Patriots: New York

Chapter Two: Tavern Days

I awoke the next morning, shivering. It seemed very cold in my room. It also seemed like I had woken up later than I should have. There was buzzing from the tavern just feet away. I slipped into my shabby dress, brushed my hair, braided it in the back, and tied it off with a ribbon. I put on my stockings which I had been wearing for days, and my little slippers. I was ready for work. I still felt weak and cold, but I couldn't tend to that now.
  I walked into the dining room to find Mr. Walden carrying a tray with coffee and eggs on it to a table of men who were in continental uniforms.
  "Morning, Mr. Walden. What can I help you with?" I asked.
  "Do you want a morning shift today? I can have you serve here from now until 11 o'clock. Then I have some hired men to serve. You can also work later tonight," Mr. Walden said.
  "That sounds good," I said, "What do you need me to do?"
  "Can you wake up the drunk who crashed at the table?" He asked.
  I was a little disturbed. "Umm, sure." I saw a big man collapsed on a table. "Sir," I said, tugging at his sleeve. "Sir, you ought to go home. It's morning." He wasn't waking up. I was very concerned now. "Mr. Walden..."
  "Sometimes you just need to give 'em a kick," he smirked.
  "Right in the head," one of the soldiers at the table joked.
  "Or you can just tip the table. That'll wake him up!" Another soldier teased.
   I sighed and gave the drunk a poke in the arm. "Sir! Wake up! You need to leave now!"
  What if he was dead? I nervously checked his pulse on his wrist. Yes, he was alive. I grabbed his hand and pulled until he budged a little. His weight all on one side of the table caused it to fall over, much to my dismay. Thankfully he woke up at that. He muttered a few curse words sleepily and drunkenly and stood up, swaying. I steered him towards the door and shut it. I was not used to this kind of behavior. My parents, uncles, and adult friends never drank so much that that happened.
"Thank you, Liza," Mr. Walden said, "Now would you take care of those gentlemen at the table over there?"
I nodded and walked over, took their orders, and went into the kitchen. Standing over the Franklin stove, frying up some eggs was a short and wide old man, just a bit taller than me.
  "Morning, sir," I said cheerily.
  "What do you need?" He grumbled.
  "Two orders of fried eggs and one order of oatmeal, and bacon on the sides of all of them, and coffee," I said.
  "So you're the little girl Walden brought in off the street and gave a job too?" He asked gruffly.
"Yes," I said awkwardly, "That would be me."
The cook didn't say anything more, but I still wanted to be polite.
"So you're the cook?" I asked.
He nodded, seeming annoyed.
"So we'll be seeing a lot of each other. I'm Liza. What's your name?" I asked.
"Clarence," He muttered.
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Clarence. I ought to go take some more orders. I'll be back," I said, trying to be friendly.
I walked back into the dining room and took more orders. I would tell Clarence what they were, take the food to the customer, and collect their money. By the end of my breakfast shift I had made about 10 pennies in tips. These customers were mainly soldiers or others who did not look like they had a lot, so they were not the biggest tippers. I didn't mind. This would be enough to pay rent for ten nights if I didn't have to buy much else.
Mr. Walden had another person coming in to wait the tables during the dinner hours, so he let me have a break. I wanted to see the city. I walked a few blocks to downtown. It was so cold for early April, but everyone was dressed like it was much warmer. Maybe it was just me. I hoped that my fall into the icy water had not made me sick. I had sneezed all night, and felt a little dizzy now, but it couldn't be serious, right?
There were so many people in downtown New York, many more than my quiet Boston wharf I was used to. There was a little group of people yelling things about the war, about independence. Firebrands. My father had always warned me about these people, taking a stand in the "wrong way." I always thought it was exciting though. I could stop and listen without being hustled along. I was independent now.
