Uncle,” Joss said excitedly. “I hope Father will allow me to ride her when I join the Troop. Only horses of a certain size and quality are allowed, and I believe that Flame will . . .” His voice faded as the men went out the door.
C HAPTER 20
After we four females had been left alone, Prissy turned to me. “The other birthday gift I promised you is finished. Wait here a moment and I shall fetch it.”
A few moments later, I saw her come back into the room carrying what looked like a cloud of fabric. Fabric that looked like white silk embroidered with pale green leaves. Fabric that looked like . . .
“Mother’s wedding gown? You have done something to Mother’s wedding gown?” I spluttered. For as long as I could remember, I had treasured that gown and had secretly hoped to wear it for my own wedding day, if that day ever came.
“Well . . . yes,” Prissy said, looking a bit nervous about my reaction. “I had Mrs. Rix make it over into a ball gown for you, Clara. Caroline’s wedding gown had long sleeves and a very full skirt gathered at a high waist in the style of that time. There was enough material for Mrs. Rix to make up a new bodice with puffed short sleeves. That’s our dressmaker here in town,” she explained to her sister-in-law. “Mrs. Rix also created a new, lower waistline. My goodness, waists have recently dropped so that they are almost at the real waistline.” She looked ruefully down at her voluminous maternity gown, billowing out over her distended belly in lavender-flowered folds. “For those ladies who actually have waistlines, that is.”
She shook out the ball gown so we could see the whole thing. “See, the skirt is now gored, rather than gathered, with the hem stiffened to make it stand out. I told Mrs. Rix to leave room in the skirt hem and in the bodice seams so she could make them fit if you grow any bigger.” She looked at me. “In a way, my dear, you paid for this dress yourself. Some of the strawberry jam you helped make has been credited to Mrs. Rix at Towne’s for the work she did on this gown.”
I stared at the gown and then lifted my eyes to hers. “Mother’s wedding dress. Now a ball gown. I do not understand.”
“Caroline confided to me that she hoped to see you wed in it, but styles do change. I think she would have liked you to wear it to your first ball.”
“But I am not going to any balls, ma’am.”
“Oh, yes, you are. Well, at least you are going to a dance .”
“Hardly a ball ,” sniffed Hetty. “A little dance in a village tavern.”
I blurted out the first thing that came into my head. “No.”
Aunt P., Hetty, and Prissy all looked puzzled. “No?” they chorused.
“No, I am not going.”
“Yes, you are, my dear.” My stepmother looked at me with a serious expression. “After suffering through all those restrictions that seem to burden you so much, it is high time you sample some of the joys of being a young lady.”
Aunt P. beamed. “And there is no joy greater than that of a young lady at her first ball! It will be such fun to get you ready for the evening, my dear. We shall curl your hair and put it up, so . . .” She lifted my pigtails to the top of my head to see the effect. “Yes, that will be lovely, will not it, Priscilla?”
Her sister-in-law nodded. “Of course, you girls will have to take your weekly bath this afternoon instead of tonight. And then we shall see just how lovely we can make you!”
“You will be just like Cinderella at the royal ball!” Aunt P. clasped her hands together in excitement, setting her ribbons a-flutter.
I did indeed feel as if I had wandered into the Cinderella story. How confusing that my fairy godmother and my wicked stepmother are turning out to be the same person, I thought. But my stepmother is not really wicked. She is just not my mother.
I looked over at said stepmother, who was still holding the gown and looking back at me with a hopeful expression.
She is trying to
C HAPTER 20
After we four females had been left alone, Prissy turned to me. “The other birthday gift I promised you is finished. Wait here a moment and I shall fetch it.”
A few moments later, I saw her come back into the room carrying what looked like a cloud of fabric. Fabric that looked like white silk embroidered with pale green leaves. Fabric that looked like . . .
“Mother’s wedding gown? You have done something to Mother’s wedding gown?” I spluttered. For as long as I could remember, I had treasured that gown and had secretly hoped to wear it for my own wedding day, if that day ever came.
“Well . . . yes,” Prissy said, looking a bit nervous about my reaction. “I had Mrs. Rix make it over into a ball gown for you, Clara. Caroline’s wedding gown had long sleeves and a very full skirt gathered at a high waist in the style of that time. There was enough material for Mrs. Rix to make up a new bodice with puffed short sleeves. That’s our dressmaker here in town,” she explained to her sister-in-law. “Mrs. Rix also created a new, lower waistline. My goodness, waists have recently dropped so that they are almost at the real waistline.” She looked ruefully down at her voluminous maternity gown, billowing out over her distended belly in lavender-flowered folds. “For those ladies who actually have waistlines, that is.”
She shook out the ball gown so we could see the whole thing. “See, the skirt is now gored, rather than gathered, with the hem stiffened to make it stand out. I told Mrs. Rix to leave room in the skirt hem and in the bodice seams so she could make them fit if you grow any bigger.” She looked at me. “In a way, my dear, you paid for this dress yourself. Some of the strawberry jam you helped make has been credited to Mrs. Rix at Towne’s for the work she did on this gown.”
I stared at the gown and then lifted my eyes to hers. “Mother’s wedding dress. Now a ball gown. I do not understand.”
“Caroline confided to me that she hoped to see you wed in it, but styles do change. I think she would have liked you to wear it to your first ball.”
“But I am not going to any balls, ma’am.”
“Oh, yes, you are. Well, at least you are going to a dance .”
“Hardly a ball ,” sniffed Hetty. “A little dance in a village tavern.”
I blurted out the first thing that came into my head. “No.”
Aunt P., Hetty, and Prissy all looked puzzled. “No?” they chorused.
“No, I am not going.”
“Yes, you are, my dear.” My stepmother looked at me with a serious expression. “After suffering through all those restrictions that seem to burden you so much, it is high time you sample some of the joys of being a young lady.”
Aunt P. beamed. “And there is no joy greater than that of a young lady at her first ball! It will be such fun to get you ready for the evening, my dear. We shall curl your hair and put it up, so . . .” She lifted my pigtails to the top of my head to see the effect. “Yes, that will be lovely, will not it, Priscilla?”
Her sister-in-law nodded. “Of course, you girls will have to take your weekly bath this afternoon instead of tonight. And then we shall see just how lovely we can make you!”
“You will be just like Cinderella at the royal ball!” Aunt P. clasped her hands together in excitement, setting her ribbons a-flutter.
I did indeed feel as if I had wandered into the Cinderella story. How confusing that my fairy godmother and my wicked stepmother are turning out to be the same person, I thought. But my stepmother is not really wicked. She is just not my mother.
I looked over at said stepmother, who was still holding the gown and looking back at me with a hopeful expression.
She is trying to
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