1892: Huntsville, Alabama: Exciting things are happening that May, but what excites Clara Landers the most are the bicycles she sees around town. After riding double with her bicycle racing hero, Clara is determined to have one of her own. But a girl, riding a bicycle…shocking! And they are expensive!

That doesn’t stop Clara. She tackles some unusual jobs to earn money. But it could take years to save up enough cash. When the local mercantile sponsors a treasure hunt, with a bicycle as the prize, Clara signs up. Now the race is on to find the hidden bicycle piece and win.

Join Clara as she searches Huntsville, using the single clue given: to find the place “only the brave would go.” Can Clara beat the other contestants, especially her annoying neighbor Martin Anderson, to win the prize of her dreams?

Chapter 1

Clara peered between two branches and grinned. Her neighborhood looked so different from this high up.  Over there was the Anderson’s roof -- so that was where little Tom’s hoop had gone.  His brother, Martin, probably threw it up there. And on the other side of the tree was the Taylor’s carriage house. But what she wanted to see most was a bicycle roll by.

Clara pushed aside a small branch to get a better view of the street. She loved how the leaves of her favorite maple hid her from sight. Emma would never find her up here and run tattle to Mother.

I could stay here all day.

“Clara, time to come home. Clara!” Mother called from their porch across the street. A sudden breeze set the leaves rustling and her next words were lost except for a name.

Dorcas.

It must be time to see her friend off at the train depot.

Clara began to climb down the old maple. Her boot had just found the next branch when she felt the tug. The lower she went, the higher her skirt rose. The hem was just above her knee and she stopped, stuck. She wrapped one arm around the tree trunk and used her other hand to pull at her skirt. She tugged harder.

Clara’s heartbeat picked up speed. When another sharp yank didn’t set her free, she tried to climb back up to create some slack in the material.  Moving up only wrapped the hem tighter on the branch.

She muttered something between a growl and a prayer. Conversation below caught her attention. She froze in place. Reverend and Mrs. Henderson were out for an afternoon walk.  Clara didn’t dare let them see her, especially with her knees bared in front of God and everybody. She might wind up being the topic for next Sunday’s sermon! Mrs. Henderson stopped beside a rose bush.

No. No. This is a terrible time to admire the flowers. Clara silently urged them on. Finally the couple reached the next block. She let her breath out in a long whoosh. Once more she gave a ferocious pull on her skirt and felt both relief and horror at the sound of ripping cloth. But she was free.

Clara climbed down faster than she ever had before. She jumped from the lowest branch and landed on the damp earth.  Plop! She fell back onto her unmentionable.  Shock kept her there for a long second. She scrambled up and ran across the street to her house.

The housekeeper stared at her as Clara flew through the hallway with her skirt tail flapping, but there was no time to stop and explain anything to Mrs. Mason.  Instead, Clara took the steps two at a time and did not slow down until she reached her bedroom.

Once inside her room, she hurried over to the dresser and picked up the small package that waited there.  She made it to the door before she stopped and turned around.  Mother would never let her go without a hat.  Clara hurried over to the bed, dropped to her knees, and lifted the quilt.  She snatched the straw hat out from under the bed and raced back down to the front door.

“Where is Mother?” Clara asked Mrs. Mason while she plopped the hat onto her head.

“She figured you were pouting somewhere so she took the carriage and went on to see the Goldbergs off at the depot.”

“Pouting?  Me?” Clara put a hand on her hip.  “Emma pouts.  Not me.” The housekeeper’s words sunk in.  “Mother left me? How am I supposed to get there?”

“I suggest you hurry and catch the five o’clock trolley. Right after you change into a clean dress.  That one is not fit to be seen in company.  What did you do to your hem, child?”

Clara looked down at her drag-tailed hem.  “I don’t have time to change, Mrs. Mason.” Outside, she gripped her package and took off at a run.  The nearest stop for the horse-drawn trolley was two blocks away.  The depot was five blocks past there. And Dorcas’ train would leave at 5:15.

