“Mr. Bridges,” Peggy smiled, ignoring Bette. “I take it that you are not related to that Cornelia Bridges, that silly woman who makes flags for the foolish rebel traitors. That silly flag of the Pennsylvania Navy with that preposterous motto ‘Appeal to Heaven.’”
“I am no relation to her, Miss Shippen,” Victor said.
“Your card, sir?” Peggy inquired.
Victor was in a tight spot. Minerva thought fast. “The silly boy left them in his trunk I’m afraid,” Minerva said, knowing that her prevarications would cause her to need to go to confession on Saturday before she attended mass on Sunday. She was racking up the Hail Mary’s, she realized.
Victor blushed and Peggy Shippen seemed to accept the excuse as honest due to the embarrassment on his face.
“What business is your father in, Miss Messinger?”
Oops, Minerva thought.
Now
I need help!
As if reading Minerva’s thought, Bette chimed in: “Father has a plantation with a hundred slaves,” Bette said.
Peggy Shippen appeared impressed, Minerva thought. Bette’s whopper seemed to work.
Minerva looked at Peggy Shippen’s hat and coat and suddenly thought of the answer. “Father grows indigo, Miss Shippen. We grow dye to die for,” Minerva added, realizing as soon as she said it that she was over the top, for Peggy Shippen seemed puzzled by the expression “dye to die for.”
“God save the king,” Victor said. “Damn these rebels to hell,” he added theatrically.
Victor, what are you doing? Minerva wondered, but the words brought a broad smile to Peggy Shippen’s face. “God save the king and damn these rebels to hell, Mr. Bridges. I quite agree,” she said. “You and your charming cousins must come to Shippen Mansion this evening for supper. Shall we say six, then?”
“Six it is, Miss Shippen,” Victor replied, taking her hand and gallantly kissing her glove.
“And where should I send my carriage to pick you up, Mr. Bridges?”
Yes, where? thought Minerva.
“Graff House near Seventh Street,” Victor replied.
Victor Bridges continued to surprise Minerva Messinger.
Chapter 5
“You did very well, Minerva,” Victor said as Peggy Shippen returned to her father, who was standing outside the Custom House. “That was brilliant improvisation. You too, Bette.”
“Victor, you are sending Peggy Shippen to the house where Thomas Jefferson is staying,” Minerva said. “She’s a Loyalist!”
“That’s the only place that I could think of, Minerva. What should I have said? Send your carriage to Independence Hall, Miss Shippen?”
“Relax, both of you,” Bette interjected. “We won’t be here at six anyway, unless Mr. Greene doesn’t get the portable to return. Besides, maybe if Peggy Shippen meets the author of the Declaration of Independence he can make her see the light.”
“Bette, that is butterflying,” Victor said.
“Victor,” she replied. “Do you think anyone or anything could turn the Wicked Witch of the West into Glenda the Good? Besides, what hostess in the 18
th
century would actually arrive in the carriage to pick up her guests?”
“I don’t know, Bette,” Minerva said. “I don’t think Peggy Shippen is too conventional. She looks like just the type of girl who would flaunt convention and show up in the carriage by herself. And from what I’ve read Thomas Jefferson was pretty persuasive. He changed the world.”
“Because the world had a heart,” Bette replied. “Miss Shippen has no heart. Besides, Minerva, you are missing the point. We won’t be here, so what butterflying can possibly happen? I repeat: Shippen has no heart, just like the Tin Man.”
“I’m confused,” Victor said. “In your
Wizard of Oz
metaphor, Bette, is Peggy Shippen the Wicked Witch or the Tin Man?”
“Never mind, Victor,” Bette said. “Let’s forget Peggy Shippen for now.”
“Good idea,” Minerva agreed.
Victor shrugged. Fine with him. He didn’t feel comfortable interpreting metaphors anyway. Literature was not his best subject. “It’s eleven,” he said. “We have an hour before we have to meet Mr. Greene at City Tavern. Let’s walk over to Arch Street and see if he’s at Betsy Ross’s house. That’s where Mr. Greene was heading. Maybe we’ll run into Mrs. Beard. I think we ticked her off by ignoring her.”
The girls nodded agreement, and Minerva said that she was surprised ghosts were so touchy with their feelings. Bette agreed that Mrs. Beard was acting childish, and the trio proceeded up Front Street North, turning west on Chestnut, then down a block before going north on 2
nd
Street. On the corner of 2
nd
Street and High Street (Market Street today) was Dunlap’s print shop.
