Liberty Calling

Chapter 1

New York, 1778

The mud which splashed up from the ground served as an odd contrast to the blue satin hem of my gown. It was unavoidable. Though I tried to weave my way through the murky puddles that spotted the streets, I could not. I wondered for a moment why only ugly things spread. Disease, war, mud, poverty. Why couldn't our greatest problem be an infestation of roses? Or better yet, hoards of poets? But no, instead grime and stray dogs filled the streets. It was like this every winter. In the summer, New York was tolerable, and the dust of the streets stayed put, constantly packed down underfoot by the crowds that bustled from building to building. Shops repainted their doors, music leaked out of taverns, and children ran hand in hand to their favorite bakeries. But in the winter, all was bleak and dirty and cold. Even the water at the harbor grew angry, and crashed against the docked ships, fighting against the ice that threatened to creep further out from the shore.

I turned the familiar corner in front of my home, and upon seeing Mother standing in the doorway, considered turning to run. It was too late.

"Emmeline!" she cried. "Come inside at once and change your gown. Look at you!"

I hid a sigh, and started on my way to the door. "I'm sorry, Mother. The mud in the streets is awful today and-"

"Then you must watch where you step! Or for heaven's sake, stay inside!"

"I was growing restless, and needed some fresh air."

"And for that we have a garden."

I could tell this conversation would go nowhere, so nodded. "Yes, Mother."

The moment I stepped inside, the mud from my shoes began to fall to the floor, and Mother huffed in an annoyed sort of way. A maid stood ready at the door to take my cloak, and I smiled as she did so. "Thank you, Hannah."

She smiled up at me, and bowed her head. Hannah rarely spoke around Mother, but then hardly anyone ever could. "The Walkins," Mother began, "are coming for supper any time now, and you need to look presentable. They're bringing their daughters, and their son, so you must behave." I didn't miss the emphasis she put on the mention of their son.

"Mother, I thought I was to marry James Cawthorn. The match has been arranged all our lives, so why try to introduce me to more young men?"

She turned, a flurry of petticoats and contempt, and gave me a stern look that I knew all too well. "Be that as it may, James has made decisions which have made him less favorable, and there are many far more eligible young men in New York." She continued on with a lecture of finding a man who could give me many comforts in life, for I could never survive in a lifestyle less extravagant than what I grew up with, you know.

Though her words bordered on anger, I had to turn away to hide the smile that snuck to my face. Mentioning James always aggravated Mother, for he had chosen to be an assistant at my brother's printing press, and this made him far less favorable than a successful merchant's son, or a lawyer, like his father. James and I had been good friends all our lives, and I wished he were there to enjoy in teasing Mother about the arrangement.

As I began to walk up the steps towards my room, Mother called my name. "Emmeline, please, do not wear your green gown. If I see it again, I think I'll go mad."

"You told me just last week it was your favorite!"

"For visiting the shops in town perhaps, or going to church. But not for supper! And certainly not when you hope to impress a young man."

This time, I could not hide my sigh. "Well, then, if we've gone back to you picking out all my clothes again, what would you have me wear?"

She either missed the sarcasm in my tone, or chose to ignore it.  "The rose colored gown. And hurry, they'll arrive any minute and I want you in the sitting room when they do!"