Clara reached the corner in time to see the back of the trolley, already half a block away.  She stopped and put her hands on her knees.  Her breath came in huffs and puffs. Her legs shook. Tears filled her eyes. She rubbed them away.

“Are you all right, miss?”

Clara looked up. She forgot whatever it was she was going to say. In front of her stood the most wondrous piece of machinery Clara had ever seen.  The bicycle sported two shiny wheels and a dark blue body. The handlebars gleamed in the May sunshine. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch them.

“Miss?” The wheelman straddling the crossbar spoke again.

Clara stood up and smoothed her skirt.  She looked down at the ground.  Her problem remained even if she had finally been able to see a bicycle up close.

“I missed the trolley and my best friend leaves on the train to Nashville at 5:15.” She looked up again and held up the wrapped package.  “I bought Dorcas this journal to take with her on her trip. Now her train will leave before I can get it to her.”

“That is a terrible shame.” The man looked her over.  “I was afraid something worse had happened.” He glanced down at her torn and dirty skirt.

Clara put a hand up to her burning cheeks. “Oh. I got stuck in a tree.”

The wheelman let the bicycle roll forward an inch or two. “A tree, hmm? Well, I might be able to help a brave, tree-climbing lass. That is, if she is willing to try something new.”

“I am not afraid of anything,” Clara boasted. “What can we do?”

The man dismounted from the bicycle and held it steady with one hand.  He gestured to the seat with his other hand. “If you can climb aboard, I will peddle and you can hold on to my coat.”

“I don’t know how to thank you enough, Mr. --“ Clara stopped.  No one had made proper introductions.

“Ah.  A problem easily remedied.”  He made a small bow. “Mr. Barry Campbell, at your service, ma’am. I live next door to Dorcas and her parents.  I have seen you and your friend playing many times. ”

Clara curtsied. “I’m Clara Landers. And thank you, Mr. Campbell.”

She stepped forward and touched the seat of the bicycle. The leather was padded but it was much smaller than the horse saddles she was used to. But a chance to ride a bicycle? She looked up at her knight.

“I’m ready. Can you put this in your pocket?”

He took the package from her.

Clara gripped the crossbar and used one of the pedals to boost herself up onto the seat. She teetered side to side for a moment; there was nothing to hold on to.  The man straddled the bicycle in front of her and Clara grabbed two handfuls of coat. She gasped and bit back a squeal as the man pushed off and kept them both upright as he pedaled his way down the street. She leaned to the side, trying to see around her driver.  The bicycle wobbled.

Mr. Campbell called back to her. “Stop moving. You’ll cause us both to take a spill.”

Clara nodded. She knew she must be grinning like she had lost her senses.  She couldn’t help it. It felt like they were flying down the avenue, faster than any horse ever could, certainly faster than the horse-drawn trolley.  Her straw hat caught the wind and plopped onto her back, held by the ribbons still tied at her chin. She laughed as they raced the two-wheeled shadow on the ground beside them.

Another gust of wind puffed her skirt.  She used one hand to push it back down.  The torn hem still flapped in the breeze so she tried tucking it under her leg. She looked at his trousers with envy. She forgot about all that, though, when they swerved into a narrow alleyway between the main streets. She clung tightly to Mr. Campbell’s coat with both hands.

“It is faster this way,” Mr. Campbell called back.  “We will miss some of the traffic.”

They passed through the alley and Clara relaxed. She even dared to free one hand and wave at Martin Anderson who was tossing a ball to his younger brothers, William and Tom. She laughed at the boys’ confused looks.  She almost swallowed that laugh when they came out of the alley with a bump. Clara grabbed onto Mr. Campbell’s coat again with both hands.

A loud whistle floated on the wind.  The train for Nashville was getting ready to leave.  The bicycle slowed to a stop in front of the depot on Church Street. Clara’s knight helped her down from her perch and handed her the package from his pocket.

“I think you might have a minute or two to find your friend and give her your present,” Mr. Campbell said.

Clara glanced over her shoulder at the crowded platform, then back at the bicycle.  “Thank you very much.” She watched until Mr. Campbell rode around the corner of the depot and out of sight before she hurried toward the train.

