Patriots: Boston

Chapter One The Soldiers in the Streets

You'd think my family strange if you knew us. A family of nine plus three others in a house is not something usual. It's been this way for the past few years of my life. We've had an apprentice in the house since I was seven, two since I was ten. My father runs the corner store, which is surprisingly busy, but he has his two apprentices, Zebulun (who I call Zeb) and Isaac, to help him out.
    Zeb is 18 years old, and a very talented and hard worker. He is highly intelligent and anything about accounting that my father teaches him he can do in a minute. Quite honestly, I think we get most of our customers because of his looks. He is very tall, muscularly built, has dark straight hair that he ties back tightly, and has piercing dark blue eyes. Zeb is a man. A man who will begin to receive pay very soon from my father.
    Isaac is a different story. He is 15 years old, just one year older than me, and not quite as skilled as Zeb. He's daring and clever though, and can get the jobs done, just not as fast. I often help him with the accounting. Yes, I'm a girl and I can read, write, and do accounting. My father does not discriminate. Isaac is tall but not as tall as Zeb, extremely thin, and has light brown messy curly hair that always seems to be falling all over the place, and deep brown eyes. Isaac is my best friend, and Zeb comes second.
   I also have 6 younger brothers and sisters. Eleanor, a girl of 11, Constance, a girl of 9, Dolly, a girl of 7, Billy, a boy of 5, Therese, a girl of 3, and Benedict, the baby.
   Our family of 9 and our two apprentices are not the only ones who live in our house. We share it with Father Ignatius, a Jesuit priest from France. He was an old friend of my father's and meant to start a Catholic church here in Boston when he came over from England with my parents. The idea of the church did not work out, for Jesuits are hanged just for being Jesuits around here. This is a horrible thing, and we need to keep our dear family friend away from people who would want him on the gallows. My parents tell the children that he is their grandfather, and they know Father Ignatius as their grandfather until they are about 12 years old, old enough to know and keep the secret. Father Ignatius still says mass for us on Sunday's here in our home. We have a secret chapel where we can practice our faith and not be persecuted. I've gotten used to people yelling at me and being told I'm damned every time I fetch water from the town pump. Like Jesus said, Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.
   One cold February morning, I was woken by Father Ignatius.
   "Elizabeth, 'tis time to wake. Go get your lazy friends and tell them to get to work. You'll need to fetch the water this morning too. Take one of the boys with you, it's getting to dangerous to go alone," he said warmly.
  "I can go by myself, Fath-I mean Grandfather," I corrected myself in case my siblings heard.
  "No, child. It is necessary for you to have an escort. I know you're a strong girl, but just to be safe, bring one of the boys. Zebulun is probably a better choice."
   Father Ignatius seemed serious, so I did what he said without further protest. I threw on my old red winter dress and took a quick peek in the looking glass. My curly strawberry blonde hair was everywhere. I took my comb and tried to smooth it, but after about two seconds I gave up and climbed the ladder to the loft where the apprentices slept.
     I squeezed through the trap door and tip toed to Isaac's side of the bed. I bent down until I was right next to his face.
   "Isaac! Isaac! Hey Isaac! 'Tis morning!" I whispered into his ear.
   This scared him so much he nearly jumped into the air.
   "A simple shake or poke would have sufficed!" He joked, whacking me with his pillow.
   I snatched Zeb's pillow out from under his head and whacked Isaac with it. Zeb woke with a start and looked at us, confused. We laughed at his reaction and he grabbed Isaac's pillow away from him and whacked him with it. We all laughed and continued to hit each other with the pillows.
   "What is all that racket up there!" My father bellowed from down stairs.
   We all froze. Zeb looked scared.
  "Nothing, Mr. Byers! Just these two children being immature!" He shouted down the ladder.
   "Well, shut up!" My father shouted back. "Zebulun, I need you to stack the new items in the shelves. Isaac, you and Liza go to the town pump to get water. I want you back here in less than an hour."
   "Yes sir," we all said in unison.
   "Liza, go downstairs, we need to get dressed. You get ready to fetch the water," Zeb ordered me.
  "Yes sir!" I joked as I fake saluted and climbed back down the ladder.
   I tied on my cloak and hood and began to button my shoes. My little brother Billy ran up to me, trying to bring my yoke and buckets. He dropped them with a loud crash.
"I brought these for you!" He said proudly.
"Thank you, Billy." I said taking them over my shoulders.
Isaac ran down to join me.
"Fetch the other buckets too, Billy?" I asked.
Billy ran off and came back with the other set of yokes and buckets. With the number of people living in this house, we need more water than most people. Isaac put them over his shoulders and we were off. The air was so cold and there was snow everywhere. There were also redcoats everywhere. A large crowd of them was standing around the pump.
"Excuse me gentlemen," I said. "But would you mind getting out of the way?"
One stared at me. "Why is a girl drawing water in this weather? Shouldn't she be at home for fear of catching a cold? Must be a servant!"
"She's not a servant!" Isaac shouted.
"That's an interesting tone to take with your superiors, boy!" The soldier said, getting angry.
"I just came for my water," I said quietly pushing past the soldiers to reach the pump. Isaac followed. We filled out buckets and started our trek back home.
"That soldier certainly seemed angry!" Isaac said.
"Yes, and why were they guarding the pump?" I asked.
"I wish they would all just mind their own business and go back to England where they came from!" Isaac shouted.
"Oh look! Those children from Hell!" A middle aged woman shouted out her window at us. We just kept walking.
Two soldiers past us on either side, one of them knocking my bucket and spilling a little bit of the water on his breaches.
"Stupid bloody girl!" He shouted.
"I'm dreadfully sorry, sir," I said with a touch of sarcasm.
"Watch your tone, missy, or your blood will be spilled like this water!" The soldier threatened me.
"There is no shooting or attacking civilians of any sort allowed during peace time. Do you recall 5 years ago?"
I sounded like a know it all.
The soldier looked furiously at me and I held his stare. Finally he said, "Move along little brats, but spill on me again and I'll shoot!" The soldier moved away.
"Are you alright, Liza?" Isaac asked.
"Yes, but wow! The nerve of these soldiers! They cannot just treat us like dirt!" I said. "We should get home though."
We walked as fast as we could back to our wharf. Isaac set his buckets by the fire and I set mine in the corner of the kitchen.
"You two seemed to be in a hurry to get back! Was everything alright?" Zeb asked.
"Just a few run-ins with soldiers is all," I said half heartedly.
"You two better watch out! They will kill you if you aren't smart about what you say!" Zeb warned.
"We'll be more careful, Zeb," Isaac said, returning to his write up of sales.
I sat down on a stool in the corner, reading a newspaper. I looked up and there was something at the window. Suddenly a flash of red caught my eye. It was a redcoat at the window! Suddenly he left the window and started to bang on the door.
"Are you open, Byers?!" He shouted.
I slowly got up and went to the door to open it. Suddenly he pressed his musket against the door.
I panicked. "No need for that, sir!" I shouted. "I'm opening the door!"
I opened the door and the soldier pushed past me and entered, slowly lowering his musket.
My father popped up from behind the counter. "G'day sir! What can I get you?"
The soldier ignored what he said. He just pointed his musket at him and held it there. "What do you know about the Sons of Liberty, Byers?"