September, 1777
Bread. For months now it had been at every meal and Sara Sidle was sick of it. Tonight's meal wasn't any different. Aunt Catherine had prepared a Shepard's Pie and it was good, but the presence of the annoying stale bread upset her and she refused to eat it.
"Oh Sara," Aunt Catherine sighed. "I do wish you would eat your bread."
Sara pinched off a piece of the bread and fingered it. "We always have this stale bread. When will we be able to make it with milk again?" she complained.
Uncle Jim sighed. "You know the troops took our only milking cow. I'm afraid we will be eating bread like this for some time now," he said forking more of the pie into his mouth.
Ever since the Colonies had gone to war with the British things had changed. The life of bread made with milk and sunny afternoon walks ended abruptly for her and in it's place was stale bread.
"It's a sin to waste, Sara. Eat," Uncle Jim said.
Sin. Nowadays everything had turned into a sin. To her Uncle Jim it was a sin to do just about anything. It was a sin to laugh on Sunday, it was a sin for a grown lady not to ride a horse side-saddle, and above it all was a sin not to eat the bland food that was set in front of you.
Sara pushed back her bowl and stood. "I'm not hungry," she said.
Aunt Catherine and Uncle Jim stopped, their forks in mid-air, staring at her. To her, they were doing a first class impression of the bug-eyed fish that swam in the streams during the summer. Her younger cousin, who had been sitting beside her, giggled and put his hand over his mouth.
"Your Aunt worked hard to prepare this meal. Sit down and eat," Uncle Jim tried to say calmly.
"Well, we have been working hard all of our lives and it isn't fair that they take our cow!" Sara cried.
"Sara, the soldiers are fighting to free us," Aunt Catherine said, her voice calm and quiet.
"I don't want freedom if this is what we have to go through. They are getting closer to the house every day. We can't even walk outside any more!" Sara continued.
Uncle Jim moved to stand and by the stern look on his face, Sara knew he meant to scold her. Aunt Catherine placed a hand on his shoulder and he relaxed.
"I don't stand for that talk, Sara. If I could, I would be out fighting beside our troops. In this house we support them and everything we own is theirs," he said, picking his fork back up and stabbing an orange carrot.
Instead of returning to her supper, Sara turned and rushed out the kitchen door. Outside the air stung the inside of her nose and burned her throat when she inhaled, but she would rather be in the cold than to be where she was not wanted. She walked out towards the remains of what had once been a beautiful vegetable garden and let her tears flow. She remembered a time when the garden was full of life. Corn stalks once stood tall and round orange pumpkins grew on vines. The ripe tomatoes, that had once been a sweet summertime treat, were gone and in their place was dirt. Sometimes she longed to return home, but she knew there was nothing there. It wasn't that her aunt and uncle were mean people, that wasn't the case at all. She just simply missed the face of her mother.
"Sara," little John said, as he approached her. "Papa sent me to come bring you in."
Sara turned to look down at her young cousin. She had an elder cousin, Nick, who had enlisted. The family prayed for him every night, but Sara had no hope. She thought it was useless to have hope in a world that believed in war.
"I'll be along," she said, ruffling his hair and walking deeper onto the dirt of the old garden.
"Are you a Tory, Sara?" John asked with wide eyes.
Sara was quick to look down at him. "Of course I'm not a Tory. I just don't believe we should fight and kill when we could sit down and talk it out," she said, kicking a hole and exposing a rotten potato.
"Papa said we tried to talk. Remember when that British solider stayed with us and he ate all our food and smoked Papa's pipe?" he asked, picking up a giant stick and twirling it around like a rifle.
"Yes Johnny, I remember," she replied. She did indeed remember. The man smelled terrible and would hardly bathe. On top of all that, he was rude and used the foulest of language around John and Sara. Uncle Jim had to appeal to the council to have him moved because he didn't like the way he looked at Sara and Aunt Catherine.
"I don't think I want people like him to run our government. If I was old enough I would go and fight, just like Nick," he said, picking up his stick and aiming it like a gun.
Sara laid a hand on his pretend gun and slowly lowered it. "What if I don't want you to go, Johnny?" she asked, kissing him on the head.
John rubbed his head and made a sick face. "Oh Jeez, Sara. You know I'm not a kid anymore!" he said.
~~O~~
The next morning Sara awoke to the sound of the rattling stove lid and the smell of biscuits baking, though she knew they were likely to be hard. She threw back her covers and the cold air of the room hurriedly made it's way under her night gown to nip at her skin.
In the next room, Sara could hear John getting up and moving about his bedroom. Sara filled her wash basin with cold water and splashed some onto her face. The water stung her cheeks and when she looked into the looking glass she saw that they were rosy. She quickly changed into her house dress, combed her hair, and went to stand beside the hearth in the kitchen. Downstairs Aunt Catherine was already setting the table and dishing out the food.
"Sara, I need you to go and bring in a pail of water," Aunt Catherine said as she stirred the gravy.
Sara nodded and picked up the metal water pail that was always hanging on the hook by the door. Outside frost glittered on almost every single blade of grass and the air smelled fresh and clean. It was easy to forget a war was happening. She reached the watering pump and set the pail on the ground in front of it and worked the lever. At first nothing came out, but after a few hard pumps the water poured out and ran into the pail. Sara always liked to drink the cool water. Behind her, she heard the sound of horses' hoofs and turned to see a pair of soldiers riding up to the house.
"Uncle Jim!" she called, forgetting the water pail and rushing towards the house.
As she reached the front door her Uncle Jim came out and saw the men. "Go on inside," he said, placing his hand on her back.
