Free The Pearl Savage by Tamara Rose Blodgett

moved. At least it was not
the season for wool! That weighed an hideous amount.
    She peered in the window anchored at
eye level in a massive door made of oak and used the bell. It chimed
shrilly and she saw a smart-looking girl, two years her senior stroll
to the door, while faces appeared behind her, curious to see who was
visiting. When they saw that it was she, the Princess, hands were
raised with hushed whispers behind them.
    Sarah’s face appeared in the glass,
slightly distorted by the waviness of the pane. Her pale blonde hair
was plaited in a severe braid on the lower part of her head. Sarah
believed in each hair in its place, but she could not contain her
impish manner, she was lively, with a friendly countenance, a perfect
disposition for a teacher.
    “Come in, Clara,” she said
Clara’s name low, for it would be unseemly for anyone to address
Clara thus, and as Clara stepped inside the foyer Sarah asked, “What
brings you?”
    “I wish to visit but must attend
the fields. Mayhap later this evening you can call?”
    “Does this have anything to do
with your pronouncement last eve?”
    Clara smiled, Sarah was anything but
stupid, “Yes, and there are other… more sensitive matters I wish
to discuss.”
    Sarah laughed, clapping her hands
together, “Brilliant! Just name your time, Princess.”
    Clara grinned, she thought Sarah
wonderful. She was just the balm Clara needed and quickly calculated
the safest time, “What of half past seven o’clock?”
    “That is perfect. I will see you
then.”
    Clara gave a quick look down the
corridor and saw a paper glider fly through the air, meeting its mark
in the pigtail of a stout girl with deep chestnut hair, who squawked,
“Thomas Harding, I am telling Miss Sarah.”
    Sarah rolled her eyes, “I must
go.”
    Clara nodded, holding back laughter
and Sarah leaned in, giving her cheek a kiss. And with that, the door
closed and Clara watched Sarah regain control of a classroom run
amuck.
    Clara whirled, galloping down the
stairs in a near trot (very unladylike, and certainly, exceedingly
un-royal), at a near run for the pier. As she neared it, she could
see the poles marking the fields, the water lapping the shore, the
sand here not that of the great sea that Father spoke of but a
respite from her life, one she would gladly take.
    She could just make out the dark
forms of Russel and Sydney. Their poles were buried in the soft muck
of the bottom. She slowed her pace, seeing their laughing faces. They
thought that she was most un-royal in her bearing. Clara
agreed . Billy’s sons waited for her as she approached
the pungy. She used Russel’s arm for balance upon entry into the
boat, hopping down with expert grace, having done it a thousand times
before.
    “High color for your Highness.”
Russel laughed, upon seeing her rosy cheeks.
    “You were running again? A Princess running!” Sydney
teased.
    “There will be hell to pay if the
Queen sees you, Princess,” Russel stated.
    Sydney flicked the collar of her
blouse, noting the bruise, “looks like there already was.”
    The laughter faded as the men
regarded her. She looked down, embarrassed. She should have insisted
on a different garment, one that could hide Ada’s fingerprints.
    Russel used a finger to tilt her
chin up so their eyes could meet, “no Princess, do not be ashamed.
It is not you who should feel guilty, it is she.”
    Sydney nodded agreement, “she
needs some of her own handiwork laid upon her. She would understand
better then, me thinks.”
    “Shh, do not say such,” Clara
put a finger to his lips and Sydney grasped it, kissing it then
letting it fall.
    Clara’s blush deepened. Sydney had
made it clear if she were not Princess, he would have courted her. It
made things vaguely uncomfortable between them but Clara maintained
more friends were better. She needed all the allies she could manage.
    Russel cleared his throat, “Let us
cast off.”
    Sydney looked at his brother
sharply, then nodded,