   However, many people were keeping an eye on three young ladies. One was tall with dark hair that was done half up, and she wore pretty pink dress. The one on her right was a little shorter and had straight black hair that was half done up like the other girl's, striking brown eyes, and she wore a light blue dress. The other was shorter and evidently younger than both other girls, and she had her curly dark hair done like the other two, and she was wearing a yellow dress. Their dresses were fancy with full skirts and pretty lace. These were the kind I used to wash for Cordelia. The shorter one was struggling to keep up with the other two.
"Daddy said to be home by sundown!" I heard her say nervously to the older two.
"Daddy doesn't need to know," the one in pink said with a mischievous smile.
"Daddy said not to go downtown!" The younger one whined again.
"Are those General Schuyler's girls?" Someone near me asked.
"Yes, I believe so," another man said. "Are they not lovely?"
"Oh they're lovely alright!" A young man said, butting into their conversation.
The two men who had been talking rolled their eyes at this invasive bystander.
The three girls passed by me.
"Angelica," the one in blue whispered to the one in pink, "Remind me what we're looking for."
"Eliza, I'm looking for a mind at work," The one in pink said to the one in blue.
So I had figured out two of their names. The one in pink was Angelica, and the one in blue was Eliza. These two looked older than me, probably 18 or 19. The younger one looked about 15 or 16. All three were much prettier and taller than me. I honestly felt sorry for them. It would feel a little strange to be getting so many looks by men who stand gaping at you all day. I was glad I faded into the background as a little ragamuffin who looked scrappy.
    "What is 'a mind at work' supposed to mean, Angelica?" The younger girl asked her.
   "Well, if Father is going to make me find a man, it might as well be one who is just as smart or smarter than me," Angelica said, tossing her head.
  "That's a tall order, do you not think?" Eliza said with a smile.
  "Oh, Eliza. You are so sweet," Angelica laughed.
  "So why are we looking here?" The younger girl asked.
  "Because this is the forum of the revolutionaries!" Angelica said dreamily.
  "It just sounds like a lot of shouting to me," the youngest one muttered.
  "Oh Peggy, you wouldn't understand. You are much too young," Angelica laughed, patting her on the head.
  "It's bad enough Daddy wants to go to war," Peggy whined. "Now you do too."
  "I do not, I just want to find a man that has the right ideas and is smart and not afraid to say what he believes in," Angelica said.
  "Well, miss. You have arrived at one!" The young man who had interrupted the conversation said cockily.
  Eliza and Peggy rolled their eyes.
"Burr, you disgust me," Anglica said to the young man saucily.
  "Ah, so you have discussed me," he smiled, apparently not phased.
  She continued to tell him off. These girls were interesting to watch. I had picked up that they were a general's daughters, their names were Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy, they were wealthy, magnets for men, and they were brilliant and feisty, or at least they thought so of themselves.
   I spent the rest of the afternoon roaming the streets until I felt very cold and dizzy and decided I should probably head back to the tavern. It was getting dark anyway. I walked in and started waiting on the many men who had shown up. They were all soldiers of the continental army. I didn't see Zeb or Isaac, but I was not worried, though I would have liked to see them. I did not want to be the one to have to serve Isaac so many drinks that he would get drunk and do things he would regret.
Many of the soldiers were very kind, and some made fun of me good naturedly. Everyone thought I was way too young to be a barmaid, but I just laughed and said I was old for my age even though I was not.
One soldier even asked me, "How could your parents let you work here?"
I answered, "They're dead. This is how a girl can make a living."
He backed off after that. The soldiers were my idea of pleasant company. They were a little loud, jolly, and always funny, especially once they got a little drunk. They were not high tippers, as they made no money themselves from fighting, but I didn't mind much.
As the evening went by, more and more soldiers came and went. Towards the end of the open hours of the night, Mr. Walden said he was going to bed and that a few men had rented the other room so I should be quiet when I go to bed. He asked if I could stay up a while and serve the last few customers until closing time. I said that would be alright and he left me alone with the young bartender and the last few customers.
