Dear, Hamilton

I go on the brink of death

With the arrival of John Church, everyday life shifts from its usual tedious pattern. The house becomes a little less lonely, and I'm glad to see Angelica smiling more frequently and laughing a little more freely. She's been more serious lately, probably because of our fight at Valley Forge.

Peggy and I try to give them as much privacy as we can, but occasionally we'll walk in on the two of them in a compromising position or I'll catch the two of them standing very, very close to each other.

Now that John is here, Angelica spends less time with us and more time with him, so Peggy and I usually find ourselves spending our days together. Sometimes our mother accompanies us, but usually she is busy doing her own everyday tasks.

One day, Peggy and I are strolling through the nearest town's market when I hear a man shouting, "Death to all the Patriots! Death to all the traitors of the British crown!"

Peggy and I exchange frowns before we wander a little closer to the square plaza and finally spot a man standing atop a crate shouting to a small, gathered crowd. He's waving his arms wildly around as he shouts, "The Continental Congress does not have your interest at heart! Chaos and bloodshed are not a solution; don't let them lead you astray!"

Someone within the crowd lobs a red, fat tomato at him that lands before his feet with a loud splat. I give Peggy a bewildered look. Either this guy has a death warrant, or he is just plain dumb.

"Get down from there you Tory!" someone shouts angrily, and the crowd jeers in agreement.

The man gives the crowd an affronted look before shouting, "I pray the king shows you his mercy, you traitors!" Suddenly, someone grabs his ankles, and the man falls to his knees on the crate. Soon enough the rest of the people at the foot of the crate drag him down from the crate to the ground.

I hear the man screaming and the people shouting, and next thing I know they've tied up the man and are leading him down the street. I make to head towards the moving crowd parading the man, to do what? I'm not sure, but Peggy grabs my forearm and quickly yanks me back.

"Are you mad?" she hisses as she begins leading us away from the maddening crowd. "If you go in there demanding them to release that Loyalists, they'll turn on you next," she warns me. "Even if you are a woman."

"What are they going to do to him?" I ask, glancing behind me worriedly as we walk briskly away.

"Tar and feather him, of course, and it'll happen to you if you step in. The Sons of Liberty are near fanatics," Peggy informs me bluntly as she keeps a grip on my arm.

"I'm not stupid enough to go after him," I protest, mildly offended that she thinks I'm that dumb.

She lets out a sound of disbelief. "It sure looked like you were about to do just that," she tells me, casting me a dubious look. I narrow my eyes right back and wrest my arm from her grip.

"I'm not going to act rashly," I mumble, and she only lets out a hmm?

When we get back to the house, our mother appears in front of us with a disapproving look and demands, "Where are the groceries?"

And then we're going back to the town to get the groceries that we'd forgotten to buy in our haste to get away from the crowd-turned-mob. When we exit the store with our bags of food in hand, I catch sight of the man covered in feathers being paraded down a street.

I cringe in sympathy for the man and hurriedly walk away with Peggy at my heels.

When we get back to the house again, it's such a relief and I'm so exhausted that I immediately collapse on my bed with a letter of Hamilton's clutched in my hand and promptly pass out.