Charleston, fourth week of February 1781
Reyna sat on the swing in the garden behind their house with her arms wrapped around her legs that were pulled close to her chest. She’d been sitting there for hours, staring at the honeysuckle hedge that bordered the back yard, still in her nightdress. Her chin rested on her knees.
Her mother, seeing her daughter sitting so still, sat beside her on the swing. When Adah tried to put her arm around her daughter, Reyna brushed it away. She persisted, however, and Reyna rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. For a long moment she was quiet, then she burst into a storm of sobbing. Her mother held her tight.
Reyna raised her head and looked into her mother’s eyes. Tears had left tracks on her cheeks. “Mamá, I can’t get the look on McDonough’s face out of my mind. I watched the life go out of his eyes after I shoved my knife into his belly. In that moment, I killed the man who had kidnapped us and I was happy.”
“Reyna, you were in a battle, and he was the enemy. Either you killed him or he would have killed you.”
“Shooting another soldier is different. You aim at a man, pull the trigger and he falls down. You reload and shoot again. This was different. I could smell his breath. I used my knowledge of anatomy to know exactly how to mortally wound him.”
Reyna sobbed again, then stopped abruptly. “I want, God willing, to be a doctor so I can deliver babies and cure sick people. I try to follow the Hippocratic oath, but this war keeps getting in the way. I hate the killing. I just want the British to leave.”
Adah pulled her daughter tight. “Reyna, my dear child, you are young, determined, and often impetus, but your heart is in the right place. And you are learning that everything in the world is not black and white.”
“I want this war to be over and Jaco home safe.”
“I pray that Jaco and all our soldiers and sailors will survive the war. Amos says he believes that after a few more battles, the British will come to their senses. Eric writes that the war is very unpopular in England. So we must keep faith. God willing, maybe this time next year we will be celebrating our freedom.”
“Mamá, I hope so.”
Adah stroked the back of Reyna’s head as they sat in silence.
A few blocks away from where Reyna and Adah were sitting, Melody Winters sat at the small desk in her bedroom. She had moved the pile of books to the floor to give herself more space to write.
Through her window she could see much of Charleston, but her eyes weren’t taking in anything. She’d spent the morning trying to write in her diary. Failing that, she had tried to write a letter to Darren. The words wouldn’t come.
In less than a month, she’d witnessed the battle at Dorchester and been kidnapped by Green Dragoons who’d gone rogue. The war, which before had been an abstraction, now had become very real. After the battle for Dorchester was over, she and the children had passed the bodies of dead soldiers on the street and in the fields on the way to their homes. When they were rescued, she saw men skewered by swords, their entrails lying on the ground.
Last night, Melody had talked with her mother. Her mother had said that was what had been normal in 1775 wasn’t the normal in 1781, and no one knew what normal would be when the war ended, no matter who won.
Determined to write something in her diary, a process that helped Melody sort out her feelings and make decisions, she dipped the quill pen in the blue ink, made from South Carolina indigo, and began writing. Finally, the words flowed.
After six years of war, the fighting and bloodshed has finally come home to roost. For the first time, I have personally witnessed and even participated in the carnage.
As good as the men in the British Army are, they cannot nor can they ever exhibit the passion for freedom shown by Amos Laredo and the men of the 4th Carolina or the Continental Army. Despite defeats they persist. They know and I know our cause is just. To the British, this is just another war. To us, winning independence is our future and we will not let the British take that from us.
My sympathies are with the rebels, even though I am madly in love with a Royal Navy captain. Every day I pray for Darren’s safety, but also for my brother Asa, who is in Washington’s Army. To say nothing of my friends—Jaco, Eric, Amos, Greg, and others—who have sided with those the British call rebels. I think of them as patriots.
My fear is that when the war is over, the wounds that my family have been dealt will not heal. Father has stated over and over that he will not stay in Charleston if the rebels win. He has talked about Halifax or some island in the Caribbean. Mother is torn between her love for her children and her duty to her husband. Mother has argued in her quiet, but very determined way with my father that they should stay here in Charleston no matter what the outcome of the war. If our friends who are patriots do as they say, then no harm will come to my father and his furniture making business will continue to thrive. He has never fought alongside the British, as some Loyalists have.
I notice that both sides claim that they are righteous: Those who wish to remain British proclaim the virtues of loyalty and staying true to their heritage. Patriots speak of freedom and the rights of man.
I think the worst of how this war is affecting our family is that Ezekiel, who is only 16 doesn’t know if he wants to fight for the British or the Patriots. When he chooses, he wants his mother, his father and brother and sister to be proud of him. He had intended to join the Green Dragoons; now with that unit destroyed, some say deservedly so for their murders and the destruction of farms, Ezekiel wants me to ask Darren for help in securing a commission as a midshipman in the Royal Navy. Granting him his wish is something well within Darren’s power, but I think Darren would be hesitant. He knows that we—my mother, my father, my brothers, and I—would rarely, maybe never, see him again.
I am not a soldier, not even a nurse. The sight of blood and gore sickens me. But I am resolved to do my part, which is teaching history and languages to our children and those adults who sit in my classes so that they understand how it is we are where we are today.
No other country has ever before been ruled by its people without kings, princes and dukes who think that they have a God given right to rule their subjects. I agree with John Locke when he wrote “All mankind being equal and independent and that no one ought to harm another in his life, liberty or possessions.” Another one of my favorite quotes came from the Frenchman Jean-Jacques Rousseau who wrote “I prefer danger with liberty than peace with slavery.” And No man has natural authority of another man.”
I believe with all my heart this be true. What is ironic is that they are written by men who are ruled by kings. In the Old Testament, God warns his chosen people about the wrongs and dangers inherent in having a king. Even Kings David and Solomon made terrible mistakes.
I think kings, princes, lords, and dukes all delude themselves to think that they are infallible. That is why we, the people, need to determine what we will do. We wish to work and live and even love freely, not forced into arranged marriages to create alliances between nations, as so often happens to the daughters of kings. No, we the people need to determine our path.
If we are educated and understand history and economics, then we—the people—can make decisions for ourselves. If we—the people—do, then we can live with whatever the results may be. If they are of our own doing as free men and women, then we—the people—are willing to be accountable for our fate.
In the same vein, I am resolved to marry Darren, the man I love, even though his parents want him to choose someone else. We—Darren and I—are the people who will sort this out and I am confident we can. We just need to be free together to decide.
Melody pressed hard as she rolled her crescent shaped blotter over what she wrote. Re-reading her words was not necessary. Just writing them made her feel better.
