Patriots: Boston

Chapter Twenty Two: The Wobbly Wall

Things had not been happening quickly in the month since General George Washington arrived. I had to go to work as usual. There were no major strikes against the British for months.  
It was now October and the leaves were in full change. The trees blazed with rich shades of red and yellow and orange. Everyone said they were prettiest up here in New England. The outside was beautiful, but it also sparked a feeling of sadness and loneliness deep within me. With both Zeb and Isaac gone with the army, there was no one to walk me to work and no one waiting for me when I got home late at night. My whole family was always asleep when I came home, so I would throw together a little supper for myself and sit by the fire for a few minutes before going to bed. Sometimes I would find myself looking out under the back porch, almost expecting to see Isaac, but having my heart immediately sink when I was reminded that he was living his dream, which was so dangerous. Suddenly one night it dawned on me. I had always reminded him that he was too young to join the army and that was a valid enough reason for keeping him home, but now he was 16, and that was old enough to join up. His birthday had been in August and it had actually crossed my mind on the day but it just made me sad, and I had not remembered the fact that he was now old enough to join the army. He of course could not do much with a severe limp and an arm that had to still be pretty weak. Maybe he had found a job that didn't involve tough physical labor. He had not written to me since he left. Zeb had, of course, and he spoke of how the army was getting more organized everyday. I wanted to see them both so badly, but with work, which had become increasingly more chaotic, there was no way I could make it to Cambridge at any time.
One night I walked cautiously home alone in the dark, hoping no one would see me. I knew I would be having another lonely and boring night once I got home, so I wasn't in too much of a hurry for that, but of course Boston did still have a curfew, so I had to be home quickly. When I arrived home I expected the store to be empty and dark with the fire going and maybe some supper for me in the kitchen. However, the store was not empty. My father was sitting at the counter on a stool.
"Oh, hello, Liza," he said warmly.
"Um...hello, Papa. What are you doing awake?" I asked awkwardly.
"I've been worried about you. I've been worried about the business. I've just been wanting to talk to you. You're never home anymore and you never have time to talk to me. I've missed you, Liza," My father said seriously.
"I've missed talking to you too, Papa, but why are you so worried?" I asked, taking a seat on the stool at the counter.
"Things are getting more dangerous everyday. I've been thinking about you, about how you're just a girl who we've put a lot of pressure on. I feel that maybe we should let up on the pressure, mainly because I don't like going days on end without seeing you. I also don't like the fact that you've been walking to and from work in the dark by yourself while there are still soldiers and pickpockets and dangerous men who would do God knows what to a little lady like you after a night of drinking!" My father ranted, getting riled up.
"Papa, nothing is going to happen to me," I tried to assure him, but he shook his head.
"Liza, you are just too naïve and trusting! What happens if one of my fellow Sons of Liberty's servant or someone is secretly a traitor and tries to snatch you off the street and torture you for information that they know you have? I hear those people you work for are Tories who have redcoats at their house quite often..."
I tried to suppress a laugh at the increased presence and visiting time of the soldiers Mrs. Harold had over to entertain.
"What?" My father asked.
"Nothing," I said quickly.
"Alright," he said slowly, "anyway, I really want to make sure you are properly escorted everywhere you go. I want you safe."
"Pa, I'll be fine," I insisted.
"Liza, please," he pressed.
"Would you escort me? Who else would? We have no apprentices left," I said, my face obviously falling.
"I know you miss them, Liza," my father said sympathetically.
"Have you found anyone to replace them yet?" I asked sadly.
"That's where another one of my worries comes in," my father seemed to hesitate to say.
"What is it, Pa?" I asked nervously.
"I might need to pull Zeb from the army and get him back working for me. I can not run the store all by myself," he explained.
I couldn't believe it! "You can't pull Zeb from the army, Pa!" I gasped.
"Wouldn't you like to have him back?" My father asked, surprised.
