The Patriot's Daughter

New Merices

I BEND TO A KNEE, letting dirt fall through my fingers. Covered in dust is every inch of my hometown. Looking up, I study the shops. Annie's still stands, though the entire left side has fallen.
     I rise, wiping my hands, walking up the wooden steps I once skipped to get a stick of chocolate.
     "Maddie, you know she loves you," she tried to convince me of Sarah as she leaned on the counter, hazel eyes reading every part of mine as if she was my own mother. My eyes burn, threatened by tears of regret.
     I walk into the shop, coughing away dust, finding pieces of candy littered across the broken floors. The shop used to be beautiful, now down to only half a wall and some steps. "Oh, Miss Annie . . ." I finger the paper covering some candies, lowering to the floors. My eyes sweep over the room. "I'm so sorry."
     A loud commotion sounds from outside the shop as I rise and walk. Looking out the door, I find the faces of people of River Springs who have begun to gather once they had seen that they have visitors. I step out slowly, frowning, each step creaking as I walk down. The few people who are awake suddenly yell and jab insults, unable to discuss what to do about people riding upon town.
     I hurry, approaching with swift feet.
     "Please, do not fight." My compassionate eyes sweep over the tired faces. They recognize me as the colonel's daughter almost immediately. The man to my right, a bushy red head with intense blue eyes, points a finger with a lit grin.
     "Maddie! What are you doing here?"
     "Where's the colonel?"
     "Are those nasty redcoats coming back?"
     The rest gasp and spit curses at the last comment. I flinch, hurting at the state of our people who obviously do not know what else to do besides quarrel. Anxiously, I glance behind my shoulder, finding him approaching the bottom of the hill. "Look . . ." I turn back, finding their scared eyes. "My father is coming. We're taking you to a safe haven immediately. You all need to gather your things. Where are the rest of the townspeople?"
     One woman shakes her head tiredly, almost unwilling to respond. "They all would rather stay inside the shops where they have set up shelter. They're too scared to go back to their homes."
     Sadness pricks my heart. It all came down so fast, and they had no time to prepare.
     No matter. We must move now.
     I raise my voice a little louder, gathering every ounce of courage left in me as the
people shuffle. "Go, warn the rest of the people. We must leave for the safe haven immediately." I pause, watching their feet planted to the ground in confusion. My eyes widen, lips parting. "Do you want to be here when the redcoats return? Please, hurry!"
     The small group moves hurriedly, spreading out to the various shops where others have holed up. I walk back to the bottom of the hill to meet the men as the sun rises higher and light peeks through the trees. Papa hops down, taking Michael off the saddle as Fields jumps to the ground beside them. "They said the rest of the people have been hiding since the attack." I furrow my brow in displeasure, ashamed of my people's cowardice yet sympathetic to their fear. "What are my orders, Papa?" I look up to his focused blue gaze sweeping over the emptiness of town.
     "Bring the horses to town, tie them up and gather the people." His eyes flicker to mine in a moment of fierce determination that mirrors my own as he walks past my shoulder, head up, strides strong.
     I grab the reins to Patriot and Faithful and lead them forward. Michael falls in step by me, clenching the material of my dress. Pulling his head into my side, I narrow a darkened gaze on the streets of town, targeting one shop after tying up the horses.
     The boards creak under my feet with every step, wind whistling through the cracks and crevices. Peeking through, I search the small room inside the boutique with hesitant eyes. I almost call out until I see heads raise from behind broken counters. Releasing Michael, I hold my breath, stepping forward. "Please, come outside. The colonel is back from war and is here to take us to a safe haven."
     Fearfully, several heads pop up along with tired bodies, and an older woman with gray hair steps forward as she smooths down her brown dress. "My dear, you are an answer to prayer. Where is your father?" She looks about, then back behind her shoulder at the rest of the hiding citizens. "Take courage, my friends. We are safe now. The Lord is on our side."
     I admire the woman, nodding quickly to the rest. "Follow me."
     The rest emerge from the building like flocks of sheep, at least twenty coming out of hiding and ducking their heads upon exiting. I step backwards, my skips turning carefree and my smile light. "Do not be afraid. You are all alright now." A small woman smiles in the back, catching my eye. I spin, jogging with Michael in hand to the next shop, giving the same report to the people inside. "Gather all you have, especially any weapons and food, meet outside in front of Annie's."
