Patriots: Boston

Chapter Fourteen Tea and the Traitor

It was all dark and Zeb was standing over me, shaking me.
"Liza! Liza!" He said. He sounded desperate.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's Isaac! We have to go see him one last time!" Zeb said.
"One last time?!" I shouted as I sat up quickly.
"I just received word from Doctor Warren! He's having trouble breathing. He's dying now!" Zeb said yanking me out of bed.
"Oh God!" I cried.
I dressed quickly and ran out of the building with Zeb. We rode our horses all the way to Doctor Warren's as fast as we could, hoping we were not too late.
"Isaac!" I screamed as we ran into the house.
I ran to his bedside and knelt down beside the bed.
"Liza," Doctor Warren whispered to me, "It's too late for him. He'll be dead in a matter of minutes. He's just too sick and weak to live anymore. I'm so sorry."
"No!" I shrieked. "No! No! No!"
I grabbed Isaac's limp body in my arms and held him close as I cried into his shoulder.
"There, there," he whispered in some weak puffs of air. "You needn't worry, Liza. I'm going to see my family. I'll be back someday. Please tell your family thank you for everything."
"No! Not now! Not here! I need you alive! I love you!" I sobbed.
"And I love you, but there's nothing that can save me now. You did all you could, you were magnificent. I can't thank you enough for all you did!" Isaac breathed.
"Isaac, you've always been like a brother to me, please don't leave us now!" Zeb pleaded, grasping Isaac's hand.
"Sorry, but goodbye. You two have always been so good to me, and I am forever grateful. Now, stop crying, Liza, you need to keep living. Don't waste time crying over just me. Goodbye," he whispered.
He seemed to grow heavier and more limp.
"Isaac? Isaac! No! No! No! No!" I sobbed.
Zeb put his hand on my shoulder.
"Liza? Liza! Liza!" Constance's sweet little voice called.
Someone else was poking me.
I sat up and I was back in the bedroom at my house. It must have all been a dream.
"Liza, why are you crying?" Constance asked.
"What? What do you mean crying?" I asked defensively, swallowing a sob.
"You just were crying into your pillow a moment ago," Constance said.
"Well, I'm not crying now," I said standing up and running to the wardrobe. I grabbed my brown work dress to wear to work.
"Liza, when is Isaac coming back?" Billy asked innocently.
"Well, you see, he'll be a while," I said at a loss for an excuse.
"He was supposed to teach me how to do this," Billy said holding up a cup, ball, and string toy.
"He'll be back after a while," I assured my innocent little brother.
"Where is he?" Billy asked. "What were you talking about when you came home?"
"We went out without permission and Isaac got a little hung up is all. He'll be back soon. Ma's just rather angry with me right now," I said.
  "Hung up?!" Billy asked.
  "It's just an expression, he's just not coming home right now. He'll come home soon," I explained.
  "Alright," Billy said as he ran off to play.
  I walked out of the bedroom into the kitchen. Eleanor was there waiting for me. No one else seemed to be up and about.
  "What are you doing up?" I asked.
  "I wanted to talk to you," she said.
  "Why me? I need to go to work soon," I said.
  "No you don't. It's still dark out. I told Constance to wake you up because you were crying. Were you dreaming about Isaac?" She asked curiously.
  "No," I lied.
  "So you really love him," Eleanor said suspiciously. 
  "Oh, right, you were there for that," I said, embarrassed.
  "At least you admitted it," Eleanor said. "So you went into battle with the guns and the death and all the horrible violence and Isaac got himself shot therefore ruining everything and making you work like a slave?"
  "Well, it is not that bad," I said.
  "He still took you to battle and apparently sets you crying in your sleep a lot. Ma was right. He is a bad influence," Eleanor said curtly.
  "Ugh, you're so annoying," I muttered, grabbing a piece of cinnamon bread. Then I felt a strong feeling of anger came over me. "Don't you even care that he's dying?!"
  "Is he going to die, Liza?" She asked. I could tell she felt rather bad that she had said the things she did.
"There's no telling now, Eleanor. As much as I would love to say absolutely not, I can't," I said sadly. "I ought to go clean up the store."
  I walked into the store and heard rustling in a corner. Was it a burglar? I lit a lantern and shone it into a corner. I could hardly see anything in the dark. I grabbed a hammer from a nearby shelf and quietly approached the corner, ready to swing. Then I heard a voice.
  "Zebulun, have you seen my oils?" Father Ignatius asked.
