Daughters of the Revolution

“Wonderful, thank you.” Hannah was beginning to feel more at ease. “But I confess, I do miss tea sometimes. But ever since those awful events up in Boston.”

“Oh I know,” Lizbeth shook her head in disgust as if she had been there. “It was dreadful.”

“You were there?” Hannah asked curiously.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Lizbeth put down her cup and resumed smoking what tobacco was left in her pipe. “The Tea Party, the Massacre, Breed’s Hill. I witnessed them all.”

“Then you are of the Boston Quincy’s?” Hannah asked, connecting the well-known surname with the city.

Lizbeth took a slow deliberate drag off the pipe as her green eyes momentarily filled with memory. “Well, I suppose,” she finally replied. “Though I’m sure my family would rather I not be.” Lizbeth puffed the last of her pipe and tapped the spent ashes from the bowl against the back of her boot. “That is why he exiled me here,” she added, wishing she had not as the words crossed her lips.

Hannah had never heard of such a thing and the statement puzzled her. “What in the world could a child do to make her father send her away?”

Lizbeth Quincy studied the face of her new neighbor and grimaced. “Oh, it is of no concern,” she finally answered, forcing a smile and taking another drink from her ceramic cup.

The women finished their coffee in silence and upon Hannah’s departure Lizbeth said, “I do hope we can see more of one other. It has been sometime since I have made a new friend.”

“Yes, of course,” Hannah replied truthfully as she bundled herself against the cold to begin the bitter walk home. “I am sure we will become the most wonderful of friends.”

******

That had been four years ago: before the war, before the burning, before her dear Henry had left her alone. Hannah maintained her acquaintance with Lizbeth and slowly a true friendship blossomed. Before long, Lizbeth’s idiosyncrasies went practically unnoticed by Hannah but Henry Allbright was not nearly as accepting.

“The woman is damn peculiar I tell you,” he would declare in his mellow lawyerly voice.

“Oh Henry,” Hannah would laugh, “Judge not less ye be judged.”

“There is no scripture you can spout to make me ever understand that Quincy woman, Hannah,” Henry retorted. “She is a queer one. Why if I had my wits I would forbid you from even seeing her.”



To honor her husband, as well as out of fear that he might follow through with his threat, Hannah had kept her time with Lizbeth to a minimum. But now, with Henry away at war, she saw Lizbeth Quincy freely; nearly everyday, and much to her surprise felt little shame in doing so.

And now, this morning, she lay awake in her overstuffed feather bed remembering the dream she had had the night before, the one that visited her slumbers often of late, the same dream that had found her with her fingers in her bloomers and a damp spot on her sheets. I think I shall visit Lizbeth today, Hannah considered as the morning sun blazed through her window, vanquishing any hint of coolness the nighttime had left behind.

After performing her daily chores, which took half the time now that Henry was away, Hannah set her hair in a customary bun, dressed in her frilliest cotton gown and made her way through the woods to Lizbeth’s. The path had become well trod since Henry’s departure and it took her little more than ten minutes to cross. Junebugs hissed and chirped among the swamp maples that grew thick and tangled in woods coupling the Allbright and Quincy estates. The lush green canopy seemed to trap the afternoon humidity and Hannah’s dress was already moist with perspiration by the time she neared the end of the path.

Reaching the clearing, Hannah found Lizbeth in her small tobacco patch, pulling weeds and watering the rich green leaves from a tin can. “You look as though you need watering as much as my plants do,” Lizbeth commented upon seeing Hannah sweating uncomfortably in her ruffled gown. Lizbeth wore a white cotton shirt and tan trousers held by leather suspenders. A large ‘V’ of perspiration extended from her shoulders and across her pert breasts. Hannah could not help but notice Lizbeth’s button like areolas showing through the moist fabric.

“Perhaps if I were as bold as you,” Hannah replied indicating Lizbeth’s attire.

“Perhaps you should try sometime,” Lizbeth offered.

“Perhaps I shall,” Hannah smiled.

The women embraced and Lizbeth kissed Hannah on the cheek. “Here, help me with this,” she asked, handing Hannah the watering can. The two friends labored, taking turns watering and weeding until the can was empty.

“Me thinks we need some more water, Miss Quincy,” Hannah commented, tipping the can over to confirm its emptiness.

“Me thinks we need a break, Mrs. Allbright,” Lizbeth replied as she rose and brushed dusty soil from her pants. Taking Hannah by the hand, she led her to the babbling stream that cut trough the northern side of her property. “How about a swim?”

