Boston 1774

Chapter 3: Questions

The next morning, I was awakened by my name being called and a hand on my arm, “Charity Edwards.”

I blinked a few times to regain my surroundings, suddenly remembering I was in my house, on the couch, and I had guests. I quickly sat up and brushed the hand off, “I apologize.” I looked up into the eyes of Private Hall.

“No need to apologize, ma’am.” He turned his voice into a whisper, “It’s our fault you can’t rest in your own room.”

I stood and smoothed out my dress, “No, no, don’t feel bad. I understand.” I turned away from him and walked into the kitchen, supposing they were waiting for breakfast.

As soon as I walked into the dining room, my eyes fell on the Colonel and Major, noticing they were back.

“Finally,” Colonel Brampton sat up in his chair, taking his feet off the table, “I do believe we don’t have breakfast prepared for us.”

“That is correct, sir, I do apologize.” I turned away and briskly walked into the kitchen, infuriated. 

They hadn’t been here more than twelve hours and they were already demanding so much from me. They expected me to clean up after them, make their food, and do my daily chores without the help of my brother. Noah. They took Noah away just for refusing them. They knew I would live alone without him, without help. They were living in my house, taking my food, taking my room, and most likely going through personal books and items. It was all Colonel Brampton’s idea. His idea to make me suffer, to make me upset, to make me snap. But I decided right then as I prepared them breakfast, that I wouldn’t give them that luxury. I wouldn’t show them how upset I was, I wouldn’t show them anger.

As I thought and cooked breakfast, I was unaware of someone walking into the kitchen, placing a book down, then leaving. I noticed it only when I turned away to grab plates from the cabinet. I paused and looked down at the page the book was turned to. It was our family tree, the book I had always been forbidden to open. 

The page that was open was the most recent family, going back to 1750. It showed my parents, my siblings (of which I had one), cousins, and grandparents. I read over each name wondering why someone would place the book open to that page specifically. I finished at the bottom of the page seeing nothing out of the ordinary, then at second glance, I noticed a name with a title in front. Everyone else in the family tree was in the book just by name, but this one had a title. 

I was snapped out of my thoughts by Colonel Brampton's sharp call for breakfast. I quickly picked up two plates and walked into  the dining room. I placed the first plate in front of Brampton, the second in front of Miller, and walked back to the kitchen. I noticed Miller watching me as if he was expecting me to act out like Noah. And of course, I wouldn't. I picked up the last two plates and set them in front of Kirkland and Hall. I walked into the living room to tidy up, letting them have their own conversations. 

I opened the curtains in the front of the house, letting light from the morning sun in. The street was as busy as usual, and the noise from the street made its way through the thin glass and the slightly cracked windows. I unlatched the window and pushed it up, unlocked the shutters from the inside, and pushed them open. The outside air was warm as it pushed itself in, and the breeze winding its way through the streets from the ocean was cool. I pulled the curtains away from the window and tied them with a rope. I moved on to the other three front windows, and turned up the stairs to do the same in the bedrooms upstairs. 

I walked into my room first, as it was in the front of the house, and walked into the front and did the same there. The street looked like it always had, filled with people, children, carriages, and horses. But the one difference was the men in red jackets, coming and going into my neighbors’ homes, even those I didn’t know, and I felt for them. Who it was that I felt sympathetic for, I wasn’t sure, maybe it was my neighbors, who had been so kind to me and others, who had to house soldiers like myself. Finances were already hard, and having to house more than you had before was even harder - not to mention the food and ordinary supply shortages. Maybe I should feel bad for the soldiers, many of whom, much like Private Hall, looked no more than eighteen.

I didn’t know. I was torn, and my newest revelation didn’t help. At that moment, I decided to visit my parents and ask what really happened. My father would be working, but my mother could give some answers. While I was still in my own room, I picked out a new dress and closed my door. I took the one from the day before off, not bothering to change the shorter undergown, and slipped the other one on. After practicing for a few years, I was able to tie up the back of my own dress in a few short minutes. I brushed my hair out and pulled it back into a braid, then wrapped it around in a bun. My mother hated it when my hair was down, and I never knew why.