  "Yes, I have them in your trunk under my bed. I'll go get them!" Zeb said.
  Zeb picked up his dim lantern and stood up, whirling around to see me ready to hit him with a hammer.
  "Sweet Jesus! Liza! What the hell are you doing?!" He asked, shocked.
"Sorry," I said. "I thought we were being robbed."
"No, we're just getting our things together before we go out," Father Ignatius said.
"Where are you two going?" I asked.
"To Doctor Warren's," Father Ignatius said. "Isaac ought to have a last-"
Zeb shook his head at him.
"I mean, he should receive communion and the anointing of the sick, just in case things take a turn for the worst, which it seems they already have," Father Ignatius said. "Zebulun, fetch those oils. Liza, you may come with us if you wish. It is still very early for you to be heading to work."
"I'd love to come," I said.
I still feared my dream would come true. Zeb ran quietly as a mouse up to the loft and returned swiftly with the little box with the sacred oils Father Ignatius had used to baptize me, all of my siblings, and Zeb and Isaac when they came to us as apprentices and converted to Catholicism. It smelled very strong and sweet.
"Shall we go?" Zeb asked, grabbing his jacket.
"Sure," Father Ignatius said, "He is running out of time anyway."
"Father," I asked, "Isn't it possible for God to work a miracle through these sacraments?"
"Of course," Father Ignatius said, "but do not bet on it. These are mainly the final sacraments one receives. It's a shame a boy like him is dying so young. He could have done so much more if he only had time!"
"Who says he's for sure dying though?" I asked, trying to be optimistic.
"Liza, don't count on him surviving. You'll just be more disappointed when he does die," Zeb said.
"God can work a miracle, can't he?" I asked rhetorically.
"Miracles are just very rare," Zeb said. "We've been praying so hard through the whole thing and it hasn't done anything."
  "Why is the city so different?" Father Ignatius asked, looking around.
  "We're under siege," Zeb said. "Things are going to get harder."
  "There won't be another battle, will there?" Father Ignatius asked.
  "I hope not," I said.
  "There still might be," Zeb said. "Lexington and Concord were just the start of a war that's to come!"
  "To think," I said scornfully, "I wanted a war until I saw what it could do to people I love."
  "Liza," Zeb said, putting his arm around my shoulders, "If Isaac dies, he'll be dying a war hero's death, and so will many more like him. But, once we win the war, we will be free. I've heard you speak so beautifully of freedom, Liza. We'll win freedom for you. There will be death and suffering, but don't you worry. You sit back and we'll do the work."
"Excuse me?!" I scoffed. "I will lay down my life if it sets us free."
"But your mother and father!" Zeb brought up.
  "I know, I know. Honestly, it would have been easier to just die at Lexington," I said sadly.
  "Dying is easy, Liza, living is harder," Father Ignatius said.
   Now we were at Doctor Warren's door. It was still dark out. We knocked softly. I saw Doctor Warren peek out of his curtains. He hurried to the door and opened it.
  "Come in," he whispered to us.
  We came in quickly and quietly.
  "How is he?" I asked.
  "Not well," Doctor Warren said sadly, "but you can see him."
  I led Zeb and Father Ignatius to the back room. Isaac seemed fine. He was awake and just lying there in the bed, smiling up at the ceiling.
  "I did exactly as you said, Pa," he said weakly, "I held my head up high. I just wasn't quick enough."
  "Isaac, who are you talking to?" I asked.
  "And Ma, I know you told me never to play with guns, but I stole one to use in the fight for freedom. I never got to fire it though. I never hurt anyone with it, I think you'd be happy to know that," he breathed and coughed.
  "Isaac!" I shouted as I ran to his bedside.
  "Oh, hello, Liza. My parents were kind enough to pay a visit. You see? They're right there," he pointed to the other side of the bed.
  I was getting scared now, "Isaac, your parents are d-"
  "I don't know how they found out about what had happened, but they're proud of me," Isaac smiled. He didn't seem that with it. He looked exactly like his father had.
  Doctor Warren came and stood behind Zeb and Father Ignatius in the doorway.
  "What's going on with him?" Zeb asked quietly.
  "He's been talking all night. I thought of giving him a sedative but I decided it would be a little cruel. He seems to be talking to his parents or something," Doctor Warren explained.
  "But they died," Father Ignatius said. "Trust me, I did the funeral!"