Hannah had taken notice of an ever-expanding cluster of gray clouds forming off to west. “But it looks like a storm is coming,” she stated, pointing to the ominous looking clouds.

“Nonsense,” Lizbeth exclaimed, letting her suspenders fall from her shoulders and undoing the buttons of her cotton shirt.

“What are you doing?” Hannah asked, watching Lizbeth pull her shirt over her head to reveal her naked torso.

“Going for a swim,” Lizbeth answered with a playful smile as she unbuckled her trousers and let them fall to the sandy ground.

“Unclothed?” Hannah questioned, a touch of embarrassment in her voice.

“Of course,” Lizbeth responded moving nearer to Hannah. “What other way is there?” She reached for and began undoing the silky bow adorning the front of Hannah’s dress. Hannah offered neither help nor protest and only stood there, unsuccessfully resisting the urge to admire her friend’s nude form as Lizbeth began removing the rest of Hannah’s garments.

Lizbeth’s body was much different than her own. Lizbeth’s frame was toned and strapping while Hannah’s was elegant and curved. Her breasts were much smaller than Hannah’s; Lizbeth’s nipples pink and sprightly while Hannah’s were sizable and the color of summer plums. The thatch between Lizbeth’s sculpted legs was thick and dark with undulate fur in contrast to Hannah’s light patch of wispy golden curls. But still, Hannah found Lizbeth’s body both beautiful and exciting all the same.

“You have never seen another woman this way before, have you Hannah?” Lizbeth asked stepping back and letting Hannah admire her entire body. Hannah shook her head side to side, not realizing that she, herself, was now completely nude. Lizbeth smiled and cupped her petite breasts. She guided her hands down her long willowy frame then turned and ran into the river which exploded in a raucous splash upon her arrival. Lizbeth dove under and as she emerged, large drops of water clung to her tanned and freckled shoulders. “What are you waiting for silly,” she called from the refreshing drink. “Come on!”

Hannah stepped out of her dress, which now lay in a mound at her ankles, and made her way into the flowing stream. Cool water kissed her heels sending a shiver up her body. She waded out and returned Lizbeth’s smile with one of her own. The revitalizing water felt wonderful on Hannah’s skin and her nipples began to enliven in the gentle current. Embarrassed, she kept her breast hidden under the water line. “Feels nice,” she said coyly.

“Mmmmmm,” Lizbeth answered, splashing water on her face and through her short brown hair. Lizbeth stood tall in the water, unashamed to display what the cool water was doing to her nipples. She wadded closer to Hannah who remained submerged to her neck. “Hannah Allbright,” Lizbeth declared, “I have known you for almost five years now and I have never once seen you wear your hair down.”

Hannah reached up and felt her bun. “Oh, I never wear my hair down in public Lizbeth.”

“I would hardly call this the town commons,” Lizbeth teased playfully, reaching under the water and taking Hannah’s shoulders in her hands. “Here, stand up.”

Lizbeth motioned for Hannah to stand and bashfully, she did, covering her breasts as they broke the surface of the water. Lizbeth reached behind Hannah’s head and began pulling the pins that held her auburn hair in a tight bun. Lock by lock, the golden-brown curls spilled across Hannah’s back and shoulders, down her chest and over her obscured breasts.

Lizbeth ran her wet fingers through Hannah’s ginger hair, further relaxing the well-tamed tresses. “You are so beautiful,” she remarked as she fondled Hannah’s flowing curls. Hannah blushed, to timid to make eye contact, to frightened to speak. Lizbeth’s gentle fingers caressed Hannah’s hair, down her neck, across her shoulders and finally, over her bosom, still well guarded by Hannah’s now trembling hands. Lizbeth’s hands grasped Hannah’s and delicately guided them down until Hannah’s breasts were fully exposed. “So beautiful,” she repeated.

Lizbeth stepped even closer to Hannah until at last, their rigid nipples touched. Hannah shuddered at this wondrous commotion. How long had she ached to be touched by another? How long had she dreamed of being touched by Lizbeth Quincy? For weeks now her slumbers had been filled with visions of Lizbeth’s hands on her lonely body and just now she was beginning to understand why. A rush flooded her brain much like the time she had secretly sampled Lizbeth’s tobacco. Her body felt both warm and cold at the same time, every nerve tingling, every cell aware. She found the sensation exhilarating, confusing, and overwhelming all the same. Lizbeth fingers remained in Hannah’s hair, their nipples pressed firmly against each other’s and now, unseen under the water, Hannah felt Lizbeth’s muscular leg caressing up and down her own.

