A Rebel Heart

Rosamond stood in the foyer of her opulent Philadelphia home, an open letter dangled from her fingertips. She knew when she saw the official seal of His Majesty’s Army and not that of her husband’s that it was probably nothing good.

“Mrs. Conroy? Are you alright, ma’am?” Closing the door behind the messenger, her servant, Elena, studied her mistress with deep concern. “You’re turnin' pale. Let me help you sit?”

“No, I—” Rosamond braced herself against the doorframe that led into the parlor. Her breathing began to shallow, not at all helped by the expensive stays she had to wear with her olive and pink silk dress. It had always been William’s favorite—or so she thought by the way he’d stare at her in it. He didn’t show much emotion, so when he actually took her to their marital bed the day she wore it, she had made a conscious effort to wear it more.

How ironic to have worn it today...

Unable to speak, she passed the letter to Elena. Her dark auburn hair waved out from the sides of her crisp linen cap. The younger woman had a grasp on reading from helping her mistress with letters from time to time and would surely understand the main message. Her brown eyes quickly began scanning the words for meaning, but Rosamond knew it wouldn’t take long; all she needed to know was in the second sentence…

With a gasp, their eyes met, “Lord Conroy is dead!” She signed the cross and mumbled a prayer under her breath.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Rosamond realized hearing it aloud was much worse than reading it.

The overwhelming implications of the challenges and changes such a thing brought hit her like a cannonball, tearing through her gut. Her father, Jonathan Hart, would most likely send for her to return home to the Pennsylvania countryside. Away from society to live like an uncultured provincial, even if she had been born in the backwoods of the colonies and not in England.

Then there was William’s father, the family patriarch and member of the House of Lords. What would he do with her after failing to give his eldest, now deceased son, an heir?

He would certainly exact a price.

Her heart raced like a galloping horse. The corners of her vision narrowed, and she met the hard, polished wood floor with a thud. Before succumbing to the darkness, a question echoed in her mind:

What will I do now?

Sitting in the dark cellar of the town’s tavern, the only light that crept in was through the floorboards above him. Motes and dust twinkled in the light as the day wore on. The incessant sound of wood being worked from just outside the building and the murmur of men’s voices were both ominous and reassuring. The latter was because it meant he still had time left on this Earth, and the former was because they had not yet finished installing the posts for the firing squad.

A sudden creak and the slamming of the worn wooden door heralded in four Redcoats. Unchaining and dragging him above ground, he recited the Lord’s prayer in a quiet mumble in case he didn’t have time to plead with God for his soul.

The bright sunset greeted him, but he hadn’t the chance to admire its beauty as the soldier pulled him along to his reckoning. Placing him in front of a rough post, his arms and legs were bound to it. Taking in his last view of the world, he could see his home below. His sisters would be forced to sell it and move in with relatives with him gone.

There would also be nothing to stop the soldiers’ unwanted advances on them.

Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut? Everyone else had as the British army moved in and took over the town. Others had suffered worse. Why did he feel he had to stir unrest with his paltry problems?

The Reverend had his church made into a barracks.

The farmers were forced to feed and stable their horses over their own animals.

And the small schoolhouse had been made into a magazine for black powder.

Together, they suffered through King George II’s oppressive acts, but when the Continental Congress passed the Declaration of Independence, calling for an end to the raping of the colonies, the Crown responded with violence. Suddenly, every protest of British authority was treason and dealt with harshly. General Clinton had arrived with an army to quell the rebellion, and what a quick one everyone believed it would be, with a gaggle of colonists taking on the most powerful empire in the world.

Not him, though.

If the fall of Rome has taught mankind anything, it is that even the greatest of empires fall in time.

“Samuel Carver, any last words to declare?”

What was worse was that he pulled his best friend into his mess. Friends don’t let friends do stupid shite alone, Sam had said. That apparently went so far as dying together.

“Yeah, only that I’m sorry to be missin’ that arse kickin’ General Washington and his boys will give you!”

Ignoring his friend, they moved on to him as he cleared his throat from chuckling.

“Nathaniel Reeves,” the lackey of the Colonel sneered, “any last words to declare?”

He had been so lost in thought of the injustice of it all that he didn’t see the crowd gathering. Looking to his right, he spotted his sisters. A soldier was keeping the wailing women back, pushing his Brown Bess at them.

“Come on, man! We haven’t got all day.” He readied his quill, but nothing came.

What does one say to ease the pain of my sisters from having to witness this?

Shaking his head with a disgusted look, Nathaniel opted not to make another spectacle, much to the pleasure of the Colonel. He had already been forced to come down from his headquarters for his first and last act of sedition, and he paid dearly for it. Worse for Lobsterback because Nathaniel was a lawyer—a supposed beacon of law in a wild country. If he spoke out against the king again, it could make things harder for his family.

“Present arms!”

A few yards away was a Private licking his dry lips nervously. Nathaniel sighed, hoping the lad wouldn’t miss, or worse, maim him to suffer the pain while he reloaded the damn gun to deliver him death.

“Aim!”

“See ya in Hell, Nate,” Sam grumbled beside him as their breaths hastened.

“I’m sorry, Sam. This is all my fault.” It seemed guilt would be the feeling he left this world with.

Just as the Sergeant was about to give the order, gunfire erupted out of the woods. Turning to face the rebels who had caught the Redcoats off guard, Nathaniel quickly tried to free himself of his binds. The fighting caused the crowd to scatter as weapons were drawn and fired from every direction. The distinct smell of sulfur hung heavy in the air from the black powder.

“Set these boys free and let’s pull back before reinforcements arrive!” A salted older man barked to some of his fellow rebels. They quickly cut the ropes and pushed them off in the direction they had come from within the woods.

“Where are we headed?” Nathaniel asked the aging man as they made their way through the thick forest.

“Our camp to lie low while they hunt us.” Seeing the worry etched on his face, the leader of this band of rebels added, “The property’s owner is an ol’ friend of mine from the French & Indian War. I assure you, you’ll not be meetin’ God today, but neither can you go back. You’re a traitor now.”

“Hopefully Hart won’t mind us bringing more friends!” A young man of maybe seventeen chirped over at them as he sped past.

“Shut it, Hawkins!” The gray-bearded man scolded, rightfully not wanting to give up the name of this ‘friend’ of the rebels to strangers.

“You’ve nothing to fear from us,” Nathaniel imparted, “Mr. Hart’s secret is safe, so long as he is a reliable friend.” Nodding firmly with hard resolve, he fell in line behind his savior. A glance at Sam showed immense relief upon his face at their change of fortune.

Yet while Providence had smiled upon him today, it seemed the war had only begun.