Fic: Freedom for Felicity, Chapter 4
Dec. 2nd, 2012 01:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
osprey_archerTitle: Freedom for Felicity
Fandom: American Girl - Felicity
Rating: G
Pairings: This is still kind of sorting itself out
Warnings: Political philosophy. Blatant historical inaccuracy: Burns didn't write "Auld Lang Syne" till 1788, but oh well, it's perfect here so I'm using it!
Over the next few days, Felicity and Elizabeth drank a great deal of coffee with Humphrey and giggled when he read to them, picked apples from the trees and spread the resulting apple butter thickly on slices of toast, and rode out a great deal to visit the Coles’ friends: Elizabeth on Penny, Felicity on Patriot, and Polly, slightly grumpy, riding the old sleepy pony.
And if, when left in the quiet with her thoughts, Felicity began again to have silent arguments with Ben that she had gone over dozens of times last time they had quarreled – and to fret again how long Elizabeth would be in Virginia before she went back across the sea, maybe never to return – well. One more reason to keep things from getting quiet.
“Can you teach me the latest songs from London?” Felicity asked.
“You know I don’t play that much better than Annabelle,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, you do,” Felicity said. She fetched her grandmother’s old guitar and settled it carefully on Elizabeth’s lap.
Elizabeth stroked the guitar’s neck. “No, I don’t at all; it’s only your affection for me that makes you imagine it so,” she said, and strummed.
Felicity winced. “You did that on purpose,” she accused.
“That one, yes,” Elizabeth admitted, and strummed again, intently, and began to sing. Whatever problems her playing had, her voice was sweet. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot/and never brought to mind?”
Sweeter – and sadder too. “For auld lang syne,” she sang, and tears pricked Felicity’s eyes. She put a hand on Elizabeth’s wrist to stop her. “Elizabeth, you do realize the guitar is out of tune.”
“Oh, and you couldn’t stop me earlier!” Elizabeth cried, and handed the guitar to Felicity. “You tune it, Lissie.”
So Felicity took the chair, and Elizabeth leaned against the chair, her arm warm against Felicity’s shoulders as she draped it across the back, and Felicity tuned and tuned again, because she did not want Elizabeth to sing anymore about “seas between us braid hae roar’d.”
“Do you know yet how long you’ll be stopping in Virginia?” Felicity asked, bending over the guitar.
“It depends how swiftly Papa can deal with the plantation,” Elizabeth said. “Really, Felicity, surely the guitar’s tuned now?”
How could she be so flippant about it? Felicity put the guitar away from her. “Let’s go riding,” she said, standing restlessly.
“It looks ready to rain,” Elizabeth said.
Felicity glanced out the window at the soft gray clouds. “Oh, not for hours,” she said briskly. She had to ride: a good canter could outrun her feelings.
Elizabeth looked like she might protest. “Polly!” Felicity called. “Do you want to go riding with us?”
Polly clattered down the steps, a small avalanche in a scarlet cloak. “Can I ride Patriot?” she cried.
“No,” said Felicity.
Polly sighed deeply. She gathered her scarlet cloak around her. “Fine.”
They saddled the horses, and gathered on the lane before the house. Elizabeth glanced significantly at the lowering clouds. Felicity ignored her. “Where shall we ride?” she asked.
“Down to the mill?” suggested Polly, who loved to watch the waterwheel.
“That’s a bit far – ” Elizabeth began.
“Oh, but it will be lovely!” said Felicity. The shortest track to the mill was a difficult ride, a poor path with lots of sudden turns: just the thing to distract her from sad thoughts. “Come, let’s go.”
But when she turned Patriot to the lane, she stopped abruptly, because a horse stood at the gate, its rider looking at them.
“Ben!” cried Felicity. “Mr. Davidson, I mean,” she said, recovering her dignity, and gave him a cold bow from the back of her horse.
“Miss Merriman,” he said, and bowed. “I thought to come for a cup of tea, but I don’t mean to interrupt your ride.”
“Oh – ”
Felicity hesitated, a complex of feelings warring in her breast. Elizabeth jumped into the breech. “Actually, Mr. Davidson,” she said. “We’ve decided not to go, it looks so much like rain.”
Polly gave a strangled squeak.
Thunder rumbled obligingly. “I suppose that’s wise,” said Felicity, and started back for the house, hands bunched into fists beneath the cover of her cloak.
“Can I ride Patriot back to the stable?” Polly cried.
Felicity stopped. “I really ought – ”
“Oh, please, Lissie. You’ve saddled him all up and everything!” Polly said, clasping her hands together.
