Kate Borows-Lai                

11/15/16                                                                                                                 

A Day in the Life of Edward Wallace

I wake up in my lavish house, hearing the usual sounds of my wife getting ready for the day. I immediately get out of bed and rush to the vanity, setting my expensive wig on my head. Today is an important day, and I want everything to be perfect. My butler helps me get into my freshly pressed attire for the day, and I walk into our dining room, seeing the slave women setting up our breakfast.

My wife is already sitting there, respectfully waiting to eat until I enter, and says, “Edward! You look wonderful!”

I smile at her.

“Thank you, Molly,” I say, and sit down to eat.

A few moments later I walk out of my big house, my wife and children waving to me from the steps. I step into the carriage waiting for me, and as we start to move I see the slaves farming tobacco in the fields. As we pass Jamestown village, I look through the window and see all of the peasants gaping at my carriage. I feel a surge of confidence, and I sit up straighter in my seat. After a few minutes of riding down the bumpy cobblestone street we arrive at the courthouse, and as my driver helps me dismount the carriage I hear many people saying “Good morning, Mr. Wallace” to me.

“Good day, everyone. I trust that you are all well?” I ask the assorted burgesses around me.

“Very well, sir,” they say, and we all walk through the big doors of the courthouse together. I walk up to my big seat in the middle of the room and sit down, as all of the burgesses sit down beside me. The jury members walk in, and the trial begins.

Everything is going smoothly and orderly. The defendant, Charles Anderson, is accused of treason against the King and the Church of England, and all of the evidence given by the prosecutor is strong. After Mr. Anderson leaves the courtroom to let the jury discuss, I am positive that he is guilty. His attitude was very rude, and he didn’t seem to respect our King at all. When he is called back in, I take my time in announcing his sentence.
“Charles Anderson, you are sentenced to hang for treason against the King,” I announce, trying not to smile at the man’s shocked face below me. I love that feeling of towering over people, like I have all the power in the world.

“No,” he says, shaking his head.

“That’s the court’s final decision,” I say gravely.

“How could you do this to me?” He shouts, his voice echoing around the spacious room. I can see the Burgesses and the jury members cringing, but I stay strong.

“I did nothing, Mr. Anderson,” I say, calm and collected.

“You did this to yourself. This is what happens when you disobey the King. All of you should remember that.” I say the last part louder, to everyone, trying to get the message across. I hear Anderson muttering something under his breath below me.

“What’s that, Mr. Anderson?” I ask. “Do you have something to say to the court, before we brand you with a T for treason?” He scoffs.

“Treason? I have committed no treason. It is you who have committed treason. Treason against this country,” he says, gesturing around the room. I am so surprised, I almost start to laugh. “Excuse me, Mr. Anderson? I am probably the most loyal man here. The King himself appointed me to be the governor!” I say proudly.

“Exactly,” he says. “You are a loyalist to England. But England isn’t our country. This is our country,” he says, his voice rising. “You should be ashamed of yourself, for still being loyal to a country that we tried to escape, just a few years ago, in 1607!” The others are looking around, back and forth, from him to me.

God help me, I think. Do they honestly believe the rubbish that he is saying? But I see it in their faces. The little spark of rebellion in their eyes that he has caused.

“Enough!” I shout.

“Take him away!”

Even as the guards are pulling him out the door, his eyes are still locked on me.

“You’ll be sorry, Mr. Wallace,” he whispers, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Mark my words.” And then the door slams, and everything is silent. Even though his face is gone, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to erase the look he had in his eyes from my mind. It was a look of outrage, fierceness, mutiny, and pure hatred.

“Court adjourned,” I say, and everyone jumps from their seat, talking to each other in hurried whispers as they file out the door. I imagine they’re talking about the events of the court, and whether or not to believe Charles Anderson and his views. I shake my head.

Please, God, I think. Don’t let the King hear about this.

It’s raining outside. I can hear the squish of the mud under the wheels of the carriage as I ride home, bumping up and down. As soon as I arrive home, I take off my soaked, ruined wig and sit down at the table to eat. My wife is looking at me, with a knowing expression on her face.

“I take it the trial did not go well?” she asked.

“I heard some people talking about it in town.”

I sigh a long, frustrated sigh.

“They’re talking about it already? Well, that’s nothing to be surprised about. It was a very big spectacle.”

Then I tell her about all that happened in the day, and about my worries of rebellion in the colonies. She looks at me again, with her knowing, sympathetic gaze.

“Don’t worry, Edward. If anything goes wrong, the King will protect us. He knows how loyal and good our family is.”

“You’re right, Molly,” I say, offering her a smile. “It will all be alright. Now, I’m tired. Let’s go to bed.”

A few minutes later, I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

What will be the future of this country? If there’s a war, what side will I take? Thinking about all of these questions, I drift off to sleep, wondering if today was the start of rebellion in the colonies.