The Patriot's Daughter

Intruder Outside

MY HOME AHEAD SHOUTS simplicity, sitting in an open field, dark frame made of timber enhanced against light colored grass. The only reason Papa chose to build the house so close to town was because of his local duties to River Springs, ones he wouldn't be able to fulfill if far away . . . as he is now.
    I exit the forest dressed in sweat, hair sticking to my clammy and moist skin in a tangly mess. The sun's heat beats down on my skin without the concealment of the trees. The house is maybe a hundred yards away, so I pick up my pace. Dusk still won't come for several hours, but we'll need every minute to decide which necessities to bring and get back to meet Liam. I run through my head the most important things to bring with me, most important being my journal.
      I smile, feeling the bulge in my dress's lower left pocket, where it always stays, hidden and safe. The small booklet is not the same as my other belongings. It carries the words of my mother that I never want to forget, every page filled with black ink, memories of her guidance and counseling written down.
    Other necessities include a change of clothes, the canteen Papa gave me, the pocket Bible given to me by Uncle Henry, and a ribbon to keep my hair back. I remind myself not to worry too much; most likely we won't be gone for more than a week. Our soldiers will guard the town, and we'll come back after they've cleared any threats. Perhaps I'll even get to see Papa at this camp Liam speaks of. 
     I stop short, body freezing in between the house and the forest.
     My eyes fall on a dark-headed figure ahead, a man sitting on a barrel at the back of our house. His silhouetted frame is just barely visible from where I stand. I frown, stepping closer toward the long legged stranger, his clothing black as night and much more elaborate then what you can get in River Springs. Then I hear a familiar giggle. A poised and thinner frame sits on the man's lap, feet swinging back and forth above the ground in mischievous delight. My pace picks up, eyes squinting in the sun to see her dress catch the light breeze in the air and drape freely over the man's knees. Then I see the way her hair glistens, golden locks reflecting the sun's light.
        Irene.
       Pushing my previous thoughts aside, I pick up my pace, now determined to find out why Irene, just barely sixteen, would ever be sitting on a such a stranger's lap.
       The brat's been sneaking around with a—a man!
      I practically gag into my hand at the thought, almost running now. The dark-headed figure turns, easily noticing me approaching with the sun shining down onto my narrow form. He frowns, pulling Irene closer.
    Questions plummet my thoughts. What is she thinking? Who is this man? The tall and dark stranger has to be a good four years older than Irene. I'm still a few yards away, so I raise my voice to be heard, eyes locking with the man. "Excuse me. You are on my property."
     Quicker than a beat, I catch Irene's disdainful glare.
     "Your property?" The stranger turns, speaking into Irene's ear. "Irene, who is this?" Irene holds my gaze, her face contorting as my eyebrows raise in question.      
    "No one, Warren. She'll be leaving." She squints at me, scowling under her tight lips.  Warren looks back to me expectantly but doesn't argue with Irene.
      I smile, turning to the stranger. "I apologize for being obtrusive during your secret gathering," I catch Irene's flushing cheeks, "but I must ask that you leave."
      Warren pauses, then points to his chest, laughing amusingly. "Me? Are you serious? And just what are you going to do if I don't leave?" He frowns, pausing again. "Who are you anyways?"
    He's anything but intimidating, though I can see he tries hard to be otherwise. In one wide stride, I'm at the barrel. "I don't have to tell you that." His eyes squint incredulously as mine narrow, the tone in my voice steady. "Do not confuse me with a fool; no one in their right mind allows a stranger to continue lounging near their home." I glance at the wood behind his back. "Or a few feet from it." I lean in closer, and my eyebrows raise. "Off the barrel . . ."
       "Oh, Maddie!" Irene's voice peaks to a pitiful wail, arms thrusting around Warren's neck with the exasperated fling of her wrists. "You may demand no such thing! Warren's my guest and he's staying! Isn't that right, dear?"
       Warren looks away, acknowledging Irene. "Uh, of course, dear. As if I'm hurting anything anyways! Seems to me you ladies could use a man around this house." He shrugs, glancing back at me with a defensive wrinkle of his brow.
      I suppress an annoyed laugh. "How do I know that you won't do harm? And Irene, this is my home, not yours. You are only here at the mercy of my father." I look at Warren with determination. "And he, the colonel, is already the man of this house."
     He frowns, lips twitching. Irene's face reddens, but she has no time to respond.
     "I'm sure you both are having the most marvelous time, really, but I insist, sir, that you leave immediately." I meet Irene's scornful stare and motion for her to follow. "Come on Irene. We have stew to finish."
       She remains in his lap, clinging to his neck like a lost child. "Why would I ever listen to you?"
       I cock my head. "Because I'll let Sarah know about this deplorable event if you don't. Why, she's sure to become enraged at the discovery of her own daughter sneaking around with a man nowhere near your age!" 
      Warren flushes deeply, releasing Irene. "I, uh, should leave you two alone." He slides off the barrel, forcing Irene to her feet.
       I watch amusingly at Irene's baffled face. "Warren!" She makes two fists with her hands, hitting them against her sides.
       "I'll see you later." He nods hastily to Irene and steps away from the porch. A look of annoyance intended for me shoots off his face, his tall frame passing by. I watch him go, his form growing smaller once he walks past the house and towards the main part of town.
       "Well?"
       I turn in response to Irene's demand, facing her crossed arms and mouth turned into a pout.
     "Well what?" My voice turns into a half growl.
       "Well, what was that?"
       "Oh, please." I grab her arm, pulling her along with me.
       She stands her ground, resisting my hold. "Let go of me! Ugh! Maddie!"
       Halting and releasing her arm, I whip around. "Just what do you think you were doing, Irene? Bringing some stranger to our home? Has all sense left you!"
       "I know him!" She rubs her arm exaggeratedly.
       "Really? You know him so well from those few shared laughs and whispers on a barrel?"
        Her chin quivers as her widened eyes suddenly fill with offended tears. I resist a perturbed sigh, softening my voice. "Irene . . . if you want to get to know a young man, invite him to laugh and talk with all of us at dinner or something of the sort. Not in secret with no accountability."
       Her watery eyes roll as she scoffs. "Laugh and talk? I don't even think Warren could get you to laugh."
       My weight shifts to one side, hands planting on the lower half of my hips. "What's that supposed to mean?"
       She shrugs, folding both arms. "You know . . . lately you're just so stiff all the time."
       Though I squint under my furrowed brow, I quickly dismiss her comment with a sigh, eager to end the argument. "Listen, Sarah will find out about—about this." I wave my hand, gesturing to the vacant barrel and hitting nothing but air as my eyes suddenly narrow in suspicious. "How long have you been meeting with him?"
       She huffs under her breath, unresponsive. My lips purse, head shaking irritatedly. "Fine. But you can't keep meeting in secret like this anymore. It's just childish! Besides, why marry a guy if he's someone you would never introduce to your mother?"
     "And tell me," she quickens, "how is this any different than your secret meetings with that little old man in town? The one that's been teaching you that useless drivel of a game? Oh, what do they call it? Ah, yes! Checkers?"
       My teeth grit. "It's chess."
      "So? It's still drivel, and he's still just a useless old man who will probably be—"
      "Stop!" I cringe as my eyes flutter shut. "Do not speak of Uncle Henry that way."
       She lets out a heavy laugh. "Well, why ever not? I am only speaking the truth—"
       "You know nothing of the truth, Irene." I open my eyes and force a sharp breath through my nose. "My situation is different."
       "How so?"
       "Because it is," I snap, frustration boiling, pulling at her arm again. "Come on, we don't have time for this. I have an urgent message from Papa."