Adella raised her arms above her head to straighten the light brown, cloth headband that held her hair from her eyes. A few brown tendrils had fallen from their place. She took her time, gently sliding each piece back into place so they wouldn't worry her any more as she attempted to straighten up the mess in her father's shop. As she fixed her hair, her eyes fell upon the wall in front of her. Amongst the array of portraits and other paintings that her father had painted and hung up, a painting of her mother stood out to her. It always did. She paused momentarily to stare into the warm brown eyes of the woman she had lost so young. She'd been ten when her mother and brother passed. At first the pain had been debilitating, but now only a dull ache remained. It was more of an emptiness—a reminder that kept her from truly living.

Adella could still see still fresh pain in her father's eyes, though. He had not regained his old self. How could he when he had lost two members of his family at once? Tragedy changed everyone, and it was no secret that everyone dealt with it differently. Adella sighed and finally diverted her gaze from the portrait. She carefully scooped up the long handled brushes that she had placed on the counter and reached for her turpentine rag.

The door to her father's shop creaked and squeaked its usual warning, signaling that someone was entering and Adella glanced up, expecting her father. A few British soldiers entered instead. They wore green trim on their red coats, letting Adella know that they were members of the Green Dragoons.

Although she grew up mainly in England, she did not know much about British military ranks or duties. The first man removed his helmet and glanced around the room before meeting her eyes. His coat told her that he was a higher rank than his two followers. Adella laid down the brushes in her hands and wiped them on the cloth.

With the clean air that circulated through the open door, she became vaguely aware of the strong scents of the oil paint and turpentine that had been locked inside with her. She became very aware of the heat that flashed across her face as well. She felt as though she should have been used to the British officers roaming the streets, but she still was not. The reasoning for that dealt solely with her and her father's own beliefs of the war.

The three men silently set their gazes upon her as they shuffled in the store and shut the door back behind them. Adella cleared her throat quietly and moved from behind the counter. A flare of fear shifted through her, but she tried to calm herself, reminding herself that she and her father had done nothing to make their own viewpoints on the war public. Her father had painted more portraits for British officers in the past few weeks than she imagined he ever had for their friends or family. She hoped that the men were only coming in for their portraits. What else could they want?

"Hello officers," Adella gave them a smile and addressed them politely.

"Hello," the higher ranked man stepped across the room and stopped before her. He held his helmet under his left arm, pressing it to his side. He was older than she. His dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and his blue eyes seemed to flash with the smile that crossed his face.

"Is there anything that I can help you with? I'm afraid that my father has not yet made it back from a quick trip out of the shop," Adella wished that the man would glance away from her at least for a brief moment. His blue eyes were as intense as his presence.
"Your father is Elijah Alcott?" the man asked with a slight tilt of his head.

"Yes Sir," she answered formally. "I'm his daughter, Adella Alcott"
"Colonel William Tavington," he introduced himself with a nod of his head.
Adella smiled again. He was handsome. But many of the soldiers were.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Colonel," she murmured.

He smiled back at her politely and for a moment, she was frozen in her own smile. Adella became quickly aware of her awkwardness. She glanced down and brushed at her paint stained apron before meeting his eyes again. She knew that she must look awful. She'd been in the store all day. When she glanced back up, she met his eyes again, though. He had not looked away as she hoped he would have. She searched for words in her head, trying to conjure up any kind of sentence.

But the Colonel finally looked away from her and, she let out an uneasy breath. His eyes swept around the cluttered store room, stopping on the many portraits that hung on the wall to their right. She looked to the portraits and then back to the Colonel. He seemed to be admiring her father's work, so Adella stayed silent for a few seconds.

"Did you have an appointment with my father?" She finally allowed her eyes to drift to the two men still standing not far from the door.

"Actually I did not. I only recently learned of the work he has been doing," The Colonel spoke.

He took a few steps toward a painting that she had been working on, and she suddenly felt embarrassed.

"I wanted to see his work for myself."

The painting was propped on an easel that looked as though it had held many paintings over the years. It was one that her father had retired and given her. Adella had only recently put the finishing touches on the painting she'd been piddling with. At the bottom she'd just recently signed her name. The subjects were her father's friends, a shop keeper down the street, and his wife; they were the very ones that he was supposed to be visiting.

"You work in your father's shop?" The Colonel looked back to her.

