Chapter 1
So hey guys this is the sequel to Cleverest! If you haven't read Cleverest I strongly encourage you to do so! Please review and let me know what you think because I love getting feedback on stuff I can improve, or just what you think of the story! Oh yeah, I don't own Doctor Who, but I do own Elizabeth/Avani/Persephone/Felicity. - Yeah I know it's confusing, but without further ado I bring you Chapter 1. Enjoy!
"Oh, Rose what foolish things are our men going to do tonight?" I sigh, rocking back and forth on my mother's rocking chair.
"God only knows. Where is your father?" Rose inquires.
"Old South Meeting House. They are discussing the tea issue. Father said they are going to demand Governor Hutchinson to send the cargo ship back to England," I reply, concentrating hard on my sampler.
"I see."
"He is being completely unreasonable, though! He refuses to let me accompany him to one of the meetings because he says it is no place for a woman or a child. I just want to see what it is like. I grow weary of searching the newspapers for the news of the country; I want to be a part of it. But you know how Father is, doesn't even think it is proper for Nathaniel to give me a peck on the cheek. Says it's indecent," I mutter, tapping the sampler against my palm.
"Oh you know how your father is old-fashioned. Remember he had trouble adjusting to the prospect of the colonies rebelling against England's wishes. Look at him now; he is an ardent patriot just as much as you and me. Give him time and he will come around," she promises.
"I just wish he was not so overbearing with Nathaniel. I swear every time Nathaniel comes over he makes a point to mention his shot gun in the closet, and he forces one of the maids to spy on us. No trust whatsoever," I vent.
"How are things going between you and Nathaniel?" Rose asks, smirking. I attempt to suppress a smile, but to no avail.
"Rose, you're hidden insinuations are making me blush, but I must tell you it is nothing like that. Nathaniel is sweet, and very gentlemanlike. Also he is a devoted patriot, so we can talk about our beliefs freely to each other," I answer sheepishly.
"So do you think he's going to propose?" She leans forward on the lounger, ready to listen.
"I hope, after all we have been courting for a couple months now. Father will probably make me wait a year to marry, since I am only fifteen. What about you, Rose? Do you fancy anyone?" I laugh. She giggles back, shaking her head.
"Sadly no."
"Oh come now. A beautiful girl like you surely has some suitors," I insist.
"No, no. I'm not the marrying type," she disregards. I nod, and begin to pace the floor. "How long are those meetings usually?" She questions. I smooth out my gown, keeping my nervous hands preoccupied.
"Now that you mention it he should have been back an hour ago. Perhaps he stopped at the general store for some milk," I reason. I peer out the window to the dark December night. A chill runs down my spine, and I tighten the shawl around my shoulders.
"Ah, so that is the only thing besides water we have to drink? God, I miss tea," she groans, setting her book aside.
"Hush now, it's for a good cause. If tea is to be taxed then we will have none. The tyrant will not get away with this tea foolishness."
"Yes, I know, but we do owe everything to England. I mean we did originate from there. Blimey, we just moved here two years ago. England is our home," Rose points out.
"But I do not feel it is the same England that we used to know and love. It has changed by the way of a tyrant. It has become cold to its children, and treats us differently even though we are English too. The only thing that separates us is an ocean, yet it feels much farther than that. We both have different thoughts, different dreams. We only want to be free from the shackles that bind us to the mother country. The prospect that we have to pay for the wages of war is unfathomable, and completely ignorant on their part. Why should we have to pay outlandish taxes without ever getting a say in parliament? Who are they to say that we are to pay for that expensive war without our voices being heard? What entitles them to such luxuries that we do not have the pleasure of knowing? That, my dear, is why we are rebelling against the home that gave us everything. That is why we are rebelling against the home that is now taking everything away. Who are we not to fight back? And lastly who are they to say that we are not permitted to do so?" I respond passion and determination enveloping my tone. Before Rose can rebuttal my opinion, the door comes flying open.
"Felicity, get behind me!" Rose warns. We have heard stories about redcoats invading houses for a place to stay while they are deployed in the colonies, but the tales always ended badly. We soon see Father hurry into the house, and let our guard down.
"Mr. Smith you just about gave us a heart attack," Rose scolds as I come out from behind her.
"Nope only me. Now Lissie, go to your bedroom and retrieve your paints I bought you for your birthday last year," he orders, removing his suspenders. He pulls his shirt over his head, and removes the suspenders completely.
"Father, what are you doing?" I exclaim, completely shocked about his disrobing right in front of Rose and me.
"The paint, off you go," he ignores. I hurry off to my bedroom, and retrieve the paints that he asked for. I set them down before him, intrigued what he will use them for. He dips his fingers into the jars, and starts to draw lines across his face with the red paint and white paint. His bare chest is exposed, and I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot.
"What on God's green Earth are you doing?" I demand.
"Having tea at the Boston Harbor," he chuckles.
"Oh no," Rose murmurs to herself.
"What do you mean?" I question, now averting my attention to her.
"He did always mention pushing tea crates into the harbor, and I thought he was joking," she laughs to herself.
"Rose, who is he and why would he push tea crates into the harbor?" I persist.
"It doesn't matter," she sighs.
"Why?" She runs her tongue over her lips, and I see her eyes glaze over with tears.
"Because you," she starts, but falters, "…you will never remember."