Wind whistled past my ears as I spurred my horse through the golden fields of wheat, my frail attempt to keep up with my brother Nael. Adrenaline coursed through my veins; the last fence was in sight, and I was nearing the finish, but I silently cursed as I saw Nael already turning back to face me, a smug grin on his face.
"You are too slow, soeur cadet." He grinned and I rolled my eyes at his ego.
"Not all of us are amazing as you, frere aîne." I shot him a playful glare as I finally jumped the last fence, joining him in the clearing beyond our farm.
"Right, for ze first time," he teased, coaxing a chuckle from me. We began to circle each other on horseback as a mischievous smirk played at my lips.
"'Ow about a rematch? And zis time you do not start before we count down," I suggested.
"Do you want really to embarrass yourself even more? I vould have thought you 'ad 'ad enough."
"You wish I would give up. To ze hill at ze center of ze farm?" I cocked an eyebrow at him, and his face broke into a wide grin.
"You are on."
We took off once again, this time with me pulling slightly ahead as my horse galloped towards the small hill. And then, managing to escape Nael's line of vision, I dropped off of the path, stifling a laugh at my brother's triumphant smile. I waited just a moment before trotting off in the other direction towards my house.
"Où allez-vous?" Nael shouted, finally realizing that I was no longer with him.
"I am going to get to dinner first," I shouted back with a grin as I neared the small stable on the outside of my house, but before going in, I pulled my horse, Rachel, to face the horizon behind me. I absentmindedly began to run my hand down her silky coat, feeling her breathing in her chest.
She was a rather small horse, a white lipizzan splattered with gray all down her back. My father had gotten her for me from a local trader, and I hadn't thought twice before naming her Rachel after my mother.
I had never known my mother, aside from the tales of my father's time with her in the Caribbean. Supposedly, she was a beautiful woman, and my father and she had met three years after his wife's passing, as his ship took a detour on a trading route to France. They'd met one day in the market, and were infatuated with each other within that day.
Of course, I was the unintended result of that infatuation. She had written my father six months after he left, telling him of her pregnancy and asking him to come back and take me when I was born. She told him of her struggles with the one child she already had, and that she couldn't possibly support another. And so he came, and so I left.
I sighed at the memories of the stories I'd heard so many times, bringing my wandering mind back to bask in my surroundings. It was an absolutely breathtaking sight to look down on the rolling fields that were bathed in the late sunlight, and to see the pink sky hanging above as the sun departed between the two.
I was so taken with the sight that it wasn't for a few minuted that I realized what it meant for me.
"Frere aîne! It is sunset! Père will be home any minute!" I yelled back to him as I quickly tied up my horse and walked back towards our house.
Our father had left on a long trip to France, his birthplace, six months ago. He was to return that night at sunset, and nothing could have dulled my excitement to see him again.
My face was covered with a grin that could have illuminated the entire room as I threw open our wooden back doors. It was almost instantly replaced with a look of concern and confusion as the first thing I saw was my grandmother sitting in her rocking chair with her head in her hands. Her entire body was shaking uncontrollably, moved by the loud sobs escaping her.
"Mémé! Is what wrong?" I rushed to her side and laid my arm around her shoulder in an effort to comfort her.
"Mon fils! Mon beau fils!" she cried.
"What has happened?" Nael asked as he came in behind me, his voice wavering with worry. I noticed the letter discarded at my grandmother's feet. I slowly reached down to see what had her so troubled.
Dear Sir or Madam,
We regret to inform you with deep sorrow that Monsieur Gaspard Legrand has passed away on the night of November 15th.
I read the letter aloud to Nael, and my eyes widened at that sentence. My heart began to pound through my chest and tears swam in my eyes, blurring my vision. I blinked them away and drew in a shaky breath before beginning to read again.
His was one of the many lives claimed this summer by an epidemic of yellow fever.
I couldn't read on. I dropped the page and threw myself into my brother's arms as it fluttered to the floor. The warm tears began to flow from my eyes, and he and I were soon crying on each other's shoulders.
"We will be alright, soeur cadet, I promise," he said through tears. He was always the strong one in the face of tragedy.
"We will be alright," he repeated softly. I hoped more than anything that he would prove to be correct.
That night, I could not bring myself to fall asleep. Every time I shut my eyes, his voice filled my ears, always saying the same thing.
Do what I have taught you to do.
I tossed and turned in my bed, unable to shake the feeling that I could be doing more for him. And I could be. At a certain point, I was convinced.
I stood up, pushing my quilt off of myself, and crept to my desk. I composed two letters that night, first to General George Washington, informing him of my departure from home and telling him that I would be joining his ranks once I made my way north. Next, I wrote to Nael.