I left my room and went down the stairs, not giving the men a second glance. I picked up what was usually my vegetable basket and laid a cloth in it, setting a roll and a small jar of butter and jam. I closed it up and without another word, left out the back door. It was the quickest way to my mother’s house, and it helped me avoid the more crowded streets. As I walked east, toward the harbor, hundreds of masts rose above the city. Some of them were merchant ships, now stuck in the harbor, but most of them were British warships. There was a better time, a time when I didn’t have to take the back street unless I wanted to, and a time when we didn’t have to borrow from our neighbors.

After a good bit of walking, I knocked on the front door, and let myself in since I was no stranger to the house. The house was quiet, which told me we had no soldiers in the house. I always knew father would never let that happen.

If anything  the house was elegant and clean. It mirrored my brother’s house in many ways, as many of our furnishings were from my parent’s house. It wasn’t long until I heard my mother’s quiet footsteps and gentle voice.

“Charity, dear, is that you?” my mother asked as she walked in from the parlor.

“Yes, it’s me, mother,” I gave her a hug as she walked over and held out the basket, “I brought a small gift for you.”

My mother must have known something was off, because as soon as we had taken our seat in the parlor she asked, “What is the matter? You don’t look well.”

“Oh no, I’m alright. We are, as of last night, housing four of His Majesty’s soldiers.” I explained to put my mother at ease. If I was going to ask her about a subject that seems to be sensitive, I needed to be on her good side.

“Well good. How are they?” She helped herself to a roll and jam, with her tea that she already had.

“One is rather nice. He’s the youngest and a new Private. The other three are nothing but rude. They would like nothing better than to expel us from the house, but they aren’t legally allowed to. They constantly bring up the city’s state. As if I need to be reminded.” I was able to open up around my mother, just like every daughter was able to, and with no man in the house, I could say whatever I wanted.

My mother merely finished her sip and placed her light, pink and white teacup on its platter. “Just remember, dear, we have to be patient. It’s going to be hard, and it’s going to be trying. Remember the sermon on Sunday. This is only a passing moment, a trial, and it will pass. Just show them as much kindness and compassion as you can, and go above and beyond to make them feel at home.”

I took her words to heart, then pulled out something that had bothered me all morning, “But mother, why look through family items?”

She seemed to pause for a moment as if unsure where I was going, “What did they find dear?” 

“They found our family tree. Who is Richard Howe, and why is he written as your brother?” I watched her reaction closely, like watching a pot on the edge of overboiling.

My mother closed her eyes for a second, then opened them and looked at me, her dark green eyes full of sadness, “Yes, he is my brother. You are his niece. Your father and I married twenty-eight years ago, but he disapproved of the match. He came to the wedding anyways, and as you know, it’s normal for the head of the hosting household to announce other’s accomplishments. The day before, both of my brothers, Richard and William, had both received promotions in the Navy. Your father, who was already planning to leave England and come here, thought it was the last piece in his puzzle.”

I finished for her, “So you left and haven’t had contact with your father or siblings.”

“Yes, dear. Oh, I do wish you could have known your uncles. They were such kind gentlemen, and they would be proud of what you have become. Alas, my time here in Boston has turned me in favor of this Patriot’s cause.” She gently took my hand, “I know you are still deciding, and I won’t be disappointed if you choose Richard’s side or ours.”

I wish those words had helped in that moment, but they didn’t. If anything it made me feel more torn. England was my mother’s homeland and where her family still lived. But it was the same country that had thousands of men occupying the same city that my father calls home. There was more to it. I knew, but I didn’t press her any further.

“Thank you for telling me,” I stood, smoothing out my dress and picking up the basket, “I will take your wise words to heart mother and will try my best to be patient.”

“And thank you for visiting, it has been so long.” She remained seated as I made my way to the door.

I stepped backwards out of the door and closed it gently. I turned to walk back onto the street and gasped as I ran into a man in a red coat.

“Are you ready to go home?”

I looked up into the face of the very man who had shown me my past. Lieutenant Kirkland. He had followed me.