“Thank you, Grandpa.” Jacob took his seat and waited until after his grandfather had asked the blessing. Then he reached over, speared three flapjacks, and plopped them down on his plate. As he was cutting them up, his grandfather lifted one eyebrow.
“With your hearty appetite, I doubt you will ever starve to death,” he said, smiling.
Picking up the jug of maple syrup, Jacob poured a liberal stream on the flapjacks until all were soaked. He stuffed a forkful into his mouth, then picked up a chunk of ham and bit it off.
“I see your manners haven't improved,” James said wryly. “Don't you want to cut that ham up into pieces?”
“Nope! It all goes to the same place, Grandpa. It doesn't make much difference how it gets there.”
The two older people watched Jacob eat with gusto, and finally Esther asked, “Are you excited about the party this afternoon?”
“I guess so.”
“What about your friend Tom Denton?” James asked. “Will he be there?”
“Oh yes. He'll be there.”
Esther winked at her husband and then asked idly, “What about his sister, Annabelle? Will she be coming, too?”
Jacob glanced up, and seeing the smiles on the faces of both grandparents, he swallowed, and his face grew a dusky red. “Oh, I don't know. Maybe she will be.”
Seeing the boy's embarrassment, Esther quickly turned the conversation to another subject. She thought of Annabelle Denton and for some reason was disturbed. For some time she had known of her grandson's attachment to Annabelle, the sister of his best friend, Thomas Denton. The two had prominent parents, Edward and Phoebe. Edward was a wealthy planter with a fine house in Williamsburg, and his wife was a sweet-tempered lady but fully as determined as her husband to hang on to their money and spend it on the finer things of life.
Esther sipped the strong coffee from a delicate blue china cup. She did not like coffee very much, and as she studied the tiny scene painted around the edge of the cup, her mind was on Annabelle Denton. She looked up at her grandson and, as often happened, was struck again at how strongly Jacob resembled his father.
He looks exactly like Josh did when he was sixteen
, she thought as her mind went back over the years. She remembered her son's sixteenth birthday. It had been in this very house, and he had had breakfast in this very room. With a start she realized that he had sat in the very chair that Jacob sat in now. All the similarities sent a shiver through her. She thought of Jehoshaphat, and, as always, a pang of regret washed over her. They had lost him sixteen years ago when he had fled Williamsburg and the bitter death of his wife to lose himself in the dark and wild world of the Appalachian frontier. Though he had visited once, she wondered how he was doing and longed to see him again.
Coming out of her reverie, she shook her shoulders slightly and said, “Jacob, you'd better hurry. You've got your chores to do before that party.”
“Here, it's your birthday present,” James said suddenly. He handed a small box to Jacob, who took it and stared at it.
“Thank you, Grandpa and Grandma. What is it?”
“All you have to do to find out is open it,” James Spencer said, smiling slightly. He watched as the boy opened the box and saw Jacob's eyes fly wide open.
“Why, Grandpa,” Jacob gasped, “you can't give me this!” He held up the gold watch with the gold chain. “You've worn this as long as I can remember.”
“I've worn it longer than you can remember. My father gave it to me when I was twenty-one,” he said. “But I thought you ought to have it.”
Jacob ran his hand over the smooth yellow gold and stared down at the finely crafted watch. Lying in the bottom of the box was a small key that wound it. For a moment he could not speak. As he had done since he was a child, he opened the watch and looked at a miniature painting of a couple. They were his great-grandparents, he knew, the father and mother of James Spencer.
“They would have been very proud of you, Jacob,” James said quietly, “as your grandmother and I are proud.”
A lump formed in Jacob Spencer's throat, and he could not look up for a moment. He held the watch gently, running his hand over it, and finally whispered, “Thank you both. I'll keep it as long as I live.” He turned and left the room hurriedly, and as soon as he was gone James said, “He's a good boy, Esther.”
“Yes, he is.” Esther turned her eyes to where Jacob had disappeared and had long thoughts, but she did not speak of them to her husband.
