Curse of the Blue Tattoo: Being an Account of the Misadventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman and Fine Lady by L. A. Meyer Page A

aside these girlish dreams and attend to your studies here. If you are successful in these studies, I assure you there will be a good match for you in the future. All my girls make good matches. Certainly better than casual alliances with sailors. You are dismissed, Miss Faber."
    "Mistress," I says, knowin' I'm pushing my luck here, "but if I were to
get
a letter from this young man, would you—"
    "I believe we are through discussing letters, Miss Faber, and we shall mention them no more," says Mistress, with menace in her voice. "Dismissed, Miss Faber."
    I dip and do an about-face and head out the door, glad not to be beaten, but still steamed. She answered my question, all right—ain't no way she's ever gonna pass on any of Jaimy's letters to me. I am glad I made my explorations this morning 'cause I
will
go out and I
will
mail my letter to
Jaimy 'cause I don't want no other match but him. I just got to think about how to get that done.
    Amy has waited for me, and together we go out the front door and around the corner and up the small road between the school and the church. As we leave the school building behind us, I look back and notice that the ends of the school are not the usual white clapboards but are instead completely brick, being like enormous chimneys. We leave the churchyard to our right, there is a meadow, and we come to the stables.

    "Heinrich!"
    "Ja, Papa."
    "Fräulein Faber hast not bin on eine horse before. Give her teachings."
    "Yes, Papa."
    I am standing there stupidly, once again judged hopelessly behind and backward. The other girls, including Amy, are taking their mounts from the handlers like they was born to it, mounting, and forming a circle around the inside of this huge circular barn that is floored in wet sawdust and roofed in soaring wood rafters and thick wood beams. Sort of like the hull of a ship from the inside, upside down. With a snap of Herr Hoffman's whip and a
whoop!
from some of the girls, they are off at a full gallop, round and around.
    Not for me, however, as I must follow Heinrich into the stables.
    The boy has his light brown hair tied loosely in the back with a black ribbon and he wears a dark green jacket with gray frogging on the front and tight,
tight
white breeches
and knee-high shiny black boots. He has a light fuzz of hair on his upper lip and this is the first time I've been next to a boy and not under armed guard for about a month, and ... no, you stop that now. Concentrate on what he's tellin' you.
    He goes into one of the stalls and comes out leading a horse.
    "This is Gretchen, Miss Faber," he says. "She will be your horse while you are here." He doesn't talk the way his father does. Must have been born here, or at least brought up here. "She is a very nice little mare," he goes on when he sees my look of fear.
    It don't look that little to me.
    It is of a light tan color with a white mane and tail. It has big brown eyes and it looks at me and I look at it. Horses to a street kid like me are big stupid lumbering things that'd crush an orphan as soon as look at 'em, but I reach out my hand and pat it on its hard slab of a forehead and it snorts in a friendly way.
    Maybe we'll get along,
I think, and I get the feeling she thinks the same.
    The young man lets me and the beast get more acquainted while he fetches a saddle. "You might want to put on one of those dusters, Miss. To protect your dress." There is a row of light cotton cover-ups hung on pegs along the wall and I choose the smallest one and put it on. I button up the front as he flings the saddle over the horse's back and cinches it up, and then he hands me the reins. I take them, trying to keep my hand from shakin'.
    "Gather them together and reach up and grab the saddle right here and put your right foot here and up you go." And I am in the saddle and looking down at the ground and
thinking how much it would hurt to fall off and hit that ground.
    "Heinrich," I say, trying to keep the tremble out