Diary of a Colonial Rebel(Lady) 1775, Jan 1 to Apr 15 : January 1 to April 15

By Barbara Kesser

Late in the evening of Sunday, January 1, 1775, Faith Kaylore of Endaportal sits before the fireplace in her room and on the first page of her latest diary she writes: HUZA! HUZZA! Hugh is coming home! Uncle Elias has released him from his apprenticeship and Endaportal will have its own printer and newspaper soon!"

In the margin, she adds a postscript to ask her brother about Billy William, the British soldier working with him in their uncles print shop in Boston, who has decorated her new diary with a strong and bold letter drawn in the corner of each page. The post riders praise and obvious liking of this Kings Grenadier with merry eyes and a smile of good teeth makes Faith curious about the man further described to her as: Sort of handsome with a pleasant style about him and a real help in the print shop.

Within a few weeks, Billy William suddenly and dramatically enters her life when she investigates a wisp of smoke coming from a house in Old Drowned Town which is not ready yet for either printing press or human habitat.

Hughs request for a road chopped through two-miles of heavy forest between Endaportal and Enda, a town abandoned years earlier after a flood, is accomplished by recruiting Captain Edward Homer and his crew from the SEA JULE, all wintering in Lower Town while their ship is in dry-dock until spring at Middletown.

Each day,life without dependence upon Englands imports grows nearer because of these beached sailors. The road they build brings with it new industries, the newspaper, a dress shop, and a very necessary convenience The Transportation Line - which not only ties the two towns together but actually causes them to merge into one.

Faiths Diary also chatters about her twin sisters Emily, soon to marry Ben Dwyer, a Captain in Endaportals newly formed MinuteMen and Anne, waiting for Rafe Marbury to return from England for a planned double-wedding. Rafe is also to be the new customs inspector at Endaportal and Anne is devastated by the effigies of him that begin hanging along Hughs Road shortly before his arrival. When the abominations are toasted uproariously by the road crew who usually end their working day with a meal at the Kaylore Inn, neither Faith nor Emily can console her.

Captain Homer thoughtfully sends his ships cook, Freeman, to help Faith with the huge daily meals and his cooking expertise soon enables the black man to take over the kitchen completely, releasing Faith who revels in her new freedom.

She begins to plan how she can write and work with her brother and his mysterious friend on the Endaportal Gazette with its 1775 masthead declaring boldly: "United now, alive and free, Firm on this basis Liberty shall stand, And, thus supported, ever bless our land, till Time becomes Eternity."

Those loyal to King George 111 are enraged. Those wanting to be free of Englands rule are elated.

In this warm and real Diary of Faith Kaylor with its peek into her dreams and loungings, she also gives meaning to the days and events in the lives of family and friends in Endaportal, the people "on the home front" as the British Colonies begin the heartbreak which will lead to Liberty and Freedom and a new nation - the United States of America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 5, 2004
• ISBN: 9781465333902

Barbara Kesser

Being a writer who knew people, places, and things, who had something to say and could say it well, became my motto for life even before my family moved from Chicago to a farm in Minnesota. That first pendulum swing and a secretarial career enabled me to live in several big cities including Minneapolis where, in 32 years, with majors in language arts, speech, journalism, and composition, I finally graduated from U/M with a BS. Now, because of an insatiable interest and enjoyment of research in American history, I’ve written my first historical novel set in early 1775 New England.

Book preview

Diary of A Colonial

Rebel (Lady) 1775

January 1 to April 15

An Historical Novel

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BY

BARBARA KESSER

Copyright © 2004 by Barbara Kesser.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage

and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the

copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used

fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or

dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

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Contents

Endaportal

SUNDAY, JANUARY 1st of 1775

February

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 1st of 1775

March

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 1st of 1775

April

SATURDAY, APRIL 1st of 1775

"We have not wings, we cannot soar;

But we have feet to scale and climb

By slow degrees, by more and more,

The cloudy summits of our time."

