Boston Jane by Jennifer L. Holm

Author:Jennifer L. Holm [Holm, Jennifer L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-375-89399-5
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2001-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

or,

Pouring Tea and Coffee

I was situated on the beach, working on a rather dismal watercolor of the bay, when it became clear that I needed less color and more gray.

It had rained every day since our arrival. I went about in a constant state of sogginess. My hair was an eternally tangled, wild mess in this weather. I was grateful Sally Biddle was on the other side of the continent, for I could almost hear her comparing my hair to a squirrel’s nest.

Watercolors were not my strong suit, but Miss Hepplewhite had very kindly given me a small supply of paints and paper and brushes as a wedding present, and I was determined to paint a picture for William. Besides, it was a way to pass the time. I had rigged my parasol over my easel to protect it from the rain, but the wind shifted and a fine spray spattered the paper, causing the paint to run.

“Blast!” I whispered to myself, trying to mop off the water without smearing the landscape.

“Yar going to have to start working for yar grub, gal!” a voice said loudly.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Mr. Russell stood behind me with an obstinate look on his face. He spat a huge wad of tobacco. It landed on the sand next to my shoe.

“You scared me to death,” I said, hand fluttering to my chest.

“Like I said, gal, yar gonna have to pitch in. What can ya do?”

“I am very skilled at supervising help,” I explained reasonably. Miss Hepplewhite had always stressed the importance of running a good household, with particular emphasis on managing help politely but firmly. I could also make very good flower arrangements.

Mr. Russell snorted.

“Ain’t no help here, gal.”

“But what about the Indians?” I asked. There were always Indians in and about Mr. Russell’s cabin.

He shook his head. “Not ‘less ya got money to pay ‘em.”

I needed to keep my money to find William.

“What would you have me do?” I stared at him peevishly.

“Can ya sew?”

“I’m quite skilled at embroidery. I took first place at Miss Hepplewhite’s Young Ladies Academy for my embroidery of a violet on a pocket-handkerchief !” I announced proudly.

One of his long whiskers jerked.

“Follow me,” he grunted, and he turned sharply, striding rapidly up the beach. I abandoned my easel and followed, perplexed, until we arrived at the cabin.

He pointed to a towering pile of rags in the corner.

“Thar’s the mending,” he announced. From the top of the heap he grabbed a crusty-looking pair of pants with a considerable tear in the seat. “I ‘specially need my pants fixed. Thar the only other pair I got besides the ones I’m wearing.”

“You expect me to repair those filthy things?” I asked, appalled.

Wasn’t it enough that I had to sleep in this horrid cabin, being kept awake by snoring men night after night? Father Joseph was the worst. He snored loud enough to be heard back in Philadelphia. Not to mention, my blankets were festooned with fleas, worse than the bunks on the ship.

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