Gunpowder and Tea Cakes: My Journey with Felicity

Mistress Reed says that it is. She often does printing work for Mr. Jefferson. Just last year, she had the honor of printing the first document publicly arguing for overthrowing the British rule. I don’t understand why Felicity isn’t jumping up and down with excitement. I want to grab her hands and exclaim that this is the man who writes the Declaration of Independence. But just in time, I remember that this is 1775… the year before Jefferson writes the Declaration of Independence, which is written in 1776.

As I simmer down, Felicity hands Mistress Reed her father’s note. Mistress Reed reads the notice and looks pleased. She nods and says that Mr. Merriman’s decision is sure to inspire other merchants. She goes to write up the bill for Felicity. I’m curious about the shop. The printing press sits behind the counter. Strange tools hang on the walls. Pages of newsprint dangle from strings criss-crossed overhead like clotheslines. The men working have rolled up their sleeves and wear leather aprons to protect their clothes. One man sits in front of a cabinet, quickly grabbing little pieces of metal and arranging them within a wooden frame. I ask him what he’s doing. He looks up and says he’s setting type. He holds up a piece of metal and I see it has a tiny letter O on it. He’s grabbing letters and arranging them into words, and the words into sentences. It must take hours to set an entire page.

The other man is working at the press. It’s flat, like a table, and there’s a frame holding enough tiny pieces of type to create an entire newspaper page. The man dabs the type with a leather ball that’s stained black. He’s putting on the ink. The man says it’s a mixture of varnish and lampblack. I’ll never take typing on a computer for granted again! The man grabs the handle of the frame and pulls it down so the blank paper is pressed hard against the inky type. When he lifts it, I see a perfectly printed sheet of newspaper.

As Felicity tucks the bill from Mistress Reed into her pocket, I ask Mistress Reed if she enjoys running the print shop. She looks startled, as if nobody has ever asked her that. She says it was a matter of necessity. After her husband passed and her children were hungry, she knew she had to keep running it. I ask her if the men in Williamsburg accept her. She says she has never missed printing a single issue of the Gazette. Virginia officials allowed her to inherit her husband’s official position as public printer, so it seems she’s earned their trust. She is proud to provide a voice for the Patriot cause. I ask her if she could’ve become a printer without her husband’s death. I want to know these answers so I can talk about it when I’m volunteering at Colonial Williamsburg.

Mistress Reed thinks for a second, and then states simply “No.” But it does please her. And she only has to print what she chooses, although she will consider everyone’s news.

As we leave, I tell Felicity it is time for me to say goodbye. I feel ready to burst with the news things I’ve seen and learned. I don’t think I should try to cram in any more. Felicity agrees… it’s time for me to find my father. Felicity walks away with a bounce in her step. I know her father is facing enormous challenges, but I believe in my heart that Felicity and the Merrimans will come through the Revolutionary War just fine. I pause behind the shop and reach into my pocket to grab the bit of broken china I stashed away. With my other hand, I pull out the miniature portrait around my neck. And within a moment, I am back inside my grandmother’s shop.