Little Lion

by Ann Hood

  “I can’t really explain it,” Maisie said.

  Puzzled, Alexander handed the coin back to Maisie, who took it from him and put it back in her pocket.

  “No,” Felix said, “I think he should keep it.”

  “But it didn’t work,” Maisie reminded him.

  “That’s because we’re not doing something.”

  Maisie narrowed her eyes at Alexander. “If we let you keep it, can we come to New Jersey with you?” she asked him.

  “What you don’t seem to understand is that I’m going there as a guest of William Livingston. Do you know what an important man he is?” Alexander asked.

  Maisie and Felix both shook their heads.

  “How can you have lived on the island of Manhattan and never heard of William Livingston?” he asked in disbelief. “He’s only from the wealthiest family in all of New York.”

  “Then he won’t mind having a couple of more guests, will he?” Maisie said.

  “But it’s impertinent of me to bring you two along,” Alexander said.

  From downstairs, the sound of Elizabeth’s laughter floated up to them.

  “Isn’t Elizabeth related to this guy?” Maisie asked.

  “Yes,” Alexander said.

  Maisie smiled. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll just have to ask her permission to go.”

  Felix smiled, too. Elizabeth Sanders was kind and, he knew, had a soft spot in her heart for the two raggedy children she’d found on the front steps. He didn’t know how they were going to get back to Newport, but he felt pretty confident that Elizabeth Sanders would get them to New Jersey.

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  Maisie and Felix knew of three ways to get to New Jersey from Manhattan: the Lincoln Tunnel, the Holland Tunnel, and the George Washington Bridge. But in 1772, the only way to get to New Jersey was by ferry. They sailed with a sulking Alexander Hamilton from the wharf just beneath Fort George, across the Hudson River, to Elizabethtown Point. Elizabeth Sanders had said, Of course my uncle will take you in while you await word from your mother in Rhode Island! Maisie had hugged Elizabeth in relief.

  But Alexander was furious that once again he was stuck with these two children. It isn’t that I don’t like you, he’d explained, it’s that this is the beginning of my new life.

  Now they all stood together at the railing of the ferry, watching first Manhattan Island grow small and disappear from view, then Elizabethtown Point come into sight.

  William Livingston had retired as a lawyer and moved his family to New Jersey to live the life of a gentleman farmer. However, Elizabeth Sanders had told Maisie and Felix that her uncle was fiercely opposed to British rule and worked all the time toward the fight for independence. Felix looked forward to nights at Livingston’s home, Liberty Hall, listening to more debates about politics like he’d heard on the stagecoach ride from Boston. He was surprised how interesting all of this was. Maybe he was starting to like history, Felix thought.

  Livingston’s carriage waited for them when they stepped off the ferry. It was a cold November day, with a strong wind howling, and Maisie and Felix were happy to snuggle under a fur blanket inside. They were both wearing clothes from Hercules’s Haberdashery: warm wool coats with gold buttons and stiff, white linen shirts. Maisie had on a long, dark-red skirt. Felix wore navy-blue wool pants that came to just below his knees and thick black stockings. They both wore black boots with silver buckles on them. This is better than Halloween, Maisie had whispered after they got dressed. Their own clothes were washed and ironed and folded into a brown paper package tied with string.

  Alexander sat across from them, his face pressed to the window as he looked out at the town. Maisie rested her head on Felix’s shoulder, happy to be warm and away from the salty air and wind on the ferry. But Felix looked out the window, too, taking in the shingled houses and apple trees.

  “It looks a lot like home,” Felix said softly, surprising himself that, for the first time, he had called Rhode Island home.

  “Does it?” Alexander said. “It’s so different from the islands. From my home,” he added.

  The carriage came to a stop, and the driver opened its door, announcing “Liberty Hall.”

  They stepped out, pausing to take in what would be their new home, at least for a while.

  The house was big, though not nearly as big as Elm Medona. Fruit trees flanked a walkway that led to the front door, and a few apples still clung to limbs, sending the smell of apple cider through the air.

  Felix inhaled deeply. Funny, he thought. He had never considered New Jersey the country before.

  A man appeared at the front door. Tall and skinny, he grinned out at them.

  “Welcome! Welcome to Liberty Hall!”

  For the next week, Maisie and Felix got swept up in the social scene at Liberty Hall. Every night there was a dinner party with guests coming from Manhattan or from down the road where other wealthy families had also built houses. After dinner, the Livingston daughters and their friends played the piano for everyone. Then the men retired to the sitting room, where inevitably the discussion turned to the growing tensions between the British and the colonists.

  At one of these dinners, Maisie sat across from Alexander. As always, everything around her seemed to disappear as she listened to him speak. He was already attending classes, and he talked about what he was learning and his plans for college as well as his growing allegiance to the colonists. Listening to him, nothing and no one else mattered. Tonight, though, Maisie noticed something that made her sit up straight. Every time Catherine Livingston, who everyone called Miss Kitty, spoke, Alexander’s cheeks flushed and his violet eyes grew dreamy.

  “Alexander,” Maisie said once she noticed this, “I wish I could join the Sons of Liberty.”

