A Stand for Independence. Valerie Tripp
belonged to your dear grandmother. You must promise to be very careful with it.” He glanced at Father and said firmly, “It is old and valuable, and so it is something to be treasured.”
“Indeed, yes,” said Mrs. Merriman quickly. “We shall keep the guitar in the house, in the parlor, where it will be safe.”
Felicity cradled the guitar in her arms. She felt as if she had been given something magic, something full of enchanting music waiting to come out, waiting for her to bring it out. She brushed the strings with her fingertips. They were out of tune, and the fine old ribbon tied to the guitar was frayed. But to Felicity the guitar was perfection. It was a treasure.
“Thank you, Grandfather,” she said. “I promise to take good care of the guitar. Someday, when I am older, I’ll play it for you. We’ll sing together.”
Grandfather’s eyes were their softest gray. “Indeed we shall, my dear girl,” he said. “I know you will guard it well and keep it from harm. You are a young lady to be trusted.”
Later that night, when she was lying in bed, an idea wormed its way into Felicity’s thoughts. Now I have a guitar, she realized. I have a guitar that is finer than Annabelle’s. How I wish I could show it to her! Felicity quickly reminded herself that Mother had said the guitar must be kept in the parlor so that it would be safe. She was not to take the guitar out of the house. So Felicity tried to push the idea away. But somehow, it would not go.
Days passed, and soon it was April twentieth, the day before Felicity’s birthday. That afternoon, Mother, Nan, William, and Grandfather went to visit old Mr. Fitchett. They left before Felicity went to lessons, and they were not due back until early evening.
After Felicity waved good-bye to them, she wandered into the parlor and took the guitar down from the tall bookcase. She plucked the strings. ’Tis too bad the guitar is so out of tune, she thought. She tried to tighten the strings herself, as she had seen Miss Manderly do when she was tuning Annabelle’s guitar. But she did not know how the notes were supposed to sound. Felicity put the guitar back in its place. She stared up at it.
Perhaps, she thought, perhaps Miss Manderly would tune the guitar for me. And perhaps Miss Manderly could teach me a song to play at our party tomorrow! That would be a fine surprise for everyone. Surely Mother and Grandfather would not mind if I took the guitar out of the house for such a good purpose. Indeed, I should think they would be pleased.
But in her heart, Felicity knew Mother and Grandfather would not be pleased if she took the guitar without asking. And in her heart she knew the real reason she wanted to bring the guitar to Miss Manderly’s house. She wanted Annabelle to see it. She wanted to make Annabelle jealous.
Quickly, before she could think more carefully, Felicity took the guitar down from the bookcase again. Her hands were cold as she carried it out the door and along the street. She had a sickly feeling in the bottom of her stomach that she was doing something wrong, but she walked briskly to her lessons, as if she could leave the feeling behind her.
Elizabeth gasped when Felicity entered Miss Manderly’s parlor. “Oh, Lissie!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “You brought your grandmother’s guitar, the guitar you told me about. It is beautiful!”
Felicity knew Annabelle was staring at the guitar as she handed it to Miss Manderly. “My grandfather gave me this guitar,” Felicity said proudly. “I was wondering if you might tune it for me?”
Miss Manderly smiled. “I should be pleased to,” she said. “This is a fine old instrument, Felicity.” She tuned the strings and then strummed a few chords. “Hear the depth of sound it has. Such a rich tone!” She handed the guitar back to Felicity. “Guard this well,” she said. “It is a work of art.”
“Felicity,” said Annabelle in a sweet voice. “I did not bring my guitar today. May I hold yours? I will show you how to play a tune.”
“Thank you, Annabelle,” Felicity said politely. “But I think Miss Manderly and I must be the only ones to hold the guitar. ’Tis very old and very precious. I promised to be most careful with it.”
“Indeed!” said Annabelle. She looked at the guitar again with a little pout on her face. Then she looked away.
Felicity turned to Miss Manderly. “Would you teach me to play a little, Miss Manderly?” she asked. “Just a chord or two, or a short tune?”
Felicity held the guitar, and Miss Manderly placed her fingers on the strings. It was more difficult to make music than Felicity had thought, but she tried very hard. And the old guitar seemed eager to sound beautiful.
“You have a good ear and a firm touch, Felicity,” said Miss Manderly. “When you are old enough for serious lessons, you will do well.”
Annabelle pretended not to hear, but Felicity knew she was listening because her pout grew poutier. When lessons were over, Annabelle flounced out ahead of Elizabeth and Felicity. Felicity smiled to herself. Annabelle is envious of my guitar! she thought. Felicity was pleased. She had forgotten about the sickly feeling in her stomach.
Drumbeats
“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