Further Complications

April 1783

Elizabeth was a little bird, flitting here and there, shaking the mud from her feathers, patting her hair flat and bundling the three youngest Merrimans out into the rain before they knew enough to protest. Felicity's mother wisely remembered some pressing chore upstairs and left her daughter and her daughter's friend to the privacy of the sitting room. They were already chattering; Elizabeth had been gone for months, away to the estate belonging to one of her father's acquaintances.

". . . and every night we had to talk to someone we hadn't before, though of course by the end of the first two days everyone knew each other and we had to pretend. Oh, it was marvelous fun, Lissie! I wish you could have been there." Elizabeth folded her hands on her stomach.

It took a moment for Felicity to adjust to the fact that Elizabeth had stopped talking. Never had she heard her friend say so much so fast. Somewhat dizzy, swallowing a prickle of jealousy, she said, "Then I do too, for I've been pining away for you here. 'Tis always, 'what shall I do without Elizabeth?' and 'Woe, woe, Elizabeth must be having such a time!'"

Elizabeth laughed and nudged Felicity in the side, saying "Don't worry, I couldn't speak to any of them half as well as I speak to you. I've had to bottle up my impulses and save them. But now, 'tis your turn." She made what Felicity called her spy-face, the one where she seemed about pass along important information. "What aboutyour courtship, Felicity? Come, I've told you all of mine. 'Tis not like you to keep mum on any subject for this long."

"My courtships?" Felicity laughed. "Indeed, I have nothing to tell. Many of the young men have been . . ." she looked down, not wishing to bring up such a sensitive subject as the Revolution, especially to Elizabeth, especially now that a Patriot victory was all but definite. "Well, there haven't been a lot around recently. I've not engaged in any other flirtations since the last one I told you about."

"George," said Elizabeth with a wink. Felicity rolled her eyes.

"Ugh. He would not leave me alone. I had to actually box his ears before he would stop hanging around the store and still every time I see him I'm tempted to run to the other side of the road."

Her friend giggled. "Lissie, you do get in to the most uncomfortable trouble. But that was more than a year ago! I know you're not being truthful with me. Do tell, Lissie, you know I won't laugh if—" she stopped and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh dear! I apologize. I've made you think that I'll scoff at anyone who isn't . . . I'm so sorry! They're every one of them very silly, I promise you, I'd much rather have someone like your Ben—"

Felicity gagged. "Wha . . . what do you mean, my Ben? We're good friends, to be sure, but . . ."

A line appeared between Elizabeth's eyebrows. "Surely you must see the way he looks at you?

The red-head's hands went up to straighten her cap. "Why, I took ill this winter, is all. The tiniest cold. He's worried, as any good friend would be, though I keep reminding him that I'm perfectly all right. 'Tis nothing more."

Shaking her head, Elizabeth fixed Felicity with a stare of greatest disbelief. "He watches you like . . . If that be merely friendship, then I'm a moldy cheese." Narrowing her eyes, she added "you're going to shred that cap to pieces if you keep on pulling at it."

There was something much too knowing in Elizabeth's smile. With great effort, Felicity managed to yank her hands down and knit them in her lap. It was entirely illogical for this conversation to be making her agitated. "Elizabeth, I don't know where you get your information, but I can assure you that Ben and I are not . . . not courting, nor will we ever!" A surprisingly strong feeling of relief came from saying these words aloud. Felicity felt as if she had just finished pulling herself out of a mud swamp.

Elizabeth's eyes became round. "You really don't know," she murmured.

"Know what?"

"Oh, never mind." Elizabeth let out what sounded alarmingly like a cackle. "You'll find out soon enough."


August 1783

They'd been in Yorktown near three days and done nothing but sit around Ben's mother's (Mrs. Davidson, Felicity constantly had to remind herself to think) house and mention the weather. 'They' were Ben, to see his family; Felicity because she was going mad trapped indoors with Polly (moping around since William had declared himself too old for "stupid girls' games"); and Nan, who had decided that her sister and the apprentice needed a chaperone. Felicity huffed and tsk-ed and felt just the tiniest bit relieved.

But Felicity had not anticipated the endless rounds of pleasantries that would await her, so when Mrs. Davidson had found herself out of ham she had leaped at the change. Running of a list of the reasons she was the best for the job, Felicity had escaped to the center of town. Mrs. Davidson's undeceived glance had done nothing to dissuade her; only the woman's quiet recommendation that Ben accompany her had saved the ends of her dignity, kept her from dashing helter-skelter and losing herself in an unfamiliar city.

Not that Felicity was bothered about her image. She wanted out, and didn't give a fig about anyone else. That her hat was tied securely and her steps (however hurried) small was for her hostesses' sake, not her own. She took in great gulps of air, never minding the grit or the way the sun beat upon her shoulders, enjoying the bursts of color from signs and store windows and reveling in the cries and calls and overall rumpus.

