Nan placed a hand delicately on her stomach and drew her eyebrows together, as if struck by a sudden wave of nausea. Felicity shoved Nan's hat over to her.
"You needn't pretend with me," Felicity whispered as she opened the front door. "I'm very good at keeping secrets, you know."
Nan visibly relaxed, and a fresh bounce was added to her pace as gravel crunched beneath their shoes. Her gait never strayed from ladylike but, rather alarmingly, it approached a trot.
"It's his expression," she said dreamily, swishing her skirts around her. "He always looks so worried when he measures out the ginger and caraway."
"We have ginger in the shop," Felicity pointed out. "And if you keep doing this, Dr. Galt will bleed you."
Nan's eyes widened.
Felicity stepped into her father's shop and was pleased to find it busy. Mr. Merriman inclined his head in greeting when he saw her. The packed room was awash in smells — spices and powder of violets and new parchment.
Felicity slipped easily behind the counter.
"Is there anything I can help you with, Father?" She could update the ledger, dust the shelves, restock the soap and candles, make small deliveries...
He squeezed her shoulder.
"With Marcus, William, and now Ben, there's not much left to do." He said it gently but the rejection ached.
"Yes, Father." Felicity felt a bit aimless, adrift in the shop she'd grown up in. Tapping on the lid of a barrel, she thought of what to do. "I suppose I'll go call on Elizabeth," she said, hoping it came out as brightly as she'd intended.
Mr. Merriman looked relieved. "That sounds wonderful. We just unloaded some rosewater. You could bring her a bottle."
"That would be perfect." Trying very hard to be practical about the banishment, Felicity followed him into the back room of the shop.
"Ben, please wrap up one for Felicity," he said, pointing to a sturdy crate near where Ben was working.
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Merriman returned to the store, leaving them in the narrow room which suddenly felt even smaller.
"It's not for me," Felicity blurted, eager to fill the silence. For some reason, it was important that Ben know she didn't help herself to frivolities just because her family owned the stock. "It's for a friend."
"Miss Cole?"
"Yes." She was surprised he'd remembered. Surely old names would've faded by now, lost in the flood of new details from a different life.
Ben opened the box and pulled out a small glass bottle with a beautifully decorated label. Felicity watched as he rolled it up, his hands fumbling at first before he recalled how to fold the paper and tie it with a length of pale pink satin ribbon. Light from the window lit his work.
A jagged scar ran across the back of Ben's hand, disappearing under the cuff of his shirt.
As if he'd felt her eyes on him, he quickly tried to tug the sleeve down.
She wouldn't ask. Not yet. Although Felicity wanted to know every way he'd changed, even if it caused pain.
Curiosity successfully bridled.
How she'd grown. Her mother would've approved of the restraint.
Ben placed the bottle on a nearby box and made a note on the inventory paper in front of him. His fingers were shaking as the quill scratched.
"Thank you, Ben," she said.
Jaw set, he nodded, and Felicity buried the startling urge to reach out and touch him. Instead, she turned to go.
She was almost to the door when he spoke.
"Please tell Miss Cole I said good day."
She curtsied in polite acknowledgment.
Felicity examined the parcel. Paper fanned over bottom, folded into tiny pleats that twisted around the curve of the bottle. The bow was perfectly symmetrical.
"Felicity Merriman!"
Elizabeth waved to her from across the street. Felicity grinned and waved back, waiting for a carriage to rattle past before she hurried over to her.
"I called to you twice," Elizabeth said pointedly. "But you seem to have much on your mind."
She threaded her arm through Felicity's as they walked.
"I am sorry. I suppose I do," Felicity replied.
Elizabeth looked at the bottle with curiosity. "Perhaps we can start with that."
Felicity handed it out to her. "It's for you."
"Oh, thank you," Elizabeth said and she sounded first embarrassed by her own boldness, and then so delighted that Felicity had to smile again. "I did not mean to... I want to talk to you about the rest."
"You're quite welcome." Felicity gave her a gentle nudge. "It's nothing."
Their teacups clinked against the deep saucers. Mrs. Cole flitted around the house as she always did when Felicity came to visit. She brought more cakes, complimented Felicity's taste in gifts, reminded Elizabeth to drink her raspberry leaf tea slowly so she wouldn't burn her mouth again, and finally disappeared upstairs to resume her needlework.
They waited until they heard the door close, and Elizabeth turned to Felicity.
