Patriots: New York

Chapter Fourteen: Fire

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..."
These were the words I woke up to the next morning. It almost sent me back home to when my family would pray together. It occurred to me that I had not prayed in a long time, and I really should have been.
"Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of they womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen."
I opened my eyes to see Conall, kneeling beside my bed, his head bowed in prayer over an emerald rosary. I didn't want to interrupt him, so I didn't say a thing until he was done. He looked at me and smiled.
"Good morning, Conall," I said. "So you were praying a rosary?"
"Yes. Papa says if you pray a rosary for someone when they are hurting they can get better," Conall explained. "Did it work?"
"I do feel a little better, Conall. Thank you," I said as enthusiastically as I could. I still felt like my heart was in my feet and my whole body still pained. Conall didn't have to pray for me, but it was sweet that he did. I would put on a tough face for him. "That's a pretty rosary."
"It was my Mama's. She loved it very much," Conall said, looking enthusiastic but sad.
"That's nice. Did she teach you how to pray the rosary?" I asked.
"Yes. We prayed it everyday," Conall sighed.
"Do you still pray it everyday?" I asked.
"No, I didn't want to after she died because it made me sad, but I felt like you needed it so I prayed one," Conall said.
"Well thank you so much, Conall," I said, almost happily tearing up.
"Are you getting out of bed today?" Conall asked.
"I might," I sighed, trying to sit up. My whole body still ached, but I was so tired of being useless. "Conall," I asked reluctantly, "Would you bring me the looking glass from over there?"
"Of course," he said, picking it up and handing it to me.
I looked into it slowly and didn't like what I saw. My jaw seemed to be swelling green and yellow, my nose was swollen to twice it's normal size, and my right eye was swollen purple. I quickly put it down and sighed. "Can anyone even see me like this?"
"Sure. It's not that hard. All someone would have to do is open their eyes and turn them to you. You're not invisible..."
"No Conall, I don't mean it like that," I sighed.
"Then what do you mean? Are you embarrassed?" He asked, his eyes widening.
"Yes, yes I am. I'm also scared of how people will react. They already think I'm a prostitute or one step away from being one, and this would give them proof. I at least want to seem like I'm a pure and classy young lady, and this is the last straw. I can't miss work though. Your Papa can't do it all..."
"What's a prostitute?" Conall asked.
"I-I don't want to be the one to have to explain that to you, Conall," I said uncomfortably.
"I want to know," he said excitedly.
"No," I shuddered, "You do not."
"But..."
"No, Conall. Ask your Papa," I said tersely.
He sighed, defeated. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, immediately overcome with dizziness and a pain to my head and my legs. They wobbled and I fell to the ground.
Conall's eyes widened and he reached out his hand to help me up. "Maybe you should not work today."
I heaved myself to my feet. "Nonsense, where's my work dress?"
Conall laughed.
"Whatever is so funny, Conall?"
"Your tall friend with the dark hair took it out and set fire to it last night after you went to sleep."
I groaned, "Ugh. Zeb..."
"Yes, it was him. He said it was a total eyesore and you needed to wear a new dress," Conall laughed.
"That's wonderful, Conall. Thank you for telling me that," I said sarcastically. "Now Conall, would you leave me alone a minute so I can change?"
"Alright."
He slipped out of the room and closed the door. I dressed painfully in my blue dress that I hadn't worn in forever. So many wonderful memories had been made in this dress: the dance at uncle Tad's, my first official Sons of Liberty meeting, and other nice moments of course. The other one had only sad and terrible memories tied to it. Why had I worn that one for so long? I remembered when my stays were too tight when I was dancing and Isaac had to pull them loose to keep me from fainting. What wonderful times those were! They were gone now, but putting that dress on made me feel like maybe they were not gone for good.
And so I tried to work that day. It was all fine, and I was trying to ignore all the strange looks I was getting from customers. I thought I could do the day, but then I ran into a table and hit my leg, right on a horrible bruise. I let out a scream, of course I tried to muffle it, but it really just flew out. The whole room went silent. I fell down on the floor again and tried furiously to fight back tears.
"Liza!" Vincent gasped as he ran from behind the counter to help me. "Are you alright?"
I couldn't speak for a second, "Yes, I'm fine, Vince..."
"Are you sure?" He asked, actually concerned, not just putting on a show so that Mr. Walden wouldn't scold him.
