worse than any animal; left to wallow in their own filth until finally being sold off at auction to people who didn’t even see them as human beings. At least the Jews were free and able to own their own shop, if not to worship openly. They probably went to church with everyone else and then held their own services at home, much as his father did at Rosewood Manor. Funny that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
The woman smiled shyly at Finn, and he smiled back, realizing that he’d been so caught up in his own musings, he hadn’t replied to her offer of help. The lace had been too expensive, so Finn chose a mauve ribbon which would look so lovely in Abbie’s golden hair, and a little cloth dolly with yarn hair and button eyes.
“My sister makes them herself,” the man said proudly. “All the little girls in Savannah want one, don’t they , Leah? Every dolly is a little different.” Leah blushed as she wrapped up Finn’s purchases.
“I started making them as a little girl because I had no one to play with ,” Leah explained, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment, “but I wanted to give each one her own personality, so I used different color yarn for the hair and unique buttons for each doll.” She handed Finn his parcel tied with a piece of twine. “I hope your little girl likes it.”
“I ’ve no doubt she will,” Finn replied, taking the package and bidding them farewell as he left the store. How wonderful it would be to own a shop , he thought, but maybe one that sold books . Maybe after the war was finally over, Abbie and him could move to town and open up a shop of their own. He hated farming. It was backbreaking work that never seemed to end. As soon as you finished one thing, there were twenty more to see to.
He could almost see himself running a prosperous book shop, his name in gold letters on a green background over the door; the front window displaying the latest books from the Colonies and around the world. Maybe he could even get his mother to write and illustrate a picture book for children which he could then have printed and offered for sale. She was a fine artist, and could duplicate something she’d seen in the twenty-first century. She said that books and toys for children were big business in the future, but in the eighteenth century people hardly bothered with entertainment for the kids. Only children of the wealthy had handmade toys, made by master craftsmen who created works of art rather than playthings. Working people couldn’t afford to buy china dolls dressed in satin and silk for their little girls, or rocking horses that looked just like real horses, with flowing manes and strong flanks that were almost the size of a real pony. Maybe he could introduce some affordable toys into his bookshop as well, Finn thought, suddenly inspired.
Finn was so caught up in his fantasy, he barely noticed the older man walking toward him . The man was a high-ranking British officer judging by his uniform, but his face was obscured by the black tricorn that threw a dark shadow over his features so at odds with the whiteness of his wig. His rigid bearing bespoke of years in the military, and his uniform was pristine despite the heat, his gold gorget gleaming in the sun and casting a golden glow over the lower part of his face. Finn was about to pass by when the man grabbed his arm roughly, startling him out of his reverie and forcing him to look more closely at the blazing eyes and clenched jaw of the officer who accosted him.
“You!” the man hissed. Finn found himself gazing into the enraged face of Major Horace Weland. The man was panting with fury; his lips stretched into a humorless grin of triumph as he brought his face closer to Finn’s. “You’re not getting away this time, you scoundrel. You will hang, as will your wife once I find out where she’s hiding.”
Finn had scored a major
The woman smiled shyly at Finn, and he smiled back, realizing that he’d been so caught up in his own musings, he hadn’t replied to her offer of help. The lace had been too expensive, so Finn chose a mauve ribbon which would look so lovely in Abbie’s golden hair, and a little cloth dolly with yarn hair and button eyes.
“My sister makes them herself,” the man said proudly. “All the little girls in Savannah want one, don’t they , Leah? Every dolly is a little different.” Leah blushed as she wrapped up Finn’s purchases.
“I started making them as a little girl because I had no one to play with ,” Leah explained, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment, “but I wanted to give each one her own personality, so I used different color yarn for the hair and unique buttons for each doll.” She handed Finn his parcel tied with a piece of twine. “I hope your little girl likes it.”
“I ’ve no doubt she will,” Finn replied, taking the package and bidding them farewell as he left the store. How wonderful it would be to own a shop , he thought, but maybe one that sold books . Maybe after the war was finally over, Abbie and him could move to town and open up a shop of their own. He hated farming. It was backbreaking work that never seemed to end. As soon as you finished one thing, there were twenty more to see to.
He could almost see himself running a prosperous book shop, his name in gold letters on a green background over the door; the front window displaying the latest books from the Colonies and around the world. Maybe he could even get his mother to write and illustrate a picture book for children which he could then have printed and offered for sale. She was a fine artist, and could duplicate something she’d seen in the twenty-first century. She said that books and toys for children were big business in the future, but in the eighteenth century people hardly bothered with entertainment for the kids. Only children of the wealthy had handmade toys, made by master craftsmen who created works of art rather than playthings. Working people couldn’t afford to buy china dolls dressed in satin and silk for their little girls, or rocking horses that looked just like real horses, with flowing manes and strong flanks that were almost the size of a real pony. Maybe he could introduce some affordable toys into his bookshop as well, Finn thought, suddenly inspired.
Finn was so caught up in his fantasy, he barely noticed the older man walking toward him . The man was a high-ranking British officer judging by his uniform, but his face was obscured by the black tricorn that threw a dark shadow over his features so at odds with the whiteness of his wig. His rigid bearing bespoke of years in the military, and his uniform was pristine despite the heat, his gold gorget gleaming in the sun and casting a golden glow over the lower part of his face. Finn was about to pass by when the man grabbed his arm roughly, startling him out of his reverie and forcing him to look more closely at the blazing eyes and clenched jaw of the officer who accosted him.
“You!” the man hissed. Finn found himself gazing into the enraged face of Major Horace Weland. The man was panting with fury; his lips stretched into a humorless grin of triumph as he brought his face closer to Finn’s. “You’re not getting away this time, you scoundrel. You will hang, as will your wife once I find out where she’s hiding.”
Finn had scored a major
Similar Books
