One
Philadelphia
July 1776
Intently focused on setting the last garnet stone in the corsage brooch she had spent a month laboring over, Lucy Carlson brushed the beads of moisture from her brow on the shoulder of her linen gown, unwilling to let anything distract her from her task.
Breath held, she fit the last shining jewel into the center of the ornate brooch, then carefully pressed the intricate prongs of silver over the garnet to hold it in place. Each prong tip had been carved to look like the bud of a rose. It had taken hours bent over the workbench to create, but she was quite pleased with her efforts.
Satisfied with the finished piece, Lucy inhaled deeply, then wished she hadn’t as she wrinkled her nose against the putrid smells wafting into her father’s shop through the open door. The past few weeks had been the hottest she could recall ever experiencing in her eighteen years of living, all spent at thegoldsmith shop on High Street in the heart of Philadelphia, where her father was a master of his trade.
The heat had been a much-belabored topic among the residents of America’s largest city. Bits of conversation had drifted inside the shop as Lucy worked, and it seemed everyone was thoroughly tired of the heat and the horrific stench—a mixture of refuse, manure, and bodies in need of a bath—it amplified.
This morning, a delightful breeze blew in from the Delaware River, carrying welcome refreshment, although it also held the smell of fish and tar.
“One may not have everything perfect,” Lucy muttered, then polished the brooch until it glittered in the sunlight that struck the gilded letters painted on her father’s shop window and spilled over the high bench where she worked. “But this piece is close.”
“Mama says pride will be your downfall,” a voice said at her elbow, making Lucy jump. She nearly toppled off the stool where she had perched, and hastened to catch the brooch she had dropped before it clattered to the wooden boards of the floor.
“Theodore Ward Carlson! I have told you ten dozen times, if I have told you once, not to sneak up on me. You need to mind your mischief, young man.” Lucy resettled herself on the stool and glared at her lone sibling. The lad was adorable with a thatch of wild red hair that most often stood up on his head, freckles scattered across his nose, and eyes a vibrant hue of blue. They had celebrated his eighth birthday at the end of May with a trip to their grandparents’ farm a few miles outside of town. Theo loved being there, where he could run and play among the acres of orchard trees and rows of vegetables.
It had become a challenge to keep the boy’s active mind engaged since The Academy of Philadelphia had closed due to the war. When there were classes to attend, Theo had somethingto occupy him beyond the chores at both the shop and their home in the two stories above it.
Lucy knew she was fortunate to live in one of the red brick buildings along High Street, where it felt like the heartbeat of the city kept a steady rhythm.
Today, much as it had for the past week, a thrum of excitement crackled in the air.
On the eighth of July, bells had pealed, and everyone who was able had hurried to the Pennsylvania State House. At noon, the Pennsylvania Committee of Safety, the officers of the city government, and members of the Second Continental Congress had marched in a procession from the hall to the yard where the multitude had gathered. Colonel John Nixon had mounted the steps and read aloud the Declaration of Independence. It had been the first public reading of the document that had made America’s intentions to sever ties with Britain undoubtedly clear and outlined fundamental principles for moving forward as a self-governing country.
Despite the heat of the day, Lucy had felt a shiver glide along her spine as she listened to the words Colonel Nixon had read. Words that stoked the fires of independence already burning brightly in so many of those who longed to become a sovereign nation, no longer under the tyrannical rule of the king on a throne an ocean away.
When the colonel had finished reading the final paragraph, the crowd had erupted in cheers of excitement and anticipation. Lucy had stood with her mother and Theo, both women holding tightly to the child’s hands, as bells began ringing and continued to chime in celebration throughout the remainder of the day.
Ward Carlson, Lucy’s father, had remained at the shop. Upon their return, he had appeared completely unmoved by the declaration that had been made and the delight around themthat flowed down the street with every “Huzzah!” and call to freedom.
Although Lucy and her mother longed for liberty and equality, Lucy was certain her father’s loyalty leaned toward the Crown and Britain. Lucy, her mother, and Theo were careful not to converse in her father’s presence about the Continental troops, the Patriots who lived among them, or the war.
Nevertheless, Theo had toy soldiers he often played with in his room up on the third floor, and it was always the brave General Washington who won the child’s mock battles. Occasionally, Theo even coerced Lucy into joining him, where she would be forced into the role of a Redcoat who died a tragic yet justified death.
Even now, Lucy could see Theo clutched one of his toy tin soldiers in his hand as he leaned against her knee, eager to see her finished piece.
Rather than comment on the state of her pride, which likelywouldbe her downfall, she held the brooch out on the polishing rag so Theo could examine it. The garnet stones reflected the sunlight and twinkled in a marvelous display of ruby color.
A grubby little hand reached toward the piece, but Lucy shook her head. “Careful, Theo, lest you smudge it.”
“Sorry. It’s so pretty, Lu, like fairies added magic to the stones,” Theo said, his young voice holding admiration. “Did you mark the back?”
“I did.” Lucy turned the brooch over and pointed to the WC on the back, the maker’s mark of her father’s shop, and the tiny letters beneath it that spelledPhil, to denote it was crafted in Philadelphia. “What do you think?”
“It looks just like the marks Papa makes,” Theo said, offering his approval. “I still think you should get to make your own mark. It’s dumb they won’t let girls be in their silly old guild.”
Lucy thought the same thing, but she certainly couldn’t press her opinions on her father or the other men of the guild to which he belonged, certifying him as a goldsmith. The guild members didn’t want to hear about, let alone acknowledge, the existence of a woman able to create jewelry every bit as fine as the pieces they designed. Goldsmithing was in her blood, passed down from her grandfather to her father, and to her.
Instead of dwelling on the irritating point, Lucy leaned closer to her brother and lowered her voice. “It is dumb, and they are silly.” She stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes, making Theo laugh.
He slid an arm around her waist and looked up at her in an adoring manner that never failed to melt her heart. “Will Papa be back soon? Mama said when he returns, we can eat, and I am starving.”
While Lucy finished the garnet brooch, her father had gone to make a delivery to one of the fine homes on Society Hill. The pearl earrings were a gift from a prominent citizen to the man’s wife, and Ward Carlson felt it best to deliver the jewelry himself. Considering how long he had been gone, Lucy expected him to step into the shop at any moment.
