Free A Buss from Lafayette by Dorothea Jensen

trained the Continentals.
    “Perhaps Lee truly believed that our army was not capable of defeating the British column racing towards New York,” said Prissy. “He talked Washington into sending only a small force after the British, instead of mounting a full attack. It was so small a force that Lee did not deign to lead it himself, so Washington assigned Lafayette to be the commander. However, when Washington later decided to increase the size of this force, General Lee insisted on leading it. As Lee had a higher rank than Lafayette, Washington was forced to give him the command.”
    “My goodness, Mrs. Hargraves. You are very well-informed,” said Major Weeks. “You know more of the Revolution than my own wife, and she is married to a veteran of that war.”
    “But your lady has had thirteen children to bring up, sir. She might not have birthed them all, but she has had to care for them. I doubt she has had time for extensive reading,” my father’s wife observed dryly.
    “What happened next, Major?” Joss asked.
    The major recounted with a frown how our army had caught up with the rear of the British column at Monmouth, in the Jerseys. Lee, disgracefully soon after the fighting began, had ordered our troops to retreat. When General Washington had met the retreating Continentals, he tried madly to rally them to return. Witnesses said that Washington was so furious with Lee that he swore the leaves right out of the trees.
    “Really, Major? General Washington swore?” I tried to picture the wintry, dignified gentleman, whom I had only seen in stiff formal portraits, shouting profanity in front of hundreds of witnesses.
    “Yes, Clara. The ‘father of our country’ swore like a trooper that day. And for good reason! Lee was courtmartialed after that battle, and that was the end of his career as an American general! Thank goodness!” said Major Weeks.
    “I believe that young Lafayette fought bravely at that battle,” Father said. “There might have been a better outcome if that ‘boy’ had been in charge.”
    Major Weeks pushed back his chair and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “That is very true, Samuel. Now, folks, we could talk all night about Lafayette, but I think we need to start for home. Come along, Dickon.”
    “Yes, sir,” Dickon said.
    “Oh, I almost forgot, ma’am,” exclaimed his father. “My very busy lady wife sent me with a gift for you. She bought it in Concord yesterday and thought you might put it to good use. After all, she has gone through a confinement or two and knows how you must be feeling in all this heat, so very close to your time.”
    Major Weeks reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pretty little fan decorated with a picture of Lafayette. “The town was full of such fripperies and gewgaws sporting his portrait. Handkerchiefs and dinner plates and ribbon badges and such. Dickon bought a couple of things, too.” He looked at his son, who did not say a word. “After all, ’twas a truly historical event and no mistake.”
    “But before they go, ma’am, are we not to have dessert?” Joss blurted out, focused, as always, on food.
    Prissy scooted her chair back and stood up. “Of course. I shall fetch it. Give me a hand, Clara, if you please.”
    In a few moments, I came back into the room carrying bowls of dessert and wearing a broad grin. Without a word, I set a serving down on the table in front of Joss and watched his face fall when he saw what it was: a bowl filled to the brim with perfectly ripe, very freshly picked strawberries!

Friday, June 24, 1825
    This has been a most interesting and exhausting day.
    1. I learned some things about my stepmother that were quite surprising.
    2. I helped make dozens and dozens of jars of strawberry preserves.
    3. I discovered that it might be harder to drive a carriage than I thought.
    4. I found out that Dickon Weeks has quite a lot of grit (and is an excellent horseman).
    By far, the most satisfying part of the day,