The life of a surgeon

Chapter 1

I am an apprentice at Yorktown. I am 16 year old man, and I am learning at an apothecary. I mostly specializing in surgery. Most of the day, I sit down behind the counter and wait for someone to come into the shop. To pass time, I organize the herbs, look around, and sometimes read. I was taught how to read, and I consider myself lucky. In the apothecary, there is a counter in the front of the room across from the door and the windows. Behind the counter, there is a shelf covered with all the herbs. There are a few drawers underneath the counter with some of my surgical tools, and lined around the room there are candles and jars of candy. In the back, there is a door which leads to the surgical room, and my master’s office. In the corner, there is a desk. Around the room there are counters filled with ointments and pain killers. In the center of the room, there is a long, thick wooden table.

Most of the time, someone comes in for candles, candies or some herbs. But sometimes I do what I truly specialize in. When someone comes in need of me for medical help, I’m ready to pounce on the patient. Being a surgeon, I have no fear of blood. Whenever I do a procedure, there is blood. After a procedure, a wipe my tools off with the end of my apron, and sit back down behind the counter again and wait. There are other apothecaries in Yorktown, and I don’t believe I’ll ever be rich. Most of the time, only six or seven people come into the apothecary, and when they do come in, only five or six come to buy or for help. I work every day from dawn til dusk, sometimes going for hours without any customers. Every day I do this, and I probably will be doing this for the rest of my life. 

Chapter 2

One day, a man comes in. He said, “Sir, we had a hunting accident! My friend was shot by a musket ball in the leg!” They carried him into the surgical room. They put him down on the table, and he was bleeding. I put on my leather apron, rolled my sleeves up, and took out my tools. I could see the pain in the man’s eyes. I put a piece of wood in between his teeth, and began the procedure. I put a screw tourniquet around his leg. I tightened it to its extent. Then I put my finger in the the hole of his wound, feeling for the musket ball. The man gurgled and then passed out from the pain. As I pushed my finger deeper into the wound, I felt the warm, sticky blood on my hands. The shot was too deep, so I pushed a probe into the wound to feel something. And I did. There was the musket ball. So I took pliers and opened the wound wider. I put in some forceps to pull out the musket ball, and I pulled it out. Blood gushed out. I sealed the wound by dipping a curved needle in oil and dipping it underneath and through the wound. I leave the man on the table, and let the wound heal for a couple of days.

I don’t have to deal with many surgical procedures, but when I have to, I’m ready. I still have two years left in my training, and I have already learned a lot. But for me to make my own apothecary means that I have to get a license. I have already passed through two years of studying and working.

December, 7, 2015

William

Humanities

A day in the life of the Colonial Priest

I finish the service and walk into the backroom. I carefully put away the communion and books. Then I change into regular clothes. The organist greets me as I am about to leave. We decide to get lunch at The Swan. My name is Truth Homer. I am the priest at the local church. The organ player is my very good friend Clement. We are good friends with Jared the tavern owner so we go there frequently. I is perhaps the best place to go for someone in the upper middling class. I know most people in the town, as they all go to church. I was taught in England, and came to America five years ago. After a delicious lunch,—– goes home. I stroll back to church, and go into the back room. I open the small cupboard in the back where the collection is kept. I count the money and organize it by denomination.  There is not much is there but it is always enough. I sit in the dark back room for a long time. I am always busy, so I like to sit and do nothing in between services. I just sit and think. I feel that I am more connected to god when I do nothing. There are so many distractions in my life and doing nothing focuses on the one thing that I want to do. Pray to God.