  She said this just to get his attention, of course, but when he didn’t look away from Miss Kitty and just made some vague noises toward Maisie, her heart did some weird leaps.

  “I would defend the Liberty Pole and fight any Redcoats who tried to blow it up,” she said.

  The men around her laughed politely.

  Miss Kitty turned her large brown eyes on Maisie and said, “How exciting! But not very ladylike.”

  Maisie fumed. But before she could reply, Miss Kitty had turned her attention back to Alexander, batting her eyes and smiling behind an elaborate silk fan.

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  That night she hardly slept thinking of Miss Kitty and Alexander. Since she was awake, anyway, she decided to follow him to the cemetery next to Liberty Hall early the next morning. This was how he studied. Pacing and talking to himself early in the morning. She knew he came out here at six o’clock every morning because everyone at dinner always commented on how impressed they were by his dedication and hard work. One night she’d heard noise in the hallway at midnight and peeked out the door of the room she and Felix shared only to find Alexander out there pacing and muttering.

  Now here she was watching him pace and talk to himself. There was frost on the grass, and it crackled under Maisie’s feet as she made her way to the graveyard.

  She waited for a pause in his memorizing before she stepped out from behind a headstone into his path.

  “What brings you here so early?” he asked her, surprised.

  Maisie shrugged. Then she blurted, “Homesick, I guess. Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Maisie,” Alexander said seriously, “where did you get that coin?”

  “Honestly, it belonged to our great-great-grandfather, Phinneas Pickworth.” She took it from her pocket. “You should have it, I think.”

  Alexander accepted the coin, and once again examined it closely.

  “Perhaps it was stamped with the wrong date, and that’s what makes it collectible?” he said.

  Maisie didn’t answer.

  �
�I do wonder,” Alexander said, holding the coin in his palm, “what will happen if independence is won. Everything will be new. What form of government?” He held the coin out in front of him. “What form of currency?”

  He grew thoughtful.

  “Strange,” he said, looking at her. “I don’t miss Saint Croix at all. When I think about it, I have fond feelings. But it’s so exciting here. So alive. I believe this is where I’m meant to be.”

  “I don’t know where I’m meant to be,” Maisie admitted.

  “What do you mean?” Alexander asked.

  “Well,” Maisie said, “I miss Manhattan and living there with my parents. I hate Newport. I really do. And even though my mother’s trying hard to make a home for us, nothing feels right.”

  Alexander nodded. “I understand how being without a parent feels. When my father left, I was devastated. And when my mother died . . .” He looked away from Maisie.

  “Even when I go back,” Maisie said softly, “everything will be wrong without both of them there.”

  From behind another headstone, Felix stepped quietly into the early morning light. When he heard Maisie leave, he’d followed her here. He had no idea what she was doing, but now he saw that she just wanted some time alone with Alexander. Felix considered going back to Liberty Hall, and bed, but when he heard her talking about their parents, he wanted to stay. He felt guilty that a part of him had started to adjust to their new situation. Even though he missed their father, Felix was falling into their routine. He couldn’t see how fighting it could help anyone.

  “Do you know that I have no one?” Alexander said to her. “My father doesn’t bother to answer my letters. And my mother died when I was just thirteen.” He nudged her gently with his elbow. “Like you almost are,” he added.

  Felix took a step closer to them, and the frost-covered twigs beneath his feet cracked loudly.

  Maisie and Alexander both looked up.

  “What are you doing here?” Maisie demanded.

  “Just out for a walk?” he said.

  She frowned at him.

  But Alexander said, “How do you feel, Felix? About the changes in your life?”

  “Well,” Felix said. “I don’t like them. And I miss Dad. But I can’t do anything about it.”

  Alexander nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I know.”

  “Well, you two can be all philosophical,” Maisie said, “but I’m mad at them. I’m mad at Mom and Dad for ruining my life!”

  “You know, Maisie, that’s your choice,” Alexander said.

  “What? I didn’t choose them getting divorced!”

  “But you’re choosing how you let it affect your life. I could still be working in Cruger’s counting house, struggling to make a living on that island. But instead I chose to make an impression, to be someone other than the poor orphan with no future.”

  Maisie realized Alexander was right. She wanted to ask him more about how he’d managed to overcome all these feelings. Like anger and sadness and frustration.

  But instead, she felt herself being lifted up, up, up. The smells of Christmas trees and cinnamon and bread baking surrounded her.

  And just like that, she and Felix were standing back in The Treasure Chest.

  Great-Aunt Maisie’s Orders

  “How did that happen?” Maisie said, looking around as if to be sure they really were back.

  Felix, just as surprised as his sister, shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “I gave him the coin—”

  “And then we talked about the divorce and stuff—”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Maisie said.

  Felix agreed. “There’s something that happens that we’re not figuring out yet. And that something is what brings us back home.”

  “I wish I had the chance to say good-bye to Alexander,” Maisie said sadly.

  “Me too,” Felix said. “Even though he got mad at us for following him, I really liked him.”

  “So did I,” Maisie said.

  She blushed, but Felix decided not to tease her about it.

  “Hey!” he said. “Let’s try to find out what he did with that coin.”

