Patriots: Boston

Chapter Thirteen The New Maid

  "Where am I working, Ma?" I asked nervously.
  "The house of the Harold family. They have one daughter a few years older than you, and she is a lady. Maybe you can learn from her while you work for her," my mother said tersely.
  "Where is their house?" I asked.
  "Uptown," my mother said. "It's quiet uptown..."
  "How much will I be paid?" I interrupted.
  My mother glared at me, "That's not important. You'll be paid nothing if you don't work hard."
  "So, may I have the address? I should probably get going," I said.
  "I will take you there myself. I won't have you running off elsewhere when you should be working," My mother said tersely.
  She marched me up the door. Boston was still very quiet in the early morning. We walked past the Sons favorite pubs and meeting places. We passed the silver shop of Paul Revere. I smiled as I looked at them.
  "Don't let me catch you in those dens of evil!" My mother scolded.
  "You won't, Ma," I said submissively.
   We finally arrived at a giant fancy house uptown. My mother was right. It was very quiet uptown. My mother knocked on the door. There was no sign for a store or anything. This had to be only a house. These people were probably rich. A tall woman with blonde hair in perfect ringlets and clear green eyes opened the door. She had a frilly light yellow frock on and a pinned cap trimmed with fine lace. She had to look pretty far down to see me and my mother.
  "You're the new one?" She asked me sternly.
  "Um, yes, Ma'am," I stuttered awkwardly.
   She was making me a little nervous.
   "You're awfully small, but you'll do. Come in," she then gestured to my mother, "You can leave."
  "Be good," my mother whispered to me as she walked away.
   I stepped into the entryway of this grand house. There was a very nice Persian rug on the floor, something I had never seen before. There were candles everywhere and lit up the room very nicely.
   The woman continued to inspect me, rather judgmentally.
  "What's your name?" she asked.
  "Liza," I said.
  "What kind of name is that? What's your real name?" She asked scornfully.
  "Elizabeth Byers," I said.
  "Alright, I'm calling you Betty. That's your name around here," she said.
  "Why is that better than my normal name?" I thought to myself.
  "I am Mrs. Harold, you are to refer to me as Mrs. Harold or Madam will also do. Have you eaten breakfast yet this morning?" She asked with a somewhat kind tone.
"No, Ma'am- I mean, Madam," I corrected myself.
"Well, I guess you can have whatever scraps are left over from our breakfast. My daughter is still in her room. I need you to bring her breakfast to her. She likes her eggs fried over easy. Also, don't make her tea too hot," she ordered.
  "What about you, madam?" I asked.
  "I'll have mine later. You get breakfast for my daughter first. Her room is the last one on the end of that hallway on the right. The kitchen is just to the left," she pointed.
  I went off to the kitchen and realized that I needed eggs, and realized I had no idea where they were. I checked every cupboard but there were no eggs to be found.
  "Madam," I called. "Where do you keep your eggs?"
  She stormed ferociously into the kitchen, carrying a basket.
  "You stupid girl, the eggs were right in the entryway when you walked in!" She scolded.
  "I'm dreadfully sorry, madam!" I apologized.
  She stormed out and I got right to cooking. Then I realized I didn't know how to make over easy fried eggs, mainly because I did not even know what they were! I had seen my mother fry eggs before, so I just did it that way. I found a plate and a tray and a fork and knife and was about to carry it to the girl's room, but I caught my mistake of forgetting the tea. I found a bag of East India tea and a cup and started to boil the water. I did not let it boil all the way, and poured the lukewarm water into the cup with the tea bag. It had been so long since I had last had a cup of tea. I let the tea bag sit for about five minutes and took it out. Then I carried the tray to the girl's room. I took the tray in one hand and knocked.
   "What?!" a shrill voice shouted.
   "I have your breakfast, Miss," I said.
   "It's about time! Bring it in!" the girl shouted.
   I came in with the tray.