"Yes, I'm sure," I said tersely, scrambling to my feet, pain still shooting through my leg.
"Alright, if you're sure," Vincent said.
I continued for about an hour before I couldn't stand anymore. I collapsed, thankfully behind the counter so no one but Art, who was picking up a few drinks, saw. He insisted I go lie down and I didn't protest. The pain was getting to be unbearable, as was the humiliation of showing my face. I stumbled down the hall and back into the bed. Here I stayed for about a week, bored out of my mind with nothing to do. Mr. Walden insisted that I make a full recovery before returning to work. This meant staying in bed. I had brought no books and Mr. Walden had next to nothing. I longed for some political pamphlet or news but Mr. Walden was not huge on that either. However, one day, there was a knock at my door.
"Who is it?" I called.
"Alexander Hamilton," he said in a sort of sing song voice.
"Oh! Come right in!" I said excitedly.
"How are you doing?" He asked, sitting down on the end of my bed.
"A lot better, but Walden still won't let me work," I sighed.
"That's understandable. You still look a little...how do I say this..."
"You're never at a loss for words, Alexander!" I exclaimed with fake surprise.
"Unwell. That's the word," Alexander said quickly. "Well, anyway, I heard you were all cooped up in bed a few nights ago when I came to get a drink," there was a playful glint in his intelligent eyes, "which I had to pay for..."
"Yes, about that..." I began to say quickly.
"No, I know, and I asked that nice Irish fellow where you were. He said you were still resting and would be for at least a few days more, so I had the idea, why not show you some of my writings and potentially get you to write a little something yourself!" He pulled out some scrolled up papers from his pocket and handed them to me. "Here's some pamphlets I wrote back in College, and here are a few poems. Do you like poetry?"
"My parents always mocked it," I laughed, "But I never minded it much. I rather liked some of it, actually."
"Well, here's the poem that essentially got me out of St. Croix," he said, pointing out one of the papers. "And here's another one..."
"Thank you so much, Alexander! I've been longing for reading material!" I exclaimed happily.
"You are very welcome. I like people to read my work, and I hope while you're sitting here maybe you can scribble out something of your own as well," He said with a smile.
"Maybe," I shrugged, "I haven't written anything in a long time."
"Well, no day like today to start," He said, standing up, but then he sat down again and pulled out another book, "Oh! And I almost forgot! King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table! Someone gave it to me long ago. I thought you might enjoy it."
I had read those stories when I was younger, but it had been a long time. I knew I had enjoyed them, "Thank you so much, Alexander. I haven't read this in ages! I've been wanting to reread it."
"It is quite interesting," He sighed, "And teaches you the importance of chastity."
I paled. "Y-yes, certainly." I successfully fought back tears at the returned thought of my incident. "I never liked Arthur himself much..."
"I don't remember that much about that book. I also haven't read it in ages, but if you're stuck here for a while you might as well read it."
"Alexander," I said.
"Yes?"
"How are things in the army going?" I asked.
He sighed, "How would I know? I'm stuck at a desk in a tent, manning George's journal!"
"You call the general by his first name?!" I asked in disbelief.
"Pshh, no," he scoffed, "At least not to his face."
"Well, you are the aid de camp! That's a very important job. Don't tell me you don't know what's going on," I said.
"What's going on isn't good. That army is made up of damned cowards! Retreat! Retreat! It's all they do! The British keep pushing us back out of the city everyday! It's pathetic! If I were in command of even a small group of soldiers, there would actually be something done! But no! It's Hamilton, write to congress! Hamilton, please write this letter for me! Sir, can I fight? No, no, Hamilton, write this down for me! Don't get me wrong, I love writing, but I didn't join the army to write!" He ranted.
"My goodness, Alexander!" I exclaimed. "Calm down! The general obviously chose you for this job because he sees something in you that he doesn't see in other soldiers."
"Well, why not promote me and give me command if he sees something?"
"He probably needs someone intelligent and sharp to handle your job. Maybe no one else lives up to his standards," I suggested.
"Maybe, but I could also use my brain to strategize and lead troops," Alexander sighed.
"Well, you could easily get killed doing that. He's probably trying to keep you alive," I said.
"But I'm more than willing to die..."
"What is with you soldiers and refusing when someone just wants to keep you alive!" I snapped.
