Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

1. The Declaration of Independence

July 4, 1776

Independence Hall

Philadelphia, Thirteen Colonies

The weight of their duty pressed down on every person in the room. No one was immune, from old Benjamin Franklin to young Edward Rutledge. Though yet untold, the consequences of this declaration would echo across the pages of history. As John Hancock approached the document and dipped a quill, not a single breath was drawn.

He penned his name.

Crack!

Heat seared through every nerve in my body, causing me to gasp in pain. A fiery thirst erupted in my throat, and I clutched it with my hand. Hand? I looked down and extended my fingers, trembling and as pale as the driven snow. The grass beneath my naked body was scorched black.

"Lightning? On a clear summer's day?"

"Could it be...?"

My head jerked toward the voices. A crowd of people approached me from a large brick building. The men's faces were apprehensive, and their clothes were formal. A handful of women, wearing long frowns and even longer dresses, trailed behind them.

I did my best to cover my chest as my arms shook uncontrollably. Soon, the people encircled me, wearing identical expressions of curiosity and concern. Someone tossed a coat over me. I weakly pushed my arms through the sleeves and dragged myself to my feet.

My empty stomach immediately churned.

"I...I think I'm going to be ill," I rasped.

I staggered forward, and everyone drew back with frightened gasps.

Inside the hall, in a back room, several women fussed over me. One named Mrs. Adams wrapped me in a sheet and ordered me to sit on a barrel by the window. One named Mrs. Morris held a ladle of water to my lips and told me to drink. They then quietly debated with the others about what clothes to fetch me.

The water made me feel better. I breathed in deeply, filling every inch of my lungs with the warm summer breeze. My mental fog began to clear, revealing whispers of voices that I could not comprehend. Still, no one asked me who I was or where I had come from. Perhaps it is only I who does not know, I thought.

Suddenly, the door opened. A man in a scarlet coat entered, looking much younger and much angrier than the men outside. When his eyes locked on me and me alone, my heart clenched with fear.

"You," he snapped, marching toward me. "What are you called?"

My mouth gaped wordlessly as I looked up at him. The voices whispered a word that I could barely hear. I shook my head in confusion.

The man gripped my arm and yanked me out of my seat. Everyone in the room gasped, and adrenaline surged like fire through my veins. He was much larger than me, and his green eyes were wide and wild. He was mystifying.

"What is your name?" he thundered.

The voices began to chant a word. A good word, a strong word—a word that I realized in a single breath was my name. Feeling fraught with destiny, I lifted my chin and answered proudly.

"America."

Smack!

The blow stripped me of all my senses. I pressed my hand to my stinging cheek, feeling the shape of his palm imprint eternally on my mind. Cries of concern filled the room as the man stormed out. Four pairs of gentle hands helped me back to my seat.

"Who...who was that?" I breathed in shock.

It was Mrs. Adams who answered, her voice full of indignation.

"England, madam."

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