I explained to him how Père had spent every moment with me discussing battle strategies, how to surprise the enemy, how to fight. I wrote also of the time we had spent hunting, when I had learned to operate a musket. I asked him to take care of Mémé for me, and to take care of Rachel. I would be taking my father's horse with me to battle; it was faster, stronger and trained more expertly.
I pleaded for him to understand why I had to go. Père had spent all of his life strategizing for the army of the colonies, but his life came to an abrupt end before we could be freed. I needed to finish his work, and I wouldn't stop until we were living in an independent nation.
I signed my letters and sealed them, leaving my letter to Nael on my desk for him to find and taking my letter to General Washington with me to mail.
I next crept to my wardrobe, taking only the pants that my father had purchased for me at my request along with some ruffled shirts and packing them into my trunk. I slipped into one of the outfits, and glanced at myself in the mirror. I saw looking back at me not the young woman who would cry for her father, but a strong twenty-one year old who was to free her new land.
I knew it was impractical, but I also slid in my journal with two of the letters from my father that I had saved during his travels expertly tucked in the pages, along with two bottles of ink and a quill.
I picked up my trunk and crept down the stairs. I pulled my father's horse to the front of the house and slid a pack with my father's musket onto it. I would also put my trunk in, after taking some money and food for the long journey from Virginia to New York.
I slipped back into the house and filled the remainder of the space in my trunk with all the food that would last, which was mainly bread. I also went back up the stairs for the last time and took the money that my father had stored in his dresser. I didn't bother with the French money, but I took all the new American and British money he had stored.
As I prepared to leave, I glanced into Nael's room as I passed. I would miss him nearly as much as my father once I left, but I had to go. He was soundly asleep, and I was grateful for the fact. It meant that I wouldn't need to confront him as I left.
I went back down to our front doors and before opening them, I turned to look back at my beloved home. Next time I saw it, we would be living in a new nation.
I opened the front doors and shut them silently behind me before crossing out porch and walking down the steps. I smiled at the large brown stallion standing obediently in front of me. I placed my trunk into the pack on its back and hoisted myself into the saddle.
Straightening my back with confidence, I prodded the horse's sides with my feet, and he took off at a steady trot. I couldn't help grin as he carried me off into the unknown.
✧ ✧ ✧ ✧
I signed the letter home that I had just finished composing, and tucked my quill and ink back in between my clothing in my trunk. I clicked shut the gilded buckles and put the trunk back into the pack on my father's horse.
It had been two weeks since we received the letter informing us of his passing. Two weeks in which I had finally finished the journey to New York City.
I sat back onto the wooden bench that was still damp from last night's rain. I looked happily around the bustling city. There were likely as many people walking past my seat as I had met throughout my sheltered childhood on our farm.
I pulled out my journal and began to sketch the park that I was seated in the center of. I was in the shade of an enormous Weeping Willow tree, and light filtered softly through the branches, casting a soft glow on the morning dew.
I did my very best to capture it in a drawing, but I could never have captured the feeling of excitement that coursed through my veins, nor the beauty of the people's passion showing through their faces as they passed. I could tell simply from their expressions that many of them were there for the same reason as I: to join the revolution.
Their expressions were some that I recognized clearly from seeing them on my own face so many times throughout the past three months. Many of them were students, but not all. There were people ranging from under ten years of age up to those approaching their fifties.
One small trio of girls caught my eye. They were dressed in lavish gowns and had just exited their horse drawn carriage and were holding their dresses inches above the ground as they walked through the streets, taking in all the sights of the city.
The first of the girls' eyes sparked with the same excitement as mine, and she was walking quickly around and pulling the other two behind her.
The second looked generally excited to be in the city, where everything was happening, but she didn't appear to have a similar passion. She looked to be a bit younger than her the first, who I guessed was her sister, and about my age.
My eyes traveled to the third and final girl, and I nearly laughed. Her attitude likely could not have contrasted more with her sisters'. She looked to be maybe two or three years younger than me, and she wore a worried pout. She seemed uncomfortable with the idea of being downtown.
I shook my head at the trip and glanced back down to finish my sketch. I wrapped the leather cord attached to the cover around the book, binding it shut. I put the journal away with all of my other belongings and slid back into the saddle of my father's horse.
I led him back to the street and broke into a steady trot as I came closer to the training ground of General Washington's army.
It took me at least an hour of riding before I reached the expanse of land on the edge of the island, or maybe it only felt that way because of the anticipation that filled every bit of my mind. I could hardly think straight, and the last bit of waiting before joining the army was weighing down my mind more than ever in the past two weeks.
I stopped my horse in front of the first building down the path, assuming that it was where I would receive my barracks assignments. I opened the creaky door, which instantly gained the attention of the man sitting at the desk.
"How may I help you, miss?" he asked.
