Daughter of Liberty

Landed in Boiling- Tea

Lane shoved her dress under the bed. Sneaking back into the house the way she looked had been hard enough. If a gossiping maid had seen her filthy dress, who know what would be said.

"Sister, we have a caller!" Eleanor burst into the room. Lane gave the dress one more good kick under the bed and turned around.

Eleanor was in a beautiful light green silk dress. She had the rosy natural blush she got when she was fluttering about. "We need to brush you hair first."

Lane reluctantly sat down at the vanity and Eleanor went to quick work, pinning her sisters brown curls up as fast as she could. Lane pulled on the sleeve of her cream dress. The rough silk was very scratchy. "I'm sure the caller is here for just you."

"Mr. George Hutchinson has asked for the both of us," Eleanor pulled her sister up.

Lane's heart clenched. Hutchinson? Flashbacks of the ball plagued her. She had been so quick to throw herself into mischief she had entirely forgotten about that awful young man and her stolen kiss. "I'm not feeling well."

"Nonsense," Eleanor waved her off and pulled her into the hallway. Lane helplessly followed all the way into the town house living room. Beside the window, George was staring through the window.

At the door was Fletcher. He announced them and George turned. Before Lane could leave, Adeline pushed them in. Of course, they needed a chaperone.

"Lovely to see you again so soon," Eleanor curtsied. "I hope you enjoyed yourself at the ball."

But her words went unheard. He was matching Lane's glare with a disgusting smirk. "You look well. You seemed quit flustered at the ball."

"Linnea does not get flustered," Eleanor smiled.

She pulled on Lane and the sat down on the couch. George sat across them. Lane kept her mouth shut.

Adeline took her set at the small table at the other side of the room, staring at them above her needlework.

"You seem less lively in the city," George spoke.

Lane finally spoke, "I simply have nothing to say."

Eleanor paled. "She is simply tired. We've had a long drive back to Boston and then she exhorted the rest of her energy on a long walk."

"Then you must have come across the riot," George leaned back against the couch, spreading his arms over the side.

Lane clenched her jaw, "No, I am afraid I would never venture into anything so dangerous." She made the mistake of turning about and meeting Fletcher's face. He was trying to keep in a laugh. Wonderful. He found her misery entertains.

"I do have to wonder what ever gave you the idea to call on my sister and I," Lane spit out. Adeline stopped her needlework and Eleanor pinched her.

George's smug look did not melt, "I apologize, Miss Carrington. You have had a long day. Do not fret, I will be calling on you much more."

He bowed to them and made his exit. Lane stood up and threw herself back on the chair. "Who does he think he is!"

"Lane, how can you be so angry with a gentleman who called on you?" Eleanor asked in shock.

Lane grabbed her sister's hand. "He is no gentleman. He..he-"

"That he is," Adeline interrupted. "As the son of the governor, you will do better, Lane. Word will spread fast that he is courting my daughters."

Lane looked back and forth between her sister and Lady Carrington. They truly did not care. Adeline wanted her married off and Eleanor was happy to be someone's property.

She left the room and retreated to her bedroom. Lane paced the floor. She turned to her Latin book and the pamphlet between. This was a man who spoke freely.

Lane pulled paper from her desk and the inkwell and pen. She began to write furiously.

We are not England and yet we act in the same ignorant ways. The colonies is where free thinking should be nourished, but I am being silenced. I have thoughts and observations. What will happen if you took a moment to listen?

She wrote on and on until her fingers cramped and the tip of her pen dulled. Lane was surprised to see the night sky. She had done away with many hours. Her stomach growled. So, she had skipped dinner too.

Lane left her room and descended the staircase. The kitchen was in the back of the house with a door that led to the alleyway. Lane lit a candle and reached for the bread cabinet.

"I thought you had fallen asleep," Eleanor spoke from the kitchen doorway. She was in an evening gown when she should have been in a nightgown.

Lame raised an eyebrow, "Shouldn't you be too?"

Before Eleanor could respond, hurried footsteps passed the door. Surprised anyone would be up, they both moved to the little door window and peered through. Lane only caught a small glimpse of a figure pass.

Lane threw a piece of bread in her mouth, reached for the servant cloak at the door, and opened it. "What are you doing," Eleanor asked panicked.

"I just want to see what is happening," Lane explained. She stepped into the alley and left the candle behind. She wouldn't go far. Just to edge of the alley.

Eleanor was beside her with her own servants cloak. "This is a horrid idea. It's freezing cold and we are unprotected. Lane, it's the middle of the night!" Lane covered her sisters mouth and pressed them up against the wall.

"Hurry!" A voice whispered urgently. There were men running down the street. But they were dressed very peculiarly. They had masks on their faces, paint on their skin, and feathers in their hair. They were imitating the people who had lived here before the Colonies took over.

Lane met Eleanor's eyes. She was shaking her head.

Curious, Lane followed. She left the alley way and ran through the open square with Eleanor trailing behind, whispering warning and complaint the entire time.

The men were running in the dark for a long time. Out of shape, Lane almost lost them many times. But Boston was her home and she could navigate it expertly.

They ran to the docks. Eleanor stopped Lane by a shed and they watched. Two of the men took out the guards stationed there and snuffed out the candle. They hooted and the rest flooded onto the docks.

"We need to leave!" Eleanor shook. "These are rebels."

Lane pulled the cloak tighter around her and slipped closer. They were boarding the ships. The tea ships from England. She sloshed her slippers through the mud, shivering at the cold that seeping into her toes.

What were they doing?

Something splashed overboard. "Send it all overboard!" One man shouted. Lane ran into the dock to watch as they began to throw crate after crate of tea into the harbor.

"Who goes there?" A voice asked from behind.

So caught up in what she was witnessing, Lane had not realized she had moved to the middle of the dock in front of the ships. She turned, "No one. I am-"

The man grabbed at the cloak and pulled on her. Panic bloomed in Lane's chest. She pulled back and he let go.

Lane fell overboard, letting out a screech as she fell.

The cold water seized her. Her head went under water and it went dark. It was as if she were bleeding everywhere. The pain wrestled with her frantic movements. She had never learned to swim.