Sophia's War Read Free Page A

rebel and shall lose this house. If he does come back, he must subscribe his allegiance to the king at Scots Tavern, near City Hall. I warmly advise, madam, he wear the red ribbon to identify himself as a loyal subject.” He made a motion. One of the soldiers opened a pouch and held out a strip of red cloth.
    Mother bobbed a curtsy and took it. “I’ll be sure to tell him, sir.”
    â€œFinally,” the officer went on, “that room, where I presume your husband conducts his business, must be converted into your own sleeping quarters. The upstairs room will be taken over by the army.”
    â€œSir?”
    â€œMy orders are to find accommodations for our officers. You’ll be paid rent for the officer’s billeting.”
    â€œWhen will your officer arrive?”
    â€œSoon. Be so kind as to have the upstairs rooms in order. Good day to you, madam!”
    Captain Mackenzie made a curt bow and ordered his soldiers to depart.
    I shut the door behind them. Furious, I turned to Mother. “What were they looking for?”
    â€œEvidence that your father was a rebel.”
    I declared, “Father cannot sign that oath.”
    Mother, fingering the red ribbon, said, “Sophia, Mr. Calderwood will sign that oath if we wish to remain here.”
    â€œBut if he doesn’t believe—”
    â€œChild!” snapped Mother. “What we think and what we say can no longer be the same! And we must not mention William.”
    I took refuge in the fact that she called me “child” only when distraught.
    â€œWhat if he appears?”
    She glared at me. “Did you not see that hanging?”
    That silenced me, for a moment. Then I said, “When do you think that British officer—the one who will stay here—will come?”
    â€œThe officer said ‘soon,’” Mother answered. “Let’s trust that Mr. Calderwood comes first, and unharmed. But you heard the officer. If your father doesn’t arrive, we’ll lose this house.”
    â€œHe will come, won’t he?”
    â€œI pray.”
    â€œWe need William here.”
    â€œSophia,” my mother said in her most severe voice, “find your own courage!”
    I was too dismayed to speak.
    â€œLet’s get back to work,” said Mother, and she began by gathering up the torn pages of Common Sense and tossing them into the hearth.
    In haste, I set to. All the while, I wondered what it would be like to have a stranger in our home. A British officer at that! I kept thinking of the officer who ledCaptain Hale to his death. What if he came to live with us. Or another as brutal? I supposed all were alike. Whoever he was, I knew I should despise him. But how would I ever learn to keep my emotions bottled? I was an ardent patriot. If I could not keep it secret, I knew the consequence.
    Then I reminded myself: it didn’t matter what I felt. Regardless, there was a fair likelihood we might yet lose our home, and worse.

5
    AFTER WE HAD worked, cleaning and scrubbing and putting such furniture as remained back in place, Mother stood in the center of the almost empty common room. Her face was tense, her eyes closed. I could see her suffering.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said, “to have been cross. It’s difficult to know what to say or do.”
    â€œCould we send a message to Father that he needs to hurry?”
    â€œImpossible.”
    â€œIs there any place we could search for William?”
    â€œI don’t know where except that new prison.”
    â€œThen we should go,” I urged.
    Mother found a pin and attached the red ribbon to her sleeve. “Hopefully,” she said, “this will protect us.”
    Latching the door, we set out along Broadway toward the Commons, some eight or nine streets north. The nearer we approached, the more British troops we saw.
    I have learned that heart and eyes are one. That’s to say, one can see a thing, but