"So we haven't officially been introduced formally," I said to him.
He sighed, rolling his grey eyes, "I'm Vincent O'Conner. And you are?"
"Liza Byers. You're Irish?" I asked excitedly, hearing his light accent, like mine, but I had not noticed it before.
"Yes, my Pa is Irish," he said with a smile.
"My Ma was Irish," I said. "My parents were both immigrants."
"Interesting," Vincent laughed. It was obviously not very interesting to him, but we had a conversation starter and I did not want to drop it. "Do you know how to make the good Irish mixed drinks?"
"Yes, my Pa drank enough beer that I picked it up," he laughed.
"Do you serve them here?" I asked.
"If they ask. No one does though," Vincent shrugged.
"You should ask Mr. Walden if you could add them to the menu! They're so good I bet they would sell well," I said excitedly.
"Hmm, I don't know. Once they know it as Irish they trace it to you, and then they trace you to being a Catholic..." He said quietly.
"I'm a Catholic too!" I whispered, bursting with excitement.
"That's nice," he said quietly, looking around the room to see if anyone heard. "But you know you have to hush that up."
"Is New York bad about that kind of thing?" I asked.
"Well, not as bad as a place where they hang the priests of certain orders, but it still isn't widely accepted. It's still pretty Protestant, and they aren't too keen on us," Vincent explained. "Where are you from?"
"Boston," I said.
He cringed, "Oh lord."
"Yes, we hardly left the house to avoid the harassment," I said sadly, remembering home. "Pa said to never be ashamed of your faith though."
"That's certainly hard sometimes," Vincent said. "Well, it's about closing time. I'm closing the bar and going to bed. It's midnight. You can still serve food, but no more drinks. G'night."
"Good night."
I looked around the dining room. There were five soldiers left. Four were sitting at a table together who had already payed, and the other one was alone. He made eye contact with he and beckoned for me to come over.
I scurried over quickly, "What do you need sir?" I asked.
"Well, I'm sorry, this is really embarrassing, but..." He stopped and looked me in the eyes.
They were really pretty eyes. They were blue, like Zeb's, only lighter and holding more intelligence. He had a pinker complexion, like my mother's. He also had auburn hair. He was very Scottish in appearance. His clothes were a little shabby, like mine, but that didn't distract from his handsomeness.
"Umm, yes?" I asked after an awkward silence.
"Sorry, I seem to have bought one more drink than I could pay for," he said sheepishly.
I felt bad for him. "That's alright," I said with a kind smile. "I can let it slide."
"Really?" He asked. "I mean, I can work it off."
"No need," I said, "We all make mistakes. It's alright."
"You are absolutely sure?" He asked.
"Positive," I smiled.
"Oh, thank you so much," he said graciously.
"My pleasure. Just don't tell everyone. We can't afford to let everyone off the hook," I laughed.
He nodded. Suddenly my legs got weak and I fell forward.
The soldier's eyes widened. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," I scrambled to my feet quickly and gripped the table to keep from falling again. "Do you mind if I sit with you? It's been a long work day."
"Be my guest," he said, still looking concerned.
I sat my down on the bench on the other side of his table.
He looked concerned again, "You're shivering..."
"It's nothing, I fell in the ocean," I said quickly.
"Oh," he said, startled.
"How did you...what were you..." He started to say and then cut himself off.
I changed the subject quickly, "What's your name?"
"Alexander Hamilton," he said.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hamilton. I'm Liza Byers," I said.
"Nice to meet you too, Liza. Please just call me Alexander," he said, embarrassed.
"Alright. So Alexander, where are you from?" I asked, thinking this was an innocent enough question.
He reddened and hesitated before answering quietly, "St. Croix."
"Where's that?" I asked. I had never heard of St. Croix before.
"It's in the West Indies," he said as if he was embarrassed.