She looked so beseeching, her blue eyes wide and her auburn hair falling in her face, that Felicity relented. “All right,” she said. “But go slow, now; remember he’s a great deal more spirited than – ”
“Thank you!” shouted Polly. She spun around, her scarlet cloak swirling around her.
Felicity’s thoughts raced ahead of her as they walked into the parlor. Why was Ben here? He was not unwelcome in the Merriman home, exactly, but they had parted on strained terms.
Felicity ordered coffee. Ben sat in a chair, leaning forward, his clasped hands hanging between his knees. Elizabeth effaced herself by the window. Felicity stood, undecided.
“Elizabeth’s been teaching me a song,” she said, irrelevantly.
“Can I hear it?” Ben asked.
“Oh!” She could not play Ben “Auld Lang Syne.” “We only just started. It’s not ready for company yet.”
The coffee arrived. The rain began to patter on the window. Felicity looked hopelessly at Elizabeth, who smiled at her reassuringly and then turned to watch the red-tipped maple leaves bend under the raindrops.
“What brings you to Williamsburg?” Felicity asked, at the same time as Ben said, “This coffee is quite good.” They both stopped, and looked at each other, and tried to speak at the same time again, and they both laughed.
The laughter made the air a bit easier, but Felicity still did not know what to say. “How long will you be in Williamsburg?” she tried, again.
Ben turned his tricorn over in his hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “I thought I would go back to Philadelphia, but…I don’t know.”
“Have you decided you can’t stand to act as a clerk in the tyrannical new government?” Felicity said, dryly.
It cut him. His mouth tightened. If he says I am unladylike – she thought, mutinously; but he said, “I do not see that I can honorably serve in a government that approves of slavery, Miss Merriman.”
“I think that if all the men of sense refuse to serve in it, then the government will never change that view,” Felicity returned.
“Just as well I am staying in Virginia, then, if you demand men of sense,” Ben replied.
Felicity lifted her chin. “I suppose so.”
“But Felicity, don’t you see?” said Ben, forgetting his formality in the urgency of the argument. “It is not men of sense you need to overturn slavery? You need men with a wider vision than that. Is Thomas Paine a man of sense? People say he’s half-mad, but it is by his vision of our freedom that we broke the British yoke.”
Felicity was silent, turning it over in her mind. “That is not why you told me you disapproved the government at the Lees ball,” she said.
“Could I announce in the Lees ball – the Lees, who own hundreds of slaves! – that I disapproved of slavery? And anyway, I do not think I am wrong to fear the tyranny of Philadelphia, Felicity; you have not met New Englanders, as I have. I am sure they disapproved of Britain’s rule because it was not strict enough for them.”
Elizabeth, in her window seat, giggled. Felicity looked over at her. “I met New Englanders when we joined Papa in New York,” Elizabeth said. “Mr. Davidson may be right.”
“In that case, it is all the more important for sensible Virginians to join the legislature to stop them!” Felicity said. “You fought a war for our freedom, Ben, I cannot see how you can give up when it is so close to us!”
“It’s a pity we can’t send you to the legislature,” he said, with a smile.
“It is!” she replied. “But it would not be ladylike, I’m sure.”
He looked down at his hands. “I am sorry. I should not have said that to you.”
She poured him another cup of coffee. “Why did you, then?” she asked.
“Oh – ” He was embarrassed. He hid his face behind his coffee cup. “I could not think how to counter your argument.
He looked so shame-faced that Felicity had to laugh, as he had meant her to, though it exasperated her. “If I had a fan, I would hit you,” she told him. “That’s a coward’s tactic, sir!”
“It is,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.” He hesitated, and leaned forward. “Felicity, listen. I have been a coward about a lot of things, I think. I should have – years ago, I should have written to you. I…”
Felicity found herself leaning in as well, as his voice grew softer. “I was too proud. But now…”
“Felicity!” Elizabeth said sharply.
Felicity and Ben both started, and Felicity realized in surprise how far they had leaned into their tete a tete. “What?” she asked.
“Look,” said Elizabeth, and her voice was tight and strange.
Felicity went to the window, and gasped. Patriot pranced around the yard, his sides lathered and his eyes wild. The sidesaddle sat askew on his back. A torn bit of red cloth flapped from its stirrup.
Fandom: American Girl - Felicity
Rating: G
Pairings: This is still kind of sorting itself out
Warnings: Political philosophy. Blatant historical inaccuracy: Burns didn't write "Auld Lang Syne" till 1788, but oh well, it's perfect here so I'm using it!