"Well, yes, but he's living his dream in the army!" I exclaimed. "Besides, you don't own him. He's free, and eligible to enlist. He's a free white man over the age of 16. You can not just pull him out before his enlistment is up. It's up at Christmas. If you want to pull someone to help you in the store, pull me from my job!"
"Liza, your job and the little bit of money you're making is what is keeping us afloat. I honestly need you to ask your bosses for a raise in your salary," he said seriously.
"Papa, they're very unreasonable. I don't think I can do that," I said slowly.
"I will talk to your bosses. They will probably be less likely to say no to me. I wish we didn't have to make you work like this. You wouldn't happen to have any ideas for replacement apprentices, would you?" My father asked.
"No, I don't know any boys who don't already have jobs," I said slowly.
My father sighed. "Then I guess I will have to pull Zeb from the army."
"But you can't!" I protested. "They need him!"
"They have other soldiers," My father said gently.
"Not enough who actually are well enough to do anything! You should have seen that camp when I did. So many men just dying on the ground or lying sick or wounded still from Bunker Hill! There were very few who were able to stand and walk and run properly! Papa, they need young and able bodied soldiers. As much as I miss him, we can't do that to him or the army."
My father sighed again and gave me a hard look. "I guess that's true, and unfortunate. I guess the business will just have to go under for a while."
"Why would the business go under because we're short of staff? I never see anyone come in here anyway," I asked worriedly. "Wouldn't that have more to do with the fact that the harbor has been closed and Boston is still under siege so we can't get the goods we need to sell? It's not the boys' fault!"
"You're right, it's the fault of the British," my father said, quite annoyed.
"I wish I could do more to help the family, and more to help the war," I mumbled.
"You just keep doing what you're doing. That should be enough," My father said, standing up. "Go to sleep now. I don't like you staying up this late." He traced the cross on my forehead. "Good night, Liza. I love you."
"Goodnight, Papa," I whispered as I took one last look into the fire before I went to bed.
The next morning I was awakened by Dolly.
"Get up! Your hair looks horrible!" She said in a very annoying way that was not the most pleasant thing to wake up to.
"Shut up," I muttered, sitting up and stomping over to the wardrobe in the dark.
"OW!" A little voice yelled from under my foot.
  I sighed and stepped off of the small being, who was obviously Billy. I was too overtired and grumpy that morning to feel sorry right at the moment. I dressed quickly in my old, now quite ratty, work dress and tied my hair back with some yarn so it did not get in my face while I cleaned while the soldiers were not looking. I then got the water from the pump as usual and brought it home, where I then decided to freshen up a little more before the true days work started.
  "Liza, are you ready to go?" My father called from the kitchen as I tidied my hair.
  Right, he wanted to take me to work this morning and beg for a raise in my salary. I reckoned it would only be a matter of time before he would try to find Eleanor a job at the Harold's too to pick up some extra money, but I would definitely have to fight against that. Eleanor is too naïve, innocent, and sensitive to work for them. I should be the only one to take it because I can.
"I'll be out in just a second!" I called back to my father.
I splashed some water on my face to cleanse it and dried it with a towel. Then I slipped into my old shoes and met my father in the kitchen. He looked excited for some reason.
"So, are you ready for work?" He asked with a smile.
"Um, yes, as ready as I am everyday," I said slowly.
"Great! Let's get going! I want to see this fancy house you work in and I want to meet your boss!" He said happily, motioning towards the door.
"Alright..." I muttered as I pushed the door open.
My father followed me out.
"So what do you do at work exactly?" He asked.
"I clean things, and I wait on my mistress and her daughter," I explained.
"There's no man?" My father inquired.
"Well, the woman is married, but her husband was lost at sea. He's probably dead," I said.
"That's too bad. How old is the daughter?"
"Sixteen," I said.
He suddenly grabbed my hand and squeezed it lovingly. "When you're sixteen, are you going to be to old to hold my hand?"
"No, pa," I said quietly, a little smile and a lump forming in my throat, "I'll never be too old to do that."
