Freedom Reigns

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I walked through the lonely streets of Boston, rain pelting my coat. I slipped into a crowded tavern and dropped a coin on the counter.

"A round," I said in a deep tone. My voice couldn't be masked like my body, so I hoped people would dismiss me as a farm boy.

The bartender looked at me strangely, then slid a frothing metal cup into my hand. I took a huge swig and dropped the cup back onto the table. It felt good to drown my sorrows for once.

"A bit heavy for a beautiful young lady like yourself, aye?" I turned to the brown haired man sitting next to me.

"Who says I'm a lady?" I asked, dropping my eyes.

"Everything about you tells me so." He pushed the cup away from me. "My name is Samuel Adams," he said in a hushed tone. "Do me a favor and tell me your name."

"Sheba Storm." I glared at him. "Why?"

"I thought I recognized you. I heard about the fire last week."

"Good for you."

"What I meant was that I know you're probably against the British."

"As are you." I swung my head up. "You helped destroy the governor's house. Great job. Now look what's happened!"

Sam grabbed my hands and pulled me in closely. "Listen you little..." He took a breath. "I was wondering if you would want to help me."

"Why me?"

"Because I know what you're capable of. And I need all the men I can get."

"Men, huh?"

He rolled his eyes. "Or women. But you're the only one I'm letting help."

"Fine." I took one more long drink, then stood. "Let's go."

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"So this is the place?" I asked, standing in front of the elaborate house.

"Yes, strangely enough," replied Sam, pushing the door open. He gripped my wrist and led me to an office room with closed doors. Sam threw them open without caring to knock, frightening the man inside.

"Sam!" He exclaimed. "You startled me!"

I snickered.

The man was dressed in fancy clothes of baby blue and lavender, and his powdered wig perfected the look of a spoiled British resident. When he saw me, his gaze softened.

"Oh... hello," he said, his voice gentle. "And who are you, might I ask?"

"Name's Sheba Storm. Nice place ya got."

"Thank you." He looked at Sam. "What are you doing with her?"

"She can help us. We are planning to smuggle your goods into Boston."

"Yes, of coarse." I peered at him.

"What's your name?"

"My apologies. My name is John Hancock. Mr Adams shall fill you in on what we're doing."

"Good to know." I looked around for a second, then settled on studying a painting on the wall. John launched into some long lecture about the artist, but I was zoned out. The painting was of King George.

"Miss Storm?" I snapped my gaze away from the wall and looked at John.

"Yes, Mr Hancock?"

"I was just wondering... if you would speak to me alone for a moment," he said slowly. I stared at the floor.