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    Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis: Friend of the Arts
    Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis: Friend of the Arts
    Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis: Friend of the Arts
    Ebook123 pages55 minutes

    Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis: Friend of the Arts

    By Beatrice Gormley and Meryl Henderson

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    About this ebook

    One of the most popular series ever published for young Americans, these classics have been praised alike by parents, teachers, and librarians. With these lively, inspiring, fictionalized biographies -- easily read by children of eight and up -- today's youngster is swept right into history.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAladdin
    Release dateMay 11, 2010
    ISBN9781439113585
    Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis: Friend of the Arts
    Author

    Beatrice Gormley

    Beatrice Gormley has written a number of books for young readers, including several titles in the History’s All-Stars series, as well as biographies of Barack Obama, George W. Bush, Laura Bush, and John McCain. She lives in Westport, Massachusetts.

    Read more from Beatrice Gormley

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      Book preview

      Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis - Beatrice Gormley

      An Aristocratic Family

      It was a bright autumn day in 1933. The sky over Central Park in New York City was clear blue, and the trees glowed with orange and yellow leaves.

      Along a path in the park skipped a girl about four years old. Her thick, curly dark hair was tied back on one side with a ribbon, and she wore a light coat over her dress. Behind the girl, a nanny pushed a baby carriage. Its wheels crunched over dry leaves.

      Don’t get too far ahead of me, Jackie, warned the nanny.

      I won’t, Miss Newey, said Jackie. She turned and skipped back. In the baby carriage her little sister, Lee, blinked at the world from under her pink bonnet. Jackie waved at Lee and skipped around the carriage. If she skipped behind Miss Newey, Jackie reasoned, she couldn’t get ahead of her.

      Miss Newey walked so slowly! Sometimes she even stopped to chat with other nannies. Jackie skipped backward, then forward again, then slowed to a walk. She noticed some fallen leaves on the grass, like orange and yellow stars.

      And what was that gleaming under a different kind of leaf? A shiny brown horse chestnut. And another, and another … Jackie wandered across the grass, stooping to pick up the beautiful chestnuts and store them in her coat pockets.

      As she came over a rise Jackie heard a baby crying. Down in a hollow, half-hidden by bushes, was a tarpaper shack. Jackie hesitated. Miss Newey had told her not to go near these shacks. You are a very fortunate little girl, the nanny had added. Think of the poor children who have to live like that.

      As Jackie watched, a woman in a rumpled, dingy dress ducked out of the shack. She held a bundle of rags—no, it was a baby. That was where the crying came from.

      The woman started to look up, and Jackie suddenly felt that she shouldn’t be staring. Turning, she ran across the lawn. She should get back to Miss Newey and Baby Lee.

      But now the path where the nanny and baby carriage had been was empty. Ahead, the path forked. One way climbed up a hill, and the other curved around behind evergreen shrubs.

      Miss Newey must have gone over the hill, Jackie decided. Jackie would catch up with her quickly, so that the nanny wouldn’t worry.

      Briskly Jackie strode over the hill, under more trees, alongside a pond. The water shone brilliant blue. On a bench by the pond, a man in a shabby dark suit was stretched out, asleep. Miss Newey didn’t want Jackie to go near those men who slept in the park either.

      Then Jackie spotted a solid form in sensible coat and shoes—a nanny pushing a baby carriage. The back of the woman was disappearing through an arch. Jackie breathed a sigh of relief. Miss Newey! she yelled to the figure and broke into a run.

      But as the nanny glanced over her shoulder, Jackie saw that she wasn’t Miss Newey. Jackie stopped short, swallowing hard. Where was Miss Newey?

      The strange nanny looked back at her again. She must be wondering what a little girl was doing in the park all by herself. Putting her chin in the air, Jackie turned off on a side path. She would not show that she was worried.

      When Mummy coached Jackie about riding her pony, she said the most important thing was to act as if you knew what you were doing. Then the horse would obey you. Now it seemed to Jackie that trying to find Miss Newey was like riding a horse. If Jackie acted as if she knew what she was doing …

      There! Now Jackie did know what she was doing. Up ahead, near a lamppost, stood a man in a blue uniform—a policeman. Policemen were in the park to help people.

      The policeman was already smiling at Jackie as she walked toward him. She spoke up clearly: My nanny and my sister seem to be lost.

      Do they? He stooped down to talk to her. Well, don’t worry—we’ll find them. What’s your name? Do you know your address—where you live?

      My name is Jacqueline Bouvier, said Jackie. I live in the apartment house where Ernest is the elevator man.

      The policeman had Jackie repeat her name twice, Jahk-leen Boo-vee-ay. But he still didn’t seem to understand. Didn’t everyone in New York know the Bouviers?

      Tell you what—let’s go along to the station, said the policeman, taking her hand. That’s where lost nannies usually end up.

      As they walked out of the park, chatting, Jackie mentioned that she knew her telephone number. Rhinelander 4-6167, she said. You could call Mummy and tell her about Miss Newey and Baby Lee getting lost.

      The policeman’s lips twitched, but he said only, Yes, I could. I think I will.

      When they reached the police station, the officer sat Jackie up on a high stool. He picked up the telephone and told the operator the Bouviers’ number. Jackie listened to his side of the conversation. Ma’am, we have a little girl here. I’m not sure of her name, but she gave us this telephone number….

      Then the officer held the receiver to Jackie’s ear. Mummy’s voice, strangely high and strained, said, Jacqueline? Darling, Mummy is taking a taxi to the police station. Wait right there!

      That was a silly thing to say—why would Jackie go somewhere else? She was having a fine time at the police station. The officers gathered around her stool, telling her what a brave, pretty little girl she was. Where’d you get those dimples? One of them gave her a piece of peppermint candy.

      All too soon, a woman with hastily combed hair, wearing a fur-collared coat thrown around her shoulders, rushed into the station. I am Mrs. John V. Bouvier III, and my daughter— She stopped short, catching sight of Jackie on her stool.

      Hello, Mummy, said Jackie. She was surprised that her mother seemed upset, when Jackie had done exactly the right thing.

      One day a year or so later, Jackie’s grandfather John V. Bouvier Jr., took her to visit Great-uncle M. C. Bouvier and his wonderful art collection. It all happened because Jackie was reading when she was supposed to be taking a nap.

      Before Lee was born, Jackie used to take naps in the nursery. Now Lee always napped in the nursery. Jackie was put in the guest room so the sisters wouldn’t disturb each other.

      Jackie knew there was no need for that. Even if Lee cried, she couldn’t wake up Jackie—because Jackie didn’t sleep at naptime. And Jackie wouldn’t wake up Lee, because she knew how to be very, very quiet.

      Now, after the spare room door was closed, Jackie waited a moment. Then she slipped off the bed and tiptoed over to the bookcase. The polished floor was smooth under her bare feet.

      Jackie liked the books in the nursery, and she’d already memorized parts of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and Little Lord Fauntleroy. But she thought the books in the spare room were even more interesting. One of Jackie’s favorites was a book about ballet, with full-color pictures of ballerinas floating through the air. How did they do that? Mummy had promised to take her to the ballet this year.

      Another book Jackie loved to look at was an art history book with reproductions

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