I wake up several hours later unsure of the time. As my eyes adjust to the light, I hear the loud sound of bells. Three bells later I up and rushing to put on my robes. The afternoon service starts at three ten. I rush out of the room, and frantically set out the communion, making sure not to spill any on the beautiful altar and rugs. At three five Clement is ready at the organ. Emery Hiram is one of the parishioners, but helps with things like lighting candles and cleaning. We fix the cushions and light the candles and at three eight I open the doors. Some who wait outside come right in, but many have not gotten to here yet. I greet everyone at the door, because of course I see them almost everyday. Once everyone is there, I start the service. The sermon was nothing special but still taught a valuable lesson about hope. After the service, I meet with anyone who wants to talk for a bit about where they are in their spiritual journey. I always enjoy doing this because I get to learn a little more about everyone. After the three ten service, the church is open to anyone who wants to pray. I go into the backroom, and take out the bible, ink, and quill. I sit outside, and study and write about what tomorrow’s sermon will be. After about an hour, I got tired of this. It is too early for dinner, so i go down to the woodshop to see how the new pew looks. I had it made a few weeks back and they were just finishing it. It looks great. I wish we could replace all of the old pews in the church, but it would cost a fortune. And while it’s nice to have the new pews, sometimes I sit in the real old ones and think of how many people have sat in the same place, all praying to the same thing. But after many a years, the pews start to fall apart. I walk out of the wood shop with a smile on my face. The woodworkers did an even better job than I had expected. The carving were so intricate, I thought it must have been made in the hands of god himself! I have had quite a long day so I go to the butcher and baker to get ham and bread. As a walk home I think of how special I am to be god’s servant. Once I get how, I hastily eat some dinner. I go outside and watch the sunset as I smoke a pipe.

Lock, Stock, and Barrel

by

Aidhan Farley Astrachan

My name is John Bentley. I work in a small gun shop with my brother, James. We both make and fix guns. I don’t really know who my family is. All I know is that I was born in 1652 in Jamestown, Virginia, and my brother was the only other family member that stayed with me. When I was born, my father was not there. I don’t really know where he went. My mother died because of a sickness. I am now 23 years old and my brother is 31 years old.

As I woke up this morning, I could hear a loud banging. I knew that that was my brother trying to fix the musket that we have been working on for three months. I basically gave up on trying to fix it, but it seems as if my brother has not given up. I didn’t want to get out of my little wooden bed. It was nice and cozy under my heavy woolen blanket, but I knew my brother would get angry if I stayed in bed too long. So I reached for my baggy, white, linen shirt and my grey wool breeches. My feet were cold on the wood floor. I pulled on long dark woolen socks. I could see out my little window, there was frost on the ground, so I grabbed my black leather doublet. I pulled on my black leather boots and walked outside. I saw my brother out on the field, trying to fire the musket that we were fixing. The musket still needed some work. When we first got the musket, it was crooked and couldn’t shoot any bullets. Now, three months later, the gun was not crooked, but it still couldn’t shoot bullets. I saw and heard my brother being very angry with himself, and the gun. He was mad at himself that he couldn’t fix the gun, but he was also mad at the gun because it wouldn’t shoot the bullet. These past months, we have been hard at work and we have not gotten much money. We still do live a happy life. We have enough food to feed our bodies, we have clean water, and our work is not too hard. My brother came back into the shop.

“Good Morning” I said.

“Mornin’” My brother said.

“How’d you sleep?” I asked.

“Fine,” he said. “And you?”

“Also fine,” I responded.  “How’s the gun?”

“Doesn’t shoot any bullets. It’s gettin’ really annoying.”

“Can we fix it?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Can we?” He asked sarcastically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just that you kind of gave up on fixing the gun!” My brother told me.

“I guess you’re right. I only gave up on the gun cause I didn’t think it was possible that we could fix it.”

“Well, I think that it is possible that we can fix it!” My brother started raising his voice.

“Alright. You don’t have to raise your voice. I just woke up. From now on, I will help you try and fix the gun.” I told my brother.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I raised my voice. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Yes please. I’m starving”  I said.

“There’s porridge in the pot.”

“What, no coffee.”

“No money for coffee. Coffee’s too expensive.”

“Any raisins?”

“No raisins for you.”

“Fine. Let me know when you fix that gun.”

“Any ideas, smart ass?”

“Check the lock. It seems like you have an ignition problem. I think we need to replace the flint. We’re not getting the appropriate spark.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” James replaces the flint. “Anything else?”

“I know you straightened the barrel, so that should be OK. Check out the stock. It’s a beauty. Carved curly maple.”

“You can do the honors. Let’s go outside and take a shot.”

BANG!

“Lock, stock, and barrel, Baby! Can I go back to bed now?”

Emily Berkley’s Life As a Gentry Women                

 My window shades open widely as Ester, my household maid wakes me up politely. Ester is my brilliant housemaid. She used to be enslaved but I rescued her from a landowner in exchange for her work in my house. She was, and still today is extremely grateful.