(from The Ladder of Saint Augustine

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Dedicated to my Mom and Dad,

Nettie and George Kesser

Thanks for a good foundation and everything

"Diary of a Colonial Rebel(Lady) 1775, Jan 1 to April 15

. . . . succeeds where many a history book has faltered—it enlivens the Revolutionary War period and engages its reader. We follow Faith Kaylore through the first four months of her life in 1775 as she writes in her secret diary about the trials and tribulations of her increasing independence and the events that threaten to engulf a nation in war. Through her words, Faith makes her complicated era familiar for the reader while challenging the audience to understand the difficulties of life in the 18th century. Kesser further creates a community of interesting characters that make Diary of a Colonial Rebel( Lady) 1775 an educational and entertaining read.

—Bonnie McDonald, Director, Anoka County Historical Society

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(Ms. MdDonald also wrote that It only took me about a week to read, several hours each night, because I was so engrossed in the story. As is evident in your words through your characters, you have done an extensive amount of research about rural life in 1775. In addition, you have gone the extra distance that many writers haven’t in memorializing a woman’s life in those turbulent times . . . .

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Reading the diary of this young woman was like taking a step back in time. Her struggles and triumphs as a person, and as a woman, became real as she described them in her journal. the book (has) a little of something for everyone—romance, suspense, mystery and history . . . . This Diary made history come alive in such a way that I don’t think I will ever again think about this period of time without (realizing) what these story characters experienced.

—Kris Niebler, Program Specialist, Coon Rapids (MN) Civic Center

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The old Faith Kaylore who had no hope or chance of life in January is gone. The new (Faith) of April 1775 is a woman of opportunity . . . . who dares to think and to plan. The voice of Faith Kaylore describes the joys and hardships of this era by allowing the reader to share her Diary. She is a true colonial rebel for as a woman she yearns for career, romance and adventure . . . . The author’s meticulous research of colonial life truly transports the reader. As we dream along with Faith, we clearly feel the tensions building between the patriots and loyalists. The reader feels a sense of pride and gratitude for those that lived through this frightening, yet history-changing era.

—Pam Burke, Instructor, YMCA

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Again, thank you so much for letting me step into a period of time that is very often presented as flat and far removed from where we are today. It always is more real when there is a human story that helps us to understand the hardships and joys of history we often just think of as something that happened a long time ago. I am looking forward to the next book . . . .

— Stephanie Sharp, Coon Rapids, MN

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It was a delight to read your historical novel. Faith’s hopes and longings pulled me in and I found myself wishing she would not run out of pages in her Diary! The supporting characters (are) delightful, from the strong and defiant brother Hugh to the soggy little nephew Mather. This story of a young woman coming of age during the years of turmoil our country went through just before the revolutionary war will reward readers for years to come.

—Kristi Schmidley, Apple Valley, MN

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. . . . I enjoyed getting to know your heroine and other characters. I found both them and your description of the early 1775 setting quite believable. You’ve clearly thought things through and done your homework! Not easy to tell such a complicated story via Diary entries. It occurred to me that your rebel lady must have spent much of her days jotting things down in order to get it all in! . . . .

—John Howe, Professor Emeritus, Department of History, U/MN

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. . . . The book is charming, has humor, has a bad guy, has some sexual tension. in the first part I was looking forward to the wedding, then finally I was looking toward the first issue of the newspaper. When the story ended, I wanted to know . . . What happens next? The story also gives a sense of the feelings and the atmosphere of the times along with conflicts with the community and even families.

—Karen Conradi Jones, LSW

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I could not put this book down! Thank you for letting me read it. Never was history so vital and characters so real! What a great way to learn our nation’s beginning. You’re a fabulous story teller . . .

—Mary Waibel, Member/ELI

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Kesser presents a fascinating account of Faith Kaylore, a Colonial Rebel. She is not only a Patriot, but an early day feminist interested in politics and determined to be a writer and news editor. A thoroughly enjoyable tale of Faith’s life just weeks before the outbreak of war.

