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.
Posie
Grandfather had taught Felicity many things about gardening. He believed gardens should be orderly, well kept, and useful as well as beautiful. That is why Felicity had vegetables and herbs growing in tidy rows next to her flowers.
Felicity loved to feel the rich, dark earth so cool and heavy in her hands. It smelled of sun and rain. The little seedlings pushed up out of the earth, first as a soft green fuzz and then as slender, budding stems. Each flower was different. Each was determined to stand up and offer its face to the sun. But weeds wanted to grow, too. There was one weed in particular that was especially stubborn. No matter how many times Felicity dug out its tough green stem, the spiky weed came back.
“I think you had better let that weed grow,” said Ben. He was leaning over the garden fence, grinning at Felicity. “You can’t seem to discourage it.”
Felicity grinned back at Ben. “I don’t truly mind it,” she said. “Indeed, I rather like it. ’Tis so stubborn. But I know Grandfather would not approve. And I want Grandfather to think my garden is in fine order.”
“Well,” said Ben. “Things that grow have a will of their own. ’Tis hard indeed to stop them.” He stuck the stem of the weed in his buttonhole. Suddenly, Ben stood up straight. He called out, “Good day, Isaac!”
Isaac was a free black just a little older than Ben. He and his family did laundry work at their home on the edge of town. Several times a month, Isaac came to the Merrimans’ house to pick up laundry to be washed or to return clean laundry.
Isaac came toward Felicity and Ben. He set down the laundry basket. “Good day to you,” he said with a smile. “Felicity, your garden is fine indeed!”
“Thank you, Isaac,” said Felicity.
“Isaac,” said Ben earnestly. “You are a drummer with the militia, aren’t you?”
“Aye,” answered Isaac. “That I am.”
“Will you teach me how to play beats on your drum?” asked Ben.
“Me, too?” asked Felicity.
“Very well,” said Isaac. “I don’t have my drum with me now. But I can give you both a quick lesson anyway.” He picked up two sticks from the ground and held them as if they were drumsticks.
“The drums are very important to the militia,” Isaac explained. “They tell the soldiers what to do. Different drumbeats mean different things. This beat tells everyone to wake up.” Isaac beat a loud, insistent beat on the garden fence. Rat tat TAT! Rat tat TAT! “And this beat tells the men to come quickly and line up with their guns.” Isaac played a louder beat. Brrrrump pum pumpety! Brrrrump pum pumpety! “And this beat is my favorite. It’s called ‘roast beef.’ It means dinner is ready.” Isaac beat a lively roll. Pumpety pumpety pumpety pum!
Isaac gave Ben the sticks, and Ben tried playing the beats. Then Felicity had a turn. “You do well, Felicity,” Isaac smiled.
Ben glanced at Felicity. Then he said to Isaac in a low voice, “I made a delivery to the Raleigh Tavern yesterday morning. I heard a rumor that Governor Dunmore has the key to the Magazine, where all the colonists’ gunpowder is stored. They say the governor wants to have his marines take all the gunpowder away.”
Felicity spoke up, “But if the governor’s men took our gunpowder, that would be stealing. Why would the governor do such a thing?”
“The governor is afraid,” Isaac said gravely. “He knows the colony’s militia is practicing more often. He is afraid the colonists will use the gunpowder in the Magazine to fight against him and the British soldiers. He fears the time is coming when the colonists will fight for their independence.”
“But the governor isn’t a thief,” insisted Felicity. “He wouldn’t steal.”
Isaac said softly, “A frightened man may do anything.”
Ben sighed. “Lissie, things have changed a great deal since you went dancing at the Governor’s Palace in January,” he said. “The king has sent more and more British troops here. It looks as if the British are getting ready to fight. Relations between Loyalists and Patriots have grown much worse. Many people are beginning to distrust the governor because he is the king’s representative here.”
Felicity shook her head. She said, “I am sure…”
“Nothing
