Daughter of Freedom - Chpt 1

Long Island - April 1778

Elizabeth wiped the sweat from her brow and brushed the dirt from the front of her apron. She looked back down the row of freshly planted corn, beans, and squash. It was her first full season as a widow and the daunting task of managing her small, but productive farm weighed heavy upon her mind.  She had managed to keep the cook and her daughter in employ, but dwindling finances had demanded she release the other servants.

“Come Georgie,” she called to her son. The tall boy of fourteen half ran to his mother’s side.  His dark hair and broadening shoulders reminded Elizabeth of her late husband.

“Will it be enough Mama?” he asked as he turned to look at the rows of seed they had planted.

“I think it will be, if the early spring is any indication of a successful season, then I think we shall have more than enough to keep us fed through the winter.” She reached up and tousled George’s hair. “And if we are lucky, even enough to sell at market.“

“And the dairy, Mama? Do you think it will make as much as you anticipated?”

Elizabeth smiled at her son. “Your father would be so proud to see you taking such an interest in this farm Georgie. Though he would never have believed we have managed to make as much as we have selling cheese.”

She accepted George’s hand as they made their way through the mounds, being careful not to crush the seeds they had spent the morning planting.

“Go on up to the house and wash up, and have Fanny fix you something to eat. I will be along shortly” She watched her son until he reached the steps of their two-story stone home. The farm would soon be his to manage as he saw fit, her only hope was that she could manage to keep  it running smoothly until he was ready.

She made her way across the courtyard, hoe in hand, then up the small slope to the barn. It was already late in the morning and there was still butter to churn and cheese to press.

A howl of pain echoed out across the yard followed by a deep familiar voice, “The purpose of the mallet it to hit the peg, not my hand, you buffoon!” A hoot of laughter could be heard along with the distinct sounds of a struggle . The quickening footsteps of a chase soon followed.

Elizabeth heard the steps approaching but could not move out of the way quick enough. The young rebel lieutenant tried to stop before the collision, but tripped on his own feet and he and Elizabeth both crashed to the ground. Lieutenant Crane was quick to regain his feet and offered a hand to help her up, a look of genuine concern in his eyes.

“Mrs. Burgen, are you all right? Forgive me. It appears my aim with a mallet is less impressive that that with a rifle. I was running in fear for my life.”

Colonel Thomas, Crane's accidental target, appeared from inside the barn, busy wrapping two fingers of his right hand with a handkerchief.

The junior officer gave Elizabeth a half smile and shot the older colonel a wary look.

Elizabeth accepted his hand and returned to her feet. “I am quite alright,” she barked at him, her face stern as she once again brushed the dirt from her apron. The smile faded from Crane’s face, and colored with embarrassment. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure of what to do next.

“When my brothers were young, my father often suffered the same torture,” she said and motioned for the colonel to approach that she might examine his hand. “My father always returned the favor and took a mallet to one of their fingers. Needless to say their aim greatly improved. Perhaps we should consider the same to help you improve your skills, Lieutenant. What do you say to that Colonel Thomas?”

The flush of color drained from the young man’s face as he looked at the Colonel, swallowed and then looked backed back down at the auburn-haired woman in front of him.

Elizabeth gave the Colonel a quick nod. The man grunted, turned on his heel and headed back into the barn in search of the mallet. He returned a few moments later, his gaze fixed on the young lieutenant who now stood white with fear. The colonel approached, a crazed look in his eyes.

Crane squared his shoulders and pressed a hand against the open barn door. “If this is to be my punishment for bad aim, then so be it.”

Colonel Thomas raised the mallet over his head, Crane closed his eyes and braced for the pain. Elizabeth could contain herself no longer. She tried to cover her laugh with her hand but the colonel soon joined her and the sound of hearty laughter filled the courtyard. The young lieutenant opened his eyes, at first confused, then his shoulders relaxed in obvious relief.

“I could harm neither a hair on your young head nor a finger on your hand, Lieutenant, much less stands by and allow the Colonel to do it," Elizabeth said, "though I might advise you in the future to hold your own pegs. T'is a wonder you managed to convince him to hold it for you to begin with,” she said and turned a questioning eye to the tall grey-eyed Colonel as she unwrapped his hand.

The colonel’s smile morphed to a wince as she gently examined the two bloody fingers of his right hand.

“The lieutenant has indeed done some damage, but fortunately, I do not believe they are broken. Come with me and we will wrap them up as best we can.”

A look of guilt and embarrassment returned to Crane’s face at the announcement that the older man’s fingers were in need of such attention.