Lizbeth smiled at Hannah and moved even closer until their hips touched as well. Her right hand traced down Hannah’s back and rested upon the small area just above her buttocks. The ripples in the water mimicked those coursing through Hannah’s excited body. With her left hand, Lizbeth cupped cool water and let it trickle over Hannah’s chest. Heavy droplets of fresh river water raced down Hannah’s breasts and clung to her nipples like morning dew on ripe fruit. She was completely unaware that Lizbeth spoke to her the entire time, repeating how beautiful she was and how wonderful she felt in her arms. With each new touch Hannah could feel her reservations melt away like winter leftovers in springs sun kissed embrace.

The resonance of babbling water and the glimmer of fading afternoon sunlight upon the waves created a dreamlike aura and Hannah felt herself fall deeper and deeper under Lizbeth’s amorous spell. Upon her neck she felt velvety lips converge on the softest of spots and seal into a suckling kiss.

Henry use to kiss me this way.

The words were as clear in her brain as if someone had spoken them aloud. She opened her eyes, not realizing that she had ever closed them. “What did you say?”

“I said your skin tastes delicious,” Lizbeth answered, smiling as she removed her mouth from Hannah’s tender throat.

“No, about Henry,” Hannah asked, still flustered but feeling the sexual energy being drained from her body as quickly as it had come.

Lizbeth relaxed her embrace interpreting the unexpected change in Hannah’s demeanor. “Hannah dear, I didn’t say anything about Henry.”

“Oh.” Hannah stood motionless in the water. “I thought you...” But no more words came. Her body ached to be back in Lizbeth’s arms but her brain suddenly forbid it, consumed only with thoughts of Henry. She turned, silently waded back to shore and began dressing.

In the west, the dark clouds Hannah had noticed earlier continued to brew as Lizbeth stood and watched from the water. “Hannah, do you know why my father sent me to live here all alone?” she asked abruptly as the sun began to disappear behind a veil of darkening clouds.

Hannah looked up. Lizbeth’s expression had turned forlorn and silent tears began to well in her green eyes. “No,” Hannah replied.

“He caught me making love with his chamber maid.” Lizbeth looked down to the water. Hannah wondered why Lizbeth would suddenly decide to say such a thing and resumed dressing thinking she had spoke her peace but Lizbeth continued. “I loved her so much. We fell in love when we were just girls, far too young to understand our feelings for one other. She was beautiful, the daughter of a freed slave. She was of Jamaican descent and her voice would ring with the accent of her ancestors as she would recite the love poems she composed for me. Her name was Claudia.” Lizbeth smiled through her tears upon hearing the name escape her lips for the first time in years. “I don’t know what infuriated father more; the fact that he caught me lying with another woman or that she was a Negro.” Lizbeth sniffled and wiped a tear from her eye with the back of her hand. “Father said if he were not a Christian he would have disowned me and throw me in the gutter with the rest of the whores but instead, he packed me in a carriage and banished me here making me promise to never return.”

Shadows enveloped the women now as the dim western clouds blossomed into menacing thunderheads. Hannah had stopped dressing while listening to Lizbeth speak but hastened her efforts upon hearing the first rumbles of thunder call from the west. “And what of Claudia?” Hannah asked cautiously as she laced the front of her petticoat.

Lizbeth shook her head, still gazing down at the water, watching her tears make small eddies in the flowing waters. “I never saw her again.” Another low grumble reverberated across the skies. “Father said he would have her killed but one of the house servants told me he really sold her into slavery to one of his southern acquaintances.” Once again she wiped her eyes. “I’m not a bad person Hannah. I can’t help who I am.” Lizbeth at last looked up from the water and to Hannah who was now fully dressed. “Or whom I love.”

The growls of thunder grew angrier as Hannah rose from the banks of the careening brook. She looked to the threatening skies and then back to Lizbeth, still standing naked and alone in the rippling water. “I’m sorry Lizbeth. I must go.”

Lightning could now be seen far off in the distance, stitching a tapestry that traversed the darkening skies. “Hannah,” Lizbeth appealed. “You are the only person besides Claudia who has ever accepted me for who I am. Please, I don’t want to lose you as well.”

As the first drops of rain began to fall, Hannah Allbright turned and ran for the path that led from Lizbeth Quincy’s home to hers.