Over the next few days, Felicity and Elizabeth drank a great deal of coffee with Humphrey and giggled when he read to them, picked apples from the trees and spread the resulting apple butter thickly on slices of toast, and rode out a great deal to visit the Coles’ friends: Elizabeth on Penny, Felicity on Patriot, and Polly, slightly grumpy, riding the old sleepy pony.
And if, when left in the quiet with her thoughts, Felicity began again to have silent arguments with Ben that she had gone over dozens of times last time they had quarreled – and to fret again how long Elizabeth would be in Virginia before she went back across the sea, maybe never to return – well. One more reason to keep things from getting quiet.
“Can you teach me the latest songs from London?” Felicity asked.
“You know I don’t play that much better than Annabelle,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, you do,” Felicity said. She fetched her grandmother’s old guitar and settled it carefully on Elizabeth’s lap.
Elizabeth stroked the guitar’s neck. “No, I don’t at all; it’s only your affection for me that makes you imagine it so,” she said, and strummed.
Felicity winced. “You did that on purpose,” she accused.
“That one, yes,” Elizabeth admitted, and strummed again, intently, and began to sing. Whatever problems her playing had, her voice was sweet. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot/and never brought to mind?”
Sweeter – and sadder too. “For auld lang syne,” she sang, and tears pricked Felicity’s eyes. She put a hand on Elizabeth’s wrist to stop her. “Elizabeth, you do realize the guitar is out of tune.”
“Oh, and you couldn’t stop me earlier!” Elizabeth cried, and handed the guitar to Felicity. “You tune it, Lissie.”
So Felicity took the chair, and Elizabeth leaned against the chair, her arm warm against Felicity’s shoulders as she draped it across the back, and Felicity tuned and tuned again, because she did not want Elizabeth to sing anymore about “seas between us braid hae roar’d.”
“Do you know yet how long you’ll be stopping in Virginia?” Felicity asked, bending over the guitar.
“It depends how swiftly Papa can deal with the plantation,” Elizabeth said. “Really, Felicity, surely the guitar’s tuned now?”
How could she be so flippant about it? Felicity put the guitar away from her. “Let’s go riding,” she said, standing restlessly.
“It looks ready to rain,” Elizabeth said.
Felicity glanced out the window at the soft gray clouds. “Oh, not for hours,” she said briskly. She had to ride: a good canter could outrun her feelings.
Elizabeth looked like she might protest. “Polly!” Felicity called. “Do you want to go riding with us?”
Polly clattered down the steps, a small avalanche in a scarlet cloak. “Can I ride Patriot?” she cried.
“No,” said Felicity.
Polly sighed deeply. She gathered her scarlet cloak around her. “Fine.”
They saddled the horses, and gathered on the lane before the house. Elizabeth glanced significantly at the lowering clouds. Felicity ignored her. “Where shall we ride?” she asked.
“Down to the mill?” suggested Polly, who loved to watch the waterwheel.
“That’s a bit far – ” Elizabeth began.
“Oh, but it will be lovely!” said Felicity. The shortest track to the mill was a difficult ride, a poor path with lots of sudden turns: just the thing to distract her from sad thoughts. “Come, let’s go.”
But when she turned Patriot to the lane, she stopped abruptly, because a horse stood at the gate, its rider looking at them.
“Ben!” cried Felicity. “Mr. Davidson, I mean,” she said, recovering her dignity, and gave him a cold bow from the back of her horse.
“Miss Merriman,” he said, and bowed. “I thought to come for a cup of tea, but I don’t mean to interrupt your ride.”
“Oh – ”
Felicity hesitated, a complex of feelings warring in her breast. Elizabeth jumped into the breech. “Actually, Mr. Davidson,” she said. “We’ve decided not to go, it looks so much like rain.”
Polly gave a strangled squeak.
Thunder rumbled obligingly. “I suppose that’s wise,” said Felicity, and started back for the house, hands bunched into fists beneath the cover of her cloak.
“Can I ride Patriot back to the stable?” Polly cried.
Felicity stopped. “I really ought – ”
“Oh, please, Lissie. You’ve saddled him all up and everything!” Polly said, clasping her hands together.
She looked so beseeching, her blue eyes wide and her auburn hair falling in her face, that Felicity relented. “All right,” she said. “But go slow, now; remember he’s a great deal more spirited than – ”
“Thank you!” shouted Polly. She spun around, her scarlet cloak swirling around her.
Felicity’s thoughts raced ahead of her as they walked into the parlor. Why was Ben here? He was not unwelcome in the Merriman home, exactly, but they had parted on strained terms.
