Anne DeCuir, Chp. 4, Gen. 4, 1780

      ~Summer, 1780~
     Dear Diary,

     Aunt Abigail spends all day out in that garden.  Or, rather, when she's not in the garden, she cooks, with the produce that she grew with her bare hands, with her hope, with her sweat.  And without that food, I am not sure what we would do.  It seems to me that it is the only thing that has held us together.  Father is still distant.  He has given up on trying to get me to speak.  Father still sees through me, like I am a lonely ghost with no sense of purpose.   Sometimes I wonder if that is true.  It is no doubt difficult to find yourself when your own father has given up on you.

     Well, I do love Aunt Abigail.  She has been the mother I never had.  She has been so patient with me -- so understanding of me! But, besides that, I love to write.  I feel like it is my only communication to the outside world, my only way to show my true thoughts and opinions without speaking.  It is my only way out.  Sometimes I wish that I could run away from this house and never come back.  I could run, run, run, past this town, past America, far into--


     Father and Aunt Abigail are worried about the American Revolution.  It was Aunt Abigail's scream we heard at the dead of night on April 19, 1775.  She claimed she heard a very loud gunshot.  Later, we realized this was noted the 'shot heard around the world'.  Well, Aunt Abigail always seemed to have a sixth sense.  Not I nor Father had heard a thing until Aunt Abigail's scream. I think America is divided in half: the half that is excited about the revolution, and the half that is worried about it.  I will say that my family is most likely the latter...
    

     To this day, I still have no shoes.  My feet are callused and tough, and I have seen many splinters in my day.  Most seventeen-year-old girls have at least one pair of shoes...  Oh, Aunt Abigail wants something.  I will leave you now! 


     Until next time, 
          Anne DeCuir



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     "Anne, my dear?" Aunt Abigail asked.  Anne smiled in reply.  Yes, my sweet Aunt? Her eyes seemed to say.  Anne got up from the sofa.  It was probably another chore she needed to do.

     "Anne, I am cleaning some dishes and preparing for dinner.  Supper will be later tonight.  Would you like to pick some berries in the woods for some cobbler after supper?" Abigail smiled.
     Anne nodded, looking away.  Escape was within her grasp!
     "Hurry along now, before some birds eat up those berries.  You know what the newest saying is, 'the early bird catches the worm' I think."
     Anne wrinkled her eyebrows and glared at her Aunt, as if to say, I am not a bird, thank you very much! But Abigail did not seem to notice; she had already started tidying up the home.

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      Anne did not walk.  She ran.  She passed the berry bush; did not even glance its way.  Her feet kept going, she almost could not control them.  Those feet were raging wildfires, never stopping or slowing down.  

     Anne was convinced she was running in circles, passing by the same hills, trees, and landmarks again and again.  No matter how hard she tried to break that familiar loop, she always recognized the same nature she had seen earlier.  She ran up hills, and down them.  Curved around bends, and out the other ways.

     Anne was a fire person.  But even that hungry, raging inferno inside her, that growing ball of anger, began to die out when Anne saw something she had never seen before.  She slowed, and stopped.

     This was something new.  Anne knew these woods well, but she had never seen this part of it before.  Anne grimaced as she recalled yet another of Aunt Abigail's corny 'new' sayings: "Curiosity got the cat!"  Anne wanted to explode. 
     Turns out curiosity got Anne, too, as she slowly stepped forward to investigate the new territory.  A flash of worry struck her.  What if other peoples are around?  I could be injured, or worse!  But Anne felt somehow drawn to the odd new area.  All fear seemed to vanish after a few steps.

     As Anne reached the area, her stomach grumbled.  She did not even want to think about what time it was.  Anne was concerned about how to find food.  Aunt Abigail must be worried sick!  Anne considered trying to find her way home, but was it worth it?
     For one, Anne reasoned, she was lost.  She did not remember ever seeing this part of the woods in her life.  It would take hours -- maybe even days -- to find her way back home. 
    Secondly, Anne thought, is this not what she had wanted in the first place? To escape from the home she had been confined to? To escape the fear she had lived in for almost her whole life?  Out here in the wilderness, Anne would be free!  She was a baby bird that finally flew from the nest!  Bitterly, Anne realized Abigail could probably find a saying that included the words "baby bird" and "nest".  Anne shuddered and tried to forget about it.
     Thirdly, Anne would not miss anyone.  Well, she would miss Aunt Abigail.  Father probably would not even care if she were gone, right?  But Anne would not miss any friends.  Most of the other girls stayed away from her, whispering and pointing, calling her mean names and laughing at her because she was silent.  Others mistook her for being rude by not talking and always sent her glares when they met eyes.
      No.  She did not want to return to that house.  To Father's weary face.  To Abigail's worried face.  To have them ask useless questions that they knew she would never answer.
     Snap!
     Startled out of her reverie, Anne looked up, heart pounding.  And nearly leaped out of her skin.

     On the top of a small hill, stood a young woman, donned in a milk-white dress, looking off into the distance, probably deep into thought.
     Anne realized with a start who it was.  Or at least, she thought she knew.  How could it be possible?  Was it really her?  Great-Grandmother?  Elizabeth Laurier-Beaumont?

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Anne DeCuir

*The Antique Legacy*