Daughters of the Revolution

“Its all right there deary,” the sentry reassured, maintaining his composure, never really believing that a woman, of all people, would dare shoot a British regular. “Lets not get our knickers in a knot.” He buckled his pants cautiously and raised his hands above his head. Lizbeth held the bayonet inches from his sweaty face; a single drop of blood dripped from its steely tip.

“Now,” Lizbeth ordered with un-frightened authority, “get out of here!” The sentry complied, vigilantly backing to the doorway and down the front steps. Lizbeth, her green eyes narrow and severe, followed him step for step.

The sentry had taken notice of Lizbeth’s short hair and men’s trousers. Standing in the pouring rain and under the lightning filled skies he yelled, “What the hell kind of wench are you?”

“The kind you’ll be sorry you ever met,” Lizbeth shouted over yet another deafening thunderclap.

The sentry laughed as he took hold of his horse’s reigns. “I’ll just come back here with more men, missy!” he barked back. “And then you and your whore friend shall be the sorry ones!”

“No,” Lizzie calmly replied, never taking her aim off her target. “I don’t believe you will.”

And with that Lizbeth pulled the trigger of the sentry’s rifle sending a lead slug trough his windpipe and deep into his spinal cord. The sentry fell backwards instantaneously, the muscles below his neck no longer receiving commands from his shattered spinal column. His limp body fell off the walkway and into a thorny patch of brambles. His eyes seemed to scan the stormy heavens aimlessly as his mouth floundered for a breath that was not there, finding only a mouthful of summer raindrops instead. He died a moment later.

Lizbeth unhitched the sentry’s horse and with a swift slap to her backside, set the mare free. She dropped the rifle on the front porch and rushed inside to find Hannah who cowered in the corner, crying and still in distress. Hannah screamed when Lizbeth took her in her arms. Her terrified eyes darted about wildly and Lizbeth held her trembling body close despite Hannah’s attempts to push her away. “Hannah, its Lizbeth,” she whispered as she wiped drying blood from Hannah’s chin and replaced the red stains with loving kisses. “It is okay, dear one,” she reassured softly. “I’m here.”

Hannah, finally realizing it was now Lizbeth’s arms she was in, clutched her tightly in return. “Oh Lizbeth,” she cried, “Is he gone? Please tell me he is gone.”

“He is all gone, my precious,” Lizbeth assured, peering out the open door at the lifeless body lying off the rain soaked walkway. “He will never bother you again.”

“You will protect me?” Hannah shuttered, her lips shivering as she spoke.

Lizbeth looked back down to Hannah and began stroking her hair. “I will always protect you,” she affirmed.

The two women lay on the floor enveloped in one another’s arms, Hannah feeling secure and warm in Lizbeth’s adoring embrace. She looked up and noticed her husband’s riding crop hanging from a rounded peg on the wall. You were not here to protect me Henry, she thought, looking back up to Lizbeth who was gracing the top of her head with tender kisses. But Lizbeth was. Lizbeth eyes stated their intent and without hesitation, Hannah’s permitted. Slowly, she leaned closer to Hannah until their lips lightly touched. She paused only a moment until at last Hannah closed her soft brown eyes.

For Hannah Allbright, the world went silent as Lizbeth Quincy’s succulent mouth closed upon hers in a loving kiss.

******

Tepid bath water enveloped Hannah Allbright; her lips still tingled from Lizbeth Quincy’s breathtaking kiss. Her husband had kissed her at least a thousand times but never once did he use his tongue the way Lizbeth had. Lizbeth had parted Hannah’s lips with her strawberry tongue and she found the sensation of Lizbeth’s wet muscle searching and probing the insides of her mouth delightful. “It is how the French kiss,” Lizbeth had giggled.

Lizbeth returned to the tub with another bucket of fire-warmed bath water and spilled it gently over Hannah’s naked body. Earlier, Lizbeth had assisted Hannah from the floor and for the second time that day, disrobed her. She had started a fire and drawn the water for a cleansing bath as Hannah watched with nervous anticipation. “Let me wash him from you, dear,” Lizbeth had asked between luscious kisses.

My husband or the Redcoat, Hannah had initially thought in response to Lizbeth’s request. But now, with Lizbeth also nude and sponging soapy bath water over her bare shoulders, it did not seem to really matter either way.