"Good," he said. "You used to always hold my hand as we walked this way when you were a little girl. Remember? We would go this way to the restaurant that served the good porridge. Just the two of us. It's been forever since it was just us walking this was like this. I miss it."
I was on the verge of tears as I remembered. I hated when I got emotional like this over nostalgia. "Yeah," I managed to say without my voice breaking. "I miss it too."
"I don't think that restaurant is here anymore," he said. "But you know what is that also used to be our special place?"
"Where, Pa?" I asked.
"That old wall made of those loose stones. You used to call it the wobbly wall. You always had those funny names for things. Dandelion hill...magic woods..."
"I was such a strange little brat," I cringed.
"You were not strange," he laughed, "You were precious. You had the biggest imagination."
My eyes were now glazed over with tears that I did not want to fall. Why was I crying? I was happy! I shouldn't be crying when I'm remembering happy times with my Papa, but I was.
"You know," He said squeezing my hand tighter, "that wall isn't far from here. What do you say we go find it?"
"I w-would love that," I said shakily.
"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned at my uneasiness.
"Yeah, yeah," I assured him. "I just-I just..."
"You used to say that before everything when you were a little tiny girl. I jus' walk on the wall? I jus' hold the baby? Oh bright eyes...that's what you used to call baby Ellie. I miss those days when life was all simple. I miss when there was no war and no boys running off with you, and no trouble with all the taxes. I miss your little voice saying your prayers each night and when I taught you to throw a ball. You really were no good at it," he laughed, "but you tried, didn't you?"
I nodded with a smile. The old rickety wall "wobbly wall" was in our view. I had no idea it was so close to the Harold's house. It was behind a row of really old and beaten down houses that I had forgotten and not looked at for so long. I remembered them now, and how I used to think elves lived in them or something. Everything was a fairytale to me when I was little. I used to imagine I was the pretty palace maid who would marry a prince one day when I helped my mother clean the house. Maybe I should remember that more when I work for the Harolds. I used to sing to the birds and hoped they understood me, though I knew now that they probably didn't. As much as I cringed at who I used to be in comparison to how serious and focused on fighting I had become recently, I realized how much I missed being little and having not a care in the world besides falling off the wobbly wall, which would never happen, because my father never let go of my hand.
"Liza," my father said, interrupting my train of thought, "For old times sake?" He looked at the wall with a twinkle in his eye.
I smiled and stepped up on the first stone that made a little staircase. I realized how short the wall actually was. It was only about three and a half feet tall, but it seemed like a tall and mighty fortress that could protect me from the witches. I reached for my father's hand and started walking slowly, one foot in front of the other, just like I used to when I was three. A stone suddenly wobbled under my foot and he grabbed my hand tighter.
"Watch out for the w-awwww-bbles!" He joked. "The W-awwww-bbly W-awwww-ll."
"That's how I used to say it," I chuckled.
"You were cute," he smiled nostalgically. "You used to jump from here."
I had reached the end of the wall. "Yes, it used to feel higher." I said, almost crying but smiling broadly.
"We used to count to three. Remember?" He said playfully, looking about ten years younger.
"Of course I do. Ready?" I asked playfully.
And we counted together, "1-2-3!" And I jumped off the wall and he caught me and spun me around before setting me down and hugging me.
"I love you, Liza," He whispered.
"I love you too, Papa," I was barely able to choke out without bursting into tears.
"Well, we better get you to work then," My father said quickly.
  I suddenly felt really sorry for Cordelia. She didn't have this kind of experience with her father, and in fact, neither did my own father. How did he learn to be so good then? I didn't know, but it must have just been in his nature.
"Yeah, I guess we should get going," I said.
  We started walking back toward the Harold house. Once we got to the front porch, he brushed the hair from my face and kissed me on the forehead.
"Thanks for being little again for me," He said.
"No problem, I liked it," I smiled.
"I'm glad. Goodbye, and work hard," He said.
"I will," I whispered.
"I know you always do," He smiled.
I threw myself at him again in a hug, "I get that from you, Papa."