“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
With the additional income from Thomas Jefferson’s pamphlet, which had paid off the remaining debts we owed, Mama and I had decided to purchase store-bought gifts for the girls. It had been fun to shop for them together, though we hadn’t been extravagant. Since the colonial boycott on British goods had begun at the beginning of December, the cost to produce our weekly paper had increased.
Rebecca pressed her lips into a line as she watched me hang the garland. “Do you have to go to the governor’s ball tonight?”
“I don’thaveto go,” I told her, “but I want to.”
The invitation had been a surprise. Surely Governor Dunmore knew we had printed Thomas Jefferson’s pamphlet—and the other pamphlets that had come in after his. Lieutenant Addison was keeping a close watch on our activities, spending much of his time on our property. He had been useful, chopping wood with Abraham, toting bushel baskets of vegetables from our harvest, and repairing the shingles on the kitchen after a destructive storm. He seemed always to be present, confirming Mama’s earlier suspicions. Which led me to believe that the governor knew about our activities and had still invited us to the ball.
Perhaps to keep his enemies close?
Rebecca’s pout was well-rehearsed, but I was immune to it. “But if you and Mama go to the ball, what will Hannah and I do all evening?”
“You will stay here with Mariah and Abraham. They plan to pop corn and heat cider.”
“Why do you want to go?” she asked.
“Why, indeed?” I couldn’t hide the grin from my face. Henry would be in attendance, and I had not seen him for almost five months. The waiting had been especially difficult with the war approaching and my uncertainty about his fate.
I sent up a prayer, begging God to spare Henry in the war to come. I could not wait to see him again, if only to convince myself that he was alive and well.
A knock at the front door brought my attention back to the task at hand. “Mayhap the wassailers have arrived,” I said to Rebecca. “Here. Place the garland over the nails.”
She took the garland as I walked into the front hall. I wiped my hands on my apron, trying to get the sticky sap off my fingers, and opened the front door.
Mister Charlton, Sophia’s father, stood on our front stoop. He was a large man, and he wore a dark grey wig that was one of the finest in Williamsburg.
“Good day to you, Mister Charlton. Won’t you come in?” It had cooled considerably over the past week, reminding me of the weather in Whitby.
Mister Charlton entered the front hall, a gruff demeanor emanating from his person. He was not a jolly man, but he’d been kind to me over the years, especially as one of Sophia’s friends. Today, however, he did not offer me any warmth as he turned to face me.
“How may I be of service to you?” I asked, putting a smile upon my face.
“I’ve come on a most unpleasant errand.”
My heart rate picked up at his tone and disposition. “I pray nothing is wrong with Sophia.”
“Nay. ’Tis not about my daughter—but about you and your mother and this printing shop.”
“Us?” I tipped my head in confusion. “What unpleasant errand involves us?”
He held up Thomas Jefferson’s pamphlet,A Summary View of the Rights of British America. “Over the course of the past few months,” he began, “there have been more and more of these types of publications coming from this printing house. I’ve been made aware of the increase since your father’s passing.”
I stared at him, unable to deny his accusation, wondering who had made him “aware.” We did not affix our name to all the pamphlets we published.
“As a loyal British subject, I cannot condone such behavior from the public printer.” He slapped the pamphlet down on a nearby table. “This is an outrage and a treasonous assault on the king.”
“I beg to differ, Mister Charlton.” My heart was still thumping hard, and I had to swallow the nerves threatening to make me shy away from him. “As the public printer, we are under contract to print whatever the governor, his council, and theburgesses ask of us—but that does not mean we are limited to printing for the government alone. We have the right—nay, the responsibility—to keep the press free and allow anyone who so desires to publish their thoughts and ideas.”
“That does not mean you are obligated to print everything.”
“True. But we reserve the right to print whatever we choose.”
“Thus, the reason for my visit.” His face was red, and his voice had risen to such levels that Mama came down the stairs to see who was here.
“I will not associate with anyone who supports these so-called Patriots.” Mister Charlton turned to address Mama, as well. “As long as you persist, my family will not patronize this establishment and will cancel our subscription. I will also be certain to pass this information along to others who will do the same.” He looked directly at me. “And no one in my home will darken this doorway until I can be assured of your loyalty to the king.”
He was going to keep Sophia from coming to visit? I opened my mouth to protest, but Mama shook her head.