   "You're the new maid?" the girl's voice asked from beneath an array of beautiful blankets.
   "I guess," I said.
   The girl emerged from the covers. She had her blonde hair in wet rag curls and was dressed in a silk night gown. She also had her mother's green eyes. She looked like a younger version of her mother.
  "What's your name?" She asked.
  "Betty, apparently," I grumbled.
  "Why would you grumble at your own stupid name?" She asked.
   "No reason," I muttered, handing her the tray.
   "Well, I'm Cordelia, and I'm sorry, but you apparently don't know how to do over easy eggs," She said.
  "My sincerest apologies, Cordelia," I said.
  "Oh, Betty," she said, "Be a doll and take my laundry out."
  "Yes, miss," I said, taking up the pile of fancy frocks.
   "How can I ever wash these things?" I thought to myself.
   As I passed Mrs. Harold in the hall, she stopped me.
  "Betty, put that laundry out back. Then please sweep out the chimney. That dress you're wearing is ugly anyway, it won't be tragic if it gets dirty." She mocked.
   I walked out the back door after much struggling to even find it. I put the clothes in the washtub and went back inside. To the living room where the fireplace was. I picked up the broom that was lying beside the fireplace and began to sweep. Once that job was done, and my dress was plenty ruined, Mrs. Harold hollered again.
"Betty! Come in here please!" She called.
"Yes, Mrs. Harold?" I asked politely.
"My husband comes back from England today. I need the parlor prepared. Please dust the furniture and draw the drapes and fluff the pillows," Mrs. Harold instructed.
I set to work in the Harold's very fancy parlor. It was a big and airy room with Crimson silk couches and chairs with golden trim. The drapes matched the couches and chairs. There were gold pillows with Crimson trim. There was another fancy Persian rug on the floor too. I dusted this furniture and closed the drapes. I fluffed the pillows last.
  "Oh, Betty!" Cordelia called.
  "Yes, Miss Cordelia!" I called back.
   "When is dinner?" She asked.
   "I don't know, whenever you and your mother want it?" I said.
"Now would be good!" She said condescendingly.
"Alright, what would you like?" I asked, trying not to sound mad.
"Well, chicken is always good," she said.
"Do you have any?" I asked.
"That's not for me to know or care," Cordelia said rudely.
"Where is your icebox?" I asked.
"Out back," she said.
I went out of the house to the ice box. I found a properly skinned chicken that I would need to prepare somehow. We only had chicken at my house when it was a special occasion. Normally for dinner we had bread and butter or just skipped it all together. I guess this is how rich people live. The only way I knew how to make chicken was to rotisserie it all day, which would not work when they wanted it right now. I boiled some water on the stove and boiled a few large pieces of chicken. I found some lettuce and carrots in a cupboard and made a little salad. I then put the chicken on a platter. I set the table and took the chicken and salad into the dining room. Mrs. Harold and Cordelia looked at it disapprovingly.  
   "This is all?" Mrs. Harold asked.
   "Yes, madam. Is it enough?" I asked.
   "You call this a meal?" Mrs. Harold asked, exasperated.
   "I guess, Madam. At my house, dinner is usually bread and butter with a few pieces of meat on good days. What should I have prepared?" I asked.
  "Well, more than this!" Cordelia said.
  "Don't you gentlewomen not eat or something?" I asked.
  "Betty, an unruly servant like you would not understand, but most of this food is for show. We never plan to eat all of it, and the leftovers go to you. You are not hiding any of this in the kitchen for yourself, are you?!" She accused.
  "No, ma'am!" I said.
  She glared at me, "Now you know what we expect! We are very kind to not fire you after the number of times you have not done a job right! Now, go scrub the floors!"
  "Yes, Mrs. Harold," I said submissively.
  I got a bucket of water and a rag and began to scrub the entryway. I continued to scrub the other rooms until my back and arms killed. Finally, when I was scrubbing the wood in the parlor, there was a ring of the doorbell.
