Читать книгу A Stand for Independence - Valerie Tripp - Страница 5

elicity opened the kitchen window as wide as it would go and leaned toward the sunshine. The wind still had a whisper of winter in it. But the sun shone strong with the promise of springtime, and the sky was a clean, clear blue.

It was spring cleaning day at the Merrimans’. Felicity was in the kitchen scrubbing the big silver chocolate pot in a tub of sudsy water. Her sister, Nan, and her brother, William, were helping her. That is, William was supposed to be helping. He was supposed to wash the wooden stirrer that went with the chocolate pot. Instead, William was using the stirrer as if it were a drumstick. He was happily hitting the water to make it splash up out of the tub.

Outside the kitchen window, Felicity could see Mother and Rose, the Merrimans’ house servant, airing mattresses from all the beds in the household. They leaned the mattresses against the kitchen garden fence to freshen them in the bright spring sunshine.

Felicity spoke to her mother through the open window. “Mother,” she said, “since Grandfather will be here with us on my birthday this year, do you think we might have a little party?”

Mrs. Merriman smiled at Felicity. “What sort of party?” she asked.

“Well,” said Felicity as she thought, “it would be a small party. Just our family and Ben. It would be a celebration—a celebration of all of us being together and of spring.” Felicity talked faster as her ideas poured out. “We could decorate the parlor with flowers. Grandfather loves flowers. I am sure tulips and daffodils will be blooming in my garden by then. We could use my favorite plates and our best chocolate cups. Oh! And we could have a fancy cake on the glass pyramid and—”

“Tarts!” interrupted Nan.

“Tarts and tarts and tarts!” added William.

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Felicity. “Peach, blackberry, and raspberry tarts.”

Mother laughed. “Lissie,” she said, “you are always ahead of yourself. Your thoughts run off and away like wild ponies! You know ’tis days till Grandfather comes and weeks till your birthday.” She helped Rose lift and turn one of the mattresses. “It’s hard to believe you will be ten this year, Lissie,” she said, “though you do grow fast as a weed. Perhaps that’s what comes of being born in the spring.”

“I like having a birthday in the spring,” said Felicity. “Everything is blossoming and growing. The whole world is starting life new.”

“Aye,” agreed Mrs. Merriman. “The springtime suits you. You were born sooner than I expected. You couldn’t wait to be born and start life new, as you say.” She laughed. “You have been impatient and in a hurry ever since! Grandfather will be amazed to see how tall you’ve grown.”

“Me, too,” William said stoutly. “I’m taller, too!”

“Oh, much taller!” said Felicity. “We have lots of changes to show Grandfather. He hasn’t even met Ben yet!” Ben was the apprentice in Mr. Merriman’s store.

A small frown crossed Mrs. Merriman’s face. Felicity realized her mother was afraid Ben might speak out in front of Grandfather. Ben did not think the colonies should belong to the King of England anymore. But Grandfather was a strict Loyalist. He would not take kindly to anyone who criticized the king!

Felicity looked down at the silver chocolate pot. She gently rubbed it dry. “Do you think Grandfather will be angry that we don’t drink tea anymore?” she asked her mother. To protest the tax the king had set on tea, Mr. Merriman had stopped selling tea in his store, and the Merrimans had stopped drinking tea at home. “Will Grandfather mind drinking hot chocolate instead?”

Mrs. Merriman shook off her troubled look. “No one would mind chocolate poured from such a shiny pot!” she said cheerfully. “Now take off your wet apron. ’Tis time for you to go to your lessons at Miss Manderly’s. Don’t forget to stop at the house and fetch your hat. This spring sun will burn your nose quite pink!”

“Yes, Mother,” said Felicity. She unpinned her apron and handed it to her mother. Then she skipped up to the house to tidy herself for lessons.

Felicity’s best friend, Elizabeth, was waiting for her at the pasture behind the Wythes’ stable. They often met there before lessons to visit the Wythes’ mare and her new colt. Elizabeth was standing on the bottom rail of the fence watching the horses across the pasture. When she saw Felicity, Elizabeth smiled. “Oh, good. Here you are, Lissie,” she said. “Do whistle and make the horses come to us.”

