Lexington: Anatomy of a Novel Chapters 51, 52

 

Chapter 51

Geneva, Switzerland

May

I’VE GONE OVER the previous 128 pages and done my first round of corrections before continuing. Because we were in quarantine, there were fewer distractions.

I think I can see the end as we get closer to the April Lexington battle. I know where I’m going with Daphne, Gareth and Florence, although that doesn’t mean I won’t change if I feel I need to alter the story..

My husband wants to see what I’ve written so he can read it on his flight from Toulouse to Dallas next week. We’ll be out of quarantine so he can see his grand kids in Dallas and then attend an aviation conference in Florida. It is part of his work as an aviation journalist. One of the joys of being married to a writer is to share our work in progress.

I haven’t told him about these “anatomy” insertions, but he will notice my new working title Anatomy of a Novel: Lexington. I already visualize the cover. I’m curious about his reaction. What will I do if he hates it?

Chapter 52

Brookline, Massachusetts

November

 

“Brilliant, absolutely brilliant.” Daphne sat in Florence’s studio. She had commandeered the cupola on the third floor of the French Consul General’s home in Brookline.

 

“Far enough away from any chance somebody will wander in when we entertain and there’s a WC just at the bottom of the stairs.” Florence waved toward the door.

 

Although it was a cloudy day, the windows around the cupola let in enough light that even without the spotlights that had been installed for Florence, she had the illumination she needed to work either on the computer or on her drawing board.

 

“You like them? They’re still preliminary.” Florence had created the drawings for the comic book on computer but had printed off paper copies for Daphne and handed her a pencil in case she wanted to make any changes or notes.

 

Daphne was sitting at the drawing board. A table to the right had the same drawing on an enlarged computer screen.

 

“You’ve translated my story ideas … well, I’m not sure how to say it.”

 

“I like brilliant.”

 

Abigail was shown feeding the chickens and churning butter. Another panel showed her eavesdropping on a meeting of the local Sons of Liberty, who were plotting on how to get the cannons from the firebox at the writing school on Boston Common out to the countryside.

 

The plan to move them by cart hidden under hay or maybe even manure was shown in a bubble over Abigail’s father head.

 

Abigail’s twin brother Adam was allowed to be at the meeting. As a girl, she was not.

 

“Nothing like making a feminist statement while we’re at it,” Florence said. She went to the coffee machine to the right of the entrance and made two espressos. “Sugar?”

 

Daphne shook her head. She was entranced by Abigail’s face. The girl was beautiful. She could have walked off the paper and found a job modeling anywhere in the world.

 

What Daphne had found particularly difficult to do was to create the condensed speech balloons, but she and Florence had decided that they could write one or two sentences at the bottom of each panel to increase the storyline. Words were economical but dense.

 

Gareth had noticed that she was no longer going to the library as often. “Too cold,” Daphne had said.

 

What she did the moment he left was work on the storyline. When the words wouldn’t come, she would search the internet for images of furniture, house interiors and exteriors, dishes and clothing she had not found in books. These she e-mailed to Florence. Many of them were now incorporated into the drawings.

 

As for the exterior backgrounds, the two women had spent three days taking photos of the area and houses either together or alone.

 

“Your stone wall is unbelievable.” Daphne saw how Abigail was walking on a path next to the wall, arguing with her father to be allowed to go to Boston with him and Adam to retrieve the cannon from the schoolhouse. The balloon over her head said, “They’ll never think a girl would hide a cannon.”

 

“There wasn’t a girl in that wagon as far as we know.” Daphne was bothered that Florence had changed her text where Abigail wanted to go with her father, and he said no. They needed to discuss if he should change his mind. 

 

“How historically accurate do we have to be?” Florence asked.

 

“As close as possible,” Daphne said.

“Think of the movie Braveheart.”

 

“Do I have to? It was historically incorrect. I’m a Scot, remember?”

 

“But it makes a better a story,” Florence said.

Before Daphne could say anything Florence made another stab. “You told me the stolen cannon was moved in a wagon covered with manure. We have fictitious characters throughout the comic book. A kid reading the comic book won’t care if we don’t have the real name of the wagon owner much less a passenger. The manure is accurate.”

 

Before Daphne could respond, Florence said, “The girls reading the comic book would find the feisty Abigail much more appealing if she was more participatory.”

 

“But …”

 

“Women in those days needed to be strong. I need to do more tweaking on the parts about the battle itself. Maybe we should have her dress in Adam’s clothes.”

 

“Would she be able to shoot a gun?” Florence asked.

 

“Probably. It’s probably too late for danger from Indians, but since she’s living in the country, we can have her hunt with her brother and father.”

 

Florence looked at her watch. “I have this stupid luncheon with the accompanying EU wives in an hour. Take the drawings home and get back on what you think?”

 

Daphne had been planning to stay longer. She would have had to do the same luncheon pre-Brexit. Although she thought Brexit was dumb, at least she had one personal advantage, which was no way to think about foreign policy, she knew.

 

“I thought I had escaped it, but at the last minute, Charlotte twisted my arm.”

 

“You don’t need to explain. We’re in the same situation. Do things we don’t want to do because of our husbands and country.”

 

Florence’s phone rang.

 

Daphne motioned that she could leave to give her friend privacy.

 

Instead, Florence put it on speaker after saying, “Hello, Jason.”

 

At first Daphne thought he might be a boyfriend the way they phone flirted, then Jason said, “How about lunch next Monday?” adding, “And bring your partner.”

 

Florence looked at Daphne, who put her hands out as if to say, “I don’t understand.”

 

“Daphne’s here with me, Jason. Daphne, you free next Monday?”

 

Daphne nodded.

 

“By the way, Daphne, meet Jason, Jason, meet Daphne.”

 

“Hi, Daphne.”

 

“Hello, Jason.”

 

“Gotta run, Sweetheart. See you and Daphne next Monday.”

 

“What was that about?”

 

“Jason and I had a lot of classes together when I took night classes. He’s a Commissioning Editor at Grayson, Inc.”

 

“And that’s . . .”

 

“An educational publisher. He wants to see what we’ve got done. I didn’t want to get your hopes up until he agreed to look at our work.”