Felicity ordered coffee. Ben sat in a chair, leaning forward, his clasped hands hanging between his knees. Elizabeth effaced herself by the window. Felicity stood, undecided.
“Elizabeth’s been teaching me a song,” she said, irrelevantly.
“Can I hear it?” Ben asked.
“Oh!” She could not play Ben “Auld Lang Syne.” “We only just started. It’s not ready for company yet.”
The coffee arrived. The rain began to patter on the window. Felicity looked hopelessly at Elizabeth, who smiled at her reassuringly and then turned to watch the red-tipped maple leaves bend under the raindrops.
“What brings you to Williamsburg?” Felicity asked, at the same time as Ben said, “This coffee is quite good.” They both stopped, and looked at each other, and tried to speak at the same time again, and they both laughed.
The laughter made the air a bit easier, but Felicity still did not know what to say. “How long will you be in Williamsburg?” she tried, again.
Ben turned his tricorn over in his hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “I thought I would go back to Philadelphia, but…I don’t know.”
“Have you decided you can’t stand to act as a clerk in the tyrannical new government?” Felicity said, dryly.
It cut him. His mouth tightened. If he says I am unladylike – she thought, mutinously; but he said, “I do not see that I can honorably serve in a government that approves of slavery, Miss Merriman.”
“I think that if all the men of sense refuse to serve in it, then the government will never change that view,” Felicity returned.
“Just as well I am staying in Virginia, then, if you demand men of sense,” Ben replied.
Felicity lifted her chin. “I suppose so.”
“But Felicity, don’t you see?” said Ben, forgetting his formality in the urgency of the argument. “It is not men of sense you need to overturn slavery? You need men with a wider vision than that. Is Thomas Paine a man of sense? People say he’s half-mad, but it is by his vision of our freedom that we broke the British yoke.”
Felicity was silent, turning it over in her mind. “That is not why you told me you disapproved the government at the Lees ball,” she said.
“Could I announce in the Lees ball – the Lees, who own hundreds of slaves! – that I disapproved of slavery? And anyway, I do not think I am wrong to fear the tyranny of Philadelphia, Felicity; you have not met New Englanders, as I have. I am sure they disapproved of Britain’s rule because it was not strict enough for them.”
Elizabeth, in her window seat, giggled. Felicity looked over at her. “I met New Englanders when we joined Papa in New York,” Elizabeth said. “Mr. Davidson may be right.”
“In that case, it is all the more important for sensible Virginians to join the legislature to stop them!” Felicity said. “You fought a war for our freedom, Ben, I cannot see how you can give up when it is so close to us!”
“It’s a pity we can’t send you to the legislature,” he said, with a smile.
“It is!” she replied. “But it would not be ladylike, I’m sure.”
He looked down at his hands. “I am sorry. I should not have said that to you.”
She poured him another cup of coffee. “Why did you, then?” she asked.
“Oh – ” He was embarrassed. He hid his face behind his coffee cup. “I could not think how to counter your argument.
He looked so shame-faced that Felicity had to laugh, as he had meant her to, though it exasperated her. “If I had a fan, I would hit you,” she told him. “That’s a coward’s tactic, sir!”
“It is,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.” He hesitated, and leaned forward. “Felicity, listen. I have been a coward about a lot of things, I think. I should have – years ago, I should have written to you. I…”
Felicity found herself leaning in as well, as his voice grew softer. “I was too proud. But now…”
“Felicity!” Elizabeth said sharply.
Felicity and Ben both started, and Felicity realized in surprise how far they had leaned into their tete a tete. “What?” she asked.
“Look,” said Elizabeth, and her voice was tight and strange.
Felicity went to the window, and gasped. Patriot pranced around the yard, his sides lathered and his eyes wild. The sidesaddle sat askew on his back. A torn bit of red cloth flapped from its stirrup.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-12-02 06:14 am (UTC)CLIFFHANGER.
Oh man I love this story.
no subject
Date: 2012-12-02 06:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 02:29 pm (UTC)I loved this line, because I think it's true:
“I think that if all the men of sense refuse to serve in it, then the government will never change that view,” Felicity returned.
And I also think Ben is right, that sometimes you need people, not just with a wider view, but a more extreme stance, to push things along.
I love that you put real political thought in this! I love that you're making the relationship between Ben and Felicity be a meeting of minds.
And the dig at New Englanders was funny :D
no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 05:20 pm (UTC)There need to be more romances centered around political arguments. It should be a thing.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 05:22 pm (UTC)I TOTALLY AGREE.