Read A Buss from Lafayette Online
Authors: Dorothea Jensen
A Buss from Lafayette (17 page)
After we climbed out of the coach and went into the tavern, Mrs. Putney said she had a number of infant clothes she would like to give our stepmother for her soon-to-arrive baby. “I do not like to tempt fate by giving you baby clothes before the child is safely born,” she said. “But come upstairs and I shall show you what I have. After all, there will be no more infants arriving here, and I would like to see the baby duds put to good use. Would you like to join us, Clara?”
“No, ma’am, I am quite happy here,” I answered, seeing that Elder Putney was deep in conversation in the common room with my father and brother, surrounded by tavern guests. I moved closer to hear what they were talking about.
“I am sorry you might miss the reception at Hopkinton Village, Samuel. It will be wonderful to see Lafayette. Of course, I did shake hands with him in Concord last week with all the other veterans of the Revolution, but to see him here will be a momentous event and a great honor for our town,” Elder Putney said.
“Joss and I hope to glimpse him on the road tomorrow,” said Father. “After all, it is not often we meet someone who has sacrificed so much for his belief in liberty.”
Elder Putney nodded. “Yes, after helping us gain our freedom from England, the poor man did his best to put France on the path to liberty, too. Instead, he ended up imprisoned for more than five years. And his wife and two daughters chose to suffer through that with him. They stayed at his side in a dungeon cell for a couple of those years.”
“My goodness,” I exclaimed. “I guess the Lafayette women were as courageous as he was, in their own way.”
Elder Putney turned to me. “Courageous indeed, especially since Madame Lafayette had already been imprisoned just for the crime of being an aristocrat. She very nearly lost her life on the guillotine. Only the intervention by the American ambassador, James Monroe, saved her. Unfortunately, her sister, mother, and grandmother were not so lucky.”
I was shocked into silence by this.
Joss asked Elder Putney if all the talk about Lafayette’s glorious achievements in our Revolution put him in mind of his own experience in that war.
“You know, my boy, all this talk of ‘glory’ covers up what a terrible, terrible time it was. Many people
opposed independence from England, after all. Such dissension tore apart families and friendships. As for the battles themselves, well, I can only tell you that I still have horrendous nightmares of Bunker Hill.”
I went to the old man and gently patted his back.
“The Revolutionary War was not a dress parade, my girl,” he said to me, a serious look on his face. “There was never any guarantee of a happy outcome. Most of the time, it appeared that we were going to lose that war and that our leaders would be hanged by the British as traitors to the Crown. If not for ‘Our Marquis’ bringing in the French and keeping the alliance working, I truly believe we would have been defeated. So I look forward to seeing General Lafayette here tomorrow. He richly deserves every single huzzah we give him as he passes through!”
Just then Mrs. Putney called us to come and eat. Joss—who never needed more than one summons to any meal—immediately headed for the dining room. My father and I quickly followed, with a gaggle of hungry travelers close behind us.
This has been the most exciting day of my entire life! To my surprise, I can report that this was
not
because my hair changed color, but because it did
not
change color. I changed how I think of it, however . . . for a most amazing reason!
The next morning, Father and Joss left early for Warner, with Father driving the whisky behind Fury and Joss riding Feather.
I bade Feather a very fond goodbye.
I guess she will not be Feather Hargraves any longer
, I thought sadly.
I watched my father and brother until they disappeared from sight around the corner, and then went inside to help my stepmother finish washing the breakfast dishes.
When I entered the kitchen, she looked at me. “I am so pleased that you and Hetty have come to some kind of understanding, Clara. It has made me unhappy to see you at odds. She is the closest you have to a sister . . . and there is nothing so wonderful as a sister with whom you can share your joys and your worries.”
I smiled. “Well, I do not think we are quite
sisters,
as yet. But somehow or other, we have become better friends. Do you know what she told me last night? She has been jealous of me. Of
me
! Most unaccountable.”
“Oh, I think I can account for it, my dear,” my stepmother said. “You are not only pretty, but you are
also as smart as a whip. I think that perhaps she feels she cannot keep up with you, with the play of your mind, I mean.”
“Do you really think I am clever, ma’am? Most of the time, I do not feel so.”
She put her arms around me. “Yes. You are every bit as clever as Caroline was, and that is truly something to be proud of.” She stepped away and put her hands to her back. “My back is so very painful today. I do not know why. It is not as if I have been bent over a stove cooking of late. You and Penelope and Mary Putney have been such a big help with the cooking this weekend. I do thank you, Clara.”
“You are most welcome, ma’am,” I replied, with a playful curtsy.
My stepmother put her hand gently under my chin and looked into my eyes. “And one other thing: I am very pleased to see you take an interest in looking your best. Why, I believe you have combed your hair for a longer time in the last day or two than all the time you ever spent brushing it up until now. Well done, my girl.”
I shifted, a little uncomfortable at this only partially deserved praise. My reasons for combing my hair were not exactly what she thought they were.
“Now,” she said, hanging up the dishtowel, “I think that after entertaining company this weekend,
we deserve a holiday. With Joseph and Samuel gone for most of the day, we can do what we like to while away the time. It is too hot to do any work—I believe it is even hotter than last week! But happily your father has brought me a book called
Pride and Prejudice,
by the English authoress, Jane Austen. I have never read her work before. Will you read it to me? Your mother always said that you read aloud so well, it is almost like being at a play.”
