Silently Resigned

I

"Miss!"

Elizabeth Schuyler screwed her eyes shut against the blinding sunlight that was streaming through her window. The maid who woke her every morning knew at this point that simply saying the girl's name wouldn't wake her up. Eliza was the sort of person who needed complete darkness to sleep; she couldn't sleep with her curtains open. Sadly, the maids had figured that out.

"Elizabeth, it is nearly noon," Rosalind said, pulling the blankets off Eliza's bed. "Your sisters want to go into town. You should rise."

"Tell them to wait," Elizabeth mumbled into my pillow, wishing it wasn't wash day so she could have her blankets back. "I am tired. And tell my father I am not hungry. I am tired of him lecturing me for being to thin."

"You ought to rise," Rosa chided. "And your father is right about your being to thin. You look as though you have been starved."

Elizabeth threw off her blanket and rolled over forcefully onto her back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I only look like that because Peggy has been spoiled rotten. I am certainly thin in comparison to her."

"Do not tease your sister, Elizabeth."

Fed up and now fully awake with no excuse to stay in bed, Eliza rose from the soft mattress and looked out the window. Her father owned quite the property. It was large and beautiful, with rolling hills and enough flowers to fill a thousand vases. The property could have likely housed at least thirty families if split up, but instead they had it all to themselves. Sometimes that made Elizabeth feel guilty. Other times...well, other times she couldn't care less about the impoverished.

Rosalind was leafing through Eliza's closet, which was packed with gowns and summer dresses that, too, could have benefitted the poor. Dresses were things she didn't care much about keeping—one could always buy more—but her father insisted on her keeping them. You never know, he always said. Perhaps you will regret donating them and want to wear them again. You ought to keep them.

'You ought to this,' 'you ought to that,' Eliza thought to herself cynically. Everyone always says I 'ought to do something.' Well, I shall have none of it.

"Cream today, Elizabeth?" Rosalind asked, holding up a simple off-white town dress. Eliza and her sisters had nicknamed the style 'town dresses' after their ventures into the city became frequent and their father wanted something simple to tell the seamstress. The three liked the comfortably elegant style, and it seemed to suit their weekly ventures quite well from a practical perspective, with a supportive front-lacing corset and lightweight petticoats that fell just above the ankle.

Eliza pulled off her nightdress and slipped on a white shift. Rosa began to tie the petticoats about Elizabeth's waist.

"Your father has forbidden you and your sisters from going downtown," Rosa said as she laced up the corset. "Be sure to listen this time. The revolution is becoming violent, and he does not want his daughters getting hurt."

"Have we ever gotten hurt before?" Eliza asked as she swept her dark hair over her shoulder. "The people know who we are. They would not harm us."

"Your father knows what is best for you three," Rosalind contradicted. "You ought to listen."

There was that word again. Ought. Eliza was sick of hearing that word.

"My father thinks he knows what is best for us," Elizabeth replied firmly. "Angelica would agree."

"If perhaps you have not noticed, miss, your sister has grown mildly...tempestuous...over the past month and is perhaps not the best source to draw from," Rosa said, carefully tucking the edge of the shift into the corset.

Eliza slapped Rosalind's hand away and turned to face the mirror angrily. "Angelica has only grown tempestuous because daddy has been regulating our freedom. I am nearly eighteen. I think I know what is best for myself."

Rosalind scowled, clutching her hand to her chest. "To think Margarita has become the most sensible," she said scornfully, then turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

Elizabeth whirled around in frustration and sat down on the small wooden stool beside the vanity. To think Margarita has become the most sensible indeed! she scoffed to herself. That girl is practically a loyalist.

A glance up at the clock on her wall told her it was nearly noon, so she pulled on her stockings and shoes, brushed out her hair and hurried down to the kitchen.

Angelica was sitting with Peggy in the breakfast room when she arrived. Her eighteen-year-old sister was wearing a town dress in a sensible dark brown, and sixteen-year-old Peggy in a light honey-wood tone of the same style. Angelica had her hair in a single dark braid, while two shorter braids framed the younger girl's slightly chubby face.

"Betsy, thank goodness you are awake," Angel sighed tiredly. "Father says—"

"We can't go downtown," Eliza finished, sitting down at the third chair. "I know. I am going anyway."

The older girl let out a relieved sigh. "Thank God."

From the kitchen, a gasp could be heard, followed by a slightly muffled, "Lord have mercy!" Angelica ignored both. The eldest sister used profanity shamelessly around Eliza and Peggy, but the maids weren't quite as used to her verbal outbursts.

"You ought to listen to daddy," Margarita chided. Eliza rolled her eyes; the girl took after their father quite a bit. That is the last thing we need, Elizabeth thought to herself. Another daddy.

"Daddy does not always know what is best for us, Peggy," Angelica said with another heavy sigh. Elizabeth gave her older sister a look of clear admiration, then glanced at Peggy as if to say, 'see? Angelica agrees with me!'

"That is what I told Rosa!" Eliza said.

"You cannot expect much from Rosa," Angel said. "Her father is not too keen on the idea of independence."

"Why did father hire her?" Elizebeth asked.

"Because he does not have the strongest opinion on the matter either," Angelica said, a hint of sass visible in both her words and expression. A disgusted but also slightly proud expression surfaced in her eyes. "Hell, how did he manage to raise us?"

A second, slightly louder "Lord have mercy!" sounded from the kitchen, sending all three sisters into a fit of giggles.

An older maid by the name of Maryanne walked out from the kitchen carrying a picnic lunch, her stormy and mildly offended gaze directed pointedly at Angelica. She set down the basket.

"Your father suggested a picnic in town," Mary said, smoothing her apron. "And he tells you not to go downtown. The revolution has become violent, especially in Manhattan. You ought to—"

Eliza waved her hand dismissively. "We know, we know. We ought to listen. We will."

Maryanne sniffed suspiciously and left the room. Angelica didn't open her mouth until the kitchen door had closed shut, but before she could even speak Peggy stood up, slammed a chubby fist down on the table, and said, "You cannot go downtown. Father has ordered you not to. Do not even think about disobeying."

Angelica frowned, although her dark eyes were twinkling with mischief. "Fine, Margaret. We will listen this time, just for you."

"Good," Peggy said, a triumphant smile on her face. Then she marched out of the room without a backward glance, honey-wood skirts swishing about her hips, leaving her two older sisters to quietly plot out their afternoon downtown.