“Good morning Emily, how was your sleep?” She pronounces in a sweet and believable tone.

I gather up the tiredness in my sleepy body and begin to say something like, “It was just perfect Ester.” She takes my silky, lace patterned covers off me and by accident, knocks over my dark navy lantern on my bed side table.

“Ms Emily! I’m so very sorry!” She picks it up as if it was a newborn child that has fallen. I can tell in her eyes that she feels horrible. She knows that lamp is expensive. I feel pity towards her.

I get up from bed and say, “No mistakes are meant on purpose. Therefore, It’s alright.” She smiles back at me, feeling thankful and offers me cinnamon oatmeal with a piece of toasted bread on the side for breakfast. I’m starving so of course I agree to that.

I walk over to my changing area and a surprise was waiting for me. It was a large looking box with a red ribbon tied up perfectly on top. I looked closely to find a tag on it. ‘From Father, happy early birthday Emily,” It was gorgeous handwriting, and the ink from the quill was just the right amount. I call Ester over and she opens it up for me. I dont know how to un-tie objects. I gradually say “thank you,”. Ester unfolds the perfect paper on top and out pops a corset! Under the corset was a huge lavender gown, and an undergarment. I was so happy that I blurted out,

“Ester, call Joseph, I need to share the new gown with him!” Tears began rushing down my face like a waterfall, and I frown in extreme sadness. I remember that Joseph is gone. My sweet, sweet husband Joseph has left me. He went to the new world with many work partners, and has been gone for almost a month. He promised me he would come back, but I begin to wonder if he really will. I love him dearly and still cannot imagine a life without him. My father gave dowry in exchange for a marriage with him, but I wouldn’t change that for the world. I’m just happy that I am not married to somebody else that doesn’t feel the same way about me. Ester hands me a handkerchief and I freshen up in front of my mirror. Even though I can’t get Joseph out of my head, I know I have to move on with my day. And that I shall be grateful for all that I have. I sit down and take five minutes to pray next to my bed, like every morning.

The gown that father gave to me is very important now. It’s really not just a birthday gift, it’s also a going away present for the large gathering that our family is having in England. My sister and I are twins which is rare, but it makes us feel closer. Both of us are parting away, and are going to the new world soon, to see each of our husbands. Kate probably also got the same lavender gown I just got, but maybe in a different color. We always get matching outfits to show that we are rare.

I put a blue soft gown on and began down our wood stairs. All the staff politely said “good morning,” to me. When my feet hit hit the floor, I put on a wool coat. My two door men Alden, and Smith opened my big, brown, wooden doors for me. I stepped out and quickly asked Smith if a carriage was coming to pick me up. I could hear the “nae,” of two horses trotting down our big, open, circled driveway and before I knew it, I was off to a meeting about the ship to the New World.

My emotions were cluttered. I knew how much I was stressed out about Joseph. Maybe it was my corset that was too tight but I felt like I couldn’t breath, for I, Emily Bennett was becoming an adventurous women. I would’ve never thought that I would go on an adventure. Women shouldn’t go on adventures is what years before me has taught myself. Was I doing the right thing? Am I following the rules? Well, the only way to find these answers are to ask Joseph. He’s always right. That’s why I need him in my life, because without him, I wouldn’t be who I am today.

   Rosaline

Chapter 1: Introduction

My name is Rosaline Johnson. I have a husband, Henry and two children, a daughter, Tabitha, and a son, Isaac. About a year ago, Henry and I decided that it was time to move into a new house, inside the town of Williamsburg; our house was in the outskirts out of town and Henry was accepted as a part of the house of burgesses.  Of course, we couldn’t say no to this offer so we made up our minds, we were going to move. After buying the land, Henry went over to the town’s brick maker. I stayed at home to watch over the children, if we were going to move into this town, I was to make sure that Tabitha and Isaac’s etiquette was perfect. Henry talked to the brick maker about the plans for the new house. We would have three rooms on the first floor, a hall, a master bedroom and a parlor. We would also have a second floor attic in which Tabitha and Isaac would sleep. They calculated the number of bricks and how much mortar the brick maker would need to make. Henry paid, thanked the man, and left. By this time, the children and I were packing our many belongings into trunks or tying them together with leftover string. After that, Henry went to the carpenter and they talked about the doors, shutters and flooring. He told Henry that he would go himself to the glass makes and the blacksmith to get nails and glass. After that Henry came home. I was cooking dinner with Tabitha while Isaac was playing with his skittles when there was a knock at the door. We jumped up to him, sat him down and begged him to tell us the plans. As he talked about our future house, I notice something… Tabitha’s eyes were glowing and her interest for the houses was obviously much bigger than anyone in the family, including Henry. She just sat there, taking in all of the details of the house like a washcloth takes in water. There was something that she had never told me before of, a passion, a pleasure, a dream.