—Phyl Johnson, Rapid City, SD

Endaportal

SUNDAY, JANUARY 1st of 1775

My dear paper friend,

I sit here on the settee almost within the fireplace, a shawl around my shoulders, my knees baking from the flames and my backside freezing from the draughts in this room, ignoring all to SHOUT in you, my newest and still empty Diary, HUZZA! HUZZA! Hugh is coming home!

Uncle Elias has released him from his apprenticeship and Endaportal will have its own printer and newspaper soon! Those three extra years of laboring and learning the printer’s trade from our father’s brother in Boston have been rewarded as Hugh had hoped for and planned. Uncle Elias will let him cart away the old printing press as soon as his new one from London arrives and is set up in the shop. Then Hugh will bring the old – but still very useable – press home to start a newspaper here in Endaportal!

Never has the post rider from Boston brought a letter with more welcome news – nor have the pages of this annual book made by my dear brother ever been so beautifully decorated.

Billy William, that’s the British soldier who works with Hugh in the print shop, he did that, Jeremy told me, putting his hand near his mouth as he always did when he spoke. I’m supposed to tell you that all the fancy letters and scrolls he drew in the corner of the pages are a gift to you for Christmas and he’s happy you’re here to receive his endeavors.

Oh, Jeremy, the artwork is beautiful! I said, admiring each design more than the last one. Please tell him that since we don’t celebrate the day here as they do in England, he’s given me my first present that’s come with a Merry Christmas."

"Billy said it’s a special time for him. He remembers happy Christmas Days at home when he was a boy, as he says, ‘growing up and getting older’ in London-town."

With Jeremy looking over my shoulder, we admired every page of you, my soon to be written upon diary. I knew coyness wasn’t necessary with him, but still I asked Jeremy in a very disinterested manner: What’s Billy William like?

Well, he’s got beautiful teeth, came the answer from behind Jeremy’s hand. Always smiling. Always showing off his good front teeth. They’re even better lookin’ than yours, Faith Kaylore. But neither of you can beat mine, he chuckled with good humor as he showed me another of his loose teeth he’d just pulled out. He wiped it against his leggings and carefully put it into a bag at his waist. I bury ‘em, he explained with a brief almost toothless grin.

My sympathetic, Oh, seemed to satisfy him, Diary, and so he told me more about the thoughtful stranger who’s delighted my eyes. He’s a King’s Grenadier, Jeremy said, trying to stand straighter in imitation of him, I guess. So I know the man’s tall. Then he added, with a quick glance at me, that Billy William was sort of handsome with a pleasant style about him and a real help in the print shop, according to your brother.

When I asked Jeremy why one of the King’s Own was working in uncle’s shop, he said a lot of British soldiers now stationed in Boston are getting such poor rations, they need to work at extra jobs to buy food for themselves. "Some even steal it to keep their bellies from rumbling!" he exclaimed.

I don’t know whether to believe him or not although it sounds like it could be the cause of some of the trouble between soldiers and citizens that Hugh has written to us about. Since the King’s Decree closed Boston port to all shipping last June 1st, many places of business have had to close and people have lost their employment. With jobs so scarce and the King’s soldiers vying for them, it sounds to me like Boston’s becoming a dead place with men acting like wolves over any bounty.

In his letter today, Hugh explained that Billy William and his brother, Albert, are the latest of the soldiers who’ve been quartered in Uncle’s house, and although Billy didn’t get paid in coin for your fancy letters, Diary, Aunt Betsy still gives him extra portions of beef at dinner! (Uncle hoards, so there’s always plenty.)

Well, now that Hugh will have his printing press, I wonder how he will get it here. Because of that tea-toss thing over a year ago, December 16, 1773 exactly, he certainly will have difficulty in finding friend or foe (for what has he made of our brother, George, but foe) willing or able to help him. I hope Hugh will see the sense of making up with his older brother who is so near to him in Cambridge. He should not allow our father’s passions against a disobedient son to deter him from asking George for help. I know George would be willing to help him.

I’ve tried, Diary, but I can’t imagine anything more difficult than taking that printing press out of Boston in the current trying circumstances.