“This is where the broadside of the Declaration of Independence in our classroom was printed,” Bette said. “There’s the Friends Meeting House across the street.”
“It’s so plain,” Minerva said.
“No fuss, no bother, that’s the Quakers,” Victor said.
They turned left again on High Street, and then turned north again on 3
rd
Street, passing Christ Church, their eyes looking up at its white steeple. It was the church where Washington and many of the other Founding Fathers worshipped when they were in Philadelphia. The tuneful bells were ringing out a melody as the three students approached.
“What’s the song?” Minerva asked.
“The Doxology,” Victor said. “I read somewhere that it had a full octave of chimes.”
“The chimes sound beautiful,” Bette said, and began singing: “Praise God from whom all blessings flow, praise Him all creatures hear below…”
“Minerva, what made you think of indigo?” Victor asked as Bette finished the song.
“Fourth grade Florida history,” she replied. “I did a report for the history fair on an early St. Augustine area plantation and they grew indigo, and when I saw the royal blue of Peggy Shippen’s coat I just thought of it.”
“Oh,” Victor thought. He never understood how girls could see so many colors. Royal blue? How was that different from plain old blue? And what the heck was chartreuse anyway? And puce? Why couldn’t they just see red, white and blue? It was another mystery about girls. Still, he admitted to himself, he wasn’t shy around Minerva Messinger any longer. She wasn’t nearly as stuck up as he had thought she was.
“Peggy Shippen didn’t get your joke, ‘to die for,’ Minerva,” Bette said.
“No, she didn’t,” Minerva shrugged, but added a smile. “No sense of humor I guess.”
Victor was momentarily lost in Minerva’s smile. He wondered what Minerva would be like to kiss. Stop thinking about it, he scolded himself. Stay at the task at hand. Worry about Minerva’s lips when you get home, stupid.
“Victor, are you okay?” Minerva asked. “You seem far away.”
“Sorry,” he said, “I was thinking about Christ Church.” That sounded good, he thought. Now change the subject. “Look, Arch Street. Half a block left is the Ross house.”
The house of Mrs. John Ross, aka
Betsy
, was a brick bandbox style house consisting of two floors, a cellar, an attic and a winding staircase that led from the cellar to the upper levels. The building’s front façade was home to a large window on the first floor, behind which items of merchandise were on display—the Ross house was both an upholstery business and a residence. Its proximity to the Delaware River docks made the house an ideal commercial location.
Victor grabbed the brass knocker and clapped on the door.
A young woman answered the door and stared at Victor curiously.
Her reaction caused Victor to check his nose for an errant booger. “Is Mrs. Ross in?” he asked.
“No, sir. May I help you?”
“Yes, we are looking for Mr. Greene.”
From a back room came a shout. “Victor!”
It was one of the Anderson twins, Victor realized, but he didn’t know which one.
“Justin or Heath?” he called as the young woman let him inside.
“Justin,” the voice replied.
Victor, Bette and Minerva walked back into the back room, where a bruised and black-eyed Justin lay on a bed.
“We got into a fight,” Justin explained. “Me and Heath. At the Indian Queen Tavern on 4
th
Street, I think.”
“Defending the honor of Mrs. Ross,” the young woman said.
“Victor, this nice lady is Cornelia Bridges; she makes flags for the Pennsylvania Navy. Maybe you are related?”
Victor remembered Peggy Shippen’s criticism of Mrs. Bridges and the motto “Appeal to Heaven” on the navy banner. Victor shook his head. No one in his family that he knew of had ever been a flag maker in Philadelphia.
“Guess not,” Justin said. “We followed Betsy and offered to buy her a shandy, Victor, honest. You know: the lemonade and beer mixture. I know we should have drunk cider, but the cider was stronger than the shandy. I mean, Victor, you can’t drink the water. A guy might wind up with the runs.”
Victor knew many Philadelphians drank alcoholic beverages in lieu of the local water due to the potential of dysentery. “So you got into a fight?”
“Yeah: two Spanish sailors. One of them called Mrs. Ross a bad name and, well, Heath has A.P. Spanish and caught the insult, and he insulted them back in Spanish, and then one of the Spanish sailors hit Heath and I hit his buddy and pretty soon we were out in the street. Those guys were pretty strong too.”
“Where’s Heath?”
“The sailors took him, I think.”
“Why didn’t you stop them?”
“I was unconscious.”
“Where’s Mr. Greene?”