Lizbeth dropped the sponge to the floor and worked her bare hands on Hannah’s supple skin. She started at her neck and worked down to her shoulders, her strong hands kneading any lingering tension from Hannah’s weary soul. “That feels wonderful, Lizbeth” Hannah cooed dreamily as placid waves resonated off the walls of the copper bathtub. Lizbeth smiled and lowered her hands to Hannah’s breasts, cupping them tenderly and squeezing Hannah’s engorged nipples between her middle and index fingers. “Oh, my,” Hannah gasped, leaving her mouth open to be met by yet another of Lizbeth’s moist kisses.

Outside, the raging storm had subsided into a tranquil shower and a choir of peep frogs commenced with a harmonic chorus of chirps and hums. A curious skunk, foraging in the damp for his dinner, had found the waterlogged body of the British Regular instead and he sniffed at the lifeless figure before ambling away, uninterested. In the morning, Lizbeth would set fire the sentry’s clothing and bury his naked body in her tobacco patch, but tonight, she had a far more pleasurable agenda on her mind.

The bathwaters cooled but the same could not be said of Lizbeth Quincy and Hannah Allbright. The couple adjourned to Hannah’s chambers where Lizbeth lay her new lover upon the cloud-like feather bed and began adorning her nude and eager body with affectionate kisses. Hannah trembled at the attentiveness of Lizbeth’s cherry lips, as if a million butterflies were delicately landing upon her tingling skin. In her ecstasy, she adoringly gazed upon Lizbeth in the reflection of her dressing mirror, the same one she had watched herself in so many times, her excitement building, her respirations becoming swift. So long had she imagined how one woman could love another, and now she watched amorously as Lizbeth showed her how.

Lizbeth’s flesh seemed to glow in the amber radiance of the smoldering hearth, the only light remaining in the small cottage. Her mouth explored every inch of Hannah Allbright, who purred softly and ruffled the down covers of her feather bed with a blissful writhing. At last Lizbeth found herself at the divine mound between Hannah’s creamy thighs. “Have you ever been kissed here before?” she sighed, parting Hannah’s spongy folds with the most delicate of touch. Hannah’s only reply was a lusty moan as Lizbeth’s handsome face disappeared within her ginger thatch.

Henry had kissed Hannah once like this before but his efforts had been clumsy and uninspiring. Lizbeth, in contrast, used her mouth and tongue on Hannah the way a fine sculptor would use his hands on clay: affectionately, indulgently, proficiently. Hannah imagined the only thing that could feel any more pleasurable than the sensations Lizbeth elicited upon her quivering body would be the touch of a thousand angels.

The room was balmy and both women glistened in the fire glow with light beads of perspiration. In the mirror, Hannah observed that Lizbeth had taken to touching herself as well, burying busy fingers deep within her own saturated flesh and the vision filled Hannah with the sudden insufferable urge to sample Lizbeth Quincy the way she was sampling her. “Lizbeth…” she panted. “Lizbeth please let me taste you.” Her body squirmed and writhed on Lizbeth’s attentive mouth. “Oh please, let me taste you, my dear.”

Lizbeth raised her head with a salacious smile, her face glossy with Hannah’s wet lust. She shimmied her body up to Hannah and kissed her whole on the mouth. Hannah recognized the taste of her own salty tang and consumed ravenously from her lover’s lips. “That is you,” Lizbeth purred, flicking her tongue over Hannah’s the way she had tickled her nethers moments before. “And this,” she continued, removing sticky fingers from her own damp region and placing them to Hannah’s eager lips, “this, my love, is me.”

Hannah licked Lizbeth’s fingers only once before sucking them deep into her willing mouth. She was surprised by how distinctly different Lizbeth tasted for her own womanly flow but lavished in the marvelous flavor all the same. As Lizbeth Quincy’s pungent sauce dissolved within her mouth, Hannah Allbright was consumed by the urge to taste Lizbeth from the source. She took Lizbeth’s face in her hands and engulfed her mouth with a passionate kiss. “Please, oh please dear Lizbeth,” she implored between lusty kisses. “Please let me love you the way you love me.”

