Good Day, General Washington.

March 6th, 1770

Father had always been a patriot, which was something to behold when he and my fiancée were in the same room. He would stand above my love, Timothy, and rave about how much would be solved if the British would let us alone. Timothy would usually retort with a calm counter argument, that even I found hard to believe. However, Tim, despite his loyalist back round, argued less once the soldiers moved into our town.

Regardless of all their differences, I loved them both very much, and to my knowledge they loved me equally. Everything ran in its cycles in this town, in my life. Until yesterday, when my life was forever altered and a gaping hole was left in my heart.

Mother had prepared a wonderful supper, and Tim had joined us. The meal was well under way when a commotion outside drew our attention. Father stood, and Tim squeezed my hand before joining him. Father winked at me as they started outside to see what was happening. Mother and I waited a few moments and the noise did not cease. It was only when I heard gunshots that I stood to join them. My mother’s firm voice stopped me in my tracks.

“The men will handle it, Analee. Sit down.”

Unwilling to disobey my mother, I could only sit and listen, in the dark. One deafening shot rang through the air, bringing silence at last. Without waiting a beat I threw open the door.

My eyes couldn’t register what I was seeing. At first it was just a sea of white and red. Then my mind was able to focus on the image in front of me. I heard a scream, not knowing it came from my own throat. Other voices of shock and fear carried on the wind.

Blood was strewn across the white snow. Injured men limped to their homes. My heart beat wildly as I looked around before I came across what I dreaded. Two men stood with their hats off in front of a body.

“Pappa!” I sobbed racing to the fallen form of Lee Remolds. His face was calm in death and it broke my heart.

“Analee,” I heard my name called in the bitter cold air. With tears running down my face, I turned looking for the sound. Ten feet away from me, a man with blood