Hugh says he’s getting it out – allowed or not! According to his letter, he already has a plan of how to do it by way of Boston Neck when Albert William is one of the guards at the gate of that road, and the other is a Redcoat already bribed with six fresh eggs from Uncle Elias’ sawdust barrels.

If all goes as he’s planned it, the cart will go through the gate and continue bouncing on the road some 18 or 20 miles to the open port of Salem to the print shop of uncle’s very good friend who’s editor of the newspaper there. He’s also pretending to be the recipient of the new press from England that is going to Uncle Elias, and he’s already arranged for Hugh’s press to be loaded aboard a coastal ship that eventually will be coming our way up the Connecticut River.

Hugh insists that shipping by sea will cost him much less than if he’d have the press freighted overland all the way to Endaportal at the Western edge of civilization as he now calls us. He’s also very bitter about Uncle Elias’ unwillingness to pay any of the freight charges for the wagon going to Salem to pick up his new press if Hugh loads the old press upon it for a free ride to a Salem dock.

In his latest letter, Hugh wrote that last week a very agitated Uncle Elias told him, NO he would pay absolutely nothing! He’d helped enough by pretending ignorance of the rebel broadsides being written in his house and printed surreptitiously in his place of business! Giving Hugh his printing press, the cases of type, and enough paper for two or three issues is more than sufficient and really not due to any apprentice.

If you weren’t my nephew you’d have gotten a suit of clothes and a few shillings and sent from here long ago! Uncle had ranted at him.

So because of the extra expenses and the shipboard charges and all, Hugh has asked Father for a Letter of Credit and Jeremy will be delivering it to him on his return trip to Boston.

Apparently, Uncle Elias is no longer comfortable with his position on the fence between his many British friends and Hugh’s many rebellious ones. Indeed, Father was shocked to learn that his brother has a long-standing friendship with Thomas Gage, the General who commands the British troops in Boston and is the King’s royal governor of Massachusetts now.

It seems that the English general’s American born wife, Elizabeth, has been friends with Aunt Betsy since both went to Mistress Allen’s Singing School back in their youthful – as Shakespeare calls them – salad days. So Aunt Betsy and Uncle Elias have been frequent dinner and party guests of the General and, of course, from that they know many other British officers and some wealthy Loyalists who come with their wives and other supporters of the King and Parliament.

Hugh wrote that he’s being very cautious in uncle’s presence because he still needs to live there until he has money and the time is right to move his reward as he calls the printing press.

I still don’t understand why the freight charges will be less by sea than by land since the ship has to sail around all that land before it gets to the mouth of the Connecticut River. Then if the winds are light, it may take as long as two weeks for the sloop to sail upriver, a little way beyond Hartford, to be unloaded at Warehouse Point.

Hugh doesn’t say how much the charges will be for that, only that he’s in the process of negotiating with river boatmen for the portage of his press and supplies. From the wharf at Warehouse Point, everything comes up the Connecticut to where our Little River joins it, and then it’s still a distance to Endaportal’s dock in Lower Town.

Although it costs less than overland, Hugh said the price staggered him when he first heard it, but those men will have to carry everything around the rapids and falls at Enfield before they can load their bateaux to continue the journey up the Connecticut.

I’m finding that all this preparation and talk really does excite me, but it’s out of my realm, isn’t it, Diary? Father says it is.

As yet no place for that printing press exists, although Hugh has asked me to clean out the flood debris from our old house in Enda, which father has given him for his print shop. Thinking about going back to that ruined, drowned town and to our house of horror there has caused me much distress. It’s been eighteen years since that terrible flood of ’57 – but I still fear the ghosts of remembrance. The water from the stream creeping up on us as the midwife knelt by Mother, screaming and gasping as the baby was pulled from her. The blood. Then the flood waters surged through the house and I lost my footing as the current overturned the baby’s cradle and carried it away as the midwife was frantically working to keep Mother from bleeding to death. Oh, yes, I remember that day of horror – horror I must forget!