"Yes sir. My father tried to teach me a little of what he has learned," Adella reached up to brush another fallen tendril out of her eyes. She silently cursed her own falling hair and haphazard appearance.

"You have your own clients here?"

"Oh no sir. I wash the brushes and I clean mainly."

"And paint," Tavington cut her off, pointing to the painting.

"A little," she gave in. "But mainly for leisure. I'm…I'm still learning."

"Very nice," the Colonel responded.

"Thank you sir. My father should be back soon," Adella answered quickly.

The Colonel moistened his lips and reached up to rub his chin with his forefinger and thumb.

"I would actually prefer if you painted for me. Does your father allow that?"

Adella raised her eyebrows in surprise. She swallowed hard.

"Um I….I would have to ask him," Adella stuttered, and the Colonel smiled.

"Oh. Yes. Yes. Of course, " he responded smoothly. "I understand. I guess that I can wait for a little while."

He stepped back away from her painting and stopped before her as he spoke.

"Okay," Adella nodded. She gave him a slight smile.

"Excuse me for a moment. I, unlike them, can actually appreciate art, " He turned away from her and started towards the two officers that had come with him.

Adella turned as well, moving back behind the counter and scooping up the brushes to busy herself.

She could only make out a few words that he spoke.

"Borden," The Colonel said in a hushed tone. "I'll return in time…"

Adella looked back up when the other two men turned and left the shop.

"I'll just take a seat then," he said calmly.

"Okay sir," Adella cleared her throat quietly and brought her attention back to the brushes in her slender fingers. Did he really want her to paint him? She could feel the anxiety rising inside her. Someone of a high rank actually wanted her services?

She watched the Colonel out of the corner of her eye. He moved toward the small sitting area that was only a small distance away. He sat, staring in her direction from the old but beautiful couch that more than one person could sit on for their portrait together.

Adella found it hard to focus. Being alone in a room with a strange man, a British soldier, especially

He did not look as though he had been in a battle recently. He was calm and collected, but perhaps that was what made him so dangerous. She'd half expected him to be covered with specks of rebels' blood.

As she moved to wipe the last brush, she attempted to sneak another peek at him. She met his eyes by accident.

"I actually have a future engagement. When will your father be back?"

Adella glanced to the door and then back to her hands.

"I uh…I'm not sure sir. I'm terribly sorry for your inconvenience."

"Do you think you could at least begin for him?"

Adella glanced back to the Colonel. Of course the statement had come from a man with no artistic background. Staring a piece for someone else to finish was unheard of and completely crazy, but she did not want to deny him.

"I cannot charge you for a portrait. I am not qualified."

"Nonsense," he began. "I want you to paint my portrait. You seem like a delightful young lady. I would very much enjoy seeing your talent put to use."

"I guess that I could begin," she murmured although she knew her father probably would not approve.

Once she started, she would have to finish it.

The Colonel smiled back at her.
"Thank you very much. Now where shall I sit?"

Adella wiped her hands on her apron and glanced toward the wooden stage and all of the available seats.

"One of these straight back chairs would probably be best," She started walking toward him and he climbed to his feet.

"Would you like to just sit in this chair sir?" she motioned toward a plain, wooden chair.

Colonel Tavington moved passed her slowly and sat down confidently. He sat his helmet in his lap and looked to her for guidance.

"Would you like to wear or hold your helmet?" she asked politely.

"I think that I won't," he held the helmet out to her. Taken off guard, she paused a moment before she took it from him. It was much heavier than she imagined.

She stared at the helmet in her hands after she turned from him. This helmet had been in battle and probably protected the Colonel from God knows what. She gently laid it out of the way and picked up one of the smaller wooden panels that she had prepared for her father to paint just that morning.

Upon turning back, her blue eyes met his again, but she reprimanded herself and instead focused on a small tin cup of charcoal sticks. She pretended like choosing one was a hard task.

"You know…It will be quite different to have a lovely lady paint my portrait rather than the old men I am used back home."

Adella smiled slightly and picked up a small stick of charcoal.

"Not many people come here and specifically ask for me,"Adella said softly. "Unlike him, I did not go through the proper apprenticeship."

"Well you seem to be working under him now. It seems like a near proper apprenticeship to me. Besides, your work is extraordinary."

Adella blushed slightly.