  "Go get it, Betty!" Cordelia ordered.
  I ran to the door. I opened it to see a British soldier standing on the porch in his uniform. He looked down at me. I looked up at him. We recognized each other immediately. He stood there gaping stupidly at me while I just stared at him wide eyed.
  "Ph-Philip!" I stuttered.
  "You!" He said. "What are you doing here? Do you live here?"
  "Betty! Who is it?!" Cordelia yelled from the other room.
  "Betty? Is that your name?" Philip asked.
  I sighed, annoyed. He still couldn't know who I truly was. "Yes," I said.
  "Betty! Answer me!" Cordelia shouted.
  "What do you want?" I whispered quickly to Philip.
  "I need to see Mrs. Harold," he whispered back.
  "There's a soldier here who needs to see your mother!" I called to Cordelia.
  Mrs. Harold came running into the entryway. She saw Philip standing there. "Oh! Philip! Darling! Come in!" She said sweetly.
  They obviously knew each other.
  "I have news about your husband," he said seriously.
  "Betty, leave," she ordered me.
  I walked out of the entryway, but listened at the parlor door.
  "Mrs. Harold, I say this with a heavy heart, but your husband has been lost at sea," Philip said.
"No!" Mrs. Harold screamed.
"We haven't heard from him in a while. There is no confirmation that his ship has gone down, so he still may be alive and on his way, but do not count on it," Philip said:
I could hear Mrs. Harold weeping from the other side of the door. I felt bad, even if she has been mean to me and her husband was obviously a lover of the King. Suddenly something hit me on the back.
"Ow!" I whispered harshly.
"Betty, what on earth are you doing?" Cordelia asked innocently, tucking away her fan, which she had just hit me with.
"Why would you do that?" I asked angrily, "Your father has been lost at sea!"
"Oh yes, how tragic," she said sarcastically.
"Don't you even care?" I asked.
"No. All he wants me to do is marry a wealthy merchant, but I want to marry a certain British officer! If he's dead, there is no one stopping me," She said half heartedly.
I could sympathize with her on not wanting an arranged marriage, but the fact that she didn't love her father just about broke my heart. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Cordelia," I said.
"Shut up, Betty. Scrub this floor!" She scolded.
"Do you have any other servants?" I asked.
"No, you are the only one, and you are pretty terrible at it," Cordelia said. "We used to have another maid, but Mother fired her last week.
"You don't even have a cook or house keeper or someone? I'm the only one?" I asked.
"No, but we should. Your cooking is awful and you don't know anything about how respectable people live. Heck, I don't think I've even seen you in Church! I hope you have fun in hell," she said.
I wanted to smack her. "I don't think it's your place to judge me on those grounds, Cordelia. I'll have you know my family is very religious, just not in the sense that the rest of Boston is," I said.
"Oh right! You are the one people shout at in the square for being an idolater! I now see why!" Cordelia said.
"Shut up!" I shouted.
Cordelia gasped and smacked me. "Get back to those dirty floors, Betty. You don't have the right to tell me to shut up!"
She kicked over my bucket as she flounced toward the door.
"Oh dear! There is water all over the floor! Now you are really going to get it!" She taunted. Then she left the room.
Water was all over the floor, including a puddle on the Persian rug, not to mention my sopping wet skirt! Of course now was the time a very angry and distraught Mrs. Harold walked into the room and into the giant puddle on the floor.
"Betty!" She screeched. "You clumsy, stupid girl! What is the meaning of this?!"
"It wasn't me! I promise!" I tried to defend myself.
"Who are you accusing, you little brat?!" Mrs. Harold roared.
"It was Cordelia! She may not have done it intentionally, but she kicked over my bucket!" I explained.
"She's lying, Mother!" Cordelia shouted tearfully to her mother.
"Clean this up, you little wretch! If this parlor isn't spotless by the end of the day, I will beat you for an inch of your life!" Mrs. Harold shrieked at me, throwing a kick at me, which I dodged.
