shining.
“Or her roast pork and apples.”
With a sigh, I settled down in my bunk, pulled out
The Young Lady’s Confidante
, and began reading aloud to Mary as I had done over the course of the long voyage to help her better herself.
“‘Chapter Three or, Pouring Tea and Coffee. A lady should always pour the first cup of tea from the pot for the youngest guest, as it is likely to be weak, and therefore most suitable for a child,’” I read. “That’s a very sensible idea, don’t you agree, Mary?”
She yawned.
“Miss Hepplewhite says that the way a lady pours tea and coffee is a true sign of her character,” I continued.
Mary snorted. “Where’s the character in pouring a bleeding cup of tea?”
That sounded suspiciously like something Papa would say.
“It requires experience and judgment and exactness to addthe perfect combination of sugar and cream to each guest’s taste,” I said earnestly.
“Ain’t nothing special about adding sugar if yer lucky enough to have the money for it.”
“Don’t be obstinate, Mary. Pouring tea is the truest test of a lady. Miss Hepplewhite says that a young lady who can pour a good cup of tea will always find a husband.”
“Jane my girl, I know ya mean well, but I think yer daft. Ya know what I want in a husband?”
“What?”
Mary leaned back against her pillow and stared at a spider working its way lazily across the cabin ceiling.
“I want a man who’ll let me be. Someone who isn’t always telling me what to do.”
I stared at her.
“I’m tired of being told what to do,” she said firmly. “I have a head on my shoulders, thank you very much.”
“Well, my ideal is a man who brings out the best in me,” I said, remembering how kind William had been to see potential in an ill-mannered girl who ran around all day with pie stains on her dress—a girl, it was plain to see, who had no sense.
“Aye, that’s very agreeable,” Mary said, clutching the pillow to her like a sweetheart. “When two people complement each other so perfectly.” When she said it, it sounded like “pair-fectly.”
“If it weren’t for William, I’d be a completely different sort of person,” I went on.
Mary dropped the pillow. “That’s not exactly what I meant, Jane my girl.”
I picked up the pillow. “I owe everything to William. He’s the whole reason I attended Miss Hepplewhite’s.”
Mary looked at me. I could tell she wasn’t impressed.
“If it hadn’t been for him, I would never have become a respectable young lady,” I said.
We were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Samuel, and he was holding a tray. Samuel looked no more than eleven, with wide brown eyes and a gap where his front tooth should be. He reminded me greatly of my old playmate Jebediah Parker.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“This is a very important book, Samuel,” I explained.
“Is that the book about the murdering white whale?” he asked excitedly. “I heard about that book there. You know, I seen whales lots of times and once I think I even seen a sea monster with a—”
“No, Samuel. I’m afraid I’ve never heard of a book about a white whale. It can’t be very popular.”
His face fell.
“But this is a very interesting book. It’s on etiquette.”
“What’s etiquette?”
“It’s how to behave. You see, this book teaches you how to behave.”
Samuel eyed the book suspiciously. “That don’t sound interesting to me. You sure you don’t got no books on white whales?”
“What have ya got there, Samuel my boy?” Mary asked.
“Supper,” he announced, holding out the tray.
Mary got down off the bunk.
“What is it?” she asked, sniffing at it.
“Salted beef,” he said, warily eyeing the gray, gristly lump. He looked up at us and shrugged. “I think.”
“I know rotten horse when I see it,” Mary scoffed.
Samuel nodded. “I wouldn’t touch it. The first mate ate it and he’s been puking up for hours now.”
Mary
“Or her roast pork and apples.”
With a sigh, I settled down in my bunk, pulled out
The Young Lady’s Confidante
, and began reading aloud to Mary as I had done over the course of the long voyage to help her better herself.
“‘Chapter Three or, Pouring Tea and Coffee. A lady should always pour the first cup of tea from the pot for the youngest guest, as it is likely to be weak, and therefore most suitable for a child,’” I read. “That’s a very sensible idea, don’t you agree, Mary?”
She yawned.
“Miss Hepplewhite says that the way a lady pours tea and coffee is a true sign of her character,” I continued.
Mary snorted. “Where’s the character in pouring a bleeding cup of tea?”
That sounded suspiciously like something Papa would say.
“It requires experience and judgment and exactness to addthe perfect combination of sugar and cream to each guest’s taste,” I said earnestly.
“Ain’t nothing special about adding sugar if yer lucky enough to have the money for it.”
“Don’t be obstinate, Mary. Pouring tea is the truest test of a lady. Miss Hepplewhite says that a young lady who can pour a good cup of tea will always find a husband.”
“Jane my girl, I know ya mean well, but I think yer daft. Ya know what I want in a husband?”
“What?”
Mary leaned back against her pillow and stared at a spider working its way lazily across the cabin ceiling.
“I want a man who’ll let me be. Someone who isn’t always telling me what to do.”
I stared at her.
“I’m tired of being told what to do,” she said firmly. “I have a head on my shoulders, thank you very much.”
“Well, my ideal is a man who brings out the best in me,” I said, remembering how kind William had been to see potential in an ill-mannered girl who ran around all day with pie stains on her dress—a girl, it was plain to see, who had no sense.
“Aye, that’s very agreeable,” Mary said, clutching the pillow to her like a sweetheart. “When two people complement each other so perfectly.” When she said it, it sounded like “pair-fectly.”
“If it weren’t for William, I’d be a completely different sort of person,” I went on.
Mary dropped the pillow. “That’s not exactly what I meant, Jane my girl.”
I picked up the pillow. “I owe everything to William. He’s the whole reason I attended Miss Hepplewhite’s.”
Mary looked at me. I could tell she wasn’t impressed.
“If it hadn’t been for him, I would never have become a respectable young lady,” I said.
We were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Samuel, and he was holding a tray. Samuel looked no more than eleven, with wide brown eyes and a gap where his front tooth should be. He reminded me greatly of my old playmate Jebediah Parker.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“This is a very important book, Samuel,” I explained.
“Is that the book about the murdering white whale?” he asked excitedly. “I heard about that book there. You know, I seen whales lots of times and once I think I even seen a sea monster with a—”
“No, Samuel. I’m afraid I’ve never heard of a book about a white whale. It can’t be very popular.”
His face fell.
“But this is a very interesting book. It’s on etiquette.”
“What’s etiquette?”
“It’s how to behave. You see, this book teaches you how to behave.”
Samuel eyed the book suspiciously. “That don’t sound interesting to me. You sure you don’t got no books on white whales?”
“What have ya got there, Samuel my boy?” Mary asked.
“Supper,” he announced, holding out the tray.
Mary got down off the bunk.
“What is it?” she asked, sniffing at it.
“Salted beef,” he said, warily eyeing the gray, gristly lump. He looked up at us and shrugged. “I think.”
“I know rotten horse when I see it,” Mary scoffed.
Samuel nodded. “I wouldn’t touch it. The first mate ate it and he’s been puking up for hours now.”
Mary
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