She placed her wooden panel on the old easel and sat down. She looked up to the Colonel who was sitting comfortably back in his chair, facing her straight forward. He seemed to be studying her just as much as she was studying him. His hands were clasped in his lap and he had one leg crossed elegantly over the other.

Adella chewed at her bottom lip, and glanced back down to the blank board. The only thing that the Colonel had correct about his form was the rigidness in his shoulders.

"Could you turn your head slightly sir?" she asked timidly and pointed to the right when she finally got the nerve to look back at him.

He turned his head quickly.

"Could you tilt your chin as well?"

She watched him turn and tilt, but never how she needed. She forced a nervous smile.

"I'm not doing this right am I?" he asked. "Be a dear and show me what you mean?"

Adella sat frozen for a few seconds, before she finally willed herself to get up and step up to him.

"Yes sir," she spoke.

Now that he was seated, and she standing before him, they were at eye level.

He actually smelled pleasant—very pleasant. The fragrance that wafted from him was not like she expected from the rough and tumbled Colonel Tavington. It was pleasant.

It all felt wildly inappropriate. Maybe because the rest of the town still believed that she was being courted by Michael Harrison, although that had ended a week earlier unbeknownst to everyone else. Her father wouldn't want her physically placing a British officer into the correct form, but she was afraid that she would offend him and afraid that she would lose the business for her father.

We need every client we can get, she reminded herself.

She took a deep breath and tried to forget that he was who he was. If she acted nervous, he could suspect something. Colonel Tavington was a hero for the loyalists. If she and her father's opinions of the war became public, there was not telling what would happen.

Adella reached out slowly, daintily, and touched the sides of his face, barely with the very tips of her fingers. His face was freshly shaved and so warm to the touch. Adella had barely ever touched a man before. She helped her father when he stumbled, and she and Michael had been as close as could be appropriate without marriage, but this just seemed much different. Tavington stared back into her eyes so she tried to avoid his. Using her thumb, she tilted his chin slightly, unconsciously tilting her own chin to study the bone structure of his face. Her eyes trailed down his neck to his adams apple and then back up when she saw him swallow. She met his eyes again and couldn't hide the shy blush that creeped across her face.

"There," she said softly, barely finding her voice as she retrieved her hands.

"Thank you," he smiled and she looked to the floor.

"Try to be still," she said as she walked back to her chair.

"As you wish," he responded lightly.

Adella made sure her dress covered her legs as she gently lowered herself back to her chair.

As she brought her eyes to the panel, she brought both of her hands back up to brush a few strands of hair behind both of her ears.

Adella stared hard at the panel that sat before her. Once again self-conscious, she rubbed her forefinger and thumb into the small stick of charcoal. She was finding it hard to look at him. How was she going to draw him?

"You're very quiet," the Colonel said. "Or are you just concentrating?"

"Concentrating," she responded softly. "Are you sure that you want me to do this?" Adella's eyes rose back to his. "People will not recognize my name as they would my father's."

"You're fine Adella. I would like you to do it. I do not necessarily care for the name on the painting. But I do need some remembrance of me. I could die tomorrow. I could die next week."

"Do you have family back home that you wish to send this to?"

"No," his answer was abrupt.

Adella took a breath and looked back to him. She was looking at him, but not looking at him at the same time. She tilted her head as she studied the shape of his head and neck.

"How long have you worked in your father's shop?"

Adella waited a few moments before she answered. "For as long as I can remember."

"Your father suggested it for you?' The Colonel asked.

"Yes he did. My mother did not mind actually."

"She was not afraid that you would reject the proper lady like behavior then?" The Colonel questioned with a smile.

"As long as she was alive she made sure that I would not forget I was a lady."

"And I can tell that you have not forgotten. I'm sorry for your loss. Is it just you and your father then?"

Adella nodded. "My brother passed with my mother. They…She…" she paused a moment, corrected the curve of his chin with her piece of charcoal, and then looked back to him.

"When he was born, they died," she finished softly.

"In childbirth? I'm so sorry," he murmured. "How old were you?"

"I was ten," she answered softly.

"And your sibiling..did not survive? That's traumatic."

"But what about you, Colonel, if I may ask…" She was beginning to feel a little bolder. "You've not been married?"

"No. And you?"

"No I have not," she said softly.

The subject was touchy even for herself to think about now.

"If I may ask, How old are you Adella?"