Clara searched the crowd for Dorcas. A young woman gave a tearful farewell to a well-dressed man.  The conductor helped an elderly lady up the steps and into the passenger car.  A porter hurried by with a leather case. Clara smiled when she finally saw her friend and raised her hand high.  “Dorcas! Over here!”

The two friends hugged each other. Dorcas pulled away.  “I thought you might have decided not to come. I’m so glad you did.”

Clara hugged her again. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” Clara said. Or skirt-ripping trees, or missed trolleys, she thought. She held out the package. “Here.  I brought you something for your journey.”

Dorcas quickly unwrapped it and squealed. She held it close to her chest. “This is perfect, Clara. I’ll write in it everyday,” she promised.  “I hate to leave you here all summer. Grandmama has all kinds of shopping trips planned for Mother and me in Nashville, but what will you do here?”

Clara shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll find something to do, and I’ll write letters and tell you all about it.”

“Oh.  There you are, Clara,” Mother said. “I am glad you made it.” She rested a gloved hand on Clara’s shoulder.

Clara felt her mother’s gaze and knew they would have a talk about the condition of her skirt. But not until they got back home. She grinned at her friend.

The train whistle blew and echoed from the brick wall of the depot. A great cloud of steam chugged from the engine. “All aboard,” the conductor called out in a loud voice. Dorcas skipped up the train steps to join Mrs. Goldberg in the passenger car.

The travelers waved from their windows as Mother waved a lace handkerchief and Clara waved her hat. The train moved slowly down the tracks.

Mother put her arm around Clara’s shoulders as they turned to leave.  “I am sorry that I cannot whisk you away to some far off city for a shopping trip, too, Clara.”

“I suspect that I will find plenty of adventure right here in Huntsville, Mother.”

Mother smiled.  “I suspect you are right.”

A train ride might thrill Dorcas, but she had never ridden a bicycle.  That night Clara dreamed of the wind in her hair.

Advance praise for Huntsville, 1892: CLARA

I thoroughly enjoyed Clara’s adventures in her quest to get the best bicycle in town. Her determination to go after her dream would be an inspiration to kids of any age, even the grownup ones. The local history is well researched and adds just the right touch to Clara’s quest. I would highly recommend this book when it is published later this year.

-- Dean Della Pell, Spring City Cycling Club

***

The world is changing and Clara wants to be a part of it. Through her efforts, she walks readers through the golden age of Huntsville, Alabama’s past and introduces us to the people and places that made it so. Huntsville’s fascinating history is brought to life in three dimensions, and author Wanda Vaughn has done an excellent job of appealing to all of our senses with her outstanding writing style. This is a heartwarming book for teens, adults, historians, and those who enjoy traveling the world through the printed word.

-- Jacquelyn Procter Reeves, author of Hidden History of North Alabama, Wicked North Alabama, Historic Photos of Huntsville, Remembering Huntsville

***

Exuberant and full of life, Wanda Vaughn’s Clara draws the reader deep into the charm of Huntsville, Alabama at the turn of the 20th century. Eleven- year-old Clara Landers schemes to get a bicycle of her own despite the expense and Victorian society’s disapproval. Among many of her trials and tribulations, she faces a crabby neighbor and a famous cow to earn the money. But when she joins a treasure hunt for the ultimate prize Clara risks all. Humorous situations abound as we come to truly love Clara’s spunk and admire her drive. Writing with a deep love of life and her native Alabama, Wanda Vaughn’s talent shines through the pages of this delightful chapter book. Clara is a wonderfully written start to the Alabama Girls series and is perfect for boys and girls of all ages.

-- Jamie Dodson, author of the award winning Nick Grant Adventures series, Flying Boat & Spies, China Clipper, and coming soon - Mission: Shanghai

***

From the opening lines, Clara’s spunky personality shines through. This story is brimming with heart-warming humor and courage. Through Clara’s eyes, Vaughn allows the reader to experience Huntsville at the end of the 19th century with fascinating historical facts and intriguing characters.

-- Connie Flemming, author of Finder’s Magic