“Sir, please forgive me, I meant no…”

The colonel held up his good hand to stop the apology. “I know there was no ill intent my friend,” he said. “Besides I feel just as badly for you, you’ll be forced to hold your own pegs now. “ He took in a sharp breath as he rewrapped his fingers “I will tell Mrs. Burgen to make she is prepared. I give you five minutes and you will be right behind me, your own fingers needing to be bound.” He forced a laugh as he walked away and followed Elizabeth up to the house.

Elizabeth still smiled as she climbed the front stairs, despite her initial reluctance to house the paroled rebel officers under her roof, it had in fact turned out to be a blessing. She was paid room and board and each man had been more than willing to assist in the work to be done around the farm. There were currently four officers boarding in the Burgen home and she now considered each a friend. She reached for the handle of the heavy oak door and nearly stumbled as the door swung open and the stern face of her father appeared in the door way.

"Papa," Elizabeth exclaimed as stood on tiptoe and placed a kiss on his whiskered cheek “I did not expect a visit from you, what a pleasant surprise.” His angry glare did not flinch, though he stepped aside to allow her to pass. “I’ll have a moment with my daughter alone sir,” he muttered at Colonel Thomas and promptly shut the door in the man’s face.

“Papa!” Elizabeth chided. She moved past him and opened the door and waved Colonel Thomas into the front hall. “Sir, my apologies,” she said and took his arm, “the cook and her daughter are in the kitchen, go and see them and have them wrap your hand, I will come and check on you after I have visited with my father.” The man tried to object, but Elizabeth pushed him gently towards the kitchen. Thomas bowed in her father’s direction, who gave a barely discernible nod in return. Elizabeth whirled around to face her father. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Instead he turned and made his way into her front parlor.

"Elizabeth,” he yelled, his voice echoed through the entire house. “I would speak to you…now!”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and followed him into the next room.

“I received word this morning that you have entered into a contract with the American commissary,” he said the moment she entered the room. “Is this true, have you gone out of your wits and agreed to such a contract?” He did not allow her to answer before he continued. “I will not have it.” He paced the room, his hands on his hips, his stern gaze focused in her direction. "Do you hear me Elizabeth, I will not have it."

For a moment Elizabeth was at a loss as how her father had come by the information, but then she had sought the services of Mr. Larkin, her father’s lawyer in town to secure the terms of the contract.

“I seem to have already lost complete control of your sister'" he complained and pointed a finger at her. "She has succeeded in putting this entire family in danger. I will not have you joining her in absolute disregard of your brothers and me."

Elizabeth waited to respond, waited for a hint that his anger had begun to subside now that he had said his peace. She stood near the door and tried to decide how best to proceed. Throughout her life Jacob Burgen had always been the very example of a polite gentleman. His manners polished his clothing impeccable, his generosity and compassion well known. But since the loss of her mother and the outbreak of war she had seen her father change. His anger erupted on a more frequent occasion. He had become so consumed by the politics of the war that he displayed a complete intolerance for anyone who did not outright declare themselves a member of the Tory party, and loyal to none but the king.

She crossed the room and stood beside him, her stomach pitched like a ship in a storm with each step.

"Papa," she said softly and peeked up into a set of mossy green eyes that matched her own, "I promise you there were no political motivations in the agreement I made. He simply offered me the best price for the goods I had to offer. Ask Mr. Larkin, he will tell you as much. He himself commented on the shrewdness of the terms, at what a fine price I had negotiated.” She squared her shoulders and stared her father in the eyes. “It is a done deal Papa, I will not break the agreement I made, I will not break my word.”

His jaw clenched. She knew he had not expected her to challenge him. His eyes were wrought with surprise and anger, a small vein throbbed near his temple. She left him standing there, afraid to push him any further and pulled the service bell, the cook instantly appeared in the doorway.

“My father and I will have tea, please Fanny” she said, then quickly waved the young woman away.

“I do not understand you Elizabeth, you or your sister,” her father said running his hands through his hair. The same auburn locks he had given to Elizabeth and her sister had long since faded with age and life to a shiny silver. “It is as if the two or you are determined to be the ruin of this family.”

"How can you say such a thing," Elizabeth responded, her mouth pulled tight as her own anger began to take root. “I have provided for my family and in doing so kept a promise I made to my husband as he lay on his deathbed.  I have managed to hold on to this farm and these lands for his son. And though you will hate to hear it, I could not have done so without the help of the officers currently boarding in this house. The income and their help with the chores have enabled us to not only survive, but turn a profit. What else would you have me do Papa? I cannot possibly do it alone and you and my brothers have your own affairs to attend to.”

Her questions were met with silence and pursed lips, evidence that he had no logical response. Elizabeth stood her ground, her hands clenched at her side. It pained her to see him so upset, but her resolve was solid. After several moments his shoulders drooped and he sighed. The patriarch of the Burgen family leaned down and kissed the top of his daughter’s head.