"I've recently turned twenty, sir," she answered him without looking back, instead focusing her attention on the shape she had just roughly sketched.

"That is none of my business, I apologize for asking. I'm just surprised…That you've not gotten yourself a husband by now. But I'm sure someone has your hand?"

"No. They don't. If…I mean when I get married I will not be able to continue working in my father's shop, though" she said.

"Odd."

"Odd?" she repeated, smiling at his bold statement.

"Odd that you spend all of your time working here and not out with the other young ladies."

"How do you know that I do not spend time with the other young ladies?" She questioned.

"I've never seen you out. And I do believe I've met nearly all of the young ladies, here," he responded. His lips curled into a slight smile.

"I have friends," she responded.

"Like the group of ladies I saw come inside earlier? Did they have their portraits painted?" The colonel asked.

"No. They did not. That is one of the very friends I was speaking of. Elizabeth. She was only stopping by for a short visit,"Adella's hand moved across the panel quickly. Talking seemed to make it easier. Time was flying by and Adella felt that she was getting more accomplished.

"Ah so the two of you are well acquainted?"

"Yes and no. We were childhood friends. I know we are from different…well much different families. But our mothers were friends and Elizabeth was born actually only a week before I. We've known each other our whole lives."

"So you will be attending her father's party tonight?" the colonel questioned, catching her off guard.

"Uhh we do not talk as often as we once did," Adella shook her head slowly. "I'm afraid that I will not be attending. That is what I told her. I have too much to do here. You're going?" she raised her eyes to him.

He nodded. "Why do you say you don't fit in? You are a beautiful young woman of proper marrying age."

"That was bold-" Adella stopped herself mid sentence.

But the Colonel only smiled.

"I'm taking care of my father. I have no time to go to parties or get married," she said, looking up to his face as she did.

"Ah, I see. I did not even know that you lived here in this area of New York. I assumed that I had already met all of the young girls here. I've been here for nearly a week already."

"Well then you've met a lot of girls in the span of a week," Adella smiled. "I do not go very often. I do not fit in with them."

"If anything at all, I would have presumed that you did not belong here in this shop," Tavington murmured. "Though your talent has proven itself now that I've seen it."

"Adella?"

"Father," Adella turned from the Colonel and her panel. She was surprised that he had entered through the back door and not the front.

She stopped herself from getting up, not wanting to leave the Colonel sitting alone across from her easel.

"I'm sorry Colonel. I apologize for any misunderstanding-" her father began immediately. He hurried over to stand between her easel and the colonel.

"Oh no. There was none at all. I asked your daughter if she would paint my portrait," the Colonel completely moved from the position he had been holding so Adella lowered her hand to her lap.

She looked back to her father who had unknowingly raised an eyebrow in surprise. She allowed the Colonel to explain.

"I hope that I have not intruded," Tavington continued. He climbed to his feet.

"Oh not at all. Adella is very talented. She can do as much as I could have. Traditionally, she is not asked to paint so you must understand my surprise."

Tavington gave her father a warm smile. "I understand Mr. Alcott, but I have absolutely no problem with allowing your daughter to finish this for me. You will receive the same amount of pay of course. She has already proven herself, as you said."

Adella watched her father try to hide the surprise on his face.

"Thank you…sir," Her father held his hand out and the Colonel took it.

"William Tavington, Mr. Alcott," he introduced himself.

"Elijiah," her father corrected with a forced smile.

"Well, Elijiah, Ms. Alcott," he nodded to the both of them as he retrieved his helmet. "Unfortunately I have plans later this evening. Is it possible that I can come in another day to continue the portrait?"

"Oh, yes absolutely," Adella's father responded. "We'll be in touch. It was very nice to meet you." He reached out and shook the colonel's hand again.

Adella smiled at the colonel as he looked her way.

"And it was nice to meet you Ms. Alcott," he held out his hand to her as well.

Adella hesitantly placed her hand in his and he brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss.

Adella felt her heart flutter in her chest at the bold move.

She bit into her bottom lip and nervously looked to her father, but did not pull away.

"It was nice to meet you too, sir," she said softly as she retrieved her hand.

"Call me William," he responded with a smile. He nodded to them and headed for the door.

"We'll be in touch," he called out as he opened the shop door.

As soon as he shut it behind him, Adella heard her father sigh behind her.