Ben strode along next to her, sucking in the sights of the town in which he'd spent his childhood. Constantly he was pointing to a building, or touching her shoulder to alert her to a family friend. Five feet couldn't go by but some silver-haired man or woman was clasping Ben's hand, exclaiming about how tall he'd grown. Felicity was confused at first; hadn't they seen him just a couple of years ago? 'Twasn't like he was still at the age where he'd be shooting up to the sky . . . Ben turned redder and redder as one enthusiastic "aunt" gave a spirited retelling of the time he'd eaten three whole pies, punctuating her performance by standing on tiptoe and patting him on the head. Felicity was forced to duck into a doorway, and it took several minutes for her to compose herself.

"You don't even care," Ben lamented, guiding her down a side street. "These people ambush me from every side and chain me whilst announcing the most obscure blunders to the world and you can't even muster a bit of sympathy?"

"Oh, but I'm learning so much about you!" said Felicity innocently.

Ben squinted at her. "Hmph. Here's the butcher's. The back," he explained, when Felicity gave him a disbelieving look- it was a small stall wedged between looming walls. "You get a better deal here, if you know how. Mr. Zwickin!" he called, bending into the shade behind the counter. "Mr. Zwickin! 'Tis Ben, I've come to—you're not Mr. Zwickin."

A miniature man with pale, stringy hair walked forward, a knife clutched in his fist. Inching sideways to shield Felicity, Ben changed his tone to one that was carefully emotionless. "Good day, sir. Is Mr. Zwickin in?"

"No." The man shoved the knife into his belt.

"Is he coming back soon?"

"No."

Pushing Ben aside, Felicity waved to the hams hanging from the ceiling. "Please, sir, if you can be of service, we require one of these."

The man's eyes jumped to her and stayed there. "Aye."

"Felicity, let's go somewhere else," Ben said loudly. He was glaring; the resentment pouring out of him was so acute Felicity fancied she could see it shiver between him and the stranger. Admonishing him with a glance—how rude!—she let the man know her ham of choice and he ambled around getting it for her, pulling paper and string from shelves beneath the counter.

"Felicity, I think I see something better across the road." Ben grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the stall, paying no heed to her struggles or her shouted apologies to the butcher-man. He didn't slow his pace even when they had turned the corner, and she had to stumble and sway after him.

"Ben, what is the matter with you! Your mother needs that meat, and what possible reason did you have for acting so!"

"I didn't like the way he looked at you." His grip tightened. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

Annoyed, Felicity tried to yank free. She only succeeded in bruising her arm. "Let me go this instant! If that's the best justification you can come up with for—"

Ben clenched his teeth, glanced around, and pulled her into the thin alleyway between two shops. "I don't know that man. I don't know who's been here, who's moved in during the war. It isn't officially over yet. I don't trust him. And I know what he was thinking."

"Which was?"

"Don't you claim ignorance! Maybe you didn't see it, but I did. You're not a little girl anymore, Felicity. Do you understand?"

"I don't—" Felicity's words faded. He was too close. Much too close. The heat and the dust from the street were making her head pound. She needed air.

Ben's eyes flicked over her face. "This isn't about politeness, but caution."

It took a great effort to speak again—like trying to sing through a mouthful of bread. "I . . . understand."

His breath blew across her cheek. "Thank you, Felicity. I am sorry. There are simply some things I cannot risk."

Air. She needed air. But if she ducked out, he'd think she was running away.

"You—" his voice caught. He tilted his head to the side. "You have—"

He smelled like cinnamon. That was absurd. How could a person smell like cinnamon?

"Well, I . . ." Ben stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose we'd best get back to what we came here for." Was he nervous? "After you, Lissie."

Ears roaring as if she'd just finished a furious horse race, Felicity found herself out on the street again, the sun cool now against her burning skin. Elizabeth's words buzzed around her thoughts from miles away: Surely, you must see the way he looks at you?


"Lissie, why are you avoiding Ben?" Nan's fingers didn't pause in their rhythm of shelling peas. Anyone who didn't know her would think she wasn't paying attention to her question.

Felicity, unfortunately, lacked such control. "I'm not avoiding him!"

"You've said barely three words to him since last week, and the both of you insisted upon coming home days earlier than planned. Something's happened."

"I've just . . . been thinking . . . that I haven't been spending enough time with the family, or with Elizabeth. 'Tis a wonder you haven't sent out search parties." It wasn't a particularly good joke, but Felicity was proud that she didn't quaver once.

Nan rolled her eyes. "Lissie," she said patiently, "You are by far the stupidest person I've ever met."

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According to my research, "helter-skelter" has been in usage since the late 1500s.