"Ellie, my girl," he said as he took her hand, his tone much softer than before, "forgive an old man who is in constant worry for the safety and welfare of his only daughters.”

She took his arm and led him to the chairs that flanked the fireplace. The richly colored brocade upholstery in alternating shades of blue and yellow stood in stark contrast to the simpleness of the rest of the room. The chairs had been a wedding gift from her parents. Elizabeth watched as he trailed his fingers along the fabric of the cushions, no doubt they reminded him of a happier time in his life.

He sighed and sank down in to the chair. “About your sister,” he said sullenly, "the provost marshal has returned from Philadelphia. If the rumors are to be believed, then I am a father with a right to be concerned.” The same wrinkled face that had been hard with anger was now taut with worry. “They say he arrested and hanged several women while he was there, wives of some of the prisoners. Evidently, their only crimes were their overzealous appeals to see their husbands.”

Elizabeth fought to hide the shock on her face. Since the British victory in New York, the city had been occupied with too many soldiers with nothing to occupy their time but wine, gambling, and trollops. It was not uncommon for homes of even the staunchest royal supporter to be ransacked and pilfered. Not a day passed without the emergence of new stories of mistreatment of the citizens of New York. Even so, the hanging of a woman was a rarity.

"Your sister is already walking a fine line between sympathy and aggravation,” her father continued. “Your brothers and I have thrice had to sign an oath swearing our allegiance to the king. Believe me when I say I fear for my safety, not to mention hers. If she insists on making herself a nuisance…." He sat back in his chair, his head rested in his hands, unable to finish his thought.

The cook entered with a tray set with a pot of tea, two cups and half a dozen biscuits. She placed them on the small table between her mistress and made a short curtsey as she smoothed her white apron. 

Elizabeth nodded to the older stout woman, “Thank you, Fanny. That is all for now.” 

Alone again with father Elizabeth bent and filled a cup for her father and then herself.

“Perhaps if you warn her,” she suggested and handed her father his tea.

"I have tried to warn her,” he said in quick retort after a quick sip. “I have tried to reason with her, but she is rather pig-headed. I fear she will continue on her current path and I will find her either arrested or worse still, buried in some shallow grave with the rest of the rebels." His voice trembled as he spoke, his fear and concern just as evident on his face. "I will say it again, I just do not understand you girls."

Elizabeth stifled a smile. Her sister Mary would laugh at the idea that their father though she was stubborn. He himself was known up and down Long Island as a man not easily convinced to change his mind. Taking a sip of her tea, she tried to find a way to comfort her father.

"I beg you to see things differently Papa. In all I have done my motives have been for business and business alone. I am my father’s daughter after all.” She gave him a smile but it drew no reaction in kind from the man who sat opposite her. “But Mary,” she continued, “her motives put mine to shame.”

“Now Elizabeth, do not dare to sit there and extol a single false virtue of this ridiculous rebellion. Taxes are never an easy duty to bear, but they are never worth the dangers of sedition.” He sat forward in his seat, his hands white knuckled on the arms of the chair.

“No Papa, you misunderstand me” she replied softly. “Mary is motivated by love.”

Her father snorted and waved his hand as if to dismiss the idea. “You are too old to believe in such things. Your sister will be playing with fire if she provokes Marshal Cunningham, and you very well know it.”

“What I know is my sister visits the prison daily to see the man she married with your consent only a few short years ago.”

“I did not know he was a cowardly rebel when I consented to the match, Elizabeth. I am in no way at fault here.”

“No, of course not, but I know you recall how much in love your daughter was the day she married John Hayes. Politics and war are hardly enough to turn a woman’s heart against husband.”

Her father sat silently and traced the intricate brocade pattern of the chair with his finger.

Elizabeth continued her voice soft and gentle. “I promise you Papa, Mary does nothing but for John’s comfort. If it were not for her he surely would have starved to death by now. If it will help to put your mind at ease I will go and see Mary tomorrow, if only to warn her to be more careful now that the marshal has returned."

He moved to speak, but Susan reentered the room and he simply sank back in to his chair and nodded.

“Excuse me Mrs., there be a gentleman here to see you. It is Major Jacoby mum.”

Jacob Bergen’s head snapped up, a spark of his former anger returning. “Fanny, tell these turncoats my daughter is busy.”

“No Papa,” Elizabeth corrected, “Major Jacoby is from the Provost.”

Elizabeth stood and smoothed the front of her simple, dark brown dress, “Show him in Fany, and bring another cup, perhaps the major will join us for some tea.”