"I am 'ere to receive my barracks assignment," I said, trying not to grin with the excitement built up inside of me.
"You're here to receive your barracks assignment?" he repeated slowly, "Not to visit a husband or brother, maybe a father?"
"That is what I said," I said with a forced smile, slowly growing impatient.
"And you're going to fight in the war?" he asked.
"Yes, and if you do not give me my barracks assignment soon I will 'ave to take your papers and find it myself. And I do not think either of us would enjoy that much," I responded to his blatant sexism. He sighed.
"Name?" he asked.
"Y/N Legrand," I responded.
"You will be in barracks eight, it's the eighth down the road, and," he raised his eyebrows in surprise, his expression showing that he thought the next part must have been a mistake, "You're to see General Washington immediately."
After he finished speaking, I left immediately, not wanting to spend another moment listening to his sexist comments.
I rode down the road for a few more minutes until I reached my barracks. It was a long rectangle, I approximated that it was about the size for four, no, five beds with enough room to store supplies and walk between the beds.
I slid out of my saddle and opened the door to see that I was correct. Five beds. All but one had clothes strewn on then and around the floor near them along with a trunk and a few other odds and ends. One of the beds had whiskey along with several shot glasses. There were some shards of glass on the wood floor near it that I guessed were another glass that they had somehow shattered. I set my things down on the empty bed in the middle of the room and rode off to speak with the General.
He had a separate cabin near the camp entrance, so I rode back the way I came. I walked across his small porch and knocked on his door. No answer. He had asked for me to come, so I let myself into his unlocked cabin.
I walked into a small hallway with just two rooms. The first I passed was his bedroom, which was empty, but I head raised voices coming from the next room. I slowly walked up, not sure if I should interrupt.
"But sir, if we attack from the north we will gain the element of surprise," the first man said in a deep American accent. I was still not accustomed to hearing people with American accents, even after my time traveling.
"But we will lose valuable time traveling," said the man whose voice I recognized as that of General Washington.
I walked up to the open doorway and knocked on the door frame, gaining both of their attention. General Washington's face broke into a slight smile.
"Y/N Legrand. Thank you for coming," he stood up to shake my hand and the man with him raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"Je vous remercie for inviting moi," I thanked him as well.
"As long as you're here, perhaps you can help us settle something," he said and I raised an eyebrow.
"The two of us," he gestured to the man who I did not yet know, "are debating on whether it would be smarter to send troops to attack the British forces from the north or the south. What do you think?"
I walked next to where he was standing and looked at the map he had spread out on the desk. I traced a few of the lines with my hands, deep in thought.
"Why not attack from ze west?" I asked, "Zey are on the east coast of the island, north of us. Zey would be expecting an attack from the south. But, if we attacked from the north, we would not only lose valuable time but likely pass through ze British camp, assuming that they are much stationed south of their camp. They would spot us and we would lose the element of surprise that we gained from coming north. But, attacking from the west would sustain the surprise in our attack without us 'aving to lose as much time as if we attacked from the north."
They both stared at me for a moment, slightly astonished that I had come up with a solution so easily. Then they both looked back at the map.
"It could work," the man across the desk from us said.
"It most certainly could," General Washington said with a small smile.
"Leave us," he told the man who I still did not know.
"Have a seat," he told me. I pulled out the chair across his desk and sat, popping my knuckles in discomfort.
"I have known your family for a long time, Y/N," he began, "There have always been many brilliant minds thoughout it. I can already tell that yours will be another to add to that list."
"Thank you, monsieur," I replied, noticing how thick my accent seemed in comparison to his.
"Because of that, I would like to ask you to help with much of the battle strategy in our army when we go to war, though we would have to decide a specific position for you later. We haven't had anyone good for a while," he said and my eyes widened.
"Ce serait un honneur," I said, at first not realizing that I had reverted to French, and then translated, "It would be an honor."
"Thank you, you're free to go back to your barracks," he said, standing up with me and shaking my hand as I left.
I left and rode my father's horse to the stables near the center of camp and walked to my barracks. I opened the door, and somehow the room was still empty. The four men had likely gone drinking.
I sat cross-legged on my bed and pulled out my journal. I opened it to a page somewhere in the middle that contained my earlier sketch of New York City as well as a letter from my father.
I pulled out the old paper and ran my hand across the words he had written to me. I didn't bother to read it; I'd memorized it. I just needed to see his writing. To have something that he had touched. I ran my hand across the edge of the weathered page.
I will make you proud, Père.
✧ ✧ ✧ ✧
Translations (French to English):
Père - father
Grand frère - big brother
Petit soeur - little sister
Mémé - grandmother
Mon beau fils - my beautiful son
Je vous remercie - thank you
Monsieur - sir