  "Exactly," Doctor Warren said gravely, "The drug I've been giving him to help with the pain gives him a high fever and really messes with his mind. I suspect he's hallucinating and seeing his parents one last time before he passes on. It seems inevitable now. Do your anointing thing, William, but it can't do much."
  Father Ignatius approached the bed with his oil.
"Hello, Father," Isaac said, his eyes half closed. "It's been a while since I've seen you. How have you been?"
"I've been fine, thank you," Father Ignatius said with a warm smile. "It's obviously been a little while since you've received communion. How would you like to receive it once more?"
"Once more?!" I whispered. "Don't tell him that!"
"He probably already knows," Zeb whispered in my ear.
"I'd like that very much, thank you," Isaac whispered weakly.
   "The body of Christ," Father Ignatius said, holding up a small host.
   Isaac opened his mouth and took it. I looked to Doctor Warren, who looked slightly uncomfortable and confused.
  "The blood of Christ," Father Ignatius said, holding a little bottle of consecrated wine. He helped Isaac drink a sip and put it back in his pocket.
   Father Ignatius put his thumb into the oil and traced a cross on Isaac's forehead with it saying, "Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit." He did the same anointing to his hands. "May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up."
    Isaac's eyes looked to me and then closed. It was starting to get a little light outside.
  "We should probably head back to the shop before your parents wake up, Liza." Zeb said.
   "Alright," I whispered, feeling lightheaded with fear.
   Zeb linked arms with me and escorted me out of Doctor Warren's. We didn't speak all the way home.
  "Do you want me to walk you to work?" Zeb asked.
"Fine," I said quietly.
  We began walking, and that's when I spoke up, "I never said goodbye. I didn't want to. I don't want to believe he's really going to die. Those sacraments have saved people before, right?"
  "I don't know," Zeb said blankly.
  "I'm also really scared for him because of the hallucinating thing. I've only heard of mental people doing it, and how tragic that it was his parents. I knew that the drug messed with him, I just didn't think it would get that bad!" I said sadly.
  "Neither did I, but just face it, Liza. He's a goner," Zeb said.
  "Why has everyone given up hope?!" I asked angrily. "Has everyone no faith?!"
  "I believed we could pray for a miracle when it first happened, but sometimes prayers are answered in different ways than we expect," Zeb said wisely.
"I'm not being stupid for still having hope that he'll miraculously recover, am I?" I asked.
"A little," he muttered.
"Zeb!" I scolded.
"What? You asked," Zeb said defensively.
"This is my stop," I said, pointing to the Harold's house.
"Alright, work hard," Zeb said.
I knocked on the front door. Mrs. Harold opened it.
"Betty, we've bought a new cook. We won't need to tolerate your horrible cooking anymore. I need you to set up the parlor for a tea party Cordelia is having with her beau and her friend." Mrs. Harold said.
"Yes, madam," I said.
I ran off to the parlor. There was already a proper tea table in there. Cordelia came up behind me.
"Betty!" She shouted.
"Yes, Miss Cordelia," I said.
"Set out four places. I want the nice pink table cloth and mother's best China with the pretty pink roses," she said.
"Where are all those things kept?" I asked.
"Oh, you stupid thing!" She said scornfully, "The china cabinet is right there!" She pointed to it.
"And the table cloth and chairs?" I asked.
"The chairs are upstairs in mother's room. The table cloths are in the closet around the corner," Cordelia said.
"Thank you, miss," I said.
I went to the closet and got a light pink table cloth with pink lace trim. I also put out a set of lace placemats and doilies. Then I opened the china cabinet and took a tea set with flowers the same color as the table cloth and set it on the table. I set the table like I should for tea. I had learned from Miss Cadwell. Cordelia actually looked impressed.
"I guess you're not completely good for nothing," she laughed. "Now, help me get ready for my party."
I followed her to her room. I had never noticed how beautiful it was. There was a mahogany wardrobe filled with beautiful frocks and gowns and a vanity with vine designs carved into it. Her feather bed had a white canopy with light pink sheets and a feather blanket.
"Which dress should I wear?" She asked me. "I look good in pink."
"You really seem to like it," I said. "It is a very pretty color in your house."
"You pick one out, Betty," Cordelia said with maybe some subtle kindness.
  "What about green?" I asked. "You have this pretty green silk frock with white lace. It would really bring out your eyes. I like to wear blue because it brings out my eyes, so I think this would look nice in you."
  "That thing is so old! I wore it a whole year ago!" She protested.
