Mercy for the Patriots

Chapter One: Tighter Than the Laces on my Stays

Farms lay abandoned, and the carcasses of horses and soldiers lay in half-concealed ditches along the road. The Revolution has left a distinct scar on the colonies, and even this small town in New Jersey has not escaped the harm of the British vying to control us colonists— us Americans once again.

It seems ironic to me that, in the middle of a war for freedom, this carriage delivers me to a place where even the little freedom I once had will become a distant memory.

In the three years after my Uncle Ford's somber funeral, my aunt has become another women. Her collection of bright-colored, revealing gowns have been replaced with drab smocks and high necklines. Her bright green eyes have faded to a steady glare, as intense as an eagle's. I don't know what my mother and father wrote in the letter sitting in her hand, but I'm guessing that it isn't full of compliments.

Aunt Ford's eyes slipped from the crumbled letter to me. She stared at me for a moment, no doubt abhorring my gown's hem, which fluttered just above my ankles, showing the thick white stockings beneath. I matched her stated until she looked away.

"Your behavior is incorrigible for a young lady of your status, Mercy," she growled. "Your father recognized this and is sending you to live here until your conduct matches the environment you have been brought up in. It is up to me not to tolerate your dangerous opinions and independence." Her nostrils flared slightly, and she added," and neither will your..." she glanced at my gown again," frivolous frocks."

I pressed my lips together and eyed my aunt, just barely able to stop myself from snapping back at her. But I couldn't keep my thoughts from screeching the things I knew to be true. Aunt Ford, just like my parents, was determined to keep me bound in her command, bound tighter than the laces on my stays.

Bound so tight that I could hardly breathe.

My cousin Elizabeth burst into my chambers within minutes of my arrival at the Ford Mansion. She was breathing heavily from walking up the three flights of stairs, but managed to do so in a lady-like fashion.

"What did you do, Mercy?" she whispered breathlessly. "I just heard mother talking to Mrs. Davis— she said that you shouted at your betrothed! And that you were talking about the most outrageous things for anyone to be talking, let alone thinking about!" She drew in a quick breath, her dark eyes widening. "I have never shouted at anyone in my entire life."

"Of course you haven't," I muttered, looking at her tightly curled and powered hair and fashionable frock.

Elizabeth drew herself up like an offended peacock. "There's no need to be so spiteful. I was just asking a question!"

I stared at her. Elizabeth was four year younger than me, but always the mature young lady. My family loved that about her. But I couldn't fathom how anyone could like her, let alone admire her. Her personality compared to mine was of sawdust, dull and almost nonexistent. My cousin was endlessly obedient, with no sense duty or yearn for freedom as I harbored.

Though the virtues that distinguished her from myself were the only thing that had gotten me in trouble throughout my life.

"Mercy, I asked you a question. Are you at the liberty to answer?"

I sighed heavily, feeling my chest try to vacate the tight confines of the stays.

"I am at the liberty to answer your question, but not at the liberty to voice my opinion to political matters, Eliza."

Elizabeth frowned at the nickname but didn't mention it. "Mercy... Just answer, please."

I plopped on the bed and looked at my cousin. "Mr. Looney, my... betrothed," I spat," is nothing else than a imbecilic Tory. I only brought up the subject of how the throngs of Frenchmen joining General Washington is making the British king shake in his boots." I allowed a faint smirk to cross my face. "He is the one who began shouting at me first, although I did follow his lead of ractuous debate after a couple of minutes of hearing abuse towards General Washington and his army."

I suddenly giggled, remembering Mr. Looney's furious exit from my family's mansion, who swore that he would never marry a stupid rebel like myself.

Elizabeth, however, looked at me with shock. "Mercy— why did you even offer your opinion, let alone contradict him?"

"Why wouldn't I?" A familiar anger started building up as I predicted her answer.

"It's not your place to be argumentative, Mercy! You should know this by now." As Elizabeth continued speaking, my lips pursed together harder and harder. "A women's job is to be loving, affectionate, and obedient." My cousin fixed me with a disregarding stare. "Who can blame your parents for sending you away, after an episode such as that."

"How can it be that the colonies and Britain has been at war for three years, fighting for freedom and equality, yet I still do not have the freedom to speak in my home? Why should my thoughts be any less than a man's, Elizabeth? Why?" I stood from the bed and glared at her, the thoughts I had carried for weeks spilling out like tears. "Have you ever tried to offer your opinion? I'm sure you have, because you are a person just like any other, am I correct? Or are you a mere shell of a person, who hides beneath a facade of being a lady whom never speaks or argues or does anything worth doing?"

Elizabeth looked at me, stunned, than slowly made her way out of the room. She reached the door, than turned back with a look of sorrow in her eyes.

"Why you always must fight for everything, Mercy? Why can you never accept that what you have is good enough? Your passion for freedom, Mercy, scares me." She paused. "I am afraid that you will give up something precious while yearning for the freedom you want."

"Like what?" I spat, frustrated by my cousin's weak whims and dreams.

"Your life," she said quietly. 

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Thank you for reading the first chapter of Mercy and the Patriots! If you could vote or comment to show me what you think, that would be great. Thanks again, Brooke.