Emma Hirsch

 The Saddest Day Of My Life

I wake up and notice that Bartholomew, my husband, is already off to work. I take a few minutes to get out of bed knowing that I soon have to wake the children. The boys are off to school in an hour, and the girls and I must start working. I get out of bed and slide on my long red skirt, and slowly botton my white blouse. I look around my dark room to see a portrait of James hanging on the wall. Although this has always been here, I have never really looked at it. Oh how I miss my dear husband. I miss sharing a room with the love of my life. I miss waking up to my lovely husband every morning. Oh, how I wish he was still here. I grow angry at the fact that I have to share this room with Bartholomew, not James. I remember the day I found out James died. It was the most challenging, difficult, and of course sad day of my life.

When James and I got married I was 21 years old. I had known him since we were children because both of our fathers were book printers. They became friends, and I often saw James. James and I fell in love when I was 19 but we decided not to get married until later. Finally for my 20th birthday we told our parents we were in love and asked for permission to get married. I could tell it was the best day of my father’s life. My father jumped with excitement and screamed, “Of course you have permission darling!” I could tell his father was happy to. It was a happy day all around. Although James was not extremely wealthy, I was happy, and that was all that mattered to me. He was the love of my life. We created a family together. And one day it was all gone.

I was 27 years old and I was teaching my daughter, Rebecca, how to embroider. James was in the army since I was 24. I was so proud of him, he was so brave.

I here a loud pound of someone’s knuckles banging on our wooden door. I open the creaky door to see a tall man who was wearing all camouflage. He wasn’t making eye contact with me. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it. I was so nervous and I didn’t know why. Right as he looked up, I noticed he had a tear in his eye.

That was it. He let it all out. He said quietly, “I’m sorry.” I felt like I could die inside. I felt my cold tears dripping down my cheek. The salty tears fell into my mouth. I could tell that I was about to start balling.

“Mrs Browne,” he says with tears dripping down his face. Before he can finish his sentence, I notice Rebecca standing behind me.

“Mother, what’s wrong?”

“Rebecca, give me a minute.” I can tell she notices that I was crying, but she decides not to say anything. I don’t know how to be a mother right now. All my years of motherhood, but I don’t know what to say to my children when they come home. As I was trying to process this information, I notice the tall man start to cry. I thank the tall man who gave me this awful news and walk into my home. I see the man vanish into the distance and I shut the door. Rebecca was standing there crying. She knew. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. I put my weak arms around her and whispered into her ear, “we will be okay. I promise you.” We stand there hugging and crying into each other’s arms for about ten minutes when I finally said, “Let’s get back to work.” I stare at her as she starts walking away. Her curly brown hair bounces up and down as she walks away. My daughter is beautiful. I had never really noticed until today. Lucky for her she looks like James. Everytime I look at my daughter, I see my husband. As Rebecca was walking, she turns around and smiles at me. Right then in that small, simple moment, I knew we would be okay. I followed her and didn’t speak for the rest of the day. I thought it would be best for us not to talk and just think. I couldn’t help but worry about what would happen when my boys came home. I wondered what I would say, how I would break the news. I knew they would be home any minute, so I start to panic. All I could think of was my precious children not having a father. The next thing I heard was my old wooden door creak open, to see my beautiful boys standing in the doorway. They enter the home and run over to me. They see that I have been crying.

One of them asks, “Mother, are you ok? What’s wrong mother?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t make words come out of my mouth. I was standing there staring at my babies speechless.

“Come here my children, give me a hug.” All four of them run over to me and hug me. I started to ball and they started to ask questions.

“Is it father, mother? Is he okay? Mother answer us. What happened to Father?” I let it all out. I felt their cold tears fall onto my hands. It wasn’t just the boys anymore. All six of my children were standing there hugging me. Although it was the saddest day of my life, I knew we would be okay.

Two years later I met Bartholomew. He wasn’t the love of my life like James was, but he was wealthy. He fell in love with me, but it is hard to say I fell in love with him. I knew that if I married him we would live on a big Plantation, and my children and I would have a better and healthier life. I made the decision to marry him because I knew it was best for me and my children. A year later we moved onto his Plantation. His house was fairly nice, and it was fairly large. There were chefs working for him in the home. I found that a bit strange, but if it meant less work for me and my girls than I was happy. Bartholomew Is a Burgess, so he wouldn’t be home much. My children learned to like him, although they missed their father. We had a fairly good life filled with wealth and joy. I learned to like Bartholomew more and more each day, and it turns out he is a sweet man. I learned to enjoy my life because I never know when it’s going to end. Although I miss my dear husband, I decided not to let that bring down my life. I have great children, an okay husband, and a large Plantation.

