A Buss from Lafayette Read Free Page A

like a lady!” Prissy exclaimed.
    I glared at her, but all I said was, “Yes . . . Mother .”
    “Speak to her, Samuel.”
    Father regarded me with a stern look on his face. “Yes, my dear. You are too old for such childish actions. After all, you are thirteen years of age.”
    “Fourteen,” I muttered.
    “Fourteen? Last time I checked you were but thirteen.”
    “Then you have not checked today, Father. Today I am fourteen. Mother would have remembered, though it has apparently slipped your mind. You remembered the anniversary of replacing her in our family easily enough, however.”
    My outburst shocked even me. “Oh, I am so sorry, Father,” I said. “I did not mean to say that. Truly, I did not. It just popped out. Do forgive me, sir.”
    I held my breath, waiting to see what Father would say.

C HAPTER 3
    I was greatly relieved when Father reached over and patted my hand. “Apology accepted, Clara. We did not mean to ignore your birthday, my dear. I can see how much this has upset you. But we have not forgotten that you are fourteen today, no indeed. Fourteen! You are now almost a woman!” He turned to his wife.
    “Yes, indeed. If you will go into my bedroom, Clara, you will find a wrapped packet on top of my bookcase.”
    “Yes, ma’am!” Grinning, I jumped out of my chair and raced out of the room.
    “In a more ladylike manner, if you please, Clara. You must stop galloping about like an ill-trained horse!” Prissy called after me, but I ignored her.
    The room my stepmother referred to was not the upstairs bedroom she shared with Father. For the last two months, she had found difficulty in climbing the very steep stairs, so we had emptied out the large pantry next to the kitchen at the back of the house. We had set up a temporary bedroom for her there, containing only a narrow bed, a small chest of drawers, and a low bookcase.
    I grabbed the packet on the bookcase and minced carefully back to the table. Then I threw myself down on my chair in my usual headlong way.
    “You may open it now, if you wish,” Prissy said. “I picked it out especially to go with your hair, my dear. And it also matches your eyes.”
    Carefully pulling off the paper, inside I found a dark green hair ribbon, long and glossy. I tried to look pleased. After all, my father’s wife knew nothing of my exciting plan. I suppose she is trying her best to help me look pretty despite my awful red hair, I thought. But soon I would no longer have to wear only green and blue ribbons suitable for a “carroty pate.” I would be able to wear pink and red and orange and any other color I wanted.
    My father frowned at me. “Clara, do you have something to say to Priscilla?”
    “Oh yes, sir.” I stood up, held out my pinafore, and curtsied deeply to my stepmother, rather more in obedience to Father than in gratitude to Prissy. “I thank you so very, very much for this beautiful green ribbon, ma’am,” I said.
    Father got to his feet and pulled a small leather pouch from his pocket. “I have something for you too, Clara. Put out your hand, my girl.”
    I held out my hand and watched Father place pennies on my palm, as he did on each of my birthdays. “Twelve, thirteen, and . . . fourteen. One for each year of your life! My goodness, girl, you’re practically as rich as Lafayette! What are you going to spend them on?”
    “Oh, I have a plan for them. I do indeed!” I replied, brimming with excitement. Together with the six pennies I had earned weeding Widow Boodle’s vegetable garden, I might now have enough to carry out my plan. Maybe today was the day I could buy the metal comb that would take the “carrots” out of my hair!
    I curtsied to my father, and thanked him for the birthday pennies. I then reached through the slit in my skirt and carefully placed the pennies into the linen pocket that hung underneath by strings tied around my waist. My cousin Hetty scorned the old-fashioned pocket, saying that all young ladies these