Читать книгу A Stand for Independence - Valerie Tripp - Страница 8

fter lessons, Felicity and Elizabeth said good day to Miss Manderly and followed sulky Annabelle outside. Elizabeth had invited Felicity to spend the afternoon at her house. Mrs. Cole, Elizabeth and Annabelle’s mother, greeted them at the door in a flutter of confusion.

“Girls, girls, girls,” she said. “Do be quiet! Your father has some very important visitors. British military men! Officers!”

“Officers?” said Annabelle, perking up. “Shall I play and sing for them?” She patted her hair and fluffed her petticoats.

“Oh, dear me, no!” exclaimed Mrs. Cole. “No, you must be quiet as mice. Go to your rooms. Or better yet, go out to the garden, won’t you?”

“Humph!” exclaimed Annabelle. She swept up the stairs to her bedchamber in a huff.

Felicity and Elizabeth happily went outside and sat on a bench under the leafy arbor. Felicity played the tune Miss Manderly had taught her. The guitar sounded even lovelier outside in the spring air. Elizabeth hummed along. After a while, she wandered about the garden, picking flowers. Felicity played on and on. What a pleasure it was to play the guitar!

“Lissie,” Elizabeth called. “Do come here and tell me the names of these flowers. They are such a pretty pink.”

Felicity leaned the guitar against the bench. She skipped over to join Elizabeth and look at the flowers. “Those flowers are called sweet William,” Felicity said. “But somehow they do not quite remind me of my brother William. They are so pink and proper, and he is usually so muddy!”

Elizabeth laughed. “Let’s pick some,” she said, kneeling down. “We can use the blossoms to make a flower necklace for Posie and pompons to put in our hair.”

“Oh, that is a fine idea,” agreed Felicity, joining her. The two girls picked small handfuls of sweet William. Then Felicity asked, “Do you have any violets? They would look lovely in your fair hair.”

“I think there are violets growing in front of the house,” said Elizabeth.

“Let’s go look,” said Felicity. She and Elizabeth walked around to the gardens in front of the house. Suddenly, Felicity heard the low rumble of drums. “Listen!” she said. “Do you hear the drums? The militia must be mustering on the green.”

“What does mustering mean?” asked Elizabeth.

“Mustering is when the men in the militia get together to practice marching and shooting and following orders,” explained Felicity. “Come! Let’s go watch.”

“I don’t think I want to,” said Elizabeth. “Let’s go see Posie.”

“We’ll see Posie after the muster,” said Felicity impatiently. She grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her out the front gate, along the street, and across Market Square to the green next to the Magazine. A large crowd had gathered to watch the men muster.

Felicity and Elizabeth wove their way through the crowd until they found Ben. Ben grinned when he saw Felicity. “I knew you’d come when you heard the drums,” he said. He pointed to the drummers. “Look. There’s Isaac.”

Felicity saw Isaac with his drum. Just then the fife players began to pipe a sharp, lively tune. Isaac and the other drummers beat upon their drums. The men shouldered their guns and marched in rows behind the drummers. Little boys ran alongside, shouting with excitement. The men marched smartly across the green, in step with the drumbeats, their guns glinting in the sun. Felicity felt the drumbeats thunk in her stomach. The fife music gave her goose bumps on her arms. And when the men stopped, turned, and fired their guns into the air, Felicity’s heart jumped.

“Oh!” exclaimed Elizabeth beside her. “Let’s go home!”

Felicity turned to her in surprise. “But it’s so exciting!” she said.

Elizabeth looked miserable. “I think it’s scary,” she said. “I’m going. Good-bye.” She ran off before Felicity could say another word.

Felicity soon forgot everything as she stood next to Ben, watching and listening. She tried to name the drumbeats Isaac and the other drummers were playing. She counted the rows of men and studied the horses the officers rode. She sniffed the air. It was heavy with smoke and dust and the burnt tang of gunpowder.

Felicity felt proud of the militia men. “They look fine, don’t they, Ben?” she said. “I know the men in the colonists’ militia are just citizens and not paid soldiers like the king’s soldiers. But they do look fine today.”

Ben was so intent watching the muster that Felicity thought he did not hear her. His arms were folded across his chest, and his eyes were wide.

Then he nodded. “The militia has been practicing more often since March,” he said. “Militias in every county in Virginia have been practicing more. We have to be ready to defend ourselves.”

“In a fight against the king’s soldiers?” asked Felicity.

“Aye,” said Ben.

Suddenly, it struck Felicity. She realized why Elizabeth was frightened. These men were not practicing just to make excitement. They were practicing to get ready to fight and to die if they had to. And whom would they have to fight? They would fight soldiers, real soldiers, British soldiers, the best soldiers in the world. These men might die because they did not want to be ruled by the King of England anymore. They were ready to give their lives to be independent. Then the argument against the king would no longer be about drinking tea or not drinking tea. It would be a matter of life and death. Felicity shivered. This time it was not a shiver of excitement. It was dread.

Clouds covered the sun. As the muster was dismissed, a soft rain began to fall like a chilly veil. Felicity and Ben walked home quietly.

“I wish more than anything I could join the militia like Isaac,” said Ben. “I’d give anything to be able to fight.” His voice was full of longing.

Felicity looked over at him. “But you cannot join the militia, Ben,” she said. “You are an apprentice. Apprentices are not allowed to join. ’Tis in your agreement with Father. Is it not?”

“Aye,” said Ben in a low voice. “I cannot join the militia as long as I am an apprentice. But…”

“Ben!” Felicity said sharply. “You wouldn’t break your agreement with Father! He trusts you! You’d never run away, would you? You couldn’t.”