 

 

Zoe Karp

 

A Day in the Life of Rebecca Browne

My head slips down off of the too fat pillow, forcing me to wake up. I roll out of bed, slipping my feet into my warm slippers. My name is Rebecca Browne and I am 14 years old. I live on the Browne plantation with my brothers, sisters, mother and stepfather. I am the oldest child and one of 2 girls. My sister, Mercy is only 3. She cries at night, waking up the whole household. My brothers, Amos, Christopher, Eli and John all sleep in one room together. I expect that when Mercy gets older, I will have to share with her, but I’m alone for now. My mother is named Lydia. She is a widow, my father died when I was young. He was in the war, but he was shot by an Englishman. My younger brothers don’t remember him at all, I am lucky. I have few memories, but the ones I do have are very clear. I remember him taking me on a walk down the river bank. He held my small hand in his. This was the day that I learned he would be going to war. I think about this day all the time, but for now, I have to push it away and get on with my life.

My mother remarried after my father died. She married a man named Bartholomew and had my sister Mercy. Bartholomew is a very rich man and when we moved onto his plantation, we were all happily surprised. My father was well off, we are the gentry class, but Bartholomew is much more so. I hate to admit it, but I am accustomed to these luxuries. My slippered feet made the floorboards creak. I open the door and slip out, passing my snoring brothers and then my parent’s room. I creep down the stairs. This is a normal morning for me, I am a morning person. My family is not, they all like to sleep. I like to be the only one awake in the mornings, just to hear the quiet. When my brothers are awake, there is constant chaos and noise. My youngest brother, Amos, is the troublemaker of my family. He is always running and laughing and playing pranks. Even though he is only 5, he still makes more trouble than a normal 15 year old might. So, I take all the time that I can get alone.

As usual, I prepare a small breakfast tray for me and my mother. I always take breakfast in her room, so we can have a bit of time to talk and catch up. I prepare bread and cheese and a glass of water for each of us. This is my mother’s favorite breakfast. She likes simple breakfasts, then a huge feast for dinner at 2:00. Then, she’ll eat again at 8:00 for supper. I hear some conversation upstairs and I realize that my parents are awake, and then I hear my brothers. My mother must have woken them up. They have school soon and I have to start with my daily lessons. John, who is the oldest, and also the peacekeeper, is telling Eli and Christopher to stop hurting each other and I hear Amos cheering them on. I tramp upstairs and pull my brothers off each other. My mother calls me into her room for breakfast.

“Rebecca, come quickly. We must eat fast, I have work to attend to,” my mother calls. I saw her standing in the doorway. My mother is beautiful. She has long blond hair and dark brown eyes. She works hard managing the house, so her beauty is hidden sometimes. I don’t look like her at all. I take after my father, with dark, curly hair.

“Coming, Mother. Are you ready for breakfast?”

“Yes, thank you. Come in, come in. How did you sleep?”

“Well, thank you.” I set down the tray on the table in front of her. She seemed to be working in her accounting. My stepfather was at work already and my brothers were getting ready for their days, so we were alone, except for my sister. Mercy was sitting on my mother’s lap, playing with her necklace.

The normal conversation went on between me and my mother. Our plans for the day, our hopes for the future, things like that. Finally, when we were all done with breakfast and our servant had cleared the tray, my mother took out my lessons. Since I am 14, I know how to read and write and sew, but my mother is still teaching me recipes and how to sew and all of what I’ll need to know once I get married. My mother enjoys teaching me these things, because she loves to do them. I am an average seamstress, but I’ve come to know the rules of being a lady very well. I can’t wait to be married. She looked up at me, then sort of looked away. I had never seen her like this, so I worried something was wrong. My mother was normally a confident, strong woman who always spoke her mind.

“Mother, is something wrong? Please, tell me. ”

“Yes, darling. Everything is fine.” Something in her eyes told me that wasn’t true. I decided not to pry any more.

“Oh. Okay. What lessons are we going to have today?”

“Well, I was thinking some more sewing.”

“All right. Are you finished with your breakfast?” She nodded.

“What are we having for dinner?” I asked, trying to clear the silence. She looked around nervously and fiddled with my little sister’s hair, but Mercy wriggled away.

“Mother, what’s wrong? Please, you have to tell me.”

“Fine, Rebecca.” She paused.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I feel that I can tell you now.” She paused again. “Mother, please, just tell me.”

“All right. Here it is. When you’re married, Rebecca, you must promise me one thing. If your husband dies, do not remarry.”

“Why, Mother? Don’t you love Bartholomew? Look at all of the lovely things we have now that we didn’t have when my father was alive.”

“I do love Bartholomew, but I will always love your father. If I hadn’t remarried, I would have all of the rights that a man would have. Don’t you think that would be nice? Not to have to worry about all of these rules? Being in charge of yourself?” Now that I was thinking about it, it did sound nice.

“Does this mean I shouldn’t get married at all?”

“No, no. You must get married, Rebecca. To tell you to never get married would be taking away the chance to love someone very, very much. I loved your father so much and I wouldn’t trade my time with him for anything.”

“So, I’ll get married, then. Just as I was planning to. But what if my husband dies and if I remarry, I will have a better life?”

“Then make that decision when you come to it. ” I nodded and she looked away. I took my little sister onto my lap, thinking about how she didn’t have to worry about any of these things yet. As I looked into her small face, I wondered, do I really want this life for myself?