  "I wear my dresses for years on end," I muttered. "But maybe it will feel new if you wear it again now!" I said cheerfully.
  "Maybe," she said. "Go ahead and help me into it."
   I took it off the hanger and Cordelia dressed in it with a nice new petticoat under it.
  "Oh! I almost forgot my corset! Betty, please pull and tie it!" Cordelia ordered.
"Miss Cordelia," I said, "You have such a beautiful figure already. Why do you want to squeeze yourself? It will just make it hard to eat and drink."
"What do you know, Betty?" She scoffed.
  "I took etiquette lessons," I said.
  "What a poor student you must have been!" She laughed haughtily.
  "I prefer to use my intellect," I said, lacing her corset up.
  "What use does a lady have for a mind that just talks about useless things?" Cordelia laughed, making the strings slip from my fingers.
  "Breath out, Miss," I said.
  Cordelia exhaled and I pulled the strings to a reasonable tightness.
  "Tighter!" She commanded.
  "I don't want to hurt you, Miss," I said.
  "I said tighter! Pull, Betty! Pull!" I said.
  I pulled. "That alright?" I asked.
"Tighter!" Cordelia commanded.
I pulled harder. "Is this enough?" I asked.
  "Yes," Cordelia breathed.
  I knotted off her corset and buttoned the back of her dress. She looked lovely.
  "Do you know how to braid hair Betty?" Cordelia asked mockingly.
  "Yes actually," I said as nicely as I could, "Would you like me to do your hair?"
  "That would be nice if you could," she scoffed.
  I cleanly French braided her hair and then wound it in a knot on the back of her head and secured it with some pins.
  "There, you look beautiful," I said.
  "Wow, Betty! That actually looks nice," She said, surprised.
"Thank you," I said.
"Tell that cook to hurry up with the food," she ordered me.
"Yes, Miss," I said.
  I ran off the kitchen. When I opened the door a beautiful woman was making biscuits. She was tall with dark skin and hair in a little knot just above the nape of her neck. She had clear brown eyes and a beautiful willowy figure.
  "Hello," she said warmly.
  "Hello," I said, "You're the cook?"
  "Yes," she said, "You're the maid and housekeeper?"
  "Yes," I said.
  "What's your name?" She asked.
  "Liza, but they call me Betty around here," I explained.
  "They call me something different too," she laughed. "No one in these colonies can pronounce my birth name, so they all call me Dinah."
  "What is your birth name?" I asked. "Can I call you by that name I let you call me Liza?"
  "I'd love to be called by my birth name," she smiled. "It's Amaka."
  "I like it!" I said cheerfully, "I've never heard one like it."
  "Well, I wasn't born here in the colonies, you know," she said with sort of a sad smile.
  "Neither was I," I said. "I was born in Ireland and my parent immigrated here. My mother is Irish and my father is Welsh British, but really, we're Americans."
  "I was born on the coast of Africa," Amaka said. "I was captured and brought here about ten years ago when I was probably your age. How old are you?"
  "Fourteen," I said.
  "Then yes, I was your age. I've been sold to 3 different masters before this one," she explained.
  "What do you mean sold?" I asked.
  "I'm a slave, Liza," she said. "It's how we're hired and transferred."
   I was shocked. I had never met a slave before or really knew what slavery was and how it worked. It honestly sounded awful.
  "That sounds terrible," I said sadly, "I'm so sorry, Amaka."
  "It's alright, honey, don't you worry about me. I'm used to it," She said with a smile. I could really tell she was sad inside.
  "You shouldn't be!" I said angrily, "That's a horrible thing to do! Treat a person like property!"
  "It's how I live and how many others like me live," she explained.
  "That's not how it should be. Here we talk about freedom for us and then we forget that there are people in literal bondage who are still slaving away with no freedom! It's horrible! You should be free!" I ranted.
  "I would like to be free, but then what would I do? I can't get a paying job or be treated with the same respect and rights as a white man," she said.
  "Women don't have the same rights as men here either," I said. "We're expected to be little pretty things to look at and have perfect manners. I've failed at that already. I followed my friend to Lexington where there was a battle. Women are never supposed to so that, but I hope that once we win our freedom all of that will change."
  "You seem to like to talk. You sound like one of those rally speakers," she laughed.
  "Thank you," I said.
  "How long have you been working here?" She asked.
  "About a day," I said. "I came yesterday. I'll just warn you, they can be awful."