Ben looked at her and said nothing.

Felicity burst out. “You are our friend, Ben! You are part of our family. It wouldn’t be honorable to run away.”

Ben gave Felicity a sad grin. “I won’t do anything while your grandfather is here,” he said. “Your grandfather would be furious.”

“Aye,” said Felicity. “Grandfather has strict ideas. He…” Suddenly Felicity stopped stock still. “Oh no! Oh no!” she cried. “Grandfather! The guitar! Oh, Ben! I forgot! I forgot! I left the guitar at Elizabeth’s house!” Felicity grabbed Ben’s arm with both hands and spoke quickly. “I must run to the Coles’ and get the guitar. If Mother and Grandfather are home, tell them I am on my way! But don’t tell them about the guitar! They will be angry.”

“Aye!” said Ben. “Run! Run fast!”

Felicity took off as fast as her feet could go. Her heart pounded as she ran through the gray drizzle. If only she could sneak the guitar back home before Mother and Grandfather returned. Oh, how she wished she had not been so thoughtless!

Felicity was a fast runner. In a few minutes, she reached the Coles’ house. She ran back to the garden and hurried toward the arbor where she had left the guitar. Ah! She panted with relief. There it was, propped against the bench just where she had left it. But when Felicity reached for the guitar, she saw someone coming. It was Mr. Cole and a British officer. Felicity did not want them to see her, so she ducked behind a bush. She hugged the guitar to her chest.

The British officer was speaking in a serious voice. “The governor’s marines are about five miles away, at Burwell’s Landing on the James River,” said the officer. “They’ll come very late tonight and take the gunpowder out of the Magazine.”

Felicity froze. She could not believe her ears.

The officer went on, “Governor Dunmore will tell the people of Williamsburg that he heard rumor of a slave uprising. He’ll say the gunpowder was removed for the colonists’ own protection.”

Mr. Cole spoke up. “The people will know that’s a lie and that the governor has stolen their gunpowder,” he said. “Everyone knows the governor is afraid the colonists will use the gunpowder to fight against him and our British soldiers. ’Tis sad indeed when the governor must stoop to such low deeds as lying and stealing.”

The officer sounded angry. “I beg your pardon, sir!” he said.

“Aye,” said Mr. Cole. “We must all beg pardon for what the governor is about to do. This will destroy any last shred of trust the colonists have in him. I am loyal to the king, but I am sorry to be involved in such deeds.” He sighed. “Very well, then,” he said to the officer. “You may go. I have received your report.”

The two men walked away, but Felicity did not move. The British officer’s words echoed in her head. The marines are going to take the gunpowder tonight! She had to tell someone! They must be stopped! What on earth was she going to do? What could she possibly do?

Felicity ran home holding the guitar close to her. She was full of fear and confusion.

When Felicity stepped into the house, her heart sank. Mother, Father, and Grandfather all sat in the parlor. Felicity put the guitar behind her back.

Mrs. Merriman looked up with a smile. “There you are, Lissie,” she said. “Were you playing with Posie? We shall…” She stopped. The smile faded from her face. “Felicity, what is the matter? You look a fright! And what do you have behind your back?” Mrs. Merriman came over to Felicity. “Why, it’s the guitar,” she said as she took it away. “And just look at it! The ribbon is torn through! The guitar is wet! Felicity! What have you done?”

Felicity could not meet her mother’s eyes. “I’m sorry. Truly I am. I meant no harm,” she said. “I just wanted Miss Manderly to tune it and…and I wanted Annabelle to see it.”

“You took the guitar?” asked Mother. “But you were most clearly told not to take it out of this house. And how did it get so wet?”

“Well, I…it was a mistake,” said Felicity. “I was playing it at Elizabeth’s house, and then we went to the muster, and I…I forgot it.”

Felicity hung her head. She had never felt so ashamed in her life.

Mrs. Merriman looked angry and sad at the same time. She handed the guitar back to Felicity. “Show your grandfather what you have done. You must ask him to forgive you,” she said.

Felicity slowly carried the guitar to Grandfather. Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Grandfather,” she whispered. “Please forgive me. I am so sorry.”

Grandfather took the guitar and touched the bedraggled ribbon. He frowned. “I was wrong to bring the guitar here,” he said. “I see now that you are too young to be trusted with something so valuable.”

“Go to bed, Felicity,” said Father. “Think about what you have done.”

Felicity started to go. She wanted to run from the room, run from the house, and never face any of them ever again. But she made herself stop and turn around. “Father,” she said. “Please listen to me.”

Mr. Merriman nodded. “What is it?” he asked.

Felicity took a deep breath. “When I went back to the Coles’ house to fetch the guitar just now, I heard Mr. Cole talking to a British officer. The officer said that…” Mother, Father, and Grandfather were frowning at her, but Felicity forced herself to go on. “The officer said that British marines would come tonight to take the gunpowder out of the Magazine. And Mr. Cole said it was stealing, but—”

“Stop!” growled Grandfather. His eyes were dark as thunderclouds. “Stop this wild talk! ’Tis foolish, irresponsible, shameful! Stop it, I say!” He shook his head in anger. “Felicity, I am sorely disappointed in you!”

Felicity was rigid with shame.

Father sighed. “Felicity, how can you expect us to believe such a tale?” he asked. “You have shown yourself to be dishonest and irresponsible in the matter of the guitar. How can we possibly trust you?”

“But Father,” Felicity said, “I did hear them! I did!”

Father held up his hand. “Don’t disgrace yourself further by spreading wild falsehoods, especially about such serious matters,” he said sternly. “Go now. We have heard enough from you for one evening.”