiar than the stays: two small cushions, each with narrow tapes on both sides.

“What on earth is
that
?” I narrowed my eyes and looked suspiciously at her. “Please do not tell me that I must wear a false
bosom
!”

Hetty scoffed. “Oh, Clara, you know nothing at all about fashion. Those are the puffs for your sleeves! You tie them around the tops of your arms and stuff them inside the sleeves.”

“Oh,” I said faintly. “I had no idea that such things existed!”

My stepmother helped me on with my petticoat, slipped the dress over my head, pushed the puffs inside the sleeves, and fastened the buttons up the back. Once this was accomplished, she stepped back to admire the results. “There, you look beautiful. Just beautiful.”

“Maybe she will meet a prince at the ball,” Aunt P. said with a sentimental sigh.

“Maybe
I
will, too,” said Hetty.

I looked closely at my cousin and thought that she might be right. In her lovely pink ball gown, she
did look beautiful enough, at least on the outside, to capture the heart of a prince.

Just then, we heard a knock at the door. It opened to reveal a sheepish-looking Joss, a well-starched white neck cloth in his hand. I knew it was well-starched because I had ironed it myself, along with his ruffled linen shirt.

“Um . . . I need some help tying this cravat,” he said.

“Do not you look handsome, Cuz,” Hetty said. Under my disbelieving gaze, she fluttered her eyelashes at Joss. “Would you like me to tie it for you as I do for Father?”

I always believed eyelash fluttering was only a joke, but Hetty really does it!
I thought. I watched as she tied Joss’s white cravat into a complicated knot.

“There now, you look perfect!” Hetty stepped away, but only as far as the nearest looking glass. She gazed at her reflection and idly pulled more curls down to frame her face.

Joss actually flushed. “Thank you, I think,” he muttered.

Another knock came on the door, which then opened to admit my father and uncle, also dressed in formal clothing. They were to accompany us to the dance, while Aunt P. stayed behind with her sister-in-law.

My stepmother told them not to worry. “Doctor Lerned does not seem to think anything will happen for quite a while yet. But if something does, Penelope can walk down to the Putney Tavern and ask Elder Putney to fetch you.”

“Then may we escort you to the carriage, ladies?” Father said, offering his arm to me as his brother offered his arm to
his
daughter, who was too occupied with her own image to notice.

“You had better stop primping so we can leave, Hetty, or you shall miss all the dancing,” Uncle Timothy teased.

“Oh, Father. Do not be silly. The dance will not really start until
I
arrive.” Hetty took her father’s arm and started for the door, then stopped. “Wait! I forgot my gloves! I cannot go without them!” She swept up the stairs, returning a few minutes later pulling on long white kid clothes, with something printed on the back of each.

“Oh, is that Lafayette?” I asked. “May I take a look? I would like to see another portrait of the Nation’s Guest. The only one I have seen so far is the one on Stepmother’s fan and it is a bit, well,
pleated
, so his features are rather hard to make out.”

“Oh, very well,” Hetty said. “But make it quick. We must not be late!”

I bent over Hetty’s hands to examine Lafayette’s
image. “His is a kind face,” I said, straightening up. “A noble face. And not the least bit chubby.”

My stepmother suddenly turned and hastened away. She soon returned, carrying a paper-wrapped packet in her hand. “Here, Clara. You may use my gloves this evening. And take this,” she said, unhooking the gold chain from around her neck. “You may wear my locket with your mother’s picture inside.”

I found myself speechless at this generous offer. The woman was looking more and more like a fairy godmother and less and less like a, well,
wicked
stepmother.

Father helped me fasten the chain of the locket around my neck. “You look as pretty as a picture yourself tonight, daughter. I am very proud to be your escort. Shall we?”

Father and I walked to the barouche, with Joss and Hetty and Uncle Timothy close behind. Remembering what the stranded veteran had said about riding in Lafayette’s barouche, after taking a seat in the low-slung carriage, I reached over the side of it.

“Yes, I could shake hands or kiss babies from this very well,” I murmured. “It is indeed just the right height.”

The others looked at me with puzzled looks on their faces.

“Are you fixing to be a politician, Clara?” asked Joss.

“Of course not. I shall never even be able to vote, let alone run for office—although I should certainly be able to do
both
!” I retorted.

“It will never happen, Clara. Get used to it!” Joss teased.

My uncle climbed up to the driver’s seat of the barouche, and soon we were flying down the road towards the village.

C
HAPTER 22

In a very short time, we pulled up in front of the Perkins Tavern, a large, square building that stood on the southwest corner of the Hopkinton village common. As we went inside, we found Captain Perkins himself greeting everyone in the common room that fronted the inn, leaving Mrs. Perkins to collect the admission fees at a table behind him.

I could see that Captain Perkins was acting in his usual jovial manner, entertaining everyone with stories of interesting travelers who had stayed there. Over six feet tall, with flaxen hair, a fair complexion, and twinkling blue eyes, Captain Perkins was the image of affability.

“I know that folks regard me as some kind of a giant,” he was saying, “but I must tell you of someone who came to stay here who was
much
larger than I. This man was so tall he could not fit in any of our twelve beds. He tried them all, just like Snow White, but they might as well have been built for the seven dwarfs as far as he was concerned. We had to build an extension
to the bed so he would fit. No Procrustean beds at my tavern! No sirree!”

“Why, I cannot imagine
any
gentleman taller than you, sir,” chirped Hetty, fluttering her eyelashes at the innkeeper. “I do believe you are the tallest gentleman I have ever met! And one of the handsomest.”

“But also one of the wittiest, which is far more important than all the rest of it.” I smiled. “How often you have made me laugh, Captain. ‘No Procrustean beds’ at your tavern, indeed. When Mama told me about Procrustes, I was so relieved to learn he was only a figure from Greek mythology. Were you not relieved, too, Joss?”

Joss looked at me blankly.

I reminded him that Procrustes was a giant who would capture a traveler, then put him into a bed. If the traveler were too short to reach the ends of the bed, Procrustes would stretch him to fit. If the traveler were too long, Procrustes would cut off whatever hung over the end of the bed, feet and legs and whatnot. “Remember how horrified we were when Mother told us that story, Joss?”

He shook his head. “Perhaps she only told
you
, Clara. You have always liked learning such odd things.”

I turned back to Captain Perkins. “I must confess, sir, that the name ‘Procrustes’ popped into my head
every time I watched my mother trim the crust from a pie to fit the pie pan. Sort of a Procrustean pie, I guess.”

“You have been a witcracker, Miss Clara Hargraves, ever since you were a little bit of a thing. I can still see you now, giggling away at some foolishness or other with your red locks peeking out from under your little pudding cap. You know, I have always thought your hair absolutely glows with good humor.”

I curtsied at this pleasing compliment. We then moved past the captain into what was being called “the ballroom” that evening—although it was really just the large dining room at the back of the tavern. It did look particularly grand that evening. Many candles lit up the walls, covered with elegant gold-striped paper, and the tall windows, framed by ivory damask draperies, reflected their glow. Nearly all of the dining tables had been removed to make space for dancing, and the chairs moved to line the walls.

I expected I would soon be one of the “wallflowers” sitting by those very walls, despite Dickon’s stammered request for a dance. He had been teasing me for years, and doubtless his invitation was another of his jests. If I acted as if I thought he had meant his request to dance with me, would he laugh? I resolved to be very cool towards him so he would not do so.

A number of young men were standing together in
a sort of herd across the room. They were clustered near the refreshment table, dressed mostly in formal black pantaloons and jackets, with white shirts, vests and cravats. I thought they looked like an illustration I had seen of a flock of penguins, which made me smile.