“Did she, ma’am? Truly?”
My stepmother patted my hand. “She did indeed, Clara. She was so very proud of you,” she said with a warm smile.
These words made me feel very happy as I settled down on the sofa and started to read aloud. The story turned out to be most amusing. As I read, it occurred to me that, even though the intriguing “hero,” Mr. Darcy, was not described in any detail in the book, something about him reminded me of Dickon Weeks. Or at least the elegant Dickon Weeks, in his unaccustomed finery, who had danced with me at Perkins Tavern.
Suddenly my stepmother clutched her belly. “Clara, I think this baby is coming. I am going to need you to fetch Dr. Lerned!”
The book dropped from my hands. “Now, ma’am? Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be. I have actually been feeling
twinges all morning . . . now I think something real is happening.”
I helped her to stand up, and supported her as we walked to the bedroom set up for her in the back of the house.
“Can you help me undress, Clara? I . . .” My stepmother stopped suddenly and bent over in obvious pain.
With shaking hands, I untied the betsy from her neck, took off her mobcap, and then unbuttoned her gown. I eased it gently over her head and helped her to lie down on the bed, wearing only her chemise.
“I shall go fetch Dr. Lerned now. Will you be all right?”
“Just get the doctor.” She groaned as another pain hit her. “As fast as you can. Better yet, ride to the Putney Tavern and ask Elder Putney to fetch the doctor. I am sure he will go for you.”
I ran upstairs to my own bedroom, thinking as quickly as I could under the stress of the moment:
If I have to go fast, I need to ride astride. And to ride astride, I shall need to wear Joss’s old breeches.
I pulled off my pantalettes, replaced them with the breeches I kept hidden in my wardrobe, and flew through the house to the barn.
When I arrived at Flame’s stall, I hesitated for a moment. I had another important decision to make and quickly. After all, Flame had never been ridden.
Since the filly had never been saddled before, maybe it would be best to ride her bareback. Yes, bareback was the best way to go.
“All right, girl,” I said, trying not to sound nervous. “We must do this together, all right? I know it is new to you, but I need you to do this.” I slipped a bit into Flame’s mouth, took hold of the bridle, and led her outside to the mounting block.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled my skirt and petticoat out of the way, carefully eased my leg over Flame’s bare back, gently applied my bare feet to the horse’s sides, and bade her to go.
I managed to guide Flame into the road and downhill to the Putney Tavern. There, I pulled on the reins, and the filly came to such an abrupt stop that I nearly went over her head.
I called out to the house. “Elder Putney! I need your help!”
But most unusually, neither Elder Putney nor anyone else came at my call. Even though there were the usual wagons parked near the inn, I did not see a soul nearby.
Where is everybody?
I thought, feeling a twinge of fear. I took some deep breaths to calm my nerves.
Dr. Lerned’s home is right in Hopkinton Village, only a mile away. I can fetch him myself.
I eased Flame into a canter and headed for the village. Luckily, the filly’s gait was as smooth as the action of the old rocking horse Joss and I had ridden for hours as children, and we soon reached the village.
By the time I turned onto Main Street, I was so intent on reaching the doctor that I scarcely noticed the large
crowd of people gathered underneath the enormous elm in front of the Wiggins Tavern.
I rode past the crowd and stopped on the other side of the street at Dr. Lerned’s house. It was not the most modern home in town, but it was large, dignified, and solid, just like its owner. Hip-roofed, with a huge central chimney, Dr. Lerned’s place had old-fashioned, stately windows with twelve panes over twelve panes, unusual in the village. It also had the most enormous door I had ever seen, stretching up nearly seven feet tall.
I slid quickly down from Flame, tied her to the granite hitching post in the front yard, then ran to the door and rapped on it smartly.
It seemed to take forever, but finally the eldest of Dr. Lerned’s daughters opened the thick oak door. “Why, Clara, what is it?” Miss Lerned asked.
“My stepmother has started her travail. I need the doctor to come to our house without delay!”
“Oh, dear. Father is already delivering a child up near Rattlesnake Hill. He might not be home for hours, I am afraid. I do not believe the other regular doctors are in town, today, either. You need to find Dr. Flagg.”
My heart sank. “Dr. Flagg? But she wants your father! Everyone knows
he
is the best doctor in town. I have heard such, well . . . mixed reports about Dr. Flagg. Will he be able to deliver her baby safely? And
besides, he has no home here in town, so how can I find him?”
“Try Towne’s store,” replied Miss Lerned. “I believe Dr. Flagg is often there during the day, drinking more Medford rum than is good for him. You might find him a little tipsy, as usual, but he will still be of help to your stepmother, I am sure.”
Without another word, I ran back to Flame, grabbed the reins, and led her at a trot back to Towne’s store. I tied the horse to the post there and hurried inside.
Just as Miss Lerned had predicted, Dr. Flagg was inside, holding forth with a large glass in his hand, full to the brim with a dark liquid that looked like rum. I sincerely hoped that meant he had not had much of it to drink yet.
“Dr. Flagg! Please come. My stepmother needs your help. She has started her travail. My father is not there. She is all alone. Please,” I said, my voice choked with emotion.