No! No more of that night, Diary, for my heart is pounding and tears are smudging your page. I don’t want to remember! I don’t want to go into that house again! But that’s where the printing press has to go. And so must I if I am to be of help.

Think of it, Diary! Hugh will be starting the first newspaper in our valley! How wonderful that will be for us here in Endaportal and for the families living along our Little River and along the Upper Connecticut, too! In the past few weeks, Johny’s walked along or skated both of them to what I call our outposts of civilization and sold eleven subscriptions on promise that the Endaportal Gazette will be published soon!

I’m so excited about the newspaper that I want to shout HUZZA, HUZZA to the sun and the stars and the moon! I know it’s a silly thought, Diary, but that’s how I feel about this momentous event!

I hope Father can find men to make that road for Hugh from that deserted town of awful memories to Endaportal as easily as Johny is finding readers for him. Without that road, there’ll be no way for Hugh to get the newspaper from where it’s to be printed to where he wants it to go. To me those two miles of trees look both impassable and impossible!

Tonight Father convinced Tober that as his eldest son, he’s relying upon him to act in the best interests of the Kaylore family. He said that Tober was needlessly worrying about Sally and their forthcoming child and that, instead, he should take his friends, Sam and Ben Dwyer, to look for road builders among some of the seafaring men wintering near our town docks in Lower Town.

I’ve already hired one of them who came up the bluff to the TapRoom for one of my Kaylore Flips, Father bragged. But most of the seafarers like to stay near the river so you go down there to see if you can hire more.

Sam told Father and Tober that he frequently goes to one of the taverns on the dock and he’s sure they’ll be able to find men for day work there.

Several of our regular diners came in then and I became too busy going between kitchen and dining room to listen further.

I’ve been wondering, Diary, if I’ll recognize Hugh when I first see him again. He was but a boy of thirteen when he was sent to Uncle Elias in Boston nine years ago. I dare say my younger brother will be quite the handsome man by now, but from his recent requests, one with very little memory of how far our village on the Little River is to where it flows into the well-traveled Connecticut River. And going East from Endaportal it’s about that same mile distance to the Boston Post Road, which is why he thinks his newspaper will succeed. Having that potentially good access to these roads of commerce is one of the reasons Hugh’s starting his newspaper business here. I hope his journey home will remind him that neither the Connecticut nor the Road is that close to the door of Father’s Inn!

And I wonder, too, how does he remember us? When he left, Mother was still a cheerful and vibrant mistress of her home, expecting yet another child. I didn’t write to him of her agony when she brought forth a baby with a huge head who had only one arm and no toes on either foot or life within its body. He was too young to understand that she couldn’t lose another child or forgive herself for borning one so deformed. Anyway, Diary, I didn’t know how to tell him that Mother hasn’t spoken to anyone since that time – nor have I overheard any warm comforts being given to Father in their room across from mine – although I still hear him pleading occasionally. Yes, Diary, Hugh will find that a very strange situation here.

Mother’s been ill with fever and other distresses for the past three days, which is why we did not go to church this Sabbath and why she hasn’t worked at her loom since Thursday.

But on any day he arrives, Hugh will find Father much the same as when he left – always the genial host of his Inn and a hearty friend to all who drink in his TapRoom. He’s there now, shouting and pounding on the bar and telling his patrons how this morning:

Reverend Bayles fixed his eyes on me – eyes that glitter like a wolf’s from his snout of a face – and he said, ‘I see that more than one of the Kaylore women is not in attendance, Sir.’ Then in that whining voice of his, he asked the congregation to help him with his wayward children – the wife and daughter of Reliance Kaylore.

That horrid old man! I’m thankful I didn’t have to endure his eyes upon me today. Now Father is telling the men – who are still laughing at his last tattle – about the Reverend’s recent request to court me. Really, Diary! Their laughter is bringing heat to my cheeks! All those tosspots, including Father, who are enjoying but not seeing my embarrassment might find a bit too much pepper and vinegar in the next meal I prepare for them!

