Marcia Talley - The Last Refuge

Alex strolled alongside Amy, Michael (I was pleased to see) escorted French, Jeffrey strutted on bravely alone, poor thing, followed by Karen and her son, Dex, who kept running ahead, wild with excitement, so she had to keep herding him back.

We proceeded en masse toward the harbor, along streets thronged with people, both residents and tourists, many of whom had turned up wearing colonial costumes. By now, it was no secret what was going on at Patriot House. Gawkers often gathered on the street outside the house, cameras at the ready. We were used to it.

Cameras were out in force – Derek and Chad had been supplemented by two additional cameramen from LynxE – and the boys in black had competition from the networks, too. As we pushed through the crowds in V-formation, Jack still in the lead, I caught sight of television crews from WBAL in Baltimore as well as WRC and WJLA in Washington, D.C. Maryland Public TV caught up with us at the corner of Dock Street and Randall, and no matter where we were, cell phone cameras recorded our every move.

The area around the Market House and City Dock had been cordoned off using the same portable chain link fencing used for the two annual boat shows – sailing and power – that had concluded the previous two weekends respectively. Only appropriately-costumed spectators were allowed inside.

As we marched down City Dock, costumed vendors dressed especially for the occasion popped up everywhere, roaming the streets and handing out stick candy to the crowds. I watched as a pair of pint-sized Davy Crockets grabbed more than their share of the sweet, then offered pieces to Gabe and Dex as we paraded by. (An offer they couldn’t refuse!)

‘Where are we going to stand?’ Gabe asked me as he ripped the waxed paper off his candy and stuck the end in his mouth.

‘On the dock, I think, over there,’ I said, pointing in the direction of the Harbor Queen tour boat where a white canopy at water’s edge was decked with bunting decorated with the familiar LynxE logo.

‘Oh, goody. Maybe I can sit down. My feet are killing me,’ Melody complained.

But there were no chairs, only shade. Being under the canopy afforded a bit of relief from the crowds pressing in around us, however, while at the same time putting us on display.

Once we were under the canopy, Amy, wearing the peach dress I had given her, sidled up to me. ‘Just checking to see how you’re feeling, Mrs Ives. You OK?’

‘I’m fine, Amy, honestly. A little tired maybe, but I’m not going to upchuck all over the mayor.’ I pointed with my gloved hand to a young man dressed in white breeches and a black, gold-buttoned frock coat who was making a beeline for Jack Donovan from across the quay.

‘ That’s the mayor? How old is he? Fifteen?’

I giggled. ‘I think he’s thirty-eight.’ I poked her in the stays with my elbow. ‘Shhh. We’re about to be introduced.’

The mayor extended his hand. ‘On behalf of the citizens of Annapolis, let me welcome you to our city. I’m Josh Cohen.’

The arrival of the mayor must have been the signal to start the show. Almost immediately, a large wooden rowboat set off from the dock, manned by two oarsmen. The vessel’s passengers included three men in full patriot regalia, carrying torches.

‘Those actors are representing Anthony Stewart, the owner of the vessel, and the brothers Joseph and James Williams, the merchants who ordered the tea,’ I heard Michael tell the children.

Melody tugged on my sleeve. ‘Mr Rainey says that Anthony Stewart named the boat after his daughter. It must have sucked to have to burn it down.’ A few minutes later, I heard her say, ‘Father, if you had a boat, would you name it after me?’

Jack laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I think Melody would be a lovely name for a boat.’

The city couldn’t burn an actual two-masted sailing ship, of course, especially not an antique one, so they’d duded up a barge with poles and second-hand sails, decked it with flags and banners, and moored it in the middle of Annapolis harbor just off the Naval Academy sea wall.

As the rowboat neared the Peggy Stewart , the crowd on shore began waving and shouting. My preparations for a sunny day out had included a fringed parasol, so I held it aloft and shouted ‘Huzzah,’ along with everyone else.

When the rowboat pulled alongside, ‘Stewart’ and the ‘Williams brothers’ tossed their torches into the replica. There was a flare-up as the accelerant ignited. The crowd went wild. Higher and higher rose the flames, licking at the ropes, gobbling up the sails. You’d have thought it was Army-Navy game day in Annapolis the way the crowd roared.

The rowboat returned to the dock and the trio of arsonists climbed out. Jack Donovan sauntered over to greet them, shaking their hands, clapping them on the back in a job-well-done sort of way. Then the four men wandered off together, presumably to lift a pint at Middleton’s, pursued by one of the auxiliary LynxE cameramen.

As the flames consuming the Peggy Stewart replica began to die down, the crowd gradually lost interest and began to wander. I’d thought I’d lost track of Amy and Alex, and then I spotted Amy, standing with French next to a fellow in a makeshift colonial costume who was trying to chat her up, but Amy appeared to be staring at the burning ship, pretending not to listen. I decided to bail her out, so I gathered up Melody and Gabe, ducked out from under the canopy and traipsed over to join them. By the time I got there, however, the pesky individual had moved on.

For our day out, Founding Father had issued us vouchers, redeemable for treats at the Market House and other local business. I reached into my pocket and pulled out three of mine, facsimiles of Maryland colonial currency in two-dollar denominations. I handed them to French. ‘Why don’t you take Melody and Gabe over to Storm Brothers and buy them some ice cream?’

‘Where’s Alex?’ I asked Amy after they had gone.

‘He’s off with Michael, buying a beer. They’re supposed to be fetching me the eighteenth-century version of a Sprite, but it’s been a while, so I think they must have meant beers, plural.’

‘Alex certainly looked handsome today,’ I commented as we watched one of the charred masts snap and topple into the water.

‘Hubba hubba,’ Amy said. ‘Don’t you think it’s totally unfair how guys are born with the gorgeous fringed eyelashes?’

‘Totally.’

‘ There you are!’ said a familiar voice behind us. Michael, carrying a can of Sprite in one hand and a bottle of Sam Adams lager in the other. ‘Sorry, Hannah,’ he said, handing the Sprite to Amy. ‘I should have asked if you wanted anything. Sip of my beer?’ He tipped the bottle my way.

I screwed up my face. ‘No, thank you. Stomach still delicate.’

Amy popped the top on her soda after fumbling a bit because of her gloves. She took a grateful sip, then said, ‘Where’s Alex got to?’

Michael shrugged. ‘He got waylaid by a guy who wanted to talk about Patriot House . I think he was angling for an introduction to you.’ He nudged Amy’s arm.

Amy tossed her head and made an elaborate show of rolling her eyes. ‘Sure he wasn’t a reporter?’ she asked.

‘Gosh,’ Michael said. ‘I bet you’re right. Alex better mind his Ps and Qs.’

Watching rivulets of condensation drip down Michael’s beer bottle made me desperately thirsty. ‘Take care of Amy, will you? I’m going to get something to drink. Non-alcoholic,’ I added.

I flipped open my parasol, held it over my head and began weaving through the crowd in the direction of Starbucks. As I passed Aromi d’Italia, I thought I caught sight of Alex’s distinctive blue suit over by the harbor master’s office. As Michael had said, Alex appeared to be talking to someone. I made a left turn and headed in their direction, but just as I got within hailing distance, his companion wandered away. ‘Alex!’ I called, waving my parasol to attract his attention.