He looked at me, shocked at my sudden rush of anger.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly, "it's just that..."
"I know. You have friends and family fighting. The thing is, I've no one to come home to, so that excuse to 'keep me alive' doesn't apply to me," he said shortly.
"You have friends, right?" I asked.
"Well, yes, I guess..."
"Then that excuse certainly does apply to you."
He sighed.
"See, you should be proud of your station," I said positively.
"I guess you're right. I am rather lucky," He sighed again. "Well, You look like I'm tiring you out. I should leave you to get some rest. Read those pamphlets when you get bored."
"Goodbye, Alexander," I said.
"Goodbye, Liza."
And so in about a few weeks, after reading the entirety of the reading material Alexander had given me and having way too many dreams about knights, I returned to work fully. My leg was still sore if it got bumped but it was well enough to stand and walk around all day. One night after a hard day of work I was still in my dress from the day and just flopped down in my bed. Conall and Art were long asleep as well as the other guests in the room. Since my incident, Conall had taken over my trundle and given me his real bed. Being that it was late September and still sort of warm and stuffy inside, the bedroom windows were open to let air pass through them while we slept. As I lie there trying to sleep, the distant smell of smoke filled my nostrils. I was so sleepy I didn't think much of it at first, but the smell got stronger and stronger until I could not ignore it any longer.
I stood up and looked out the window into the dark night to see a light at the end of the strip of buildings the tavern was in. It was distant but seemed to be moving closer. Then I realized what it was. It was fire! The sound of distant yelling and screaming reached my ears and I finally processed what was going on. The city behind it was ablaze! Conall started coughing probably because of the smoke and I knew I had to do something or the tavern would burn as well.
"Conall! Conall!" I whispered urgently, shaking him awake.
"What's that awful smell?" He coughed.
"Smoke. We have to get out! Art! Art wake up! The city's on fire and it's getting closer to the tavern! We have to get out!" I shouted frantically.
"Would you keep it down, girl?!" One of the other guests snapped at me.
"I'm serious! The city is on fire!" I shouted again, "We have to evacuate!"
"Liza, dear, you're having bad dreams," Art muttered sleepily.
"Art! I'm serious! Look out the window yourself!" I shouted, pulling him out of bed and to the window.
"Holy Sweet Jesus! You are right! Everyone up! Now!" Art yelled. "What are we supposed to do?!"
"I'll get Mr. Walden," I offered, running to his room. I banged on the door, "Mr. Walden! Wake up! We have to get out of here! Now! The city is on fire!"
"That what?! HOLY HELL!" He shouted as he must have looked out the window. There were a few thumps and bumps before he came out, fully dressed. "Liza, wake all the guests. I'll get everyone out!"
"Yes sir!" I said, frantically banging on the door of the other bedroom. "Wake up, everyone! We have to get out! There's a fire!"
The remaining men jumped out of bed and ran out their bedroom door. I followed them out and grabbed the four normal water buckets on my way. Everyone fled the building and stared at the slowly approaching fire. There were people in the streets, some shouting, some crying, and some actually helping to put it out. I ran to the pump with a bucket in each hand. I filled them up the the brim and then realized I could only carry one at a time. I hurried over to where the fire was and wound up to throw the water with all my might. It did very little to quench the leaping flames, and my aim was not great because I was shaking with fear.
"Liza!" Mr. Walden shouted, "Come back here!"
"I have to help, Mr. Walden!" I shouted back, coming for my other full bucket.
"No you don't! Come back here!" He yelled again.
I sighed and ran back to where he, Art, and Conall were standing outside the tavern. Conall was having a dangerous coughing fit because of the smoke blowing towards us.
"Liza, take Conall and get somewhere safe far away. We'll go help out with the fire," Art said, pushing Conall towards me.
"Yes, sir," I said, wrapping an arm around Conall's shoulders and taking off running away down Bradford street away from the tavern.
"Papa!" He shouted between coughs.
"Come on, Conall," I said, pulling him along. "We must get away!"
"But my Papa!" He cried.
"He'll be alright! He told us to get somewhere safe. We must do his bidding," I said gravely.
Once we had run far enough, Conall's whole body shook as he still coughed. We had to stop.
"Conall," I said, rubbing his back. "Dear, are you alright?"