Perhaps now that it’s after sundown and Father can pour the beer and rum they’ve been waiting for all day, the talk will turn from me to the usual injustices imposed upon us by His Majesty’s Parliament.

They’re still trying to get what little money we have to help them pay for their damned war with the French! I helped them win it and got this damned gouge in my leg from an Indian arrow to show for it! They got my flesh in ’58! I’ll not give them anything more!

That’s been Father’s rage ever since the ’60’s when the King expected her colonies to buy England’s tax stamps for paper, glass, documents, and whatever. From that he brings up all the other taxes England’s tried to impose upon us who need her no longer!

Then others who had journeyed to Boston for the Sons of Liberty meetings going on then, begin to repeat and embellish their old stories of how it had been their enjoyable pleasure to join the Mohawks on that night of December 16th in the year of 1773, to throw the East India Company’s 342 chests of tea into Boston Harbor!

After the chortling and backslapping, a serious voice always asks the same question:

"What can we do now to help the Bostoneers we got into trouble that night? They’ve suffered too much already from their loss of freedom and food and coal since the King’s warships flooded the harbor and those maggot Redcoats swarmed ashore to keep the port closed!"

As usual, I hear no sensible plan that will free our friends and relatives from their trouble and I find all that kind of talk irritating anyway, Diary. But what is frightening me are the final plans I hear now for Tober’s troop of Minute-Men to go from house to house, gathering up and hiding our town’s powder and munitions on the chance that King George III will send his troops against us, too. Tober’s shouting directions to the big hole he already dug last fall for our town’s cannon. Why are the men in such frenzy, Diary? We really aren’t that close to Boston town.

I know Father’s enjoying himself for at the level of discourse that’s going on now, I can discern that Father’s having a rum toddy with every one he makes for a patron! Yes, Diary, I know Hugh will find Father much the same as he probably remembers him!

But his twin sisters! Oh, how they have changed! Anne and Emily, no longer short, straight sticks, have become beautiful young women. They still look almost alike, but have become very different in nature – and with both about to marry soon, I shall lose their help in taking care of the dining room!

And what will Hugh think of me, his – as Johny unkindly says – his Thornback sister. Thornback, indeed! Although I suppose that my almost twenty–nine unmarried years would appear an ancient age to one who is only a gangling boy of 12.

The candle flickers and is almost out. It has been snowing all day and is very cold. I must see to Mother now. God help me in my tasks.

MONDAY, JANUARY 2nd, – I’m really too tired to be writing. Mother’s still abed. Got her to drink some barley water this afternoon. Her forehead is cooler now.

Johny wanted to go hunting with Tober and that smelly, trapper brother of Ben’s but Sam Dwyer refused – cruelly, I thought. Ben told Johny he was now saved from Sam’s mean, very mean tricks he liked to play on boys in the woods and started to tell him of some of the experiences he had gone through, but Johny huffed off at being called a boy. Ben looked startled and went to seek his future wife for comfort and, I think, for advice. Emily quickly kissed his cheek, probably thinking no one saw – but I did.

I found Johny complaining to the cow in the barn. Poor lad! However, I convinced him I needed his help here. And I do. Though all arms and legs and not too tall, Johny is strong – and very strong-headed! But he does fetch wood for all of the fireplaces and brings in buckets of water from both the well in the cellar and the well outside that Ben’s improved with the long pole he attached to an iron post. The sweep now brings up such sweet tasting water in the new bucket that I’ve almost forgotten how musty the water tasted in the old one!

Of course, every day I thank Father’s forethought in having a well dug in our cellar. But why he can’t help us once in awhile, by carrying a bucket of water up from there at the same time he’s bringing up a bottle of rum or Madeira for the TapRoom, is beyond my understanding. He certainly has no trouble holding a bottle and talking at the same time! (Let Father never discover this diary! It’s only that I wish he would be a little more thoughtful now and be some help in managing his household instead of expecting me to do it all!)