The thick-waisted woman  curtsied and left the room. She returned moments later with a tall dark haired man in tow. He was dressed in the bright red coat and tall leather boots of an officer in King  George’s army.

“Major, good day,” she said with a curtsey, “I was not expecting your inspection until the end of the week.”

The man bowed sharply in return. “Forgive the intrusion, but I have to come to bring you this.” He stepped forward and handed her a letter.

Elizabeth quickly read the note, her eyes wide as she finished.

“What is it Elizabeth? What news has the major brought?” her father asked. He stood up behind her, anxious to hear what news had been so important that it had been hand delivered.

“It seems the marshal has decided that the prisoners on parole on Long Island are not being all together accurately accounted for. This is an order to house and provide for the major here, that he may more closely keep an eye on the men currently living here with me and with some of my neighbors.”

Elizabeth stared back down at the letter in her hand. Her father cleared his throat and gently nudged her from behind. She caught his eye and realized she had failed to introduce the two men. “Sir, allow me to introduce my father, Jacob Burgen.” She waited as her father extended a hand in greeting to the man.

“Will you not join us for some tea my good man,” he asked. Her father’s previous mood seemed  lifted by the idea that a man of Jacoby’s rank and manner would be there to keep an eye on the half a dozen or so rebels who currently resided under his daughter’s roof.

“No sir, but thank you,” the major declined. “I have no time now, but wanted to deliver the news myself and as quickly as possible as I am expected to take up my post here tomorrow.”

“I am afraid you have come all this way for nothing sir,” Elizabeth replied as she folded the letter and put it in her pocket. “I have no room to give you. I understand the Rumsen house, just a short distance from here and closer to Wallabout Bay has yet a room or two to spare. You should be much more comfortable there.”

“Surely you can find room for the major here Elizabeth,” her father said, “I am certain you can find room for one of the king’s fine officers. Besides," he said as he leaned down and picked up his cup of tea, “the Rumsen home is not nearly as fine as yours.” His voice dropped, his tone took on an air of superiority, “You could hardly expect someone of the major’s rank to stay there.”

Elizabeth stared at her father with wide-eyed exasperation.

“Father, I assure you I have no rooms left to give. Poor George is already forced to room with his sisters. What would you have me do, move someone into the barn?”

Elizabeth regretted the words the moment she spoke them, but his answer surprised her. “Why do you not allow young George to come and stay with me for a while? Might do the boy some good to come and see how I work. You never know he could very well decide to become a merchant like me and uncles instead of a farmer like his father.”

She was about to turn down his offer, but the look on his face at the prospect of it was more than she could bare to deny. “Very well father, George may go with you, but only for a short visit. And only until I can figure out how I might arrange things here.”

“There you have it sir,” she said to Jacoby. “If you will give me a day, I shall see my daughters moved into my chambers, I think you will find their room most agreeable.”

“Elizabeth, come now, you do not mean to put the good Major here in the girls’ room, the beds are hardly long enough for a man of his height.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She glared at her father and then at the major who made no move to insist that the room she had offered would be adequate. “Forgive me sir, I misspoke,” she said and forced a smile, “if you will but give me a day to move my things, I should be happy to offer you my chambers. I know you will find them entirely adequate and quite comfortable.”

She turned to her father who smiled and nodded in satisfaction and then returned her attentions to the tall British officer who stood silent and rigid near the doorway, his gold trimmed hat tucked under his left arm.

“You are most kind madam; I shall arrange for my things to be delivered tomorrow.” He bowed and moved to leave.

“Sir, if you will,” Jacob Burgen piped up, “My daughter and I were just discussing how she has business in town tomorrow, perhaps she could bring the wagon, meet you there and assist in your move?”

“Papa,” Elizabeth hissed, “I am sure the major is quite capable of taking care of such things himself, he will hardly be in need of any additional assistance from me.”

“On the contrary Mrs. Burgen, the offer is most generous and greatly appreciated. Simply send word to the Provost when you have finished your business. I will wait for you and your wagon there.”

“Splendid,” her father replied for her. “It was a pleasure meeting you sir, I hope I shall enjoy your company again in the very near future.”

The major removed his hat from beneath under his arm, bowed to them both, and retreated through the same door through which he had come only a short time before.

“Papa, really,” Elizabeth scowled “you are a most vexing man. You have no right to…,” but her father passed her by as if he could not hear or sense her irritation and began to climb the stairs to the second floor.

“Come Elizabeth, we will need to have George’s things packed,” he said, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor as he disappeared up the steps.

Elizabeth stomped a foot in frustration and then followed her father; there were George’s things to pack, and now thanks to his meddling, an entire room of her own things as well.