There was a flurry of excitement in the Brandon household early one morning in 1791. It was the day that General Washington, the president, was supposed to visit Salisbury, North Carolina. Everybody planned to be there. Everybody, it seemed, except fourteen-year-old Betsy, the oldest child of Squire Richard Brandon’s family. Betsy had to stay at home to finish the chores.

“Ha! Betsy won’t get to see the president,” teased the younger children, climbing into the family buggy.

But Betsy was not one to mope. She returned to the kitchen and swept the floor. Then she took her bonnet from the hook on the back of the door. She was going outside to feed the chickens. But what was that rumbling noise?

Betsy hurried to the front door and peeked out. Her eyes grew wide.

Coming down the road that passed in front of the house was the most beautiful coach she had ever seen. It was pale ivory and trimmed in gold.

As it came near, Betsy felt herself drawn down the pathway to get a better view. The coach was decorated with scenes that reminded Betsy of the four seasons. And it had a great emblem on it, like a coat of arms.

The driver pulled on the reins. “Whoa!” he said. The harnesses tinkled musically as the four fine horses halted right in front of the gate where Betsy stood.

The door of the coach opened, and a tall, handsome man in uniform stepped down. He was almost as tall as her father. He tipped his hat and nodded at her. Then another, even more handsome man, stepped out. He was white-haired and stood at least six-feet-four.

“Good morning, Miss,” said the white-haired man. His face was stern and deeply lined, but his blue eyes were warm and friendly.

“Good morning, sir,” Betsy said, quavering.

“Is your father home?”

“No, sir.”

“Is your mother home?”

As Betsy shook her head, her braids moved back and forth. “My family went to Salisbury to see the president,” she explained.

“Did you not wish to see the president, too?” The voice was kind.

“Oh, yes, sir,” Betsy replied, “but I must stay here to do the chores.”

“If you make breakfast for us,” came the reply, “I promise that you will see the president before the others will.”

Thinking that the president would soon pass by on his way to Salisbury, Betsy hurried into the kitchen.

She bustled about cracking eggs and readying sweet rich cream, freshly churned butter, and other delicious ingredients. Soon the house filled with the tempting scent of bacon and ham sizzling invitingly on the griddle.

She brewed coffee and in the oven warmed her mother’s fluffy biscuits until they glowed golden. From the springhouse, Betsy fetched milk so cold it caused beads of water to form on the pitcher.

The two men from the coach had surrounded themselves with ledgers and papers in the parlor, but soon they were glancing eagerly toward the kitchen, distracted by the promising signs of a delicious breakfast to come.

Betsy didn’t need to call the men to the table twice; they brought their papers and sat down and fell to eating like men famished.

Delivering the coachman’s plate outside, Betsy looked anxiously down the road. “I didn’t miss the president, did I?” she asked.
The coachman smiled. “No, young lady,” he said as he downed a crisp bacon slice. “But keep your eyes open, he might be closer than you think.”

She did just that, but by the time the men had finished their breakfast and were ready to leave, she had still seen no sign of a coach. That is, except for the one parked in her own yard.

As the men prepared to continue their journey, Betsy asked, “Sir, when my family returns, to whom shall I say I served breakfast?”
The white-haired man climbed into the coach. Leaning to the window, he smiled. “Just tell them it was President Washington and his aide that you served a most delicious breakfast to this morning,” he said. And with that the coach rolled away in a cloud of dust.

Editor’s Note: President Washington traveled through North Carolina in 1791. The story of a young girl named Betsy Brandon preparing breakfast for him is considered by historians to be true.