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Authors: Tim Black
Tags: Young Adult
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middle of the trio, Bette on his right and Minerva on his left, “they never capture the smell in movies. I’ve done my share of baby-sitting, and there’s an odor of diaper doo-doo in the air.”
Minerva laughed. She couldn’t help herself. She had been trying to figure out just what Philadelphia’s smell reminded her of, and Bette Kromer had nailed it: dirty diapers.
Minerva too had done her fair share of baby-sitting over the years and had changed a diaper or two.
“Did you ever baby-sit, Victor?” Minerva asked.
Victor blushed. “Ah no,” he replied.
“Isn’t that typical, Bette. Victor hasn’t babysat.”
“Sure is typical, Minerva.”
“Huh? What? Hey, what is going on here? You two are ganging up on me,” he protested.
“Well, Minerva,” Bette said. “He’s not dumb anyway.”
Both girls laughed. Victor took their teasing fairly well, Minerva thought, certainly better than his older brother would have.
A carriage turned the corner abruptly and Victor tugged Bette away from the curb as a carriage wheel hit a puddle, splashing the area where Bette had been walking.
“Thank you, Victor,” she said sincerely.
Minerva was a tad annoyed. Why hadn’t she been walking on the outside? Suddenly Bette, who had become a friend on this trip, was becoming a rival, as Minerva could feel jealousy flow through her veins. Bette’s obvious interest in Victor brought out Minerva’s competitive instincts, and she decided, suddenly, that Victor was a worthy catch. Maybe she would get lucky with an overhead chamber pot and Victor would save her from that fate. Get a grip, Minerva, she told herself. You are beginning to think like an 18 th century woman. Don’t go all Jane Austen, she thought, not remembering that Austen was a 19 th century woman.
Masts rising above the wooden wharves that extended into the Delaware River, the tall ships were moored at anchor, sailors unloading cargo from England onto the docks. All part of mercantilism, Minerva realized, as the colonies exported raw materials and the mother country imported finished products to the colonies. And Philadelphia, in the center of the thirteen colonies, was the largest and most important port. In the light breeze flapped an odd flag adorned with a green pine tree in the center of a white field with the motto “An Appeal to Heaven.” That was the flag Mr. Greene had mentioned, and it flew from the topmast of a rather small ship—a cute ship, she thought. Should warships appear “cute,” she wondered? Probably not. The Pennsylvania Navy was certainly no Spanish Armada.
The trio walked down to Front Street, three abreast, the girls arm-in-arm with Victor. Mrs. Beard, seemingly agitated that the three children ignored her, huffed and floated off on her own. By the Custom House, Minerva noticed a fashionable girl, whom she judged to be about sixteen, standing with an older man Minerva guessed to be her father. Unlike Minerva, the girl was wearing a riding habit, consisting of a royal blue tailored jacket similar to a man’s coat, worn with a high neck shirt, a waistcoat, a petticoat and a large, brimmed, matching royal blue hat. Minerva assumed that the girl was either going to ride a horse or had completed a ride and hadn’t bothered to change her outfit. She assumed she was an upper class young woman.
“Victor, do you recognize that young woman?” Minerva asked.
“No,” Victor said.
The young woman returned Minerva’s glance with diffidence as if Minerva were some gutter snipe. As the trio approached the scene, Minerva heard a dockworker speaking to the gentleman.
“Mr. Shippen, the count’s correct, sir,” the dockworker said. The man seemed a bit nervous, Minerva thought.
“I think you are one rum barrel short, Loughton,” Shippen shouted in a booming voice.
“Thrash him, father,” the girl said. “He’s a damn rebel.”
“Hush, Peggy, dear,” the gentleman said sweetly.
“Let’s turn around and get out of here
Minerva laughed. She couldn’t help herself. She had been trying to figure out just what Philadelphia’s smell reminded her of, and Bette Kromer had nailed it: dirty diapers.
Minerva too had done her fair share of baby-sitting over the years and had changed a diaper or two.
“Did you ever baby-sit, Victor?” Minerva asked.
Victor blushed. “Ah no,” he replied.
“Isn’t that typical, Bette. Victor hasn’t babysat.”
“Sure is typical, Minerva.”
“Huh? What? Hey, what is going on here? You two are ganging up on me,” he protested.
“Well, Minerva,” Bette said. “He’s not dumb anyway.”
Both girls laughed. Victor took their teasing fairly well, Minerva thought, certainly better than his older brother would have.
A carriage turned the corner abruptly and Victor tugged Bette away from the curb as a carriage wheel hit a puddle, splashing the area where Bette had been walking.
“Thank you, Victor,” she said sincerely.
Minerva was a tad annoyed. Why hadn’t she been walking on the outside? Suddenly Bette, who had become a friend on this trip, was becoming a rival, as Minerva could feel jealousy flow through her veins. Bette’s obvious interest in Victor brought out Minerva’s competitive instincts, and she decided, suddenly, that Victor was a worthy catch. Maybe she would get lucky with an overhead chamber pot and Victor would save her from that fate. Get a grip, Minerva, she told herself. You are beginning to think like an 18 th century woman. Don’t go all Jane Austen, she thought, not remembering that Austen was a 19 th century woman.
Masts rising above the wooden wharves that extended into the Delaware River, the tall ships were moored at anchor, sailors unloading cargo from England onto the docks. All part of mercantilism, Minerva realized, as the colonies exported raw materials and the mother country imported finished products to the colonies. And Philadelphia, in the center of the thirteen colonies, was the largest and most important port. In the light breeze flapped an odd flag adorned with a green pine tree in the center of a white field with the motto “An Appeal to Heaven.” That was the flag Mr. Greene had mentioned, and it flew from the topmast of a rather small ship—a cute ship, she thought. Should warships appear “cute,” she wondered? Probably not. The Pennsylvania Navy was certainly no Spanish Armada.
The trio walked down to Front Street, three abreast, the girls arm-in-arm with Victor. Mrs. Beard, seemingly agitated that the three children ignored her, huffed and floated off on her own. By the Custom House, Minerva noticed a fashionable girl, whom she judged to be about sixteen, standing with an older man Minerva guessed to be her father. Unlike Minerva, the girl was wearing a riding habit, consisting of a royal blue tailored jacket similar to a man’s coat, worn with a high neck shirt, a waistcoat, a petticoat and a large, brimmed, matching royal blue hat. Minerva assumed that the girl was either going to ride a horse or had completed a ride and hadn’t bothered to change her outfit. She assumed she was an upper class young woman.
“Victor, do you recognize that young woman?” Minerva asked.
“No,” Victor said.
The young woman returned Minerva’s glance with diffidence as if Minerva were some gutter snipe. As the trio approached the scene, Minerva heard a dockworker speaking to the gentleman.
“Mr. Shippen, the count’s correct, sir,” the dockworker said. The man seemed a bit nervous, Minerva thought.
“I think you are one rum barrel short, Loughton,” Shippen shouted in a booming voice.
“Thrash him, father,” the girl said. “He’s a damn rebel.”
“Hush, Peggy, dear,” the gentleman said sweetly.
“Let’s turn around and get out of here
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