Patriots: Boston

Chapter Three Being a Lady

When a father tells his daughter to hide something in her petticoats, most girls would find that very strange and even offensive. I on the other hand, know it is what I must do to keep these messages safe. If I was caught, it would be a disgrace for anyone, especially a man, to check my petticoats. The messages to the Sons are carefully disguised and use cryptography in case someone was to read them. To a non-Son, it would look like a different language and be completely indecipherable. I of course know the shift and can read, but British soldiers or king loving colonists could never figure out what the messages say.
   I took the stack of letters from my father and ran into the kitchen, where there were no men or boys. My sister Eleanor was stirring soup and gave me a puzzled expression. She is much better at being ladylike than I am. She is also a very pretty young girl with luscious golden brown hair and hazel eyes.
   "Liza, what on earth are you doing?" She asked as I furiously stuffed letters in between the fabric of my petticoats.
  "Things," I said.
  "What sort of things?" She asked.
  "Liza!" My mother shouted right above my head. "What do you think you're doing?!"
  "Something for Papa," I said standing up quickly.
  "I am tired of you always going off on crazy secret missions for your father and the boys! You are a lady, and should start acting like one! You are not a crazy young revolutionary!" She complained.
  "But Ma!" I said. "You don't like all of the British soldiers all around the town and in our shop! You don't like crazy King George taxing us without representation! You don't like the fact that we are treated like we're nothing and have no rights in this land where we are supposed to be free!" I began my rant.
  "Freedom? It's the puritans who are persecuting us for our faith, not the king!" She shouted.
  "You are really for the king, Ma? The Sons are all for religious freedom! Papa was never treated well for his faith in England! If we rebel against the British and win, we can have our proper rights as people and govern ourselves!" I continued with my patriotic rant.
  "Liza Byers! You know I'm not all for the king, I just think this whole crusade for independence is a shot in the dark!  We are horribly outmatched! People will be dying for nothing! Don't let yourself be one of them! Don't let your father or friends do it either! I heard the way you talked to that officer earlier! You are going to get yourselves shot! It's just not worth it!" She ranted back.
   "Ma, it's not for nothing! Just think! Freedom! Freedom to be Catholics! Freedom to buy and sell our goods! Freedom for us children to live and grow! We can be an example to other nations! France! Russia! All of those places where people are oppressed! They'll hear of us Americans and stand up to fight too! I'm doing my part! I'll protect Papa and Zeb and Isaac-" she cut me off.
  "You will stay out of the whole thing all together! Your father will not be going under my watch! There's no stopping Zeb once his time is over, but I hope he'll come to his senses and not go. Isaac is an absolute no. You, Elizabeth Byers, are a lady. There is no place for proper ladies on the battle field or up in those drunken meetings of the Sons talking of war. Your place is in a quiet room sewing on a sampler or drinking tea, which we can't get, because of those revolutionaries! Start sweeping the floor and get ready for your etiquette lessons," she thrust the broom into my hands and walked out of the room to retrieve the crying baby.
   "You are a revolutionary?" Eleanor whispered. "Unacceptable!"
   "Who asked you for your opinion?" I snapped.
   "You'll never land a good husband and become a proper gentlewoman when you're running around to meetings and shooting on battlefields!" She shook her head disapprovingly.
  "You realize I'm not going into battle. I just wanted to do a job for Papa. He's safer if I do it," I protested.
  "When are you going to go out if Ma is like this and Miss Cadwell is coming for our lessons?" Eleanor asked.
  "I hate etiquette lessons! I can sit up straight and use manners if I want to. I can curtsy and show that I'm so called 'cultured.' There are just more important things in life! Brains! Strength of character! Kindness! Freedom! Women do not have to be little pretty things to look at with your eyes! They can make money and have the same rights as men! Don't tell me you wouldn't like that, Eleanor!" I said.
"I don't care. I want a good husband to protect me and make money so that I can go dancing every night!" Eleanor said dreamily.
"You won't be able to leave the house if we don't fight for our rights!" I pointed out.
"You should get to sweeping, Liza. We don't want Miss Cadwell to see the mess," Eleanor said, changing the subject.
"What would Miss Cadwell be doing in the kitchen?" I asked under my breath.
She didn't hear me.
Soon enough, Miss Cadwell was at the door of the shop. I opened it and curtsied.
"Good afternoon, Miss Cadwell. Please allow me to lead you to the parlor." I said politely.
"Very good, Elizabeth," she said, her blue eyes sparkling. She always seemed to be treating us like babies. That's understandable for Dolly or Constance, but it seems a little strange for me.
We walked into our shabby excuse for a parlor. It was a room with a big window and pretty light yellow curtains with little pink flowers on them. There was a fancy cushioned love seat and a matching chair that matched the curtains. This may sound nice, but there was not enough room for even all of us girls to sit down and we needed to bring in our shabby old kitchen benches which are on the verge of falling apart. Also, the curtain rod falls down with a loud crash every other week. The floor is always dirty no matter how often or hard I work to sweep and scrub it. Miss Cadwell tries to hide her feelings about it like a lady, but even the mistress of manners can't pretend that she doesn't find our "parlor" disgusting.