"How does your father feel about having an apprentice again?" she asked. Her accent had softened over the years spent in Virginia, but it still held England's lilt.
"He seems happy. I suppose I'd grown accustomed to helping," Felicity told her. "I realize that I was silly to think it would last, and now I feel rather useless."
Elizabeth made a soft sound of understanding. "But there are many jobs around the shop that are better suited for a lady," she said. "Surely it's more appropriate for you to deliver Mrs. Carter's orders. And Mrs. Geddy is so fond of your visits."
"I only ever call on Mrs. Geddy when I bring her the perfumes she buys," Felicity pointed out while Elizabeth took a tiny bite of a teacake. Her friend dabbed daintily at the corner of her lips before she spoke.
"I suspect that's why she orders them. Nobody could ever use that much perfume. Just the other day, I heard her talking about what a promising young woman you were. She is an extremely talented businesswoman, you know. And her sons are all remarkably handsome. Even John will be, when he grows up."
Felicity wrinkled her nose. The youngest, along with his pack of friends, had recently developed a strange game of tossing moldy acorns from upper-story windows onto passersby. Most of Williamsburg had learned to give certain houses a wide berth because of it, but Felicity remained undaunted, instead varying her strides so the acorns landed too far ahead of her or else at her feet.
"Well, perhaps not him," Elizabeth agreed. They laughed.
"Speaking of handsome," Elizabeth continued after taking a sip of tea, "let's talk more about Benjamin Davidson."
Felicity sighed in resignation.
"I haven't seen him myself yet, but I overheard Mother's friends discussing him this morning," Elizabeth confided. "They said that if they themselves were not married, they'd—"
"My goodness, Elizabeth, I had no idea you enjoyed gossip so much," said Felicity, cutting her off. She smiled to soften the comment, but an odd coolness prickled at her skin.
"I finished that book I was reading yesterday and I have nothing to do," Elizabeth replied easily as she poured Felicity more tea and added the perfect amount of milk, exactly to her taste. "So am I to take your silence as confirmation?"
Felicity felt her cheeks redden. "He looks much the same."
Elizabeth shot her a suspicious look. "He was practically a boy when he left. Does he appear the same?"
"Well, no. But he still looks like Ben."
Elizabeth drizzled a bit of honey into her own cup and gave it an inaudible stir.
"You still look like Felicity, but not climbing-trees-and-stealing-horses Felicity. As I'm sure he's noticed."
"We are friends," Felicity said. "It makes no difference that I am eighteen and he is four and twenty."
Elizabeth drank her tea thoughtfully. For a while, there was only the ticking of the clock in the Coles' parlor, and voices from the street outside muted by thick walls.
"Remind me again what he wanted you to tell me," Elizabeth said, batting her eyelashes coyly.
"'Good day'," Felicity quoted, laughing when Elizabeth pretended to faint in her chair.
At supper, Felicity couldn't look at him. She thought of grown women sitting around, tongues wagging behind their fans as they described his calves. Probably his mouth, too, if they were feeling forward. They must have found the fullness of his lips to be pleasantly balanced by the line of his jaw.
She supposed.
And Ben's eyes had a certain depth to them; it spoke of decisiveness and a long memory. He tended to come across as reserved to those who did not know him well, but there was an unquestionable promise of warmth. Felicity could understand the fascination, and yet it left her feeling...
Well, she wasn't quite sure what that feeling was. It gripped her stomach and pounded into her chest, restless and hot.
Ben sent her a questioning look from across the table. Felicity shook herself and redirected her attention to her peanut soup. She'd been staring.
When she returned from helping Rose clean up in the kitchen, Ben was reading by the fire. Mr. Merriman sat in his usual armchair, thumbing through a stack of papers. Upstairs, William was surely drawing or scribbling furiously at his candle-lit desk.
Nan had mending duty, and a pile of neatly folded shirts and skirts rested beside her. She smiled contentedly up at Felicity when she walked in.
"Felicity, how is William's reading coming along?" Mr. Merriman asked her after she'd joined them.
"He has quite an inclination for it," she said, knowing it was an enormous understatement. Her brother raced through books in both Greek and Latin, and had begun to teach himself French, informing her that German was next. Grammar school was no challenge and Felicity did her best to supply him with enough materials to keep him busy, often borrowed from the Coles' personal library, but he desperately needed a tutor. She could continue to help him with arithmetic, as he struggled with it, but her days of secretly teaching herself under the guise of directing him were surely numbered.