"Why can't I just be fired? That would be a lot easier!" I thought to myself.
I went to the kitchen to get some towels. I mopped up all of the water from the parlor floor and rug, and dried the furniture.
"Betty, what is for supper?!" Cordelia hollered.
"Shepherd's pie?" I asked.
"Sounds alright," Mrs. Harold said.
I knew how to make that, so I whipped it up quickly and served it with bread and butter. They were not quite satisfied, but I decided they never would be. They finally allowed me to go home after I did the supper dishes.
I walked home alone in rain in the dark and dangerous streets. I passed the British camps, their shiny muskets catching the moonlight. I passed the Boston Gazette when someone grabbed me by the arm. I screamed but the person clapped his hand over my mouth. I kicked and struggled until he fell over.
I was about to beat on him some more, when I heard, "Liza! Hey! Calm down! It's just me, Eli!"
I was plenty embarrassed, but also relieved. It had been a while since I had seen him. He obviously had not been hurt or killed in that battle, if he had even gone. "Eli!" I said happily as I threw my arm around him.
"Come inside the Gazette building! You're soaking wet and alone at night. You know that's not safe for a girl!" He said.
"Well, I think I can handle myself, being that I just about took you down just now!" I laughed, "But that's nice of you to invite me in. I'll accept that invitation."
We sat down at the counter.
"So how have you been?" Eli asked.
"Not too well," I said sadly, "How did you and Mr. Edes fare in the battle?"
"He kept me under lock and key in a room with nothing I could use to smash a window!" Eli laughed. "He didn't go into battle either. I heard Doctor Warren was busy afterwards. How did you and your family do?"
"Well, Isaac, Zeb, and I went to Lexington. Zeb went because he could. Isaac made a promise to his father when he died that he would fight for freedom, but I was sure he didn't mean in this battle. I tried to stop him from going, but he went anyway, so I followed him," I explained.
"So all three of you are alright?" Eli asked.
"Well, no," I said sadly, "Zeb and I are, but Isaac was wounded in a volley at the first skirmish on Lexington town green. He's not doing so well. Doctor Warren says he has a rather low chance of survival, but I refuse to believe that he's going to die. I believe there is still hope."
"Dang, that sounds crazy! How did your family react to your going into battle?" Eli asked.
"They fired Isaac because he broke his contract, and my mother was so mad she made me get a job being the maid, cook, and general servant for this horrible family," I explained.
"I'm awfully sorry, and Isaac is on the edge of death? Does he know he's fired?" Eli asked.
"Ugh!" I put my face in my hands in exasperation, "No! I can't put that kind of stress or shock on him or he'll die!"
"I'm so sorry, Liza. Do you think I could come see him sometime?" He asked.
"He's at Doctor Warren's. As far as I know, he's still alive. He was this morning when I snuck out to see him. You can probably see him, as long as you don't tell him he's fired!" I explained.
"Alright," Eli said. "I'll go see him soon. It's really late now. Maybe I should walk you home?"
"That would be nice," I said.
We walked back to my wharf in the pouring rain.
"Goodnight, Eli. See you soon," I said.
"Goodnight, Liza. Take care of yourself and Isaac," he said.
Eli walked back to the Gazette. Zeb was waiting for me at the door.
"You're home awfully late," He said. "How was work?"
"Living hell," I said, dropping into a chair.
"Why? Are they treating you right?" Zeb asked.
"No," I said.
"Care to expand on that?" He asked.
"No thanks," I said.
"Come on, if they aren't treating you right, I will fix them!" He said, his blue eyes aflame.
"They're sad people, Zeb. I honestly feel bad for them. Sure they are rather nasty, but maybe today was just a bad day," I said.
"Alright, if they get really bad, tell me," Zeb said.
"Alright, Zeb," I said.
Then we went to bed, he in the loft and me in with my siblings.