     At least one hundred have gathered together by the end of half an hour. Papa looks to the group and nods confidently. I can't help but grin, grateful. As Papa counts the heads, I begin to turn. Brushing hair away from my eyes, my glance stops on a small house on the outskirts of town, its door wide open and chimney cold and empty.
     Something constricts in my throat as I step forward. Michael's hand slips out from my own. The house is dark and cold. I can tell even from so many yards away. I squint, titling my head in a light cock and picking up my pace. The familiarity beckons me, and I can almost hear Sarah's demanding screams and Michael's bubbling laughter, his scuffling boots, if I listen close enough and close my eyes. The windows are shattered. My steps become silent as they sweep through dead grass, eyes falling on the house now just in front of me. It's so close that I reach out several fingers to trace the dark, dying wood, and my breath becomes chilly as I breathe out, leaning my forehead against the rough outside wall.
     How many times have I smiled in this house? Cried in Papa's arms . . . dreamed in Mama's?
     I let the tears fall from my cheeks and wet the dry grass. A whimper shakes my shoulders as it quietly escapes my lips. The air is musty, itching at my nose as I swipe my eyes and step through. Tables are overturned and the cupboard where I once retrieved my tea cup is torn out from the wall. The floor's splintered wood lies underneath cracked cups and plates.
     My head moves in slow, soft shakes, feet planted. To take Michael and do this to the house, my beloved home which has been the recipient of so many memories . . . the Royal Dragoons are heartless. Cold. My feet crunch above broken glass. As if the air is whispering, I hear her still.
     "You're too young to understand, child . . ."
     I shake, whipping to the side and watching the exchange.
     "You see, the mother I was raised by actually taught me a little something about dignity." I watched the color leave her face, the anger boil in her veins. And yet she couldn't respond as I plucked the toy soldier from her grip. "I made that money with my own hours," my pained voice echoes in my ears, off the cabin walls, to the ground below. "That's more than you'll ever do for this family."
     I look down to my feet, the air cold again. How was that not long ago, less than a week, when it seems like an eternity? I look back to the door, where a broken girl in her tattered dress stormed out, afraid and confused.
     Has that girl changed at all?
     I take light steps to the back room, ignoring the eery sound of boards creeping under my aging leather boots. I hold the edge of an emerging wall, entering the hallway leading to our bedrooms. Sarah's room sits on the far right, in the back. I take the turn, walking to and opening her door. The air inside seems even more dusty and cold than the rest of the house. As if death lingers around the corner, I hesitantly enter, hugging my sides, and eye the chest in front of Sarah's bed. My brow furrows in, heart pounding. I've never looked inside it, but now I'm drawn, as if thinking somehow in the chest I will find the secrets to her strange behavior. I walk and bend to the chest and finger it's lid. Opening with a quiet swing, I find a single letter atop pieces of clothing. The color of its brown paper stands out against the cream colored material beneath it, and I reach for it like it's a magnet. In my hands, the letter feels like sandpaper as I unfold its creased edges.
     "Mrs. Haverd . . ."
     "Haverd?" I question aloud.
     What in the world?
     I read on, eyes darting from line to line anxiously. A dark chill works down my spine as I walk back towards the front of the house, clenching the paper in hand. The first words are enough to stop me in my tracks.
     "Your reports are helpful. But information is scarce. The nights are becoming unbearable with the thought of Colonel John Holt still having breath in his lungs. We will fix that, won't we? Soon. But I need your help. I need more of it. You give me what I've required, and I'll give you a life you can only imagine. Marriage into the highest of society, wealth, status, it will all be yours. But first you must do your part. Gather the information of John's current position and the state of his regiment, and you will soon have the deserved love of a man that the colonel has never given.
Be quick, be lethal. —Dominick Ashton."
     My head spins as the floor rocks beneath me. I stumble to the front door, leaning against it's frame while looking out towards town. The people are rallying around Papa, ignited by the hope of a new haven. My breathing becomes quick, nausea twisting my insides. I clench my stomach, desperate for escape.
     Papa. I must get this to Papa!
