Hellen

Winter was approaching fast, and early. November of 1776 had only just begun, and already my search for Charlotte was postponed due to a blizzard. It had been two days since I’d found the note left by Charlotte Jones and hidden it under my mattress as I packed the warmest clothes that I’d found in Charles’ wardrobe. I had been just about to leave when snow started to fall in large amounts. I had decided to wait until the snow stopped, which I didn’t think would be longer than a few hours, but of course, it had been an entire two days. I was just about ready to give up on waiting for the blizzard to end when I was paid a visit by none other than James Patterson himself. It was just after tea when someone pounded on my bedroom door.

“Go away, Charles,” I said instinctively. 

The knocker opened the door and revealed himself. I blushed, and hid half of the reason by saying the rest of the truth: “Sorry, James; thought you were someone else.” 

He shrugged. “Not much of a talker, are you?” I asked. 

“Nope.” 

“Well, is there something you need that required you to come to the Turner mansion of all places?” 

“Where’s Charlotte?” was all he said. 

“Er—” I hesitated, trying to come up with a good lie. “She went to—er—meet General Washington, of course!” 

“Why?” 

“To—er—join the war?” 

He frowned. “Girls aren’t allowed to fight.” 

“Have you met Charlotte?” 

“Yes. She would never try to fight.” 

I looked down, trying to come up with a better lie. “Oh yeah! She didn’t go to meet General Washington; she went to ask the Schuyler sisters for advice about how to avoid marriage!” 

His face brightened. “Avoid marriage?” 

“Yes, of course. She’s thirteen, James. You didn’t think she’d marry someone this young, did you?” 

He stood and made his way to the door. “James, wait!” 

He looked me directly in the eye, said, “Sorry, I thought I could trust you to truthfully confirm what I’ve heard,” and he left. 

I flopped backward on my bed and scolded myself for lying. Why couldn’t I be more like Sarah, who was always truthful and proper, or more like Philip, who was applying for Yale University, and had never had bad marks in all his education?

My next thought was just a few words: I need to leave. Tonight. 

This time, I’d need help. Who would I ask? Sarah would never approve. She was already disappointed that the wedding hadn’t taken place and she hated dirt as it was. Philip was constantly studying. He spent all of his waking time in the study, surrounded by thousands of books that he’d been using for research about engineering and architecture.  

I knew my only other option. I did not want to know my other option. I did not want to invite him to come find Edmund’s fiancé with me. He’d never stop talking. If only he were more like James. That introvert at least has something to long for. Charles’ only goal in life was to cast some sort of spell upon Charlotte using his annoying Shakespeare quotes. 

Regardless, I had no other choice. James would never speak to me again. Delilah always sides with him. Lewis is eleven. Rose is nine. Juniper is seven. Simon is dead. Simon would’ve helped me. He wouldn’t have hesitated. Even if I had warned him that it could cost him his life, he would still have followed me until the very end.  

I sobbed at the thought of my youngest brother. Of course, Sarah just had to be walking through the door at that very moment. I tried to stop the tears from streaming down my face in order to prevent a lecture about religion and how one day I’d see Simon again once I was dead. I had no care for religion anymore. Sure, Sunday school used to be the only part of the week I enjoyed, when I would get to see the other girls from London, who also suffered through their daily lives with the thought of one day getting married off to some rich boy and having to live out the rest of their life raising children and cooking and cleaning.

I failed to stop myself from crying. I caught one glimpse of the oil portrait on the wall and my face became a waterfall.