Chapter 19 June 1774

"Well of course he wouldn't let you go fight in a war!" Susan was looking at me with an absolutely scandalized look on her beautiful face. I confessed to her the trouble between Thomas and I, and she had to side with him.

"It's who I am," I said, very resentful of her choice of sympathies. "I won't be able to just stand by and do nothing."

Susan laughed. "Oh, Abby! Everyone stifles you—maybe who you are is just a little too brazen and hot-headed." I could not believe my ears: my own friend, saying such things! I realized she was right about the first part, though. Everyone seemed to stifle who I was: Mamma, Charles, Meg, even Thomas: he may have found my boldness amusing at the dinner table, but only in small amounts. I knew he and Charles would only wish to protect me by not allowing me to fight, but also that I would not be able to tolerate it, especially from the two men who were supposed to know and understand me the most. Especially from the man I loved.

"Well, anyhow," I tired of this subject, knowing Susan would not understand how I felt—to be fair, I hardly ever understood how she felt. "It saddens me that I shall have to defy them both when this war starts."

"Will you really?" Susan asked. I would have expected another look of scandal to contort her beautiful features, but instead I saw something akin to doubt. " I know you hate the British a lot, and resent them for what you think they have done to you and your life, but is your hatred strong enough to fight, to kill?"

I looked at Susan, utterly dumbstruck to hear such foreboding, wise words from a girl I had thus far regarded as nothing more than a cheerful, girlish friend. I knew such a speech rivaled anything I would hear from Charles if I were to ever tell him of my intentions. Finally, I found the words to respond. "Oh Susan, you must understand: it isn't my hatred for Britain that drives me—strong as it is; it's my desire for freedom, which propels me forward and wills me to do things that I know full well I am not capable of doing. But somehow, I manage. I manage to be bold, and outspoken, and to hide my identity as a woman."

Susan laughed. Although I resented the look of merriment on her face, I couldn't help but laugh as well. "In the future, let's try to keep at least this part of living less serious than the rest."

"Agreed," I said.

"Now: aside from your differing views on gender roles, how are things going with you and Thomas?" I blushed: red crept into my cheeks like spilled milk.

"They're going well. I don't know why I'm blushing."
"Is there anything to blush about?" Susan displayed an infuriatingly impish grin.

"No," I firmly replied.

"Alright."

"Susan, I must go. Mama expects me back to work on my needlework."

"Oh? Has she found Miss Mather's tutelage to be unsatisfactory?"

"Unfortunately, yes." We embraced, and I took my leave. My visits with Susan always left me lighthearted. This time, however, I couldn't help but consider her brutal description of war. Would I have the courage to see my convictions through? Or would I simply be another frivolous, silly girl who talked more than she ought to, and couldn't live up to what she said?