Felicity whistled. The mare trotted toward her, and the colt followed behind like a little, shy shadow. Elizabeth and Felicity pulled up handful after handful of sweet spring grass and fed it to the horses.

Felicity giggled, “The colt’s tongue is so wet and rough, it tickles my hands.” She wiped her hands with her handkerchief, but they were still rather sticky and quite green from the grass.

“I do love to visit those horses,” Felicity said later. She and Elizabeth were giving their hands a quick wash at the Wythes’ well. “They make me think of my horse Penny. I hope Penny has not forgotten me.”

Elizabeth’s big blue eyes were serious. “Penny has not forgotten you,” she said. “You saved her from that mean Mr. Nye, who beat her. You were patient with her. You taught her to trust you. Now you must trust her. Trust that she still loves you. Trust that she will come back to you if she can. Someday she will. I am sure.”

Felicity smiled at her friend. Elizabeth always spoke straight from her heart.

The girls hurried along to their lessons. When they came into Miss Manderly’s sunny parlor, they saw that Elizabeth’s older sister, Annabelle, was already there, looking very prim. Annabelle put on a pained expression when she saw them. She sniffed, then held her handkerchief to her nose. Felicity grinned. She supposed she and Elizabeth must smell a tad horsey after their visit to the pasture.

“Good day, young ladies,” said Miss Manderly. “Please be seated at the table. I have set up your needlework frames. Work quietly while Annabelle has her music lesson.”

“Yes, Miss Manderly,” said Elizabeth and Felicity. They sat at their needlework frames, facing each other across the table.

Felicity had finally finished her sampler of stitches at the end of the winter. When Miss Manderly said she was ready to move on to more difficult stitchery, Felicity was very pleased. She loved the wooden needlework frame that sat so prettily on the table in front of her. The frame held the linen taut while she made her stitches.

A gentle spring breeze played with the leaves outside the window. They seemed to dance with the soft music Miss Manderly was strumming on Annabelle’s guitar. When Miss Manderly began to sing, it seemed to Felicity that the sound filled the room with color and light.

Then Miss Manderly handed the guitar to Annabelle. Oh no! Felicity and Elizabeth looked at each other and tried not to groan. For now it was Annabelle’s turn to play and sing.

Horrible sounds filled the room and chased away all the beautiful music. When Annabelle played, the guitar sounded whiny, tinny, and twangy. And her singing was even worse.

“In spite of all my friends could say, young Colin stole my heart away,” warbled Annabelle.

“Indeed, I wish someone would steal all of her away,” Elizabeth whispered. “She sings as if her stays are laced too tight.”

Felicity laughed softly. But secretly, she was envious of Annabelle. She wished with all her heart she were old enough to learn to play the guitar. But she knew young ladies did not begin music lessons until they were twelve or thirteen years old.

Felicity looked at Annabelle’s guitar out of the corners of her eyes. It was made of shiny wood, shaped like half a pear, with a long, slender neck. Felicity hated to admit it, but Annabelle looked grown-up and elegant when she held the guitar. Felicity longed to strum the guitar and to touch the luscious satin ribbon Annabelle had tied to it.

When at last Annabelle stopped singing and playing, Felicity went over to her. “Annabelle,” she asked, “may I hold your guitar?”

“Oh, dear me, no!” said Annabelle. She held the guitar closer to her. “Papa just bought this guitar. It was very costly. You are far too, too…you simply may not touch it!”

Felicity flushed.

Miss Manderly said, “I am sure Felicity will be careful, Annabelle.”

Felicity started to hold out her hands. Annabelle pulled back as if she’d seen a snake. “Gracious me!” she exclaimed. “Look at your hands! They are green! They are filthy!”

Felicity glanced at her hands and then quickly hid them behind her back. They were only the tiniest bit grass-stained. They were not filthy. “I beg your pardon,” Felicity said in a cold voice. She turned on her heel and stalked back to her chair. Snippy Annabelle! She could keep her precious guitar.