Chapter 2
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"Oh Rose, I'm sure I could if I tried. Why don't you try telling me?" I suggest, trying to ease the pain in her eyes.
"Later. When things aren't so chaotic," she assures, wiping the tears away from her eyes.
"Very well. Father you are going to get caught, and perhaps hanged for treason if you go through with this terrible act!" I stutter. He wraps a strand of cloth around his head to top off the ridiculous costume.
"That is why we are wearing disguises so that the redcoats won't be able to recognize us. Darling, it will be fine. Do not worry. Now you and Rose best be off to bed, it is getting late. Goodnight," he bids with a warm smile.
"But Father-" I begin.
"Goodnight, Felicity," he ends in a firm tone. I bow my head to the floor.
"Yes, sir," I sigh in defeat. He exits the house and the second the latch locks I sprint toward the window. Once I am sure he is a reasonable distance away, I rush to the coat rack and retrieve my plum bonnet.
"Felicity, what are you doing?" Rose questions as I tie the ribbons around my chin.
"Going out."
"Where?"
"To the Tea Party of course."
"Mr. Smith told us not to go out, though!" She reminds.
"Now you're catching on." She gives me a disapproving look, and I roll my eyes. "Technically he said that we should go to bed, but he didn't specify when. So really we are doing nothing wrong. Besides what could go wrong?" I bend the truth.
"Well, we could get captured and killed by redcoats, or get caught, screamed at, and then killed by your father," Rose replies bitterly. I wave it off.
"Are you coming or not?" I resolve. My hand falls on the door knob, and she crosses her arms in indecisiveness.
"It's completely mad, but that has never stopped me before," Rose mutters, snatching her crimson bonnet off the rack.
"Excellent. Allons-y!" I conclude, heading out the door.
"Quick, onto the lounger! Act like you fell asleep waiting for him to return!" I squeal, knowing Father was sprinting home from the infuriated redcoats. Rose and I jump onto the lounger, stretching out in a way that two sleeping adolescents would. I close my eyes, forcing them to relax as to look as real as possible. I hear the door creak open, and the clank of boots padding against the hardwood floor. My heart swells with hope as I hear them become fainter and fainter toward the hallway, but all is lost when a silent pause falls over the room. Only the crackle of the fireplace, and the heavy breathing of Father can be heard. The footsteps approach the lounger, and he lets out a light laugh.
"It seems my daughters have fallen asleep waiting for their Father," he states a little too loud to be believable. He has caught on, but I was never one to give up so easily. Both of us remain still and keep our faces emotionless in order to maintain our charade. His boots tap impatiently against the floor.
"I know you followed me up to the Boston Harbor. Do you really think I didn't hear the rustle of those bushes, and the constant whispering of the two of you bickering?" Father admits. He is bluffing. No movement, no giving up. "Lissie you were wearing the new plum bonnet that I told you not to wear until church on Sunday." He would not have known that unless he saw us. Father is not going to let this one slide. He is not going to give in to us this time. My eyes flutter open, and I prop myself up with my arms.
"Father, we just wanted to see-" I start, but he holds a hand up. He then points in the direction of our bedroom, his face stern.
"Felicity. Rose. Bed. Now."
"Yes, sir," we reply in unison, taking off toward our oasis. I slam the door shut behind us, locking the door for good measure. If he tries to yell/lecture us, he will have to do so through the thick wood of the door.
"How upset do you think Father is?" I inquire casually, slipping out of my ankle-length dress.
"Upset? The Doctor never-" Rose begins, but stops herself. My scrunch up my face in confusion, and cock my head to the side.
"The Doctor? Have you been snooping through my journal?" I question, trying to control my temper and tone.
"Journal. Show me this journal that you have," she orders, a look of realization and surprise falling over her soft features. I cross my arms in defense.
"Don't pretend that you don't know. You must have snooped through my things to know that I've been having dreams. Odd dreams," I huff. A bright smile that I have never seen before appears on her lips. She runs over to me, and clutches my shoulders tightly.
"Show me the journal. I need to see it," she demands. I shake my head.
"No, you betrayed my trust. Goodnight," I snap, blowing out the candle on the bureau. I hop into my bed, pulling the nightcap over my head. She sighs, and relights the candle to illuminate the room.
"Then it looks like I'm going to have to dig through your stuff to find it," she declares. I clench and unclench my fists in anger, but refuse to move from the bed.
"When my father took you in, I knew there was something different about you. A bad kind of different. You talk about things that are impossible. You speak about such mad things so lightly like you have seen them before. You are a temptress. Trying to coax me to believe your Satan driven ideas. You have even got him stowing away in my dreams. Whispering lies into my ears every moment of every day. I have been writing all of them in that journal of which you speak, and I can assure you that you will never find it. You can tear up this room floorboard by floorboard, but you will always turn out empty. So go ahead try to find it. I dare you," I spit. She grins in defiance.
"A challenge, eh? I never turn down a challenge."