"Have you looked for a tutor, Father?" Nan asked.
"Aye," Mr. Merriman said. "I may have found one. A student at the college."
Felicity wondered if she had seen him at the coffeehouse, in one of the groups of students who sat and talked with their heads together. She smoothed her skirt over her knees and wiggled her toes in her shoes, suddenly aware of the constraint.
"I'm glad you're feeling better," Father was saying to Nan.
"Thank you, Father," Nan said sweetly. "I don't know what came over me."
Felicity traced the printed floral pattern on her skirt, concentrating hard so she wouldn't laugh.
"Was Miss Cole well, Felicity?" Ben asked her. It seemed sudden, like he had been thinking about it for a while before finding the right time to ask.
Nan glanced quickly between them.
"Indeed she was. She sends her regards." There it was again — that gnawing sensation in her stomach. "She thanked me for the gift and spoke of how beautifully it was wrapped." The feeling got worse.
"That's very kind of her," Ben said. "On the contrary, I've lost my touch."
"To be expected," Father replied, his voice tinged with understanding. "It's all quite an adjustment for you, I'm sure."
There was a lull in the conversation, as if they were all trapped in their own thoughts. And hers were troubled and unhelpful.
"If you'll excuse me, I'm rather tired this evening," Felicity said to nobody in particular as she stood and curtsied. "I believe I'll retire early."
Then her footsteps were the loudest thing in the room, only to be replaced by the creak of the door as she closed it behind her.
Felicity brushed her hair, letting it fall loose over her shoulders instead of braiding it as she usually did.
"October—"
She didn't know the date.
"October, 1781," she thought, glad that she didn't need to worry about accuracy in a nonexistent diary. "I wore my brown dress with small blue flowers on the skirt, but felt worse than the day he arrived. I called on Elizabeth, and learned that her sister, her sister's husband, and the new baby are all well. Elizabeth does not suppose news of the surrender will reach London before December and my only regret is that I will not be able to see Anabelle's face when she hears of it."
Felicity climbed into bed, dragging the red-checked curtains closed before she sank into the feather mattress.
"This time of year puts me in a strange mood. It feels as though everything is being hidden away before we hibernate for the winter. I should like to spend my time out of doors, rather than curling up by the fire and waiting for spring. I miss Mother and Polly. I miss Grandfather."
The words floated into feelings before she fell asleep: a kind of melancholy solitude, and a yearning for something lost.
That night, she dreamed of mirrors and deep, dark water.
Felicity was up early, tidying the garden by flicking errant pebbles and bits of crushed oyster shell back into the walkway with a sturdy broom. It was shaping up to be a cloudy day and the sunlight was feeble. Rows of cabbage, kale, and dark-leafed lettuce stretched the width of the garden while dill feathered along the fence. She hummed as she went, an old song about the harvest.
"I know that one," Ben said from behind her. Felicity didn't jump, and she was more pleased with herself than it really warranted.
He moved to the other side of the path to help, kicking the gravel back to where it belonged. They worked in silence, leaving only the whisking sound of the broom's bristles on brick, and the quiet clink of crushed shells.
"Yesterday," he said eventually, "I should have told you."
"About what?"
He raised his hand to show the scar, and it felt like someone had tied a rope around her waist and yanked.
Felicity walked over to him and took his hand to inspect it. She was a bit rougher and more clinical than she otherwise might have been, so it would not look like they were holding hands in the back garden on a foggy autumn morning.
The examination brought back images of finding him in the woods, leg bleeding and heart full of naïve recklessness.
"It's not so bad," said Ben quickly. "Many had it far, far worse."
Felicity studied his face, trying to catch the memories that flickered past. Things to say popped into her head but none of them seemed to fit, so she held her tongue. She knew that many soldiers were coming back with wounds from bayonets and musket balls. Some were coming back without arms, without legs, or with injuries that nobody could see. And thousands weren't coming back at all, casualties of the fighting itself or of the illnesses that followed close behind.
Ben gave her a swift, sad smile and she squeezed his hand in return.
"It's just a scratch on my hand but here—" he pointed above his wrist, "—it's very noticeable. I didn't mention it in my letters because there was enough worry already."
She was quiet.
Ben hesitated, checking around furtively and Felicity released his hand like it was something she'd been caught stealing.
