Just Right

Many suitors came to visit Sara over the weeks. Some were short which was comical next to her above average height. Others were tall, their hats brushing against the doorframe. There was one fat, jolly man as stout and rosy as Mr. Carmichael who made several amusing jokes. A man as skinny as a scarecrow visited and was just as boring and dour. Men came with fortunes and titles, but none appealed to the girl. Some were cruel like Lord Smythe, belittling those not worth his notice. Others were naïve like Lieutenant Jones, seeking her company without truly understanding her.

Sara had taken comfort from a journey she had taken many times after she had been found. A bookstore within walking distance was stocked frequently and with the rarest of tomes, allowing her a brief respite from her troubles. The bookseller knew her by her many trips and great number of purchases.

The girl briefly considered that the money from her diamond mines was more than enough to leave her with a comfortable life in solitude. There were many who did not have the option, yet seeing the happiness of Ermengarde, Lottie, and Becky, made her quite jealous with envy. Even Marie Antoinette had a few good years of happy marriage with Louis XVI before it all went wrong in the French Revolution. Why couldn't she have the same luck? Of course she meant the happy marriage part and not the execution by guillotine.

She was so amused by that statement that she was quite alarmed to see that Becky was nowhere in sight! As her personal attendant, and even more so because of their close friendship, Sara was always concerned to her whereabouts. She still felt deeply over Lord Smythe's callous treatment of her dear friend. No one deserved to be demeaned by a fool.

Sara rounded the aisle of bookshelves when she spied Becky with an armful of books. Many were Sara's, but a slim volume of two was Becky's own, as the girl sought to improve her education. The heiress was about to approach her servant when a young man jarred Becky's elbow resulting in her wares being scattered across the store's floor.

"Oh! I beg your pardon!"

A young man with brown locks and a kind smile bowed courteously to his victim. With a kind air, he bent to assist Becky with her fallen books.

"My mother always told me I was all elbows and knees."

Becky gave a warm laugh, a more common occurrence now that she had a more comfortable lifestyle than in the left-hand side of the attic.

"It's alright, sir. No harm done."

He handed her the last book. "Oh! Do you speak French?"

The young man said it so nonchalantly, with no conceivable notion of a girl of her station having or lacking the ability to speak such a difficult language.

"Oh no, sir," Becky said with a blush. "I'm still practicing my reading. This is Miss Sara's."

With that introduction, her mistress made her presence known. The young woman gave her friend a thorough look. "Are you alright, Becky?"

No matter who Sara was talking to, even if it was the queen herself, Becky would always come first in her eyes.

"Yes, Sara," the smiling servant answered.

The dark haired girl had refused any attempts for Becky to call her Miss Sara after their ordeal at Minchin's Seminary. In her eyes, they were equal.

"Besides," Becky gave Sara an aside glance, "I've received harder knocks before."

And Sara agreed.

The cook, when in a vindictive mood (which was often), had a great, meaty hand. The tyrant loved to take her troubles out on the two scullery maids.

The pair made their purchases, and the young man insisted on walking them home.

"You see, I live in the building next to yours," he said shyly.

"Oh! Just on the other side of the wall!" Sara replied with a laugh and a secret smile.

The old seminary was currently being used as a hostel, what with its many rooms and facilities.

"I share with another tenant. It's all I can afford with a tutor's salary," the man said with a shrug of his shoulders.

They made their way down the bustling streets. For a moment the girls lost sight of their companion, only to spot him exchanging a coin for common daisies a flower seller was hawking. Sara could see the threadbare condition of the seller's dress and made a mental note of it. To her surprise the man reappeared, presenting her and Becky with the flowers with a quaint bow.

"I see her time and again. She's trying to raise money for her son's education. I give her what I can some days."

The trio continued on. Their new friend was intrigued on why a grand lady such as Sara did not travel in a fine carriage.

"On hindsight," Sara said with a soft laugh, "I probably should have with all of the books I tend to buy." She gestured to the tomes gathered in their hands. "But growing up in the warm Indian sun, I don't care one bit about brown, coarse skin. It feels as if I spent a lifetime away from it, so I won't cover up just because society prefers lily white hands and faces.

The man's eyes brightened at the thought of such an exotic country and peppered his companions with many questions.

"I've read many stories about that far-away place, and I've always wanted to teach there." There was something noble about introducing his native tongue and motherland to the locals, and in turn, learning much about their culture and tales as he could from them.

Sara was surprised to hear his enthusiasm for the land of her birth. Most, like Becky, had reacted as if she had been raised by savage heathens. She had never considered teaching there either. "My father and I had happy memories there before he died."

"You speak so fondly of him. He sounded like a loving father."

The girl felt her heart skip a beat. In all the years after his death, no one had ever thought of him as a father. Miss Minchin had only considered him as the man who paid her bills. Carrisford had referred to him as an old school friend and business partner, Jones as a fellow officer, and Smyth had disregarded him as the source of her newfound fortune.

No one thought of Captain Ralph Crewe as Sara remembered him, a loving and caring father, except for the man before her now.

The trio approached the doorway of her fine home. Becky, with a nod and a smirk, took the books inside, conveniently leaving the pair alone.

All of the other suitors had been introduced to her by a third party – Mrs. Carmichael, Mr. Carmichael, Uncle Tom, they all made their best efforts to choose the right man for her. Perhaps it was time for Sara to take her future in her own hands.

Sara smiled warmly at her companion, "Would you like to join me for tea?"

The young man blushed, but said with conviction, "I'd love to."

Again, another story I was encouraged to right by reading A Little Princess, the first novel I read as a child. All ideas and characters belong to Frances Hodgson Burnett.

Thanks for reading. Please review.

Grignard