Gunpowder and Tea Cakes: My Journey with Felicity

I hear shouting. It grows louder as the whirling fades. I open my eyes, and I feel dizzy again because I am no longer in the antique shop! I’ve somehow ended up outside, huddled behind a green hedge. I hear feet pounding as if someone is running. Men and women are yelling, and I hear… hoofbeats? I spot an opening through the hedge and start to go through, but I trip and fall on a walkway of crushed oyster shells.

Someone says to me to have a care. I look up and see a girl about my own age. Instead of jeans, she’s wearing a long, purple-striped gown, like the interpreters wear at Colonial Williamsburg. I ask if she’s a volunteer, and the girl says the fall must’ve addled me. Only boys may volunteer. She helps me to my feet and I look around.

I don’t know how it happened, but somehow I’ve ended up at Colonial Williamsburg. The big, beautiful brick building ahead is the Governor’s Palace. I’ve been here many times before, but I am far away from our house. Interpreters are running all around us in the same direction. I glance down and see I’m wearing a long dress like the girl. Mine is cream with little blue flowers, and slightly too tight. A white kerchief is tied around my neck.

The girl introduces herself as Felicity Merriman. I tell her my name and ask what’s happening. She asks if I’ve just arrived in the city. She’s a very good actor, for a junior interpreter. So I decide to play along.

Felicity explains the governor schemed to steal the colonists’ gunpowder from the Magazine in the dark of night, so many have arrived since. I know the Magazine was a place to keep gunpowder, bullets, and other ammunition and weapons. Felicity says the riders carried the news all over the countryside, so Patriots have been storming into Williamsburg like river in a flood.

I realize I must’ve arrived in the middle of a special event. Men and women gather on the lawn of the Governor’s Palace. Two barefoot boys wearing ragged clothing run past. I don’t see an adult looking after them. A man waves a very sharp-looking knife. A woman limps by and I can see a bad scrape on her ankle. A carriage passes, jolting due to the deep ruts in the dirt road. But… this road should be paved.

My mouth goes dry. Something is truly wrong. There are no modern visitors anywhere. Everything looks, sounds, and feels real. I’ve got to get out of here. Felicity turns away to watch a group of boys and young men playing drums and fifes march toward the Palace.

This all started when I picked up the miniature portrait of the woman. I’m still clutching it in my left hand. I dart back through the gap in the hedge and uncurl my fingers and stare into the painted eyes.