Gunpowder and Tea Cakes: My Journey with Felicity

It’d be cool to see brand new Pamunkey pots. Mr. Merriman instructs Ben to go to the landing. Felicity says she wishes we could ride. Lucky! Her parents don’t make her wait to ride a horse until she’s sixteen. Ben says we’ll take the cart, that way we can carry pottery back with us. Before long, we’re on our way with a horse named Old Bess pulling the cart. I like traveling like this, even if it is jouncy.

Ben explains the reservation is about twenty-five miles away, but we’ll visit a dock at the Pamunkey River where the Indians bring goods to sell. Soon, we leave the hubbub behind and pass log cabins and split-rail fences zigzagging around fields and pastures. I see chickens, geese, and children wandering and running. We drive through wooded areas with birds singing. I don’t recognize the countryside like this. I’m used to shopping centers and apartment buildings.

We travel to a river with a dock extending over the water. A boy Ben’s age is there sitting on the seat of his own cart, whittling. Ben says Roger is an apprentice at another store. Roger says the traders will be here soon. Felicity and I slide off the cart and walk onto the dock, trying to see if we can stay up while walking on the edge. When we get to the end, we burst out laughing.

Then, we hear a shout and a canoe comes gliding down the river. And another. And another. I feel all tingly with excitement. The Pamunkey traders are here. The canoes are dugouts—big logs split in half and hollowed out. They’re shallow, with the sides rising just a few inches above the water. But each one is filled with baskets and bowls and holds at least two people. All the traders are men. I thought they’d be wearing buckskins or something, but they’re dressed just like Ben and Roger. There’s clearly a lot I don’t know.

As the men get out, I see they don’t look entirely like the colonists. One man has a feather in his hair. One has a silver nose ring. Another wears earrings. They’ve brought mostly food: baskets of dried corn, sacks of beans, fish packed in damp reeds, mussels, oysters, and clams. But the men in the third canoe have brought pottery packed in baskets. Most of the pots are bigger than a person’s hand. They’re shiny with pretty designs marked on the sides. The men display the pottery on a blanket.

I tell Felicity we should go talk to them. Maybe they speak English. But Felicity hesitates. We should let Ben pick out the pots. I turn to see Ben looking at dippers made from gourds. I tell Felicity he is busy. There’s no harm in looking at the pottery. Felicity says she’s never spoken to an Indian before. I remember something my mother told me when it comes to meeting new people. She used to say it’s best to think first about what we have in common, and then later learn about some of the ways you’re different.

Felicity observantly points out I said “used to.” Is she dead? I’m surprised. Most kids don’t ask that kind of a question straight out. I nod. I tell Felicity she got really sick before she died. Felicity acknowledges her passing. Felicity says she agrees with my mom’s point about meeting new people. I have a lump in my throat, but I thank her. When I remember something Mom used to say, it’s like a little bit of her stays behind with me.

Felicity straightens her shoulders. Let’s go meet the traders.