Free Little Lion by Ann Hood Page A

“But it’s our job to not be defeated by injustice. I got angry at you back there because you showed me sympathy. If I spent every day being pitied and feeling sorry for myself, I would never get to New York to study.”
    Maisie wiped her eyes and nodded.
    â€œI intend to change the world,” Alexander said.
    â€œHow are you going to do that?” Maisie said.
    â€œI don’t know yet,” he admitted. “Maybe become a physician like Neddy. Maybe by writing great things. I still have so much more learning to do. I’ve read most of Plutarch and Pope, and of course Virgil and Horace, but I’m desperate to read everything.”
    From down King’s Street came a voice calling, “Alexander! Alexander Hamilton!”
    â€œThat’s Reverend Knox,” Alexander explained.
    â€œHere!” he called to the man.
    â€œAh!” Reverend Knox said. He waved a newspaper as he neared. “They printed your letter about the hurricane and how it devastated our island, Alexander! And already all of Christiansted is talking about it.” The reverend, a tall man with severe posture, spoke with a thick Scottish accent. “You must come with me to my office. Everyone is gathered there, and they want to see you.”
    Alexander’s eyes sparkled. “This could be it, Reverend,” he said. “What I’ve been waiting for.”
    Reverend Knox stood in front of them now, nodding. “You need to leave the islands, son,” he said, “in order to get the education you deserve. This could be your ticket to the colonies.”
    He handed Alexander the newspaper, which he had open to the page with the letter printed on it.
    As Alexander read, Maisie and Felix peered over his shoulder, reading along with him.
    â€œI appreciate your introduction to my letter,” Alexander said.
    â€œAll true,” the reverend said.
    Even though the letter was about the hurricane that had hit Saint Croix two months earlier, the language Alexander used was so overdramatic that Maisie had to try hard not to laugh. It was all
dost thou
and
vile
this and
vile
that, with lots of exclamation points, which her teacher back home, Mrs. Witherspoon, said were the sign of a bad writer.
    But when Alexander looked up from the newspaper, he was clearly moved.
    â€œMy gratitude—” he began.
    â€œNonsense!” Reverend Knox said, holding up his hand as if to stop Alexander’s apology.
    Alexander clutched the reverend’s hand in his own, and the older man took him into an embrace.
    When they parted, Alexander turned to Maisie.
    â€œDid you read it?” he asked her.
    â€œYes,” she lied.
    â€œThen you saw the final line?
Ye who revel in affluence?
You see now that I am aware of this gap?”
    Felix had read the whole thing and was totally impressed by it. Sure, the language was old-fashioned and even flowery, but he could recognize how well written the piece was and how passionate Alexander felt. “Yes!” he said. “It’s wonderful!”
    â€œThank you,” Alexander said, keeping his eyes on Maisie.
    â€œMy teacher said exclamation points are a sign of a bad writer,” Maisie blurted.
    Alexander and the reverend burst into laughter.
    â€œWho is this child?” Reverend Knox asked.
    â€œMaisie Robbins,” Maisie said. “And I’m not a child. I’m almost thirteen”
    The reverend laughed again. “That would make you twelve then, wouldn’t it?”
    â€œThey’ve come from the colonies,” Alexander explained. “Rhode Island.”
    â€œRhode Island,” the reverend said, nodding. “I did my undergraduate studies at Yale, in Connecticut, and my postgraduate at the College of New Jersey. And I lived in Delaware for a time. So tell me, how are things in the colonies?”
    He asked the question with a somber tone.
    â€œThings are . . . fine,” Felix said.
    Alexander