Rebels of Reflection

Chapter 25

Thomas' question had left me with a restless night. I was tossing and turning in his warm bed, curled up, staring outside at the pier through the glass window. Boats reeled in, and people unboarded, tying them to the harbor. It was late, but there were still some stray people fishing and chattering to others on the pier.

I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. Yawning, I swung my legs out of the bed and slowly tiptoed to the door. Wooden floorboards creaked underneath my bare feet. Keeping sure to be quiet, I placed a hand on the brass doorknob and slowly turned it open. The long hallway stretched ahead of me, lined with beautiful paintings of British soldiers. Quietly, I tiptoed along the hallway, passing Thomas' room and heading towards the stairs. They curved down towards the main living room, lined with beautiful red carpeting fringed with silver strands of string. Thomas Preston was a wealthy man to have such a fine house, but not as wealthy as John Hancock had been.

As I quickly skittered down the stairs, I kept a hand on the railing to keep myself steady. The stairs curved into the living room, where a table covered in a blank white tablecloth stood, silver knives, forks, spoons, and fine china covering the small table. Farther behind the small table was a chair in front of a small cozy, fireplace lined with stone bricks, with a fire iron nearby to tend the flames. I walked along the floors, heading towards the door.

A pair of keys rested on a drawer. I grabbed it, pulling on a pair of pants and a shirt, shoving the keys into my pocket. Letting out a long sigh, I walked over to the exit door, wooden and solid. The doorknob was once again brass. Slowly, I placed a hand on the doorknob and turned it softly, stepping out into the cold night air.