When we walked in, I saw that Eleanor, Constance, and Dolly had already taken up all of the space on the love seat, so that left me to the bench. I smoothed my skirts and sat down. All of a sudden it rocked. The clunking on the floor was very loud. Miss Cadwell shot me one of her tranquil but "seriously knock it off before I lose it and pass out because of my stays" looks. I steadied the bench with my foot and it stopped rocking.
"Now girls, we've been sewing on our samplers. Have we not?" She asked in her stately British accent.
"Yes, Miss Cadwell," My sisters and I said in unison.
"Very good! Might I see them?" She asked as she got up to inspect our samplers.
My sisters and I pulled out our sewing hoops with cloth pulled taught within its jaws. All of ours had many stitches made with different colored thread. Dolly's had a little pink flower stitched in it perfectly. She was very good at embroidery. Constance's sampler had a whole bouquet stitched in it. Eleanor had beautiful mountains and a sun embroidered on hers. I had embroidered the liberty tree on mine. When Miss Cadwell saw mine, she was confused. I couldn't tell anyone (especially her) I wanted to help the rebels, but I thought the liberty tree would be a nice gift for my father for his birthday.
   "A tree? As nice as it is, Elizabeth, I don't see why you would choose an old tree over a beautiful bouquet of flowers or a nature scene! It's just brown and green and I see you have a blue background and green grass, but there are better things you could have done with this talent!" She almost seemed to scold me.
  "I'm sorry, Miss Cadwell. I just like trees I guess," I began, "This tree is where I go to think and to study philosophy and science and-"
  "Trees are no place for gentlewomen to study a man's subjects," she scolded me again.
  "Forgive me, Miss Cadwell, but why can't gentlewomen study philosophy and science and have opinions on anything?" I asked as politely as I could. I was losing patience.
  "Gentlewomen are supposed to run their households and carry themselves with grace and elegance. It is not their place to speak on such matters. A gentlewoman's place is in her well run home," she explained. "Now, time for tea."
  "We don't have any tea in the house," Constance said.
  "I brought my own," Miss Cadwell said tersely.
  We all sat around the tea table, which was really a small display shelf from the shop, on three legged stools. These stools were not in the best condition either.
  "Eleanor, the kettle please?" Miss Cadwell asked.
  Eleanor hurried back with the kettle of boiling hot water. She then poured it into the tea pot. The water poured smoothly into the pot until one of the legs of my stool snapped, dumping me onto the ground. This startled Eleanor and caused her to spill a few drops of water onto the table cloth. She turned bright red with embarrassment. Miss Cadwell looked displeased.
  "Oh I'm so sorry! Forgive me, Miss Cadwell!" Eleanor pleaded.
  "Gentlewomen are not clumsy apes!" She scolded. "Elizabeth, have you gained weight? Are you not wearing your corset? Your stool would not have broken if one of those two things did not happen!" She scolded me.
  I wanted to fight back. "I apologize!" I said half heartedly. "I should have starved myself. Then the already rickety stool may not have collapsed under the weight of my natural body! I am so sorry."
  Miss Cadwell looked horrified, but decided not to scold me even more. "D-D-Dolly, go get one of your father's boys to fix the stool. Eleanor, do not spill anymore water!"
  "Y-yes ma'am," Eleanor whispered.
"Elizabeth, sit on another stool! Constance, please fetch my hand bag!" Miss Cadwell was almost shouting at us now.
   Constance hurried back with the pretty satin bag and Dolly was dragging Isaac by the hand. Eleanor had put the kettle back in the kitchen.
  "What do you need, again?" Isaac asked.
  "I've busted my stool," I said in my normal way.
  Miss Cadwell cleared her throat, signaling I was doing something wrong.
  "I mean, my stool has broken. Will you please fix it, kind sir?" I said, trying not to laugh.
  He of course had no shame. He silently chuckled at me as he picked up the stool and walked back into the shop.
  Then we all heard his voice mocking me in a high pitched British accent. "My stool has broken! Will you please fix it, kind sir?"
   He and Zeb broke out into roaring laughter that could be heard from the shop. I struggled to contain myself, but somehow I did it.
  Miss Cadwell pulled two dreaded East India tea bags from her handbag and placed them into the pot. This was the tea Zeb and his friends had dumped into Boston Harbor two years ago. The king had allowed only the East India company to sell tea legally and taxed it too high for us colonists to afford. Therefore it was dumped, and I still disliked that company and had not had even one sip of  tea since then.
   Miss Cadwell poured my cup of tea and handed it to me daintily. I thanked her as I should, but immediately turned my spoon over backwards on top of the cup to balance it. This was not disrespectful. In fact, it was the universal silent signal for saying you would take no tea politely. She looked at me puzzled, then angrily because I had done something right. She did not like when I was right about something she despised. How angry she was when all that tea was dumped! She is a real king lover.
  My sisters all sipped their tea properly and ate their little cakes. I ate the cakes but drank not a single drop of tea. Finally it was time for Miss Cadwell to leave. We all said goodbye and thanked her for the lesson and she was off (much to my relief.)
   All that time had been burned, and I still had my mission to attend to!