"I might as well show you," he said. She started to object, wanting to say something about how cold it was and how rarely she would see him with his shirtsleeves rolled up anyway, since she wouldn't often be at the shop, and they were adults now so removing clothing was wholly improper. But she owed him this. If he wanted to talk about it, she could at least listen. And she'd seen him hiding and starving; this was just a scar, already healed. Ben shrugged off his coat and pushed up his sleeve.
Felicity exhaled noiselessly through her mouth.
She had scars. Faint white lines and patches that eventually faded to match her skin. They were nothing like this.
A wide, red gash crossed his forearm. It seemed to pull the surrounding skin into it.
"From a musket ball." He positioned his arm like he was aiming an invisible musket, and traced the angle of the shot. "Thankfully it just grazed me." Ben stretched his hand, splaying his fingers and then curling them again.
Felicity's own fingers would weave neatly between his, if she ever tried.
"I got a new nickname out of it, too," he added. "Felix."
She wondered if he felt lucky.
"Sometimes when they said it, it sounded like they were beginning to say your name." He grinned crookedly at the memory and seemed far away as he rolled the cuff back down and replaced his coat.
"We all missed you terribly, Ben." Felicity said it fast, because it felt like she was speaking to herself, confessing things in her own mind. "Every day. Every evening, your chair was so empty that I had to start sitting in it."
He dragged his eyes to hers.
"If you knew..." Ben stopped, swallowed. "I missed you as well," he said finally and glanced up at the house. "All of you. All of this. I regret that I wasn't here when you lost them."
Felicity followed the sweep of his hand as it took in the windows and shutters, the pitch of the roof, the width of the clapboard, the panels on the door. She'd drawn her first breath in the room where her mother had taken her last. In the very bed. There was a kind of beauty to it all, she supposed. It was simple and sometimes painful, of course, but lovely nonetheless.
They were standing too close, and the neighboring houses were beginning to stir. In the distance, a dog barked.
Felicity shook herself and took a small step back before bobbing into a quick curtsy as if they'd just been exchanging superficial pleasantries. Ben seemed to understand.
"Until this evening, Miss Merriman."
Ben bowed and left, but her eyes trailed him out onto the street, and before Felicity returned to sweeping, she did have to admit that some things felt a bit different.
"We must pick our gowns," Elizabeth said firmly, spreading out several prints of disproportionate women with absurd hats.
Felicity groaned. "It's not yet November. And I have my gown from the last few years. I can just add some trim." Wide trim, ideally, to hide how many times she'd let out the seams of the bodice as she grew.
"It takes time to plan properly," Elizabeth said. "And now we have silks, so you should order a new one."
Felicity picked absently at her embroidery hoop. She didn't want to ruin her friend's fun but she had to point out the obvious.
"Elizabeth, are we even sure there will be an opportunity to wear them?"
Elizabeth hesitated, chewing her lip as she often did when she was thinking.
"There will certainly be a Christmas ball," she said. "Not as grand as the Templetons' or the governor's, perhaps, but I'm sure we'll be invited."
Felicity looked doubtful.
"Felicity, the town is swarming with men now that the war is over." Swarming was perhaps an overstatement, particularly compared to September, when Washington's combined army of nearly twenty thousand French and American troops had camped just outside of Williamsburg before moving on to Yorktown. Even Elizabeth had been able to put her personal feelings aside to enjoy the change of scenery. Felicity wondered idly if Ben had been somewhere in the chaos.
"Besides, we—" Elizabeth draped a hand across her chest "—are eligible young ladies."
Felicity snorted.
"Barely eligible. And I'm barely a lady."
"Our fathers are both perhaps a bit overcautious, but this is a perfectly acceptable time for courtship," Elizabeth said. "And you are musically inclined and have a talent for gardening," she added judiciously.
Felicity fanned herself and gave an exaggerated, imperious nod, making Elizabeth laugh.
"You really should have a new gown, Felicity," Elizabeth said, trying again to be serious.
"You can pick it out."
Elizabeth's face lit up.
"Oh, do you mean it?" she exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. She'd been begging to dress Felicity for years, insisting that finishing the blue gown many Christmases prior had only whetted her appetite. "I won't pick anything you would not like."
"I have complete faith in you. I'll give you payment tomorrow."
"Oh, I won't allow it," Elizabeth said with an elegant wave of her hand that meant there would be no arguing. "This will be my treat. After all, it's really a gift for myself."
