“What?”
Mama set the papers on her desk and looked through them as she spoke to me. “This document will be discussed at great length during the congress, but Jefferson will not be able to attend because he’ll be too ill.”
It gave me shivers whenever Mama talked about a historical event she knew so much about that had not yet happened. Whereas I tried to avoid learning details so I wouldn’t inadvertently change history, Mama had reveled in learning them. Mayhap it was because she hadn’t thought she’d stay in this time period but had planned to live in the 1990s and hadn’t been as concerned as I was.
“The delegates will be so impressed with this document,” she continued, “they will have it reprinted and distributed in New York, Philadelphia, and England. And when they decide to declare independence from England next year, they will ask Jefferson to write up the Declaration of Independence because of how well he wroteA Summary View of the Rights of British America.”
I stood next to her to inspect the pages that would play such a prominent role in American history.
“And to think,” she said in awe, “he asked us to print this. Some days I feel we are not doing enough for the cause, but then I remember how powerful the written word is and howit has made nations rise and fall. We are playing a part in the rise of a great nation.”
I placed my hand on her arm, marveling at her comment, and then I paged through the document, calculating the size of the pamphlet we would need to print. “It will be at least twenty or twenty-two pages long.”
“’Tis not a short summary,” Mama said with a chuckle.
I joined in her laughter, feeling lighter and freer than I had in a long time. If what she said was true, then this pamphlet would make us a good deal of money.
“You and I will have to work on this without Louis’s help,” she said, “for I fear he will not approve.”
I wanted to tell her that I had seen him near the kitchen and that he might have overheard our conversation, but I didn’t want to fret. We had enough to worry about. If word started to spread that we were aiding the Patriots, it would bring us more trouble.
After our midday meal, the heat became so oppressive that I could hardly concentrate on my work. The newspaper would go to press in two days, so I didn’t have the luxury of taking the afternoon off. A headache had begun to form at my temples, and I needed some fresh air.
I stood from my chair, where I’d been editing a submitted poem for the poets’ corner titledThe Soliloquies of a Highwayman. It was an exceptionally long poem and had many errors, but the content had caught my eye, and I’d decided to publish it.
“I will refresh our water,” I told Mama as I picked up our pitcher, needing a break.
“It’s days like today that I long for central air conditioning.” Mama used a piece of paper to fan her flushed face. “Even a window unit would be nice.”
“And I miss the ocean in Newport.” I walked toward the door. Artificial cooling techniques were still in their infancy in 1914 and were not widely available, so I couldn’t imagine what central air conditioning felt like, though Mama had spoken of it often during the hot Virginia summers. “But I wouldn’t turn down an iced glass of Coca-Cola, either.”
A flash of red caught my eye at the window, and I paused. A soldier was walking up the short path to our front door, a piece of paper in his hand and a haversack on his shoulder.
“We have a visitor,” I said as I set down the water pitcher.
“Oh?” Mama turned to look out the window. “I wonder what he wants.”
A moment later, the front door opened, and I met the officer in the hallway.
“Good afternoon,” I said. “How may I be of service?”
“Are you the mistress of this home?” He was a tall, handsome man, no more than twenty-five, I would guess, with dark brown eyes.
“Nay, ’twould be my mother.”
Mama appeared, a frown on her forehead. “May I help you?”
He gave her a deferential nod and handed her the document he held, quickly taking off his tricorne and putting it under his arm. “I’m Lieutenant Addison.”
“’Tis a pleasure to meet you,” Mama said.
“Governor Dunmore has identified your property as having an uninhabited outbuilding,” the lieutenant said, looking from Mama to me, “which he is claiming for use under the Quartering Act.”
The paper shook in Mama’s hand, though from nervousness or anger, I wasn’t certain. I watched her face as she read the document, which was a printed form that had been produced in our very own printing room. Mama’s name and the name of the lieutenant were hand-written in the spaces provided.
Finally, she looked up. “You’re welcome to the use of myoutbuilding.” She handed the document back to Lieutenant Addison, though she did not offer him a smile. “I’m afraid the building is in poor condition, but it’s yours for as long as necessary.”
“Thank you, madam.”
