Free A Buss from Lafayette by Dorothea Jensen Page A

however, was when I bought my Genuine Simeon’s Lead Comb. My life will never be the same! (Perhaps my hair will turn a little less red by the time Hetty arrives tomorrow. I can hardly wait to see her face when she sees how different my hair looks.)

C HAPTER 15
    “Today must be even hotter than yesterday, and here we are standing over a stove!” I took a step back from the Rumford range. “Stirring preserves on the boil is hot work even on a cool day! I could swear that the red bricks of this stove are glowing with heat just as much as I am!”
    “Just remember, Clara, we could be standing over an open hearth,” Prissy replied. “I am so grateful to your mother for asking Samuel to build her this newfangled stew stove. It is so much easier and safer than cooking with a fireplace.”
    “And more comfortable: no smoke coming up into our faces,” I added, waving at the stove’s flues that led out through the large stone fireplace. “But I must confess, I would not really mind a little smoke blowing in our faces if that meant a breeze was coming in the window.” I looked at the open window over the granite sink and noted that the blue curtains on either side were hanging completely still.
    “Well, at least we do not have to worry about catching our skirts on fire, as when Caroline and I were girls. Best of all, we can stand up straight, so even I can stir preserves, though I cannot get quite as close to the pot as you. Oh, my dear! Do not stir quite so hard—you will break up the strawberries too much. Gently, girl, gently!”
    I slowed down the stirring, then thought for a moment. As I kept the long-handled spoon moving around inside the big copper kettle, I looked over at Prissy. “Please tell me more about Mother, ma’am. What was she like as a child?”
    “She used to be exceedingly naughty sometimes, but our mother usually caught her out. Caroline was lucky that our parents did not believe in corporal punishment.”
    “What is that?” I asked.
    “Spanking or whipping children to correct their behavior.”
    “But you must believe in it, as a teacher, I mean.”
    The former schoolmarm frowned at me. “Heavens, no! I never raised my hand to a child. I thought that schoolmasters who did so were failures at their jobs.”
    “Really? You never even raised a ferule?”
    “A ferule? Certainly not !”
    “Joss says those willow switches really sting!”
    “They do. I only received a ferule stroke one time when I was a girl. It taught me nothing except anger and dislike towards my schoolmistress.”
    “ You were punished, ma’am? Whatever for?” I asked, truly astonished at this revelation.
    Prissy paused in thought, looking up at the rough wooden beams that crossed the ceiling before she went on. “It was all very silly. Some of us girls had made some birds out of folded paper and started tossing them about the schoolroom to see if they would fly. The schoolmistress told us to stop, but I could not resist one more throw, and she caught me in the act. I think she hit me extra hard because she was so shocked I would disobey. I had always been quite a Goody Two Shoes, if you know who that is. I made a vow then and there that I would never treat another person like that—child or not. When I became a teacher myself, I found it an easy vow to keep.”
    “How did you become a teacher? Mother never told us.”
    “After your grandparents died and Caroline married Samuel, I needed to find a way to support myself. Just like you, I loved to read and had acquired quite a bit of learning compared to most young ladies my age, so teaching seemed to be the best solution.”
    “Did you never think of marrying?”
    Her face took on a sad expression. “Yes, once. Unfortunately, the gentleman went off to war in 1812 and lost his life. So a teacher I became.”
    I felt a bit ashamed of myself for thinking my former aunt had been a teacher who switched her students, and that she had been an old maid by choice or by