Chapter 2: Tabitha’s Impossible Dream

Tabitha has always been, different; I could see it in her eyes. On the outside she was shy and sensitive, but inside, I never really knew until this special night. I was brushing my hair in the parlor, the children were asleep and Henry was beside me, working on the plans for the house. I noticed that there would be gabled windows for the atic, Henry knows I had always wanted gabled windows. As I looked over his shoulder, I heard something from upstairs, where the children slept, fall and break. I recognized that sound right away, porcelain. I slowly walked up the steep, narrow, stairs. The dim candle in my hand lit only enough for me to see my feet. As I step up to the second floor, I see candle light, coming out of the slim crack under Tabitha’s door. I slowly open the door, she is at her desk, covered in ink. I notice what seems like a drawing, on the desk, covered with the same ink the had all over her. I rush over and start helping her clean up. Once the has changed and the desk has a minority of stains on it, I ask her,

“What happened, why were you up so late at you desk?”

She looks down at the floor.

“Is it a secret, sweetie you know you can tell me”

“I was drawing” She says ashamed, “Drawing houses”

That was when I learned of Tabitha’s passion for architecture. The brought me to the chest at the end of her bed, and inside were drawings of houses, dozens of them. Of course the was a problem because she was a girl and therefore not able to be a carpenter or designer. But from then-on I knew of something that will forever be in her dreams.

Name: Rachel M.                Humanities

Date: Dec. 7th Colonial Creative Writing

What I See…

My name is Charlotte Ray, and I am 39 years old. I have just graduated from Howard University School of Law. I am woman in the year 1872 that has a college diploma. Yet still, I don’t have equal rights. I am smarter than half the men in this town, and I am still miles below a high glass ceiling. I remember when I was a young girl. Looking back, my thoughts were exactly what society would have wanted me to think. I looked at skin in a way I no one should. It disgusted me. I stared down at my arms and legs. They were the tint of mud. It looked as though I had been slathered in dirt. It was the cause of my pain. I was angry, not only at skin, but also at  the white men that control this world, and everything else I could think of. I eventually realized that my skin is beautiful. The silky brown chocolate that covered me from head to toe. The only person who must know this is me. I am the only one who’s opinion matters.

I remove my thin white sheets, and head to the kitchen. I take a knife and slice the stale bread. I can’t afford a new loaf every morning, nor can I eat a whole loaf in one sitting. So, I cut it in half, and put the rest in the cupboard. I take some butter and spread it across my white slice of bread. I chew thoroughly so as not to choke on the sharp shreds of crumbs. I stop and think about my breakfast. Why am I eating this? This hard, burnt roll. Is it because I am lesser than the woman up the street? Because I don’t work as hard as the blacksmith, or the baker. No, this has nothing to do with that. It has to do with what people think of me. Slavery only ended seven years ago, and the twisted thoughts that go along with it are still in the air. Iike the steam from a fresh pot of soup, it may take a while to dissipate. It may not be fair, but it’s how it will be until the day I die. I know this because I am almost forty, and a woman of my age is sure to pass soon. I hope that somewhere down the road, a little black girl will have a better breakfast. She’ll have pastries, pies, wafers, toast, muffins and chocolate. Lots of chocolate.