He nodded as he coughed more and more. I led him over to a bench in front of a store and sat him down. At this point Conall had tears streaming down his cheeks. I wiped them with the back of my hand and pulled him into a protective hug when he was able to catch his breath.
"M-my Papa..." he whispered, his voice hoarse.  "He'll...he'll die!"
"No he won't, Conall. He's smart. He won't get too close to the flames," I said, stroking his hair.
"You...you don't know that..." he said, his voice shaking and his bottom lip quivering.
"I know you're scared, Conall, but..."
"I'm not scared!" He sniffed.
"You're trembling all over," I observed.
"Fine! I'm so scared!" He cried, throwing his arms around me. "Liza...Liza, what if he...what if the fire gets him?!"
"It won't. He'll be brave, but he'll keep his distance," I said comfortingly, giving him a little kiss on the forehead. "No need to tremble so."
"I am so...so scared, Liza!" He burst into tears.
I held him tightly, "Shhhh, shhhh, Conall. It's alright. Everything will turn out fine. No need to cry."
He sobbed for a few more minutes before saying, "Liza..."
"Yes, dear?"
"My Mama...when she was alive...whenever I was scared...scared of something bad happening or just a big rainstorm...she would sing to me," Conall sniffed. "Could...could you maybe..."
"Oh...um...sure," I said awkwardly. I had used to love to sing, but I hadn't sung at all since I had left Boston. "What sort of songs would your mama sing?"
"L-lullabies...they were so beautiful. They always calmed me right down. I miss her voice..."
"I know you do. But maybe I can help," I took a deep breath and remembered an old Welsh lullaby Uncle Tad used to sing to me when I would sleep over at the farm. I began to sing it. "Oh, the Spring it is a coming
And the trees are softly blooming
And the wild mountain thyme blooms along the purple heather
Will ye go, laddie, go? And we will all go together
To pick wild mountain thyme all along the purple heather
Will ye go, laddie, go?"
He looked up at me with sad eyes.
I continued, "I shall build my love a bower over by yon crystal fountain
And in it I shall pile all the treasures of the mountain.
Will ye go, laddie, go? And we will all go together
To pick wild mountain thyme all along the purple heather
Will ye go, laddie, go?"
"That's beautiful," he sniffed. "Keep going. Please."
"Well if my true love will not go, I shall surely find another
Who'll pick wild mountain thyme all along the purple heather
Will ye go, laddie, go? And we will all go together
To pick wild mountain thyme all along the purple heather
Will ye go, laddie, go?"
He leaned his head on my shoulder and fell asleep when I was done. I waited there in silence, thinking about Art and Mr. Walden. Would the tavern even be there when we returned? Would it be burned to the ground? Who had started the fire? These thoughts flooded my mind. Like Conall, I also worried about the people's safety.
I was exhausted, but I refused to let myself sleep outside on the city street, especially with Conall in my care. After hours of anxious waiting Mr. Walden and Art finally came back to get us. They seemed sore and tired but not too badly hurt.
"Is the fire out? Is everyone alright?" I asked.
"We were able to stop it from spreading to the tavern. It only got a little burned up. We're alright. How's the little boy?" Mr. Walden asked.
"He's alright, just asleep. He was real worried about you, Art." I said.
Art just nodded and picked him up. "Can we go back to the tavern now to try to get some more sleep?"
"You can try," Mr. Walden sighed, "But I'm giving those folks who lost their homes beds for the night, as well as the guests there already. You might not be able to sleep that well."
I yawned and nodded. "Anything I can do, Mr. Walden?"
He sighed and gave me a reluctant look, "You may have to give up or share your bed."
"I'll give it up," I said quickly.
And with that we walked back to the tavern. There was already a herd of people sitting in the dining room, all looking very tired and frightened. There were many women and children as well as men, something that was very uncommon in this tavern.
"Shall I take their orders, Mr. Walden?" I asked.
"No, they can just go to sleep. You too," Mr. Walden said firmly. "I wish I could find you a more comfortable place..."
"The floor is fine, Mr. Walden," I yawned. "Are you sure I shouldn't be doing anything?"
"I'm sure," he said warmly, "Go to sleep."
I walked sleepily to the end of the hallway and sat down. I leaned my head against the wall and hugged my knees. This was not the most comfortable position to sleep in, so I reclined. This was better and I fell right asleep. It had been a crazy night and fire would still spread throughout the city, but God had delivered us from it.