  "Alright," she chuckled, "I like to assume the best of people do my best for them, but I'll look out. I've worked for plenty of bad masters in my day. Now, why don't you go take these biscuits into the parlor for me."
  "Yes, Amaka," I said.
  "You don't need to address me like that," she laughed.
  "No, but I want to," I said, hurrying off to the parlor.
  Cordelia was already there, "What took you so long?"
  "I was just having a nice conversation with your Dinah. Why do you have slaves?" I asked.
"You're not a slave, we're paying you three pennies a week, Betty! Why are you complaining?" She asked harshly.
"I just want to tell you to treat Dinah better than you have treated me," I said firmly.
  "You can't tell me what to do," Cordelia snapped.
  "My apologies Cordelia," I said, "I just want you to treat Dinah nicely, especially if you're not paying her."
  "Why do you care so much?" Cordelia asked tersely. "Go watch for our guests and open the door when they come."
  "Yes, Miss," I said.
  I walked off to the entryway where Mrs. Harold was standing.
  "Hello, Mrs. Harold," I said.
  "What are you doing now, you lazy thing?" She snarled.
  "Miss Cordelia told me to watch for her guests," I said respectfully.
  "Alright, carry on. I expect you to be perfect to them, if that's even possible for you, a filthy wretch of a child who we need to give 3 pennies a week to," Mrs. Harold harped. 
  Why was she always calling me names? I returned to watching out the front window. Soon enough I saw a beautiful teenage girl with long dark hair all curled and bright blue eyes. She was wearing a lavender frock with a lacy pinned cap. She was escorted by a handsome young man who was also finely dressed. When the pair neared the Harold house, I recognized than as Penelope and Zeb!
  "Well, this should be awkward," I thought to myself.
  Then I caught sight of another person I knew who was also approaching the Harold house! It was Philip Davis in his full redcoat uniform. Hopefully Zeb would be civil to him. Zeb didn't know I had met him and he had helped me.
   About 100 feet from the house, I noticed Zeb had caught sight of Philip. He looked at him for a minute, then got a look of fury in his clear blue eyes. He took off his fancy jacket and handed it to Penelope. Then he ran straight at Philip.
  "Zebulun! What are you doing?!" Penelope shrieked.
  Zeb had tackled Philip to the ground and was now engaging in a full blown fight. I had to put a stop to it. I ran out of the house as fast as I could.
  "For the love of God!" I shouted. "Stop!"
  Philip looked at me as he struggled with Zeb. "Betty!" He said in disbelief.
  "Betty?" Zeb looked very confused as he pinned Philip to the ground.
  "Get up! Both of you! You're fighting like little schoolboys! What is the meaning of this?!" I shouted.
  "More importantly what are you doing here?!" Zeb asked me as he got off of Philip.
  "I work here!" I said as if he was stupid. "You dropped me off this morning?"
  "Zebulun, what were you doing with this servant girl?" Penelope asked defensively.
  "Wait! Betty! You know this one?" Philip asked, motioning to Zeb as he struggled to his feet.
  "Why is he calling you Betty?! Do you know him?!" Zeb asked. "This murderer?!"
  Zeb seemed crazy. "Have you gone mad?!" I asked.
  Penelope looked scared and annoyed, "Zebulun, what is going on?"
  "Everyone, just come inside. My mistress is expecting you," I said.
  "Who is your mistress?" Zeb mocked scornfully.
  "Cordelia Harold," I said, "You are here for tea, right?" Suddenly I felt really embarrassed. What if they were just stopping by?
"Yes we are here for tea," Penelope said.
"Alright, follow me," I said, blushing.
Zeb looked at Philip with hate. What had he done besides be a soldier and wear his uniform? I showed them to the parlor. Cordelia ran up to Philip.
  "Philip my love!" She said happily.
   They hugged. It was a little weird to see this, especially because he had been here yesterday and she hadn't gone to see him.
  "Penelope, dearest!" Cordelia said, hugging her.
  She stopped at Zeb. "Who are you?"
"Zebulun Morris, shop keeper's apprentice on South Wharf," he bowed courteously.
Cordelia looked a little disgusted.
"My lover," Penelope chimed in.
"A shop keeper's boy?" Cordelia whispered to Penelope.
Penelope nodded.
"Anyway, please take your seats, my servant Betty would be happy to wait on you," Cordelia said as she approached the table.