Lizbeth returned Hannah’s kiss and then shifted her body until the women lay with their most private of places directly before each other’s face, Lizbeth on top of Hannah. Lizbeth reached under, grasping Hannah’s buttocks with firm hands and as her tongue resumed probing her lover’s saturated nest, she found Hannah’s other pert hole and began encircling it lightly with gentle fingertips. Hannah gasped as beautiful bolts of electricity shot from the region and flooded her soul. She began panting hard, mouth agape, gazing up at Lizbeth’s succulent aperture. A sultry drop of honey fell from the folds and onto Hannah waiting tongue. This is so beautiful, she thought as Lizbeth lowered her body onto Hannah’s impatient mouth.

The rains were gone and silvery beams of moonlight now peered through the windows, bathing the women in a heavenly blush. The musical peep frogs continued their serenade throughout the night as Hannah and Lizbeth accompanied them with their own chorus of tender moans and breathless sighs until at last they slept, carefree and satisfied, in one another’s arms.

Somewhere to the north, the situation was not so pleasant. Things were looking grim for the men of the New Haven Regiment as they persisted with their violent game of war and death. Henry Allbright slept uneasily, hungry and wounded in a gravel ditch, surrounded by the bodies of his fallen comrades. The only thing that sustained him through the long night were thoughts of his dear wife Hannah.

******

By the late summer of 1779, the news from the warfront had not been good. The men of Pleasant Harbor, fighting with the New Haven Regiment, had suffered numerous casualties at the Battle of Danbury and though some of the survivors had returned to their families, most wandered the Connecticut Valley as mercenaries, fighting in the small but frequent skirmishes that continued to erupt as the War for Independence lingered on. Reverend Dandridge had made countless visits to the newly widowed, notifying them of their misfortune but so far, Hannah Allbright had not been among them. She continued her regular journeys into town seeking information but had yet to receive even a hint of information on the whereabouts of her husband.

But today, Hannah did not concern herself with the things she could not control. Today she lay in a meadow of tall grass -- populated by black-eyed susans and yellow daisies that grew unfettered for as far as the eye could see -- and dozed off in the arms of her lover, Lizbeth Quincy, who recited love poems by heart as she ran her slender fingers through Hannah’s graceful auburn hair. Gentle breezes rolled over the meadow, contorting the wild grasses into undulating waves and keeping the August humidity at bay. Watching the lazy summer clouds and listening to the soothing tenor of Lizbeth’s voice had made Hannah’s eyelids heavy and she slept lightly until being stirred by a sudden change in Lizbeth’s tone.

“Hannah,” Lizbeth abruptly announced. “Open your eyes.”

“What is it dear?” Hannah asked sleepily, looking up with a drowsy smile and reaching to caress Lizbeth’s tanned face.

“Look!” Lizbeth pointed beyond the meadow and towards Hannah’s house where a man in uniform was breaching the forest.

Hannah turned her gaze to the direction in which Lizbeth pointed. Her smiled faded immediately. “My dear Lord,” she gasped. “Henry.” He was leaner than when he had left, gaunt even, and his hair was long and unkempt, but even at this distance she recognized the man to whom she was married.

With out thinking, she rose and ran to him, her heart racing as fast as her feet, but stopped halfway. Oh my God, Lizbeth. She turned and spoke aloud the words she thought. “Oh my God, Lizbeth,” she cried, covering her mouth with both hands.

Lizbeth stood and walked to a sobbing Hannah. Meeting her, she placed her hands on Hannah’s shoulders. “Do you love him, Hannah?” she asked firmly.

“I…” Hannah looked over her shoulder at Henry who had yet to notice them in the field. “I do not know what I should do.”

“Do you love him?” Lizbeth repeated, doing her best to mask the excruciating sting growing steadily in the of the hollow pit of her chest

Hannah stood motionless and quiet, her eyes spilling with salty tears until the forlorn caw of an unseen crow broke the silence. “Yes, Lizbeth,” Hannah finally replied. “Yes I do.”

“Then go to him,” Lizbeth managed with a warm but poignant smile.

“But I love y…” Hannah began as Lizbeth put a finger to her crimson lips.

“You are a beautiful, precious flower Hannah,” Lizbeth interrupted as she stroked Hannah’s sorrowful face. “But you belong to someone else. I have known this all along and it is the chance I took.”