    The traitors! They ruined everything, they freely handed Papa and my family over to the hands of evil, murderous men. And yet they're called Americans! I bite my cheek, looking quickly over the letter again. General Ashton was paying Sarah for information with the promise of marriage?
     I cover my mouth, sickened. It can't be, it just can't.
     Oh, Papa . . .
     How hated he is by this man. And whatever did he do to deserve such hate? I know
only half the story, which involves Mama, but it certainly does not warrant such cruelty from one man. I close my eyes, not willing to read it again, desperate to burn it, throw it, anything.
     Their voices outside reach my ears. Shouts of hope and more. I look out and watch them hug, clenching the paper. They laugh with the promise of safety, the expected journey ahead to Green Mountain. Smiling, every one of them breathes out relief and yet waits in anticipation to hear Papa's next words.
     His back straightens, and his stays lit with strong confidence. Pushing away from the doorframe, I can hear his clear and deep voice ring out among empty spaces and into the hearts of each person gathered.
     "We have a hope greater than ourselves." He points, lifting both eyes to the lightened skies. "Look up. Always look up, and you will no longer fear what is below." His smile is sure, so generous and warm. He pauses until meeting the eyes of each citizen. I'm now close enough to hear him as his voice drops. I keep walking towards the group as leaves crunch beneath my shoes, unable to give a smile even though the sun is starting to rise higher. "We will arrive late tonight, so prepare for a long journey. Pack all the food you can," Papa nods, looking upon their weary faces, "bring all the water you can get, and wrap up. It will be cold on these mountains."
     The people seem to pale at the mention of climbing North Carolina's vast mountains, but the hopeful spark in Papa's eyes is a light in the dark. It will carry them on, keeping them awake with faith, fueled with belief. "Do not be discouraged. We have mercy on our side. He is gracious and the way has already been prepared." Something changes in his tough face, a warning to the people. "It won't be easy, friends. That's a guarantee. But during the climb, we can trust the words of James, who told us to count it all joy when we experience tough trials." His face lights with a grin, growing with the rising sun. "A new day is dawning, friends. This time tomorrow we will awaken to new beginnings."
     I grasp the letter in hand, drooping my eyelids. The grass sweeps over my boots as I walk closer, now only ten yards away. The distress is still yet evident in the people's faces as I approach, heartache showing in haunched shoulders. Slowly I slide the letter into my pocket, walking on as anxiety still grapples at my heart. Yet I'm suddenly reminded of the Psalm that says His mercies are new every morning.
     Isn't it like Papa said? Don't we have mercy on our side, a hope greater than ourselves?
     I try to breathe out the angst almost choking out all peace and nod to the lady on my left. Studying her eyes, I notice that they are on fire compared to the others. It seems that slowly, like spring thawing away winter's remnants, it fans the flames in my own gaze, and I find a way to nod with her.
     I'm a Holt. I must inspire, and I must encourage. I fully stuff the letter away, deciding there will be time later to show Papa. My feet begin to quicken under long strides, heart starting to beat with a growing passion, one for freedom, and with a hope, one for independence. Stepping close to Papa, I realize that I do glide on God's mercies like riding dawn. My eyes sweep over the people, and I hear her words.
     "A purpose . . ."
     Huddled under the covers of my bed, I peered into gentle eyes of brown and felt something kindle inside as my mother encouraged the small spark to fan into a flame.
     "We each have one. Pursue yours, Maddie."
     I now hear her command like the pounding of my heart beating in my ears. Strong, steady, alive.
     "It's calling you."
     I nod under the glare of burning light and straighten next to Papa, the sun just now risen and hanging high above the tree line. I burn from Him Who lives within me, knowing full well that I can do all things.
     For if God is for us, who can be against us?
     The lady who emerged from the shop earlier walks up as she clenches her brown dress. "You are the patriot's daughter, aren't you?" Her eyes are different this time, aglow and big as she nods to the colonel at our side.
     "The patriot's daughter?" I smile, looking to Papa and back. "Yes, Miss. But . . ." She reads my eyes as I pause to consider my words, and I feel my back straighten as I speak. "I am not just the daughter of a patriot." Biting my lip, I look above Papa, above their faces and into the light, where hope lies.
     I find the lady's eyes and hide a grin. "I am one."