12/6/15

A Day In the Life of Jared Benjamin

By Jack Schnall

Today I wake up at six in the morning, to make sure everything’s running smoothly. My name is Jared Benjamin, a thirty year old man, and I am the owner of The Swan tavern in Williamsburg, Virginia. When I get out of my warm, comfortable bed, I put on my clothes and think about how my day will go. I try not to wake up my two sons, Abraham and Archibald, and also my wife Azuba. I hope that nobody causes any trouble today. I don’t feel like dealing with a fight or anything like that. Anyway, When I go into the dining room, I see my two workers getting everything ready for the long day of work. I can already tell that it is going to be a great day of work. It is surprisingly busy for this time of day. As the sun keeps rising, I say to one of the workers,

“How are you doing this morning?” She replied.

“Actually, not too well. My youngest son is feeling sick. I am really worried about him.” I say back to her.

“I am so sorry. Have you taken him to the apothecary yet? Maybe they can cure him.” She says now in tears.

“Yes, and all they did was bleed him. The only thing that it did, was make him sleepy!” I say back to her.

“Do you want to take the day off from work? She replied.

“No thank you. I really need to stay here and work because I need the money.”

So I walked over to the kitchen and saw the chef preparing his ingredients for the day.

I asked him, “Do need anything else that you need for the food?”

He replied, “I have everything I need. Thanks for asking.”

I said back, “Well it sure does smell delicious!”

As it was getting closer and closer to eight o’clock in the morning, opening time, I was just waiting to hear the first footsteps on my squeaky, wooden floorboard. I couldn’t wait to meet new customers. I always try to make new friends. Right before opening time, I hear my family run downstairs to catch a quick breakfast before the tavern opens to the public. They ask the chef for some bread. When they started eating, I sat down and just talked to them for a while. I take in the sound of the warm bread crunching in their mouths, as I prepare for a large crowd of noisy people. When I get up from the table, I walk over to the door so I could open the tavern for the day. As a walk over, I think about my worker’s son. I pray to god that my sons don’t get sick like that. I love them so much, and I never want anything to happen to them. I also pray that he gets better. I was very happy this morning, until now. I am feeling down. I can’t stop thinking about how sicknesses affect so many people, so am trying to forget about everything, and enjoy beautiful day in America.

My name is Walcott Caden, the local blacksmith. It was an early morning in the city of Williamsburg. I walked outside and saw the carriages rolling down the street. The walk to the blacksmith shop that I owned wasn’t that bad and I had been excited to be working for my first year. It was good knowing that people needed my skills as a blacksmith. Once I arrived I opened the door and assembled my tools onto a table by my anvil. The cloth that had covered the coals was black with soot. Being careful not to burn myself, I lifted the cloth and saw the orange tinted coals. Without looking I reached above my head and found the lever that was connected to some pulleys. I heaved downwards and the coals glowed red. I Repeated pulling up and down until the coals sparked into a flame as furious as the sun. When the fire was a substantial size I walked over to the door and moved a sign that said I was open for business. I waited in a chair that I had in the corner, only getting up to keep the fire going until a man walked in with a chipped axe. He asked if it was possible to repair but I told him no. He responded with a sighful, “Alright i’ll just get a new one.” He gave me my pay and left with his broken axe in hand. I grabbed an iron brick and lowered it into the fire with my tongs. The white light blinded me and I took out the now orange brick. I set it on the anvil and picked up my hammer. With tremendous force the hammer bent the iron and sent sparks flying. After repetitive strikes onto the metal, the shape of an axehead started to appear. With a quick rest I looked at the iron and heated it up again, only to make adjustments after. When that was finished another man came in talking about how he had just arrived in Virginia and how he needed a job. He told me that he had experience in blacksmithing and wanted to join my shop. A couple of thoughts crossed my mind and I told him the following, “I would love the help but you need to supply the things for your own hearth. But until that’s built you can help around.” He responded with a delightful “That sound wonderful! I’ll be glad to help!” He walked behind the counter and to the very back of the shop, estimating how big he could make his hearth. We spent the rest of the day planning for the amount of materials that he needed. It started to rain so I went home, he decided to stay and make more measurements. I woke up and started over to the shop. I walked in and he had managed to somehow stay the whole night and build his hearth! It still wasn’t functional but it looked darn good. He asked me if I could start replicating some tools for him and I silently nodded. I walked over to the hearth and started up the fire. I began creating the tools and slowly my shop started to expand, becoming more important, more efficient, and more helpful.