"Adella I wish that you would have waited for me," he murmured tiredly.

"I wanted too, father, but he insisted," Adella defended herself.

Her father reached up and scratched his head.

"I have my head on straight father," she continued defending herself against her father's words.

She knew that her father did not trust the confident red coats that paraded through New York.

"It's not you I'm worried about sweet Adell," her father sank into the chair that Adella had occupied as she painted.

Adella watched her father's eyes roam across the unfinished portrait of the Colonel. It was almost drawn out completely in charcoal. He slouched back and touched his right hand to his cheek, propping it there as he studied her work.

"These British officers …They gallivant around talking to all of the young and successful girls in town while they are here," he muttered. "I know that most of them have their own wives and mistresses back where they came from. They are running around ruining these young girls who have so much going for them…They promise marriage and put ideas into your head—with no plans of going through with it. I know you've heard about Sarah."

Adella chewed at her bottom lip. "I know." She looked down.

"That boy...that soldier isn't going to marry her. He is long gone now. She is with child and all alone. And to think that she could have had a nice marriage right around the corner had she not gotten involved with him."

Adella nodded tiredly. She did not want a life lesson out of poor Sarah's mistakes. "I know, I know father. I know that they are bored here when they are not in battle. I won't allow myself to be another one of those poor souls who just fill their time here."

Elijah Alcott eased himself out of the chair, reaching up to grasp the middle of his back.

Adella moved with him, reaching for his back and helping him to his feet. Her father's back pain had gotten much worse. Years leaning over canvas and wood as he painted had done it to him. He coughed loudly and cleared his throat.

Adella flinched. His cough had been getting worse too.

"I was only painting his portrait, father. It isn't like I planned to meet him later. When I finish his portrait I will never see him again."

"You must be careful around these soldiers."

"I've heard the stories, father, but he did not seem dangerous," Adella responded.

"He's very dangerous," her father gritted through his teeth. "He's like a wolf in sheep's clothing. See that is what I mean. He has tried to charm you already."

"Father," Adella started.

"Had he found out that we do not support the Loyalists as we say we do, he would have done God knows what to would have burned the place down," her father lowered his voice. "That is also why I tell you to not get too close. I feel that they are waiting for someone to slip up and reveal that they are not a loyalist."

Adella shivered at the thought. "I know. I'm sorry father, but I could not turn him away."

Her father nodded. "You are right…and always smart Adell. We have to treat them respectfully and hope that they do the same to us."

"Father, do we have to continue painting portraits of the very people we despise? We lie to their faces every day."

"Be careful sweet Adell. Just allow your tongue to gather too much slack around him. He will listen to every word you say. They all do as if they are waiting for us to make a mistake and reveal something."

"Of course. No war talk, father." Adella reached behind herself to untie her apron.

"I would rather no talk at all. I think that he fancies you. I would rather you not be alone with him. What would Michael say?"

"I am not Michael's property father," Adella half groaned. " I turned down his proposal. And it is fine. He does not fancy me. I'm not his type."

"You're young and beautiful. You're his type. Why are you defending him? Are you yet ready to settle down? Has he changed your mind now?"

"No father. I have no feelings for that man. I just think you are worrying too much. I'm not ready to settle down. That is why I turned down Michael." she spat. "I do not have eyes for-"

"I know that you do not," her father interrupted her. "But Michael would have been a good choice, darling. I'm going to lie down. It's getting late."

Adella sat back down at her easel as her father headed toward the back of the shop. She stared into the outline of Colonel Tavington's facial features. She could see his deep blue eyes in her mind, and fought the urge to go ahead and pull out the oil paints to get a head start. She imagined all of the wondrous shades she would have to put to achieve the natural beauty of those eyes.

But then she scolded herself. She looked down at her hand. He'd caught her off guard when he kissed it. Even if he'd done it to every girl in New York, it still made her heart flutter a little. And that's why she knew her father was worried. She actually was a little too. He made her nervous. She looked back to the chair he had been sitting in. What if he was interested in her? Adella shook her head. She knew she would never get involved with someone like him even if there was a chance he was interested in her, though she doubted it. The other girls that he spoke of were elegant and beautiful. And they had money. Besides, what did she even want? Not marriage. Not at the moment, which was why she'd turned down poor, gentle Michael.

He probably wouldn't even come back. And she knew that would be best.