****
Jacob looked around at the spacious room where the ball was being held. It seemed to him rather frivolous to have a room in the house for nothing but parties, but the Dentons were proud of their ballroom and entertained lavishly. As Jacob surveyed the elegant surroundings, he had to admit that it was actually a rather beautiful place for a party. The rectangular room had gleaming white walls, and five floor-length windows lined each of the longer side walls. The windows were covered with fine lightweight white linen drapes that hung on gold rods and were held back by gold brackets. Gold sconces hung between each window to help illuminate the room, and paintings of landscapes decorated the bare spaces on the walls. The domed ceiling was covered with white punched tin panels edged in gold paint. A roaring fire in the white marble fireplace added a touch of warmth to the room, the flames reflecting their light across the highly polished black-and-white marble floor. Heavy mahogany chairs upholstered in dark blue silk damask encircled the room, and long serving tables laden with refreshments for the guests lined one side of the dance floor.
Jacob moved over toward the refreshment table where several of his friends were talking in an animated fashion. Tom Denton, a tall young man of sixteen with reddish blond hair and blue-green eyes, said, “Come and help me with these barbarians, Jake. You're practically a man now at the ripe old age of sixteen.”
A laugh went around from the young men, and Jacob grinned and shook his head. “I guess I'll hold off on that for a little while. What do you need help with?”
Tom Denton's eyes flashed. “I've been instructing these fellows in the meaning of the Boston Massacre.”
“But that happened a year ago, Tom.”
“Doesn't make any difference. England hasn't forgotten it. She won't, either. Mark my words.”
Stephen Posten, a short, chubby young man of seventeen, shook his head. “England's too busy with her empire to fool with a little thing like a few rebellious colonists.”
“Don't you believe it, Steve!” Tom exclaimed. “England never forgets
anything
. Why, she sent soldiers all the way to India to protect her possessions there. She's not about to lose the Colonies over here.”
Posten came from a middle-class family. His father was owner of a small business that made shoes. “It'll pass away. Wait and see.”
But Tom Denton was not a young man to be denied his strong opinions. His family was not only wealthy but strongly Tory and loyal to King George. When the Boston Massacre had taken place and the colonists had risen in arms, it had been Tom who had persuaded Jacob that the colonists themselves had been responsible for the so-called massacre. “I've been in Boston,” he had said, “and you ought to see how the citizens treat His Majesty's soldiers! They throw stones at them and curse them and throw rocks at them in the street! They need to be taught a lesson!”
Jacob listened as the sprightly argument went on, but he said nothing. He was aware that his grandfather was not a Tory and had said on more than one occasion that this country will have to decide one day whether it will rule itself or will be ruled by a German king sitting on an English throne thousands of miles away.
Suddenly Thomas reached over and poked Jacob in the chest sharply. “I think you're wanted, old boy,” he said, a broad grin creasing his face. He gestured with his head and Jacob turned. He saw Annabelle Denton standing there and at once grew more alert. Annabelle was the prettiest girl in Williamsburg and highly sought after by the young men, although she was not yet sixteen. Still, several young men had made it clear that they had set their sights on her for matrimonial purposes. Some of them simply wanted to align themselves with a wealthy family, but Annabelle was a beauty, and now as Jacob moved away from the young men, he took in her large clear blue eyes, the strawberry blond hair, and the trim figure. She was wearing a light rose-colored dress made of the finest silk trimmed with delicate white lace. The neckline was square, the sleeves loose and ending at the wrists in a dainty lace ruffle, and the snug bodice had small white ribbon bows accenting the front down to the waist. The overskirt was plain, worn over large hoops, and edged with lace, and the petticoat was made of white silk with small roses embroidered on it. She approached Jacob, smiling provocatively.
“I was wondering if you'd come and dance with me, Jacob.”
The music was just beginning, and Jacob said, “I wouldn't miss it. As you know, though, I'm not the best dancer in the world.”
“You will be after I get through teaching you. Come along, now.”
Annabelle was an excellent dancer. She had given Jacob several lessons, and as the two moved across the floor, she nodded, saying, “You're doing much better, and don't you look handsome in your new suit!”
“I feel a little odd in it.”
“Why should you feel odd? It's a beautiful suit. Your grandfather had it made at my father's tailor's shop.”
The suit was made of a fine brown wool with the overcoat coming to his knees. The overcoat was worn open to reveal a waistcoat of the same material edged with a dark brown brocade, and a white linen shirt with ruffles down the front peeked out at the neck and at the wrists. Snug-fitting breeches came to below the knees and were held in place with gold buttons, and white silk stockings covered the lower part of his legs. Jacob was pleased that she liked it. As they danced, he was well aware that from time to time, Annabelle would press herself against him in a most alluring way. With any other young woman he would have known what to think of that, but he had long ago decided that this girl was willful and that she would do as she pleased. She was witty and talented, and Jacob was hopelessly in love with her. At times he would sink into bleak despair when she would provoke him by her flirtatious ways with other men, but he always came back when her coy attentions turned to him again.
“What are you thinking about, Jacob?”
“The next fifty years.”
His rather sober answer caught Annabelle off guard. She suddenly laughed aloud and said, “Why, you can't think that far ahead!”
“It'll be here quicker than you think, Annabelle.”
“Why are you so gloomy today? This is your birthday. Cheer up!”
“Annabelle, I think it's too early to think of it, but someday I'm going to ask you to marry me.” He saw her eyes open wide and immediately urged, “When I get a plantation started, I'll need a wife. What would you say if I asked you to marry me?”
Annabelle smiled, her perfect white teeth showing beneath soft reddish lips. “Why, I don't know who else I would marry, Jake.”
A thrill ran through Jacob Spencer, and he had the wild impulse to hold her close and kiss her. But she saw his expression and said, “Now, don't you hug me! You're holding me too tight!”
“One of these days I'll come see you, Annabelle, when I have something to offer you.”
“Don't you go telling anyone what you just said, Jacob.” She stepped close to him, and he felt the contours of her firm young body, and his face grew warm.
“I won't tell,” he said.
“It'll just be between the two of us,” she said. “Now, let's go get some punch. . . .”
****
James was sitting before the crackling fire in the large fireplace, soaking up the heat. He rose and poked the logs until they shifted with a hissing sound, sending myriads of sparks whirling up the chimney. Selecting another chunk of firewood, he placed it carefully on the fire and stood watching it for a minute. “There's an art to making a fire, Esther.”
“I know. You always think of it as other men would think of a painting or writing a piece of music.” Esther smiled and said, “But on these cold days, fires are better than paintings, aren't they?”
“Yes, they are.” James straightened up, stretched, and arched backward, groaning, “I think I've got rheumatism or something.”
“I hope not.” Esther watched as he moved back and sat down. She was knitting, for she always had to be busy doing something. Now as the fire crackled and a wind swept the house, she said, “What do you think of Jacob and Annabelle?”
“I don't like it one bit.”
Surprised at the brevity of her husband's reply, Esther looked up. Their eyes met, and she seemed to know his thoughts. It was that way with these two. They had lived together so long that many times they did not even have to speak to know what the other thought. “I know what you mean. She's a beautiful girl, and very clever, but . . .” Words failed her and she suddenly put her needles down in her lap. A troubled light came to her eyes. “The Dentons are not our kind of people, are they, James?”
“No. They're not. In the first place, they're Tory to the bone! If a war comes with England, they'll stand with the Crown, and I'd like to think that Jacob wouldn't do that just because he married into a wealthy Tory family.”
“You don't really think a war will come, do you?”
“England's been unfair to the Colonies. If the prime minister could only see that America is the biggest prize England has! Far more valuable than India or any of the other possessions.” His eyes grew warm, and he shook his head in disgust. “They try to rule us from thousands of miles across the sea and tax us without our consent. There's only one end to that, I'm afraid.”