Anne smith the accused witch

By: Ruthanne

“Come on wake up it’s time for you trial.” says one of the prison guards in a angry tone. The truth is I am already awake I have been awake for hours just sitting in my cell and thinking what will become of myself. Will the judges decide that I am guilty? I hope not I have done nothing wrong. The only reason that I am here is because of my neighbor and her husband who recently lost their child are taking her anger out on me. Oh sorry I forgot to introduce myself my name is Anne. I own a small piece of land and a farm. I am in the middling class. I get some money off of the farm but also before my husband died he left me some money. I do not live like a queen but I have a good life. Oh wait sorry had a good life I could die if they decide I am guilty. “Come on,” Says the guard, I can tell he is getting mad now. “I am not guilty! I am not guilty!” I yell at the guard. He takes one step back in surprise. “Oh really is that so?” says the guard in a mocking tone. “Come with me.” The guard takes me to the courthouse where the trial is being held. I sit on a small stool close to where the judge sits. The room is well lit and I am surrounded by many people. I look around and in the corner of the room I see my neighbor we look eyes for a moment and then I quickly turn my head. I hate her she is the reason that I am here in the first place. I feel like jumping out of my chair rushing over to her and strangling her. Though I know if I do that they will kill me for sure, so I sit and wait. As the trial starts I see my life flashing before my eyes, I should have been more grateful maybe then this would never have happened.

The judge walks into the room and the trial begins. I am so nervous that I shake in my chair. My life could end today, I think to myself. The judge lets me go first. “I am not guilty!” I yell and scream. The guard rushes over to me and pushes me back into my chair. “Ok,” says the judge. “I am giving you one more chance to say what you want to say. Do you have any witnesses?” “No!” I yell. “I have no one! My husband is dead and so is the rest of my family.” “Well then,” says the judge. “That makes it easy.” “Easy, oh how could you do this to me I have done nothing wrong.” The pressure is too much I had one chance to prove a was not guilty and I just lost it. All the sudden I faint. When I wake up I have no idea where I am. Am I dead? I think to myself. I sit up and I look around I am still in the courthouse. The guard helps me up back into my chair, and the trial resumes. My neighbor Anne is the first one to come up. “This lady is a witch!” She yells. “She is responsible for my poor baby’s death.” She starts to cry. “Oh come on,” I say. “Everyone knows that it is not uncommon to lose a child in childbirth.” All the sudden she rushes up to me and tries to get at me. Luckily the guard stops her and she is taken out of the room. More people come up and say that I am guilty, one couple said that I killed their pigs with sickness. “really?” I say aloud. “How do you propose that I killed your pigs?” “You used your witch magic,” said the husband. “I have no more magic than you do!” I stand up and yell at the man, the guard rushes over and sits me back down. The rest of the trial passes quickly. People accuse me of killing their crops and livestock. One lady even said I brang plage to her household. Another lady says that she saw visions of me and that I was telling her to join me. A few more people accuse me and I still do nothing, I feel that all is lost. When I think about it all of the things that people said I did all have something in common. Those are all things that they are blaming me for because they do not know what happened. Did I really kill peoples animals with plage? No! This is all just a way for people to find answers. Some people that accused me don’t like me. It is a way for them to get rid of me. I am not particularly popular in the town I do not have a husband and I am one of the older women in town. Well none of that might matter now if they decide I am guilty I will be hanged. The guard taps me on the shoulder and I realize I am still in the courthouse. The judge starts to talk, “everyone I have made a decision and…”

Day 1

I am Tabitha Johnson an English thirteen year old girl. My family is quite wealthy– we’re from the gentry class. My mother, Rosaline, my father, Henry, my brother, Isaac and I live in Williamsburg. About a year ago, my father was accepted to work at the House of Burgesses. So, we moved to Williamsburg. The house has just been completed and I love everything about it. This morning I wake up and feel sunlight beaming into my room. The light spring breeze gently blows my white curtains. It’s early May, my favorite month and time of year. I sit up in my white cotton bed and just sit there for a few moments. I look over and see Isaac sleeping in his little bed across the room. When I gather enough energy, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. My bare feet touch the smooth wooden floors. I walk over to the closet and choose my outfit for the day. Of course, my whole wardrobe is made of dresses. When I am dressed, I slowly walk out of the door with my head held high and my shoulders back, just the way my mother taught me. Before I reach the frame of the door, I look up and see the engraved pineapple on the wall. The pineapple symbolizes hospitality and welcome. It always makes me feel a little better.