Philip pulled her chair out and she sat in it. Zeb did the same to Penelope. Cordelia sat in between Philip and Penelope. Zeb sat on the other side of Philip, giving him a look of hatred. I still didn't know what was going on between them.
"Betty, the tea!" Cordelia whispered harshly.
"Of course, miss," I cringed.
I picked up the hot tea pot full of East India tea. "Tea, Mr. Davis?" I asked.
"Yes, please," he said.
"Milk or sugar?" I asked.
"Just a little sugar please," he said.
I made up his cup and then made up everyone else's until I got to Zeb.
"Tea, Mr. Morris?" I asked. I knew full well he would say no.
"I shall take none, thank you," he said as politely as he could. I could tell he was stifling anger.
They all began to drink and talk. "Philip is currently serving under General Gage," Cordelia gushed, "He fought very bravely at Lexington and Concord against those troublesome rebels."
"Don't I know it," Zeb muttered.
"What was that, Zebulun?" Cordelia asked.
"I've seen Philip in action. He certainly has nerve. I saw him look a young rebel in the eye and shoot at him twice!" Zeb said, a bit of scorn in his face.
"Zebulun is the best apprentice at Byers General Store," Penelope said. "He is to inherit the business. There was another boy as well, was there not? What was his name?"
Zeb stopped nibbling his biscuit. "Pardon me, Miss Cordelia, but may I speak to Betty privately for a minute?" He asked.
"Why do you want to speak to her? She's just my maid and housekeeper," Cordelia laughed.
Zeb remained silent. As I carried the tea pot away from the table, I tripped and fell, dropping and spilling the hot tea all over the floor and onto my hand. It hurt so badly for a few seconds put then it was fine.
"You clumsy little wretch!" Cordelia scolded, getting up from her seat. "You've cracked the tea pot! And spilled all of the tea! Clean this up! Now!" Cordelia threw a kick at me and I stood up.
Zeb stood up, grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the room.
"What the hell is this?!" He whispered harshly.
"Not here," I said, "The kitchen."
I pulled him to the kitchen. "What is your problem? You may hate the redcoats, but at a nice gathering like this for your girlfriend you need to at least be civil!"
"How do you know that soldier, Liza?" He asked.
"He's a deserter. He has bailed me out of trouble a few times," I explained. "Then I shoved him into a bush once."
"Some deserter?!" Zeb said in disbelief. "Liza, he was at Lexington! I saw him! He was the one who shot Isaac!"
My heart stopped for a second. "You are sure?" I breathed.
"Yes, I'm positive. I saw him do it. He murdered my best friend! You can't expect me to be 'civil' with him!" Zeb ranted.
"Oh my god!" I breathed.
"Also, I saw that mistress of yours hurt you. You need to get out of this place!" He said.
"But I need to feed my family," I protested.
"Your father has started searching for Isaac's replacement," Zeb said. "We can manage until then. You don't need to work around these horrible people."
"What about the cook? She is absolutely wonderful! I can't just leave her here!" I said.
"I just don't want you to suffer under the hand of these people," Zeb said.
"Don't worry about it, Zeb." I said. "Now, you get back to the party. Penelope is probably worried about you."
Zeb stalked back to the parlor and sat down again.
"Where were you?" Penelope asked. "What is your obsession with the servant girl?"
"I'm not obsessed," Zeb said curtly.
"She is rather lovely, though," Philip smiled. "Quite strong."
"Philip!" Cordelia scolded.
"Yeah, Philip!" I scolded.
"What is wrong with you, Betty?" He asked, laughing.
"I can hardly stand to look at you!" I shouted. "You shot up that young rebel like Zeb said! You told me you were-"
"Wow, sweetie, I think you need to lie down for a while!" He interrupted.
"Don't call my maid 'sweetie' Philip!" Cordelia snapped.
"Sorry, love. Betty, May I please have more tea?" Philip asked, changing the subject.
I ran off to get more tea and returned quickly. That horrible party went on for what seemed like forever. Zeb and I grew angrier and angrier, but we never snapped. Finally when everyone had left I cleaned up, got scolded by Cordelia, and went home. I couldn't believe that Philip had done what Zeb said he did, and I didn't want to. I arrived home late and Zeb was there waiting for me again.
"That son of a-" Zeb cut me off.
"I want you out of there, Liza," he said. "I'm saying this as your friend and future husband."
I gasped, "Does Penelope know we're-"
"No, I haven't told her," he said, staring at the floor. "I just want you out."