*In the spring of 1786, when Thomas Jefferson was serving as an ambassador to France, he became enamored with a young woman named Maria Cosway. After she left Paris, he composed a long letter, almost of twelve pages, which described the battle between "Head" and "Heart." This is the inspiration for the title, as well as for some of the book. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!
Aunt Ford eyed Elizabeth and I the way a hungry buzzard does when it sees a dead carcass on the side of the road. Her wrinkled and haggard appearance was a thousand times more distinct today, and dark shadows beneath her eyes told of a restless sleep.
"General Washington and his..." she took a deep breath," circus of officers will be staying here in mansion for the winter. You two will be sharing a room with myself, and the boys shall be taking another."
I shivered at the prospect.
"The men will be here in the house," Aunt Ford continued, "yet you will not talk to them. You will not interact with them in any way other than then suppertime and dinner. Is that clear?"
Elizabeth nodded her head instinctively, her powered curls bobbing up and down beside me. When I hesitated to show signs of agreement the buzzard-like glare was fixed upon me.
"I said 'is that clear', Mercy."
"Clear as mud," I said, watching my aunt swell up like a bullfrog. Her pale cheeks got very red before fading to her normal grey complexion.
"Thank you," she said very forcefully, spitting every word out in a show of great self-restraint. "You girls may leave."
Straight-backed and elegantly, Elizabeth stood from her chair and lingered, waiting for me to stand. Internally sighing at the prospect of spending yet another day with my dull cousin, and away from my books, I neatly flopped out of my chair like the fish in the market. The dead ones.
Life in Morristown in not for the faint of heart, I wrote. There are many actives to which no mortal person would ever enjoy being subjected to. For instance, sewing day and night in front of blistering fires. It is no wonder Mrs. Ford has such a salty temper, as she seems to hold no other position then the head of fire-watching and pillow embroidery.
Mother and Father wouldn't approve of my saucy tone, I knew. But I continued writing, knowing that even if I didn't send it they would still disapprove. There was no doubt that Aunt Ford was in regular correspondence with the Painters of New York, informing them of my outrageous behavior
"I cannot wait until Mother finds a suitable suitor for me, Mercy," Elizabeth gushed. She sat at the window seat, staring at the mansion's grounds below. "Is it exciting, to have a man of valor around?"
It look a moment to realize she was talking to me. I placed my quill on the paper, uncaring of the ink blot it would surely leave.
"It depends," I said slowly. "Are you wanting a man who is rich and expects you to do nothing but run and household and be his little puppet?"
Elizabeth drew herself up. "Not a puppet, Mercy, but yes, I would be expected to do my man's bidding."
"Well," I said, taking up my quill again, "you'll like it fine."
For a moment there was no sound but the comforting silence of quill on paper.
"Well, I do have to say, Mercy, that I am not one to care about one's looks."
I'll say. In my opinion, my cousin looked like a pig who had the alas of being stuffed into a too-tight corset.
"But that French officer is very handsome, don't you think? The general whose name is... what was it? Yette something."
"Lafayette," I breathed, looking towards Elizabeth. For some unknown reason my lips pursed together, and I shook my head in foolishness. Was I jealous of my cousin's fascinations with the Frenchman? To be honest, I had absolutely no feelings towards the gentleman at all. Men only complicated things. They took you away from your sense of duty and your books, and I was determined to stay close to those things forever.
But as Elizabeth babbled away about marriage and the French, my mind slipped from her daydreams into my own.
Something had always drawn me to the handsome French general, something that my former fiancé never had. So why, when the man made a perfectly reasonable gesture of kindness, did I push him away? It was moments like these when I wished for my brother Obedience, as he knew my heart better than myself, and would surely advise me on what the do.
But Obedience was somewhere in the colonies, fighting for independence, and could not be counted on to light the path on which I tread. I would have to hold my own lantern, and heed the different directions that which it pulled me in. The direction of Head, or the direction of Heart.
I knew that I would find him in the library. He was there many times throughout the day, yet in the night he was alone. So despite Aunt Ford's many warnings of not associating myself with the officers taking up residence, I decided to do just that, that night.
Someone had lit a fire, probably the tall slave that General Washington brought with him. When I saw the Negro man, head wrapped up in a turban from the cold, an involuntary frown creased my forehead. It was very rich to me, that I man whose entire career was dedicated to freeing the American people from slavery to the British, he held people in his own slavery, and would no doubt continue the practice, even after the states were liberated.
General Lafayette did look up as I came in, the heavy swishes of fabric alerting him to the presence of a lady. As I came nearer he neatly stood from the couch, and towering above my short frame, dipped his head.
"Miss Painter," he said, "I..."
No matter of what he would think of it I cut him off. "General Lafayette, I want to apologize for my behavior the previous night. You nearly surprised me, and I was very shocked at the time, I did not know what I was saying."
The Frenchman blinked at me. "That's... good." The two of us stood in an uncomfortable silence, until I caught sight of the thin pamphlet on the General's seat.
"Common Sense," I said, smiling. "Do you like it?"
He shrugged. "I am hardly past the first page. I am unused to many of the conceptions of freedom that the author uses, and as English is my second language, I am unsure with meanings."
"Mr. Paine wishes for the Americans to have independence from Britain," I said," and when Common Sense was written, we had none. Of course, things have changed now, yet the work is still very important. The first chapter is as he distinguishes the difference between government and society."
"You've read it?" General Lafayette frowned.
"Yes, I have," I said bitterly. "And have understood it perfectly well, no matter what my father believes otherwise." Inside I felt myself shrink. Would there never be someone who respected how widely I had read, how much I thought and yearned for?
The Frenchman smiled. "I-I just am not used to encountering women who have so many opinions and distinctions as yourself, Miss Painter."
I looked at him. "But Frenchwomen are renowned for being learned and opinionated, sir."
"There is a difference," Lafayette said regally, "between the static of one's brain regarding clothes and society and being learned in ways of real thought that many men would love to obtain." He sat on the couch, and nodded to the place beside him. "Please sit," he said.
And as we slipped deeper and deeper into conversation about all sorts of things; family, freedom, science, books, and military matters, I felt myself slipping deeper and deeper into an abbess that had always been both frightening and unfamiliar.
Love.
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Thank you very much for reading, and I encourage you to vote or comment, as it means a lot to me when I hear people's opinions on my writing. Thanks again! --Brooke
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Mercy for the Patriots
Fiction Historique*ON HOLD Mercy Painter wants nothing more than to have the freedom she has long been denied by both her parents and society-- to speak her mind and have the same opportunities as men. So when General George Washington winters at her aunt's house, M...
