Writing Contest Entry

Instructions

This story is set in 1784, Williamsburg Virginia My copper hair flew out behind me as I dashed down the cobblestone street. All the rich woman stopped their conversations and began to whisper among themselves as I flew past, but I didn’t care. I slowed when I reached the dirt path leading up to the bakery. The bell in the doorway tinkled when I pushed the door open. I walked into the store and sighed as the warm scent of fresh bread wafted over me. The clock read 3:02. Good, I was only two minutes late. I relaxed and looked around. Mr. Browne was standing at the counter helping a young boy decide which biscuit he wanted. He looked up and waved. I smiled and waved back before heading to the kitchen. My father was kneading dough at the table and Mrs. Carter was baking biscuits in the oven. My father frowned when he saw me and glanced at the clock. He gestured for me to come over to him. I quickly grabbed an apron that was hanging from a hook on the wall and started to run to the table. But one look at his face made me slow down and continue across the kitchen primly and carefully. I sighed, knowing that I had messed up again. I was, “always so excited and rushing around” according to my tutor. “Betsy, you’re four minutes late, I wanted you to be here to learn and…” father started to say. I couldn’t help myself, I wanted him to know that not EVERYTHING I did was that bad so I said, “I wasn’t really father, I was only two minutes late but then I stopped to wave at Mr. Browne and…” “BETSY! You know better than to interrupt me. A lady should speak only when spoken too.” He scolded. I looked down, ashamed. Sometimes I forgot my place. Mother always says that she thinks I act just like a boy. I hoped my father was done, but he wasn’t. “Besides being FOUR minutes late, you were also running Betsy. Girls don’t run, they walk.” I just nodded and kept my head down. I hated that all girls were supposed to do is cook, sew and look pretty. Sure, I loved to cook but I HATED sewing. I wanted to run and jump and climb trees like the boys in our town. When I looked up, I saw my fathers face soften. “This is why I love you Bets,” he said, using what we call his second nickname for me being as my real name is Charlotte. “You’re adventurous and daring, unlike any other girl in Williamsburg.” He lowered his voice. “And don’t try to tell me that you didn’t take a pair of your brothers breeches in the place of your petticoat.” He chuckled. I was shocked. “But if you do not mind how I act, why must you punish me?” I inquired. “I’ll tell you why, because your MOTHER minds.” He laughed and I even managed a smile. “Now, come here and help me and Mrs. Carter bake these biscuits.” I beamed and picked up the rolling pin. TO BE CONTINUED