I ache – especially my neck and right shoulder. I need sleep.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 3rd, – Old Reverend Bayles came today and asked Father again if he could pay me court! I emphatically told Father I would never consider it, and implied as subtly as I could that if I married now, he would have no one to look after him and the others, would he? I asked demurely who would he get to clean or wash or garden or cook for the Inn’s patrons? Father’s angry with me for talking in such a manner to him, but he knows I speak the truth. Diary, why should a man in his 60’s want to marry a women half his age? And one who is only polite as expected of youth and women.

Oh, John, my dear lost love. What would life be for me now if your canoe hadn’t overturned in the rapids downriver? I wish we had married so I’d have a household of my own now instead of filling in Mother’s place of work in Father’s.

Mother slept well last night. She seems stronger. It’s been very cold, Diary. Today I almost froze a little finger helping Johny bring up water for the animals in the barn so he’d be ready to go ice fishing when his friend, Aaron, came for him.

They were back before the sun passed the weathervane on Rev. Bayles’ Meeting House. Johny cleaned and cut up a beautiful fish perfect for my specialty and put it in the kettle with its blood and liver. I then added the rest of my secret recipe. One large bundle made up of Sweet Marjoram, Thyme, Rosemary, and other Sweet Smelling Things, along with wild onions, pickled oysters, cloves, and some citrus rind. I then covered all with wine, let it boil up until done, then poured an egg and butter broth over everything before bringing the gently fragrant, steaming platter into the dining room where Father and the dinner patrons ate it all! The rest of us in the household – Mother, the twins, Johny, me, – we dined on the fish chowder I thought we’d have tomorrow.

However, Diary, we’ve schemed and as soon as Johny gets another fish like that one for us, only we who ate chowder today will dine on my specialty fish platter!

Tonight I ache all over, Diary, and am very tired.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 4th, – A terrible day. I am abed with Mother’s illness. The twins are managing all. I pray strength and ability for them – between my awful vomits.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 5th, – I must get better or move into another bedroom. All day I heard complaints coming from the dining room patrons who made it into Father’s TapRoom that is directly below my bed. How the food served tonight was tasteless and slow in coming and suddenly in a tone to split my aching head, a gruff voice demanded to know:

Where’s Faith, your good cook?

And Tober’s gang of Minute-Men kept shouting at each other all night that they should be doing something besides drill on the Common every other day. Men! Noisy, noisy men!

I hope mine and Mother’s distresses are not as clear to them in the TapRoom as their talk and belching are to me up here. Father’s been sleeping downstairs because of Mother’s fever – and those accidents of odor as he calls our trouble, (I have them too, Diary) and now Emily wants me to sleep on the trundle bed in Mother’s room. She thinks it would be easier for her to keep us both tidied up if I did. I told her I’d like to, but I’d have to crawl over there. I feel too weak to move.

Anne refuses to help Emily in the sick rooms. Instead, she and Father are living below stairs and keeping the Inn’s dining room open. Of course, the TapRoom always seems to have boisterous people in it, even when the bar is closed!

Before our regular patrons went en masse to Rev. Bayles Wednesday night service as usual, I heard several of the diners complaining about the meal Anne had cooked for them. Father sent word to me by way of Johny that I must teach Anne all of my cooking secrets and specialties as soon as I’m able to get back to my kitchen. Really, can I have nothing of my own? I hope Father doesn’t tell Anne of his request to me or he’ll find that she’ll not cook at all!

Also, Emily’s distressed about Father’s telling her she’s in disgrace for being too tired to go with all to Wednesday night worship. Really, Diary, if he’d only look at her carefully, Father could see that Emily hasn’t eaten or slept much since she’s been taking care of Mother and me. I’d just told her to try to get some sleep this afternoon when, unexpectedly, she had to change my bed for the fourth time today. As Emily’s cool fingertips brushed the hair from my eyes, I whispered to her: Bury all of our soiled linen in the big snowdrift by the necessary. We’ll wash everything when I’m better.

Later this evening Johny brought wood for our fireplaces and told Emily she could milk the cow in the morning. He wasn’t going to do it. I couldn’t hear the words that convinced him he