"Oh, so you're an immigrant," I said excitedly, finding another person who had something in common with me in one night. "I sort of am too. I was born in Ireland and moved with my parents when I was two. They are more true immigrants that I. It's neat that you are one from somewhere different."
"Yes, I guess it is," he said slowly.
"Is something wrong?" I asked nervously.
"No, no. It's nothing. St. Croix just isn't a very nice place," he said uncomfortably.
"I'm sorry, Alexander," I said sympathetically.
"It's alright, but enough about me. So how did you fall into the ocean?" He asked, changing the subject.
"Well, it's a long story. Can you keep a secret?" I asked.
He nodded.
"I'm on the run," I whispered.
"Well, I guess we're all on the run from something," Alexander said.
"I'm running from getting married," I whispered.
"Oh," he said, surprised. "Arranged marriage I'd assume?"
"Yes. My parents wanted me to marry my friend who is older and wiser and the one who is supposed to inherit my father's store business, but he is in love with this other girl, and I do not want to marry him, so I ran away from Boston to New York. At the port in Boston I got cheap passage on a ship from a man who turned out to be a pirate who wanted to sell me, but thankfully another ship came by and saved me. The only way I could get on the other ship was by jumping but because I'm short I didn't make it and I fell in the ocean and have been cold ever since." I explained.
He seemed shocked at this story, "Are you alright now? Are you sick?"
"No, I don't think so," I said quickly. "Also, I told the owner of this tavern that I was an orphan and he gave me the job, but the thing is I have parents, I'm just hiding from them. You can't tell anyone."
"Well, from a real orphan to a fake one, your secret is safe with me," he said seriously.
Oh goodness! I had done it again! How come no one I came across had parents? "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to sound insensitive!"
"It's alright, you wouldn't have known. My mother died when I was 11 and my father walked out when I was 9 and is probably dead right now. I wrote my way out of the hell I lived in and got to America a few years ago. It's been going fine for me here. I got a college education at King's, I moved in with a friend, I fought a few Tories with writing, I joined the army. I'm alright. I always wished there would be a war, and now here we go." He said with a smile.
"I wished there would be a war too," I sighed. "Then I saw what happened."
"May I ask what happened? This seems to be a good talk about painful experiences," Alexander joked.
I smiled without humor, "My best friend's family was brutally murdered my redcoats in front of our eyes, then he was wounded at Lexington, then my parents canceled his apprenticing contract and forbid me from seeing him, then my friend, the town doctor, was killed at Bunker Hill and I had to deliver the news to his family, my whole life has been a total mess since the war began. I still feel it's necessary though. It's just harder to be enthused about it."
"Well, that's...I'm sorry," he said, a little taken aback.
"It's alright, I'm sorry about you too," I said.
"Well, no one's life is perfect," he said. "Hardship seems to be what makes us strong though. You just can't let it break you."
"I guess," I agreed. "So you said you wrote?"
"Yes, I write non-stop. It's my release, what got me through all my struggles," he said.
"What sort of things do you write?" I asked.
"Some poetry, a lot of political pieces, pamphlets, anything really," he shrugged.
"That's nice. I've never tried writing before. Maybe I'll try it sometime," I said. "I would like to read some of your writing sometime. What are some specific things you have written?"
Alexander smiled and pulled a small but dense booklet out of his breech pocket, "Farmer Refuted. I'm pretty proud of it. Go ahead and keep it and read it."
"Thank you," I said.
He looked at the clock on the wall and at the empty tavern, "Well, I guess I better get going. Thank you for letting my drink slide and for the talk. Maybe we should do it again sometime?"
"Oh sure, any time. I'm here every night," I said. "Goodnight, Alexander."
"Goodnight, Liza," he said.
He walked out the tavern door and down the street. Something about him told me that he would be very great someday. It also shocked me what an intensely personal conversation we had had. We were strangers, but yet we were fine to talk. I was glad I had met a few people in New York on my first day, and I was excited to see what new days would bring.