The wild grasses hummed in the breeze like a sad orchestra. Hannah glanced back to her husband before turning to Lizbeth once more. “But what of us, Lizbeth?” Hannah asked. “What of you?”

Lizbeth looked to the cottage and knew it would not be long until Henry noticed them standing in the field. “I know of loss Hannah,” she said. “She is an old friend of mine. I will be fine.” Lizbeth removed her hands from Hannah’s face and settled them in the pockets of her baggy trousers. “Now go,” she insisted, afraid she would not be able to fight back her tears much longer. “Go be with your husband.”

Hannah grasped Lizbeth by the shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I do love you, Lizbeth Quincy,” she wept. “And I always will.” The two women held the pose for a moment then Hannah turned and ran for her husband.

Lizbeth Quincy stood alone in the meadow, sobbing bitterly, and watched unnoticed as Hannah rushed into the embrace of her waiting husband. They kissed as Henry lifted his wife in the air and spun her around joyously. Their amorous dance lasted about a minute and then Henry Allbright buried his head in his wife’s shoulder as she led him inside. The lonesome crow cawed once more as Lizbeth dried her tears. “And I love you too, Hannah Allbright,” she whispered under her breath as the shadows grew long and she turned for home. “And I always will.”

******

Red and orange leaves peppered the cobblestones of Pleasant Harbor as Hannah Allbright accompanied her husband into town to assist with the ongoing rebuilding. The summer rains had washed away most of the soot and ash and two new buildings already emerged from the ruble. The clamor of sawing lumber and pounding hammers filled the air near the wooden skeleton of a new town hall; out front, high on a pole, the Stars and Stripes waved majestically in the autumn breeze. A few blocks down, a fresh granite corner stone stood in place at the future home of the Second Church of Pleasant Harbor. A large crate sat nearby containing a shinning new bell that awaited a belfry to call home. Reverend Dandridge, who was proudly showing it off to some townsfolk, stopped to wave as Henry and Hannah Allbright passed.

At the mercantile, Mary Addams tended shop with her three boys. She wore a green gingham dress and Hannah thought it was nice to see her something other than widow’s black. Ever the gossip, Mary approached Hannah to fill her ears with all the latest hearsay from around Pleasant Harbor. Hannah smiled politely and tried to excuse herself but Mary had a question she felt only Hannah could answer.

“And by the way, Hannah,” Mary Addams inquired, “What ever became of that Quincy woman? I have not seen of her since last summer.”

Hannah had not seen Lizbeth either, not since that day in the meadow. The week following Henry’s return she had made the hike through the woods only to find the Quincy residence deserted and still. She thought at first that perhaps Lizbeth had returned to Boston seeking reconciliation with her father but she knew that was something Lizbeth would never do. No, instead she believed that Lizbeth had ventured south, was quite sure of it in fact, to search for someone she had not seen in years, someone with brown skin and a gift for composing the most beautiful of love poems.

But Mary Addams did not need to know that. “I do not know what ever became of Lizbeth Quincy,” Hannah replied. “Now if you will please excuse me.”

“Well, it is not like anyone will miss her,” the widow Addams snickered as Hannah turned to leave.

Even the most astute observer would have had trouble recognizing the heartfelt pain that Hannah Allbright concealed as she exited the mercantile to join her husband who had wandered down to the harbor to speak with some friends. But Hannah had become quite adept at concealing her emotions over the past few months. She greeted her husband’s acquaintances respectfully with a kind smile as she locked her arm with Henry’s and turned her gaze to the south, over the harbor and out into the azure sky.

******

Though at times it seemed hopeless, the War for Independence was about to turn in favor of the struggling colonist and soon, a new nation would be born from the seeds of American determination and strength and an undeniable feeling of joy would spread throughout the land. But for Hannah Allbright, a certain sadness remained. She would never again see Lizbeth Quincy but she would never forget her. She would never forget the devoted friendship, the affectionate moments or the passion filled nights. But most of all, she would never forget the love. On warm summer evenings, she would sit alone in the meadow behind her small cottage and whisper softly into the southerly winds, “I love you Lizbeth Quincy…And I always will.”