a sack of oats ’round to my house, Mr. Merriman?”
“I’ll have my new apprentice do it,” said Mr. Merriman. “Ben is going to deliver a new bit and bridle to Jiggy Nye at the tannery this afternoon. He will bring the oats to your house on his way.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Fitchett. She lowered her voice to a gossipy tone. “I know why that good-for-nothing Jiggy Nye wants a new bridle and bit. I hear he’s got himself a new work horse. He won it gambling or some such thing. In any case, he didn’t pay for it, mind you.”
Felicity listened closely. She wanted to hear more about Mr. Nye’s new horse. But Mrs. Fitchett frowned and said, “I believe he worked his old horse to death. That man is a cold-hearted scoundrel. He is not to be trusted. You’d better tell Ben to be sure Jiggy pays him for the bit and bridle right away.”
“That I will,” agreed Mr. Merriman. “I’ll take no promises for payment from Jiggy. His money would be drunk up before I’d see it.” Mr. Merriman glanced at Felicity and stopped talking. But Felicity knew all about Mr. Nye. Everyone knew he drank too much rum. When he did, he went into rages and left his work undone. His house was always a mess, and his fences were always falling down. Felicity didn’t dislike him for any of those reasons. She hated Mr. Nye because he killed poor cows and horses that were too old to work anymore and made leather from their hides.
“What’s Mr. Nye going to do with his new horse? He’s not going to work it to death, too, is he, Father?” asked Felicity.
“Don’t you worry about Jiggy Nye’s new horse,” said Mr. Merriman. “I’m sure it’s strong and healthy. Jiggy Nye would be foolish to mistreat it.” He kissed Felicity on the forehead. “Now you run along home. Your mother will be wondering what’s become of you and that ginger. Good-bye, my child.”
“Good-bye, Father. Good day, Mrs. Fitchett,” said Felicity.
“Farewell, Miss Felicity,” said Mrs. Fitchett.
Felicity stepped out into the bright afternoon. She walked home thinking only one thing. Mr. Nye has a new horse, and I’m going to see it—somehow—as soon as I can.
Penny
“Felicity, my dear!” exclaimed her mother. “Why are you twitching and fidgeting so?”
“I have the most awful itch, Mother,” said Felicity. “I think my stays are laced too tight today. They’re so pinching and uncomfortable.” Felicity pulled at her stays, which were laced up her back like a tight vest.
Mrs. Merriman shook her head and laughed. “You think your stays are laced too tight every day! But you do grow so fast, maybe you are right. Come here, my child, and I will loosen them for you.”
“Thank you, Mother,” said Felicity. She sighed with relief as her mother loosened the laces.
“I’ve told you many times, Lissie. Your stays will not pinch you if you sit up straight,” said Mrs. Merriman. “And they will not be uncomfortable if you move gracefully instead of galloping about.” She straightened Felicity’s cap. “There, now, pretty one. You are set to rights. Fetch me your paper, so that I may see your handwriting practice.”
Felicity blushed as she handed her mother the paper. “I haven’t quite finished it, Mother,” she said.
“So I see,” said Mrs. Merriman. “The first few letters are very fine. But you lost patience when you got to the letter H. The rest of the letters go trip-trotting all over the page and then turn into sketches of horses!” She put the paper down and looked Felicity in the eye. “Lissie, what am I to do with you? You must learn to finish what you begin. If you spent half as much time on your letters as you do daydreaming of horses, you’d have the finest hand in Williamsburg.” She sighed. “Go along to the well now. Fetch some water and scrub your hand. Mind you get the ink off.”
“Yes, Mother,” said Felicity. She turned to go, but stopped at the door. “Mother,” she asked. “May I help Ben make a delivery?”
“Yes, my lively girl,” laughed her mother. “I know very well there’s no use trying to keep you inside when your mind is already out and away.”
“Thank you, Mother!” said Felicity as she flew out the door.
“Lissie! Your hat!” called her mother. But she was too late. Felicity was already halfway to the well.
Felicity’s hand was still a little wet and a little inky when she rushed down the street to her father’s store. Just as she got there, she saw Ben come out. He stopped and looked up the street toward the silversmith’s shop, then down the street toward the church, as if he were not sure which way to go.
“Ben, do you know the way to Mrs. Fitchett’s house?” Felicity asked.
Ben shrugged. “I’ll find it.”
Ben’s shyness didn’t stop Felicity. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll show you.”
Ben shrugged again. “As you wish,” he said. Then he was quiet.
Felicity didn’t mind. It was so lovely to be outside. And this was just the kind of afternoon she loved best. She could see a few leaves that had turned bright gold. They were like small banners announcing that summer’s heat was ending and fall’s cool weather was on its way.
Felicity was supposed to be leading Ben, but Ben took such long strides Felicity had to trot to keep up with him. Finally she lifted the hems of her petticoats so that she could take long strides, too. It felt wonderful to be able to stretch her legs.
“Oh, I wish I could wear breeches,” she said.
“What?” asked Ben.
“Breeches,” said Felicity. “Gowns and petticoats are so bothersome. I’m forever stepping on my hem and tripping unless I take little baby steps. Small steps are supposed to look ladylike. But I can’t get anywhere. ’Tis a terrible bother. In breeches your legs are free. You can straddle horses, jump over fences, run as fast as you wish. You can do anything.”
Ben didn’t answer, but he shifted the sack of oats to his other shoulder. Now Felicity could see his face.
“It’s very tiresome to be a girl sometimes,” Felicity went on. “There are so many things a young lady must not do. I’m told the same things over and over again. Don’t talk too loud. Don’t walk too fast. Don’t fidget. Don’t dirty your hands.