"I left the water pail," she said, pointing back towards the pump.
"I'll bring it," he said firmly.
Sara went into the house and shut the door. Aunt Catherine looked up and noticed that Sara was empty handed.
"Where's the water?" she asked.
"Uncle Jim said that he would get it. There are solders outside," she said.
John, who had begun to eat his breakfast, went wide-eyed. "Do they have a pair of Indians with them?" he asked, dropping his slice of ham and rushing to the window.
Sara followed close behind and they parted the curtains to see Uncle Jim talking to the men. Both men were wearing revolvers and had on gray uniforms.
"Boy, I hope papa tells them to bug off," John whispered.
"He can't tell them that. They would shoot him on the spot!" Sara said.
Uncle Jim and the two men didn't look angry, but deep in conversation. Sara hoped they didn't want to take the chickens, they were all that they had left. One of the soldiers looked at Sara and John through the window and smiled. John smiled back, but Sara kept her face firmly set with a stern look.
"That man there is a captain," John explained, pointing to each man in turn. "And that man is a general. Boy, I wonder what they want."
Sara was thinking the exact opposite of John. She didn't care what they wanted, nor what they needed. She only wanted them gone.
"Papa's coming back," John said, rushing towards the door to hear the news.
Sara stayed rooted in her spot, watching as the men turned their horses to head back in the direction they came. The same man who had smiled nodded to her and gave her another smile. Without thinking Sara smiled back, but she quickly wiped it off her face. She was not fond of soldiers, nor did she intend to be. Satisfied that they were leaving she turned to hear what Uncle Jim had to say.
"What did they say, James?" Aunt Catherine asked as Sara sat down.
"They said the British will be heading by here soon. The soldiers told us that it's best we lock down," Uncle Jim said.
Aunt Catherine gasped. "James, what are we going to do?" she asked, deeply worried.
Uncle Jim raised his hand to calm her. "It's alright, the men assured me that we'll be fine. I offered our help in any way, of course," he explained.
"What do you mean?" Sara asked.
"I mean for a hospital if they need one or a place to rest. The troops need all the help they can get," Uncle Jim explained.
"But it's going to just like it was with that British solider. They'll eat our food and more than likely take our chickens," she said.
Uncle Jim waved her off. "They're not interested in our chickens. They seemed more interested in keeping the people safe. I wish I could do more," he said.
"Are the Indians coming too?" John asked.
"Mercy me, I hope not!" Aunt Catherine said.
"Let's all eat and then we'll worry about what to do," Uncle Jim said.
The water pail was long forgotten and not another word was said about the soldiers.
~~O~~
Uncle Jim stayed up all through the night. He kept the stove stocked and got up from time to time to look out the window. Sara watched him from the staircase. Though he didn't say it, she knew he was watching for signs of danger.
"Sara, what are you doing up? You need to be in bed," he said as he spied her.
She got quickly to her feet. "I'm sorry, I was worried about you," she said.
Uncle Jim smiled at her, the same smile that he had worn when she had come to live with them all those years ago.
"You don't need to worry," he said, trying to hide the rifle he had sitting beside him.
Sara looked towards the windows when a loud BOOM shook the house. It was soon followed by smaller shots from rifles and muskets. Through the window Sara could see that the sky was lighting up with fire.
"What are they setting on fire?" she asked, rushing to the window.
Uncle Jim shook his head. "I don't know. It could be the Andersen's barn," he said.
Sara knew that the Andersen's had traveled to a family plantation in Georgia, but she felt sorry for them to return to find their homestead burned. In the distance the sound of gun fire increased and once again the BOOM of a canon made the house shake.
Uncle Jim placed his hand on Sara's shoulder. "Go on up to bed. Everything is alright," he said.
Sara gave a nod and stood on shaky legs. A war was raging just miles from her home and she doubted sleep would come easy.
~~O~~
The next morning Sara awoke early to the sound of the front door banging open and the sound of heavy boots sounding on the floor. She quickly threw back her blankets and jumped out of bed.
"You can put him on the table," she heard Aunt Catherine say.
Quickly as she could, Sara threw on her house dress and combed her hair. If she was needed downstairs she must make haste! She pulled on her socks and shoes just as John was walking into the room.
"What's going on down there?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"I don't know, but stay up here until I know for sure," she said, ruffling his hair as she passed him.
Downstairs was a mass of confusion. Wounded men were everywhere and Aunt Catherine was attending to one that was lain across the table. Sara stood wide-eyed. Never in her life had she seen so much blood.
"Sara, help your aunt!" Uncle Jim called from somewhere in the room. The mass of men was so thick that she could barely see him.
She went to her aunt's side and watched as she held washcloths to a man's wounds; the blood was flowing out heavily. Sara tied her apron on and filled a large bowl full of boiling water from the kettle.
"Hold this to him firmly," Aunt Catherine instructed.
Sara pressed her hand to the rag that was covering the wound on the man's chest and the smell of blood filled her nostrils. Out the window she could see horses and men as far as her eye could see. She looked down at the man on the table and noticed that it was the one of the men that had come to the house.
"My… turn," the man said.
"What? Did you say something?" Sara said, bringing her ear closer to his lips.
"My turn… to die," he said.
Sara shook her head. "You're not going to die. We're going to help you," she said, holding the rag to his wound more firmly.
Even though she was against war in every way, shape, and form, she wasn't about to let a solider die and have blood on her hands.
"What's your name?" she said, as an attempt to keep him coherent.
It took a moment for the man to answer. "Gilbert," he said, turning his head to the side.
"Well, we're going to make you well again so you can go home to your family," she told the man.