Revolutionary Hearts

Revolutionary Hearts: part two

May 31, 1780

I'm not sure if writing is for me, but as I sit here watching the candle burn low on my bedside table I feel there is nothing else to do. Sitting in silence is too much for me to handle right now. I have to do SOMETHING...

It's early morning right now; the sun is not yet up and neither is my family. Everyone is still in their rooms. I can hear Mother and Father talking in hushed voices, but am not able to discern their words. William and Alice, my little brother and sister, are still asleep. They are only six and seven, and so they don't really understand what has happened. They fell asleep without so much as a nightmare.

I, on the other hand, never went to sleep. I'm eighteen, and i understand far more than i would like to. I know what death means, and I know that Father is considering joining the local militia in the hopes of keeping the fighting from our door step and protecting our little family... I am so afraid for him. I am afraid for us all. I had known of the war before, of course. I'm not ignorant. But knowing and SEEING are two very different things... I am now far more terrified than ever before.

However, I am proud of Father for wanting to take a stand. Forty eight hours ago, perhaps I would have felt only confusion and worry, but two days have proved more than enough to change that---

I hear something outside. Mother and Father have fallen silent.

... Father just walked past my door with a gun...

May 31, 1780 (Continued)

Two days changed my mind before. Now it has taken mere hours. I claimed in the prior entry to be PROUD of my Father, and yet now I find myself feeling betrayed by him. AMERICA has been betrayed by him. When just this morning he was planning on joining the Patriots, he has now welcomed a RED COAT into our house! The young man showed up this morning on our property, one leg dragging strangely behind him. I will admit I first felt sorry for him from where i watched at the base of the stairs, but then i remembered what had happened to the surrendering Americans... I then felt a frighteningly strong hope for Father to shoot him on the spot. I've never been a violent person, but I'm sure even a priest would have felt some vicious desires if he'd stood in my place on the twenty-ninth...

I had expected Father to end this man, if for no other reason than to put him out of his misery. His left leg was badly hurt, and the closer he got to us the more wounds i saw on his face, his arms, his side. He limped up to our front step, his pale gray eyes locked on Father's weapon...

"I am here in peace. I come for your help... Please..." He was breathing hard, his expression pained, as he slowly lifted his hands. "I'm going to set my gun down," he continued softly, his accent thick and, though i hate myself for saying it, rather appealing...

'Don't move any closer!' Father shouted. 'Put your hands on your head. Now!'

The Red Coat quickly, painfully obliged.

'Tara,' Father said to me, 'Take his weapons. Set them on the ground and kick them out of his reach.'

Slightly confused, I listened. Now i regret doing as he said.

'Good,' Father continued. 'Now help him inside.'

I had balked, openly contested the order. 'Father! He is the enemy!'

'He is wounded, and needs our help. He has done us no personal harm, and i kill no man in cold blood.' He then turned cold, dark eyes on the Red Coat. "But mark my words, Englishman, if you so much as THINK of harming my family, I will gladly be the death of you."

And with that, he nodded towards the house, staring me down until I had helped the bastard in. Into our home. Into our lives...

Oh dear Lord, what have I done?