Tilda Sutter:
Tilda Sutter
November 15th, 2016
GSS7B
A Day in the Life of A Burgess’s Wife
I wake up to the cold air flowing into my dark room and the bright light blinding my eyes. I look around and see my empty bedroom, looking like a ghost-town. Besides where I have slept, my room sits still, untouched, motionless. Even the lavish, bright, colorful decorations can’t hide it. I slowly stand up and call for my servants, because today isn’t a day for me to sit alone at home. My maid frantically runs into my room and helps me chose my day gown. I scan my eyes over the vivid gowns staring me down, but none of those grab my attention. Sitting in the corner of the room is another grey, boring gown lays on my couch. Even with the disapproval of my servants, I run to that gown. It might be the plainest, it holds enough memories for a library. I remember when I made it, for the Homespun Ball of 1769. I’ll remember that day forever. With my husband a Burgess, and the same for all of my friends, they have political power. Still, they do not use it well. With English constantly taxing us, just one dress can cost so much because of the taxes of shipping in materials. So instead of spending money, all of the wives wore old dresses, homespun dresses or day gowns. The look on the men’s faces when we walked into the room was priceless. Most of them agreed with taxation, so we were rebelling against them. So now I run up to the plain dress and put it on, grab my bag and leave.
As I walk to meet my friends, I look around. The town is busier today, and it has been recently. The air is crisp, cold, so goosebumps run up and down my back. Soon I see my friends, and I quickly hurry to meet them. I’m not the only one to wear my Homespun Ball Gown, so that is how I tell they are my group. There are about five women waiting for me in their grey, old dresses. Other women walk by, wearing bright pinks and blues and they look down at us. Even with my class higher than theirs, what I am about to do will push me down.
“Do you have it?” My friend asks me.
I motion to my bag and open the clasp and pull out a jar of tea.
This tea is from England, so when I bought it I paid tax. She smiles and motions to her bag so I know she brought her part.
“Should I do it?” I ask.
“People are starting to gather, so now is the best time,” she responds.
I dump the tea on the floor and smell the aroma of Earl Grey fill the air. Men and Women gather around, and some gasp as the leaves hit the floor. They understand how expensive this was, but what they can’t predict is what happens next. One of my friends lights it on fire. The group that has gathers quickly steps back, and I watch their expressions as the red lights reach for the sky.
“Oh my!” One of the colorful women cries out.
Some men look disappointed, angry and storm off. I see other men wearing blue and white, signs of a Patriot, jump back at the sight ahead. Even Patriots don’t believe that women can really protest. I see the women I saw before, with the bright clothes, shake their heads in disgrace. I see another girl’s mouth open, and I see a spark of curiosity in her eyes. Soon the fire goes out, but I know the fire we started wasn’t just measured by that light.
Walking home, I try to imagine what the next few months are going to be like. We might split from England, but even now our country is divided. Everyone is either a Patriot or Loyalist, and yes there are some moderates, but they can’t stay like that forever. Our country is split. Even my family is split. I’m a Patriot, but my husband is a Loyalist. In an average gentry class family like mine, that would make me Loyalist, and my family would be considered Loyalist. Still, I can’t imagine agreeing with something like that. I’m of the only families I know that both parents don’t agree with everything. As I walk home, I ponder all of that and try to think of how I will explain it to my husband. There is no way an act like this won’t be brought up in a Burgess Meeting. I arrive to my house, slowly open up my door and pray that fire I lit won’t be the last.