******

Hannah Allbright’s heart stopped dead in her chest upon reaching the end of the path. Hitched to her front porch was a gray mare. Out of breath, she clutched the front of her dress and felt her heart sink like an anchor and break into a million pieces on the lonely ocean floor. The horse on her porch looked just like Reverend Dandridge’s and the only reason he ever made the long journey to the outskirts these days was to deliver bad news from the warfront. A growing breeze howled through the trees as the thunderstorm announced its arrival from the west but all Hannah Allbright could hear was the agonizing thud of her breaking heart.

Hannah walked the stepping stone path to her front porch like a prisoner awaiting sentence. Warm summer raindrops camouflaged the tears growing fat and sorrowful in her eyes. As she entered the house, lightning ripped the sky in two and the heavens at last bleed in a drenching squall. In her distress Hannah failed to notice the Royal issue flintlock rifle propped against the porch wall.

A lamp burned from within the pantry and Hannah could see the shadow of a man in its flickering glow. Hannah stood for a moment in the foyer and took a deep and calming breath. “Reverend,” she announced as bravely as she could, “I am home.” The shadowy figure paused. Hannah heard a rustling then watched as the shadow turned and grew larger answering her call. To her surprise it was not the Reverend to appear in the doorway but a Redcoat: one of Tyrus’s sentries. He was grubby and rumpled and Hannah initially felt relief at the sight of him. The reprieve would be short lived.

“Well, well, well,” the sentry bellowed, peering at her through devious slits, “What have we here?”

It was fears turn to preside over her emotions now and Hannah stood paralyzed as the sentry, an intimidatingly muscular man, loomed over her until a loud clap of thunder made her jump and scream out. Her screech amused the sentry and he chuckled heartily at her timidity.

“There is nothing you want here,” Hannah finally cried meekly, backing away from her unwelcome caller.

“Oh, yes,” the sentry leered, rubbing his scruffy chin and looking Hannah Allbright up and down, “I believe there just might be.”

Hannah tried to flee but the sentry, despite his girth, was far too swift. He grabbed her by the sleeve and turned her around, tearing the silky fabric of her dress and leaving her pale shoulder naked and exposed. The hulking intruder pulled Hannah to him and pressed his thick rubbery lips against hers. Hannah flailed her head back and forth and began beating his brick wall chest with ineffective blows. The sentry laughed at her ineptitude. His breath reeked of cheese and ale.

“You are uninvited, sir” Hannah gasped, her entire body trembling, her brown eyes wild with fear. The sentry only laughed all the more before slapping Hannah hard across the face and sending her to the clack board floor. A salty taste filled her mouth as bright red blood began to flow from the inside of her lip.

Hannah Allbright’s once peaceful home, so quiet since her husband had left for war, was now filled with the pitiable snivel of her own whimpers. Hannah shut her eyes tight, praying the intruder would leave but she could still hear his panting and wheezy breaths over the steady gallop of swollen raindrops beating upon the tin shingles. Another clap of thunder shrieked across the sky.

“Oh yes,” the sentry hissed around a sinister grin, watching Hannah cower on the floor with her eyes shut tight and blood trickling from her swelling mouth, “I like that.” Unbuckling his trousers, he leapt on top of her and grabbed her face with a meaty hand. He rubbed his thumb in her blood and smeared it across her quivering lips like some gaudy cosmetic. “Mmmm,” he growled, “Aren’t you a pretty tart.”

Again, the sentry pressed his lips to Hannah’s, taking pleasure in her helplessness and growing all the more excited by the coppery taste of her pain. Wanting so much more of her, he ripped open the front of her ivory dress and groped at her plentiful breasts, which heaved rapidly in terrified breathes, still held tight within her petticoat. He buried his filthy mug in her cleavage and was about to rip her breasts free when the awareness of piercing steel upon the back of his neck brought him pause. “Who goes there?” he asked cautiously without looking back, recognizing the razor edge of a bayonet against his perspiring flesh.

“Get off her,” a female voice demanded. “Slowly!”

Hannah opened her eyes at the sound of the familiar and unfaltering voice. Behind her attacker stood Lizbeth Quincy: a flintlock rifle in her ever-steady hands. The sentry turned slowly to see the face of his captor only to be met by the barrel of his own weapon. Lizbeth lower the bayonet to the sentry’s flabby cheek and repeated her demand, “Get off of her, now!”

“Let’s be calm love,” the sentry grumbled, still not budging.

“Now!” Lizbeth shouted, thrusting the bayonet hard enough against his clammy flesh to draw blood. The sentry rose inelegantly, groping to keep his unbuckled trousers from falling to the floor and turned to face Lizbeth. Hannah, free from the sentry’s bulky prison, scampered across the floor and cowered in the corner.