I’ve looked at every single detail in every single room. My dream is to build or design houses, just like the men who built ours. I learned quite a bit while they were around and I’ve taken an interest to it. Father says it’s just a phase and that I should be realistic, because I am a girl. Girls are meant to get married, have children, cook, and clean. Not anything more or less. I know that will be my fate, because soon, I will have to get married. Mother tries to teach me what I will have to do to be woman. I love both my mother and father, but I feel like I was born in the wrong place or time. I don’t understand it, but I know I was meant to do other things. Not just have a family, that’s all people think women are. People who are supposed to get married, have children and die. I don’t do much each day, but my mother insists that I have proper etiquette. I don’t leave the house often, without my mother or father. But when I do, it’s usually to get food. That’s another thing I have to do. I have to learn to cook, but I find it extremely difficult. I would much rather be doing something else. But I’m still very thankful that I am not enslaved. My family doesn’t own a slave yet, but I really do hope that we don’t get to. I remember one of the men working on our house told me about all different kinds of houses. He said that slave’s houses only took a few weeks to make. He said that instead of making the houses with wooden planks, they used logs because it was only a slave house and it didn’t need to look good. The holes the logs left in the walls would be filled in with dirt. The slaves have to dig holes in the dirt ground to hide their belongings from their homes because they’re not allowed to keep them. I think that the way we treat slaves is horrible. But, I can’t say anything or do anything. I’m only a girl and even if I wasn’t, so many people would be angry and disagree with me. I could get in huge trouble.

Today, I don’t have anything to do. I do get sent to get more silverware from the silversmith, but I enjoy going out. I walk out my house with Isaac, my 5 year old brother and breathe in the fresh air. The sun is shining and there are lots of people outside. I slowly walk down the streets. I look at all the different houses that are so similar and still different. I remember that the men working on our houses said that planks on the outside of the houses would have little indents or ridges to make them look thinner. Thinner planks looked more expensive and made the house look less massive. I notice that many of these houses have that illusion. The ground is covered in broken up oyster shells. People eat oysters and throw them out onto the ground so people will step on them to create a gravel. But, I look around and see girls a few years older than me. I realize that that could be me in about a year.

Day 2

At around midnight, I wake up to horrible cries. It’s Isaac. He’s in his bed sweating and crying. I run downstairs in my nightgown to my parents room. I shake my father awake and tell him about Isaac. Everything from there seems blurred and slow. My parents sprint upstairs to our bedroom and scoop Isaac into their arms. Isaac is too young, he needs to live. We don’t know what to do. “We need to bring him to the apothecary. NOW!” father exclaims. Father insists that I stay home and go back to bed, but both mother and father have to go with Isaac and I don’t want to be along. So, we all go to the apothecary. We wrap Isaac in a small, light blanket and get dressed quickly. My dad holds Isaac in his arms and whispers that it will be ok. I don’t know what will happen.

The air is light and the moonlight is reflected onto the ground creating a eerie glow. The apothecary’s house is pretty small. Three knocks on her door. A few moments later, a man comes to the door. He motions for us to step inside. The interior is pretty simple, but it has many medicines on shelves and many tools. He says that Isaac is too warm and we have to drain the bad blood from him with leeches. He takes four leeches out of a jar and places them on Isaac’s arm. The leeches are long and slimy. I have to look away, I can’t see my little brother in pain. Minutes go by, and soon Isaac is done. We arrive home and go back to bed. Isaac has to sleep in my mother and father’s room just in case anything were to happen.

Tonight, I lie awake. My head is full of fear and energy. I worry. I worry about Isaac, I worry about getting married, I worry about doing nothing my whole life. But it’s not just me I worry about. I worry about the slaves, the servants everyone. We are all forced to live different lives based on our skin or riches. I know I get to live a life that other people envy, but I wish I could fix everyone. Or just be something or someone else. These thoughts are what keeps me up every night. But like every other time, I am soon drifting off to sleep.