Emma Field Book I - coming of age in the changing times of the mid-19th century

Chapter XI - Dressmaker

Late the next afternoon Mr. Brown called Jane and Emma to the front of the class. He handed Jane a letter. "I want you to take this letter to Dr. Watson in the village. Do you know where he lives? I will let you go early. Just fifteen minutes early, so you need not smile like that. You may leave now."

Outside the schoolhouse, Emma twirled like a cat chasing its tail, then broke into a skip. Jane smiled as she centred the knot on her shawl.

"Can you believe it! Can you believe Mr. Brown let us out fifteen minutes early?" she said.

"No! I can't!" squealed Emma, galloping toward the road.

"Oh, don't run! Wait for me. What do you think that letter is about?"

"Maybe he's resigning!"

"Do you think so? Oh, wouldn't that be perfection!" Jane twirled too. "Mother says that I am almost too old to be in school. She thinks she could instruct me at home! Ha! But if Mr. Brown goes, maybe we would get an adequate teacher and maybe I could stay until the summer..."

"Wouldn't it be nice to have someone kind? Maybe there are no kind teachers," Emma frowned, "but you would think there have to be – somewhere. I wonder if he is resigning! That letter is sealed, isn't it?"

Jane stopped and reached into her muff, which had been bobbing around her neck. Her eyes widened. "Where is it? I know I put it right here!"

"Don't fret," Emma said calmly. "We haven't come far. It must have fallen out." They both looked up the hill.

"I just hope it didn't drop out in the schoolyard. Can you imagine how furious Mr. Brown would be? Why didn't you take it, Emma?"

Emma raced ahead of her friend. "Oh! Here it is!" she called from the edge of the schoolyard.

"Shush!" Jane hissed. "He'll hear us and we'll be called back to school. You carry it now. It's not fair if I have to have all of the responsibility."

"Very well." They turned and headed toward Bloomfield, walking.

"Mr. Brown could have done this himself. Why should we do all his work for him?" asked Jane.

"Because he's an adult. Besides, we got to leave early."

"If we have to do the work, then we should know what's in the letter, don't you think? Is it sealed?"

"I should expect so. Yes, it's sealed with wax," said Emma, holding the envelope tightly.

"Sometimes wax can be just a little soft. Is it?" Jane reached for the letter and started to pry at the edges of the seal.

"Don't! I don't think we should!" Emma snatched it back.

"You are so righteous, Emma Field!"

"That I am!"

"Are you going to marry a Quaker, or maybe a preacher?"

"Perhaps." Emma smiled. "And you, Jane Morgan? Let me guess. The life of a doctor's wife wouldn't suit you. Too much blood. Too many people calling your husband away in the middle of the night. A blacksmith would earn enough to keep you, but you would hate the smell of sweat and smoke."

"And horses. I really don't like the smell of horses. Besides, a blacksmith is so..."

"Brawny? Dirty?"

"Yes, that's it. I don't like brawn. I like dignity and refinement and..."

"...and money. You're so hard to please. You will need to marry a business man. But that could be a problem for you in a place like Bloomfield."