"Thank you, Elizabeth." Felicity's voice caught with emotion at her friend's effortless generosity. "Truly."
"You are most welcome. But—" Elizabeth lifted a finger in warning. "You must promise to wear it."
"I promise. And I will buy myself an entire pot of coffee and share a pipe in your honor."
"And I will pretend I did not just hear that."
Elizabeth had settled on a comfortable balance of shock and amusement at her friend's antics, neither condoning nor condemning. More often than not, she wanted every detail.
"You'll just need to be measured," Elizabeth went on, and then she was discussing stomachers.
Nan gasped.
"Oh, how fun! You could close your eyes during the fitting so it will be a complete surprise when you put it on."
The two of them were peeling apples in the kitchen. Felicity was trying to get the longest strand she could without breaking the strip of peel, and, until that moment, she'd forgotten about the tedium of a dress fitting.
"I've heard there's to be a Christmas ball at the Hendersons' this year," Nan went on.
That, at least, was wonderful news. Military encampments aside, after Richmond was named the new capitol of Virginia, Williamsburg had quieted slightly, although the college continued to thrive and the old Governor's Palace was being used as a hospital. Elizabeth had been right: Christmas would bring a bit of festive excitement.
"Did Mary say that?" Felicity asked. Nan's friend was rarely wrong. They gossiped like old women.
"Yes. She says the surrender means more available young men, and more young men mean better parties."
Felicity considered that. It probably depended on one's definition of a good party. Miss Mary Ewing and Elizabeth seemed to have the same criteria.
"Mary also says that there are a few that everyone has their eye on." Nan leaned away from a bee that was sampling the sticky juice on the floor. If she had wanted the remark to sound casual, she'd failed.
"Parties?" Felicity tried, knowing the attempt was futile.
"No, silly. Men."
Felicity finished her pile of apples and started to dip into Nan's.
"And who might they be?" she asked when it became clear her sister was waiting for a response.
"The Geddy boys, of course. Aaron Reed. A number of students at the college. Henry Bracken is still young, but he is studying to become a doctor." She paused. "Ben."
Felicity picked up another apple.
"I can't imagine why," she said.
"Really, Lissie. His apprenticeship is almost over, he comes from a very respectable family, and—"
"And what? Everybody is making such a fuss about Ben. First Elizabeth and now Mary."
"Elizabeth?"
"Well not her, exactly." Felicity almost winced when she heard herself. She sounded so nosy. "She overheard her mother's friends."
Nan checked to make sure the kitchen's door was closed. Rose was at the table, filleting and deboning fish that she would soon bake into something flaky and delicious. Her hands moved with practiced precision, and she seemed absorbed in the task, with little interest in worthless gossip.
Nan looked expectantly at Felicity.
"I didn't ask," Felicity mumbled. "Elizabeth said they were talking about 'if they were not married'..."
Nan clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes round with shock and scandalized delight. "No!"
The corners of Rose's lips started a slow, smooth rise.
"This is ridiculous," Felicity huffed. "I don't see what the uproar is about."
"You really don't?"
Felicity threw the apple peel into the large yellow bowl on the floor. They'd make vinegar with the scraps later.
"No, I truly do not."
Nan rolled her eyes. "He's like an older brother to me, but I'm not blind." She gave Felicity a dismissive handwave. "I don't know how you couldn't notice. You were such good friends. You must see the changes in him."
Felicity scoffed.
"War changes everybody. We've all changed. Ben has been through things—" Felicity cut herself off, aware that she'd let her voice rise. She thought of smoke-filled fields and damp woods, and a scrawled note wrapped around a wooden whistle. Maybe things would've been different if he'd escaped that summer. Better or worse. There was no way to know.
Felicity continued. "And I don't think a flock of tittering, fluttering married women are noticing any of the changes in him that really matter." She flung another strip of apple peel into the bowl with more force than was strictly necessary.
The kitchen was silent except for the soft sound of Rose salting the fish. Nan put down her knife and rested a comforting hand on Felicity's arm.
"Nobody knows him like you do, Lissie," Nan said quietly. "They can only see the outside."
"Well perhaps they should tend to their own husbands instead of eying other returning soldiers like pieces of mutton," Felicity said as she stood and wiped her juice-covered hands off on her apron.
From her periphery, she caught Nan and Rose sharing a look.