“He’s unconscious in a bed in the next room. He arrived at the beginning of the fight and tried to stop it, and one of the sailors hit him atop his noggin with a pewter tankard of ale. He kind of smells of booze, which is really bad because he’s in A.A. and all. He’s going to suspend me when we get back, I know it. Mrs. Ross got some men to carry Mr. Greene and me here to her place.”
“But what about Heath?” Victor asked again.
“I figured they impressed him,” Justin said.
“What do you mean?” Minerva asked.
“Shanghaied him, Minerva,” Victor explained. “Impress means to take a man against his will and force him to serve on a ship. They kidnapped him.”
“Oh,” Minerva replied, finally understanding.
Bette asked, “Where’s Mrs. Ross, Justin?”
Cornelia Bridges answered, “She went off to find Dr. Rush at the state house to tend to your mates here.”
“This is worse than Ford’s Theater,” Victor said aloud. He was thinking, Will Mr. Greene wake up? You’re in charge, Victor, are you up for it? Remember, no big deal: rescue Heath and then get back to Independence Hall in time to snag Rodney’s riding crop, somehow get the unconscious Mr. Greene back to the landing zone for the portable and somehow get them back to the future. At least Michael J. Fox had a De Lorean; I have an old portable classroom. Get everyone back to Cassadaga Area High School or else they’ll all be in the Class of ’76. 1776.
“What’s Ford’s Theater?” Cornelia asked.
“Never mind that,” Bette said, coming to the rescue. The front door to the shop portion of the house opened and a bell above the door announced a customer. “You have a shopper, Mrs. Bridges. Let me look after the lad.”
“Thank you, miss,” Cornelia smiled.
Bette turned to Victor. “Go find Heath, Victor. I’ll stay with Justin and Mr. Greene.” Suddenly, literally out of thin air, Mary and Charles Beard appeared.
Charles said nothing, but Mary, in a sympathetic voice, said, “We’ll help if we can dear.”
“I’m sorry we ignored you, Mrs. Beard,” Bette apologized.
Mary Beard smiled. “I’m sorry I was so huffy, dear. Charles and I have been so neglected by historians over the years that I’m afraid I’ve grown much too sensitive. Charles and I can offer advice to you perhaps.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Beard.”
“What about Minerva?” Victor asked.
Bette shrugged indifferently. Victor looked at Minerva. “You want to stay or come with me?” He was hoping she would wish to join him.
“I’ll go with you,” she said.
“Wait,” said Justin. He reached under the bed. He pulled out a brown Malacca wood cane and a flintlock pistol. The wood of the cane reminded Victor of rattan furniture. “Take these,” Justin advised.
“Is that loaded?” Minerva asked, pointing at the pistol.
“No, but the bad guys won’t know that,” Justin said. “Victor, pull the ball handle on the hilt of the cane.”
Victor took the cane with his left hand and with his right pulled on the silver ball handle. “What the heck,” he said as he pulled forth a blade, and then slid it back into place.
“Sword, cane… Belongs to some gentleman who didn’t pay his tailoring bill to Mrs. Ross. The pistol too, I think.”
“What am I going to do with these?” Victor asked.
“You might need them,” Justin said. He held out the pistol by the barrel, offering Minerva its handle.
“Me?” Minerva protested. “Why me?”
“Your dad’s in the N.R.A, isn’t he? I saw their bumper sticker on his car.” Victor said.
“Well, yes,” Minerva admitted. “But I…”
“Don’t be all girlish, geesh, Minerva,” Bette admonished. “You want to stay here and nurse Justin?”
“No, but…”
“Woman up then, Minerva,” Bette Kromer chided. “Woman up!”
“Woman up,” Minerva repeated over and over like a mantra. She hugged Bette Kromer and followed Victor out onto Arch Street.
Victor was confused: Didn’t Bette and Minerva hate each other? Now they were hugging? What was it with girls? He looked at Minerva, who was twirling the flintlock pistol by its trigger housing as if it were a Colt Peacemaker from the Old West.
“It’s not a baton, Minerva,” Victor said. “You won’t scare anyone if you act like a majorette.”
“Sorry,” she blushed. “Force of habit.”
Two blocks from the dock, Victor said, “Look, Minerva, the way I figure it is whoever is holding Heath will be surprised that a woman is brandishing a pistol.” Did I just refer to Minerva as a “woman?” Victor wondered.
“I like the word ‘brandishing,’” Minerva admitted. “What about lady pirates, Victor?”
“What about them?”
“They fought with the men. There were more than most people think.”
“Where’s your parrot and eye patch, Minerva?” Victor teased.