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The Diary of Prudence Maverick

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March 1st, 1770.

Dear Diary, as our carriage pulled up to my Grandmother’s quaint, white house, I thought to myself what a dreadful visit this would be, and in the depths of my stomach I felt a small uneasiness. Perhaps it came from the angry eyes following our every move, or maybe it was the men dressed in all red, carrying large rifles. I felt as though this town lacked trust, as if everyone was watching their own back ready to kill anyone who gave them the slightest bit of trouble. Thinking nothing of this feeling, I pushed it to the back of my mind, put on a smile and began greeting my grandmother. Glancing around the landscape that surrounded what would be my home for the next four months, I felt out of place. Being a country girl from Newton, I was not accustomed to the paved roads, or the fancy looking soldiers at every corner. Dusting the dirt off my boots, I had a sudden yearning to be back in Newton, where everyone wore a smile and the dirt roads winded to every place in town, unifying everyone.
March 2nd, 1770.

Dear Diary, I awoke this morning to hear my brother complaining to Grandfather about the impossibility of finding a job anywhere. Grandfather angrily spoke of these men whom were called “Red Coats” and how they were forced into the town to ensure that everyone was paying their taxes. Angry and dissatisfied with this response, my brother stormed out of the house to continue his search for a job. With a full day ahead of me, I pulled my hand-sewn dress over my head, and combed my chestnut brown hair. The aroma of fresh eggs and bacon slithered into my room and flooded my nose. Hungry and dressed, I fled down the stairs where my breakfast awaited me. Ready to explore, I asked my grandmother about the town and if she needed any help with chores or errands. She spoke of a bakery in which she cooked pastries in exchange for flour and sugar, and a blacksmith who sold wheels for her carriage. Taking these chores upon myself, I told Grandmother that I would be happy to deliver her pastries to the bakery and pick up new wheels for the carriage, leaving by dawn tomorrow.
March 3rd, 1770.
I arose before the sun this morning, eager to visit the town. I dressed quickly, tossed my hair into my bonnet, and hurried down the stairs. Grabbing the pastries off the table and picking up Grandmother’s shopping basket, I skipped out the door. It was not too far a walk to town, and I was soon amongst many townspeople as I made my way down the busy streets. Lost in the bustle of the crowd, I was abruptly wakened from my trance as a stranger with bright blue eyes and chocolate brown hair, jiggled my balance. About to fall, this muscular stranger grabbed my arm, saving me from a tragic fall and the loss of Grandmother’s hard work. The tone of his voice was so powerful yet gentle as he apologized and asked if I needed to be escorted to my desired destination. Unsure of this stranger’s intentions and my new surroundings, I dusted myself off and hurried alone on my way.
March 4th, 1770.
I awoke this morning unable to shake the image of the tall dark stranger from the previous day. Perhaps it was his eyes that captured my attention, or the way he firmly grabbed my arm, that would not let me shake him from my thoughts. I felt a strange yearning to go back and see this mysterious stranger. My brain had doubts faintly remembering the way he unsettled my stomach and was watched with angry and keen eyes of the townspeople, warning me to stay away. Impulsively I gave into my yearning, grabbed my cape, and headed to town where I would pick up on the chores unfinished from yesterday. As I stepped into the shop, I approached the blacksmith and asked for the door hinges Grandmother had ordered weeks before. The blacksmith’s assistant lifted up his head, and I looked into those familiar blue eyes, which had captured me the day before and once again, took my breath.
March 5th, 1770.
What a horrid day it has been. Never did I know the effect just one day could have on my life. This morning I woke up almost able to feel the anger coming from the townspeople, but little did I know what future the day had as it progressed. I did my morning routine and went downstairs to find my brother and Grandfather planning and talking in hushed voices. Knowing their conversation was not intended for my ears, I bent down on the stairs and tried to hear as much as I could. I was able to make out a few words of my grandfather such as, “Unfair, unjust, lobster backs” and “a message that all would understand.” Not understanding how all these words were somehow connected, I stood up and continued on with my day. Everything seemed fine through dinner, yet I still had an unsettled feeling. After supper and Samuel left for a Sons Of liberty meeting to share complaints with others about the King’s taxes and the unnecessary troops within the town. Not too long after their departure, Grandmother and I were startled by the sound of yelling and gunshots. We hurried to town following the sound of the commotion, leaving Grandfather behind, sound asleep. On the edge of town before my eyes there was smoke, soldiers. and many townspeople yelling and moaning. As my eyes shifted downwards, I saw a handful of people lying on the ground. Barely able to move, I forced my legs forward, inching myself closer to this horrid scene. I looked to bodies on the ground recognizing one. Tears immediately sprung to my eyes, as I looked down at the motionless body of my brother Samuel. His shirt was stained with blood his eyes contained no sign of life.
March 7th, 1770.
It has been two days since the death of my beloved older brother. I was barely able to open my eyes, for they were puffy and bloodshot from all of the tears I have shed. Grandmother has refused to eat because the death of her grandson has left her empty and Grandfather has not smiled since that horrible night. Today we had planned to go to the courthouse, having heard that John Adams was taking the case, but he was only defending the soldiers. What a horrid man. Has he no idea that my brother was killed? Dressed in our mourning blacks, Grandmother, Grandfather and I left the house. When we were in the courthouse we took our seats and began listening to Adams as he began defending those who had killed my brother. I glanced around the room, recognizing the familiar faces of Grandmother’s neighbors and people whom I had met on previous visits. On the right stood the townspeople, oozing with anger, that were involved in the bloodshed fight, and to the left stood the soldiers dressed in their familiar red coats. When I glanced, I had recognized something more than just the redcoats. Stealing a second look, my eyes found those deep blue eyes that had not only taken the life of my brother, but also stolen my heart.





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