  “How?” Without Internet they couldn’t find out anything, Maisie thought for about the millionth time.

  “The encyclopedia!” Felix said.

  They walked out of The Treasure Chest, being careful to slide the wall back into place. Down the Grand Staircase, past the photograph of young Great-Aunt Maisie and Great-Uncle Thorne, into the Grand Ballroom.

  “I think we’re done with The Treasure Chest,” Maisie said, pausing on the marble floor.

  “Agreed,” Felix said, relieved.

  “I really started to wonder if we would ever get back,” Maisie said as they walked through the Dining Room.

  “I was worried,” Felix admitted. “And unless we figure out how we get back each time, there’s a good chance we might really get stuck in the past.”

  “And what would Mom do without us?” Maisie asked. “Alexander was right. We can’t change anything. I guess maybe I have to try to be a little bit nicer.”

  “You’re nice,” Felix said softly. “You’re just sad.”

  Maisie turned to her brother. “Yes,” she said. “But so are you.”

  “Well, we have each other,” he said.

  Maisie and Felix hugged each other good and tight. When they separated, Maisie said, “Who would ever believe that we time traveled?”

  Felix laughed. “I hardly believe it myself.”

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  Back in their apartment, Felix found the F–J encyclopedia and opened it to H.

  Sure enough, there he was. ALEXANDER HAMILTON.

  “You read it,” Maisie said.

  Felix laughed. “Well, I see why that coin was important,” he said. “First secretary of the treasury . . . created the American banking system . . . invented the modern corporation . . . Aide-de-Camp to George Washington—”

  “Wow!” Maisie said.

  “He graduated from King’s College,” Felix said, reading more. “Which is today’s Columbia University.”

  “And where his friend Neddy went,” Maisie said.

  “He really turned into someone important,” Felix said, closing the encyclopedia. “His picture’s on the ten-dollar bill.”

  “No way!” Maisie said.

  Felix nodded.

  “And,” he added, grinning at his sister, “he didn’t marry Catherine Livingston.”

  “Really?” Maisie said, delighted. Then she composed herself. “Who cares, anyway? Not me.”

  “Me neither,” Felix said. “Just a small detail.”

  Maisie smiled. “Thanks, bro,” she said.

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  On Sunday, their mother announced that they were going to visit Great-Aunt Maisie and have lunch with her. They stopped at the little bakery on Thames Street that made French macaroons in pale shades of green and pink and yellow and bought a dozen for her. Great-Aunt Maisie thought that American macaroons, the dense balls of condensed milk and coconut topped with a bright red cherry, were barbaric.

  At the Island Retirement Center, they passed through the solarium and into the wing where Great-Aunt Maisie lived.

  Ahead of them, they watched a patient dressed in a black-and-white skirt and jacket walking slowly down the hall with the help of a walker. Something about the woman seemed oddly familiar. The fancy suit. The bobbed gray hair.

  “Wait a minute!” Maisie shouted. “That’s Great-Aunt Maisie!”

  At the sound of her name, Great-Aunt Maisie stopped walking and turned around. As usual, she had her face powdered and the two pink spots of rouge on each cheekbone. Her lips wore their usual Chanel Red lipstick. Despite that, something abo
ut Great-Aunt Maisie was completely different. Yes, she was actually walking, which Maisie had not seen her do since they’d moved here. But it was more than that. She looked . . . Maisie struggled for the word . . . alive!

  “Hello!” Great-Aunt Maisie called to them. She waved one hand like she was a queen.

  “Great-Aunt Maisie!” their mother gasped, hurrying toward her. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

  “Going to lunch,” Great-Aunt Maisie said. “It’s almost noon.”

  “But . . . but . . . you’re walking!” their mother sputtered.

  Great-Aunt Maisie looked pleased. “Yes, Jennifer,” she said, “I am. Now, would you like to join me for some of the poor excuse for food that they serve here? I believe they have chowder today. New England clam chowder.”

  With that, she returned to her slow but steady walk down the corridor.

  “Go help her,” their mother said, nudging first Felix and then Maisie toward their aunt. “I’ve got to find a nurse.”

  Maisie and Felix scurried after Great-Aunt Maisie, catching up to her quickly.

  “How did you get so much better?” Maisie said.

  Great-Aunt Maisie paused. She lifted her eyes until they met Maisie’s straight on.

  “A very good question, dear,” she said.

  With that, she continued on.

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  By the time their mother joined them in the dining room, Great-Aunt Maisie had already ordered and sent back one cup of clam chowder because she found it wasn’t hot enough. Maisie had a grilled cheese on a plate in front of her and Felix had a hot dog.

  “It is New England clam chowder,” Great-Aunt Maisie said as soon as their mother sat down, “but it’s lukewarm.”

  Their mother looked completely flustered.

  “No one can explain why you were able to get up from your chair yesterday and walk for the first time in six months,” she said. “Everyone is baffled.”

  Great-Aunt Maisie’s blue eyes twinkled. “Doctors,” she said. “What do they know about anything?”

  The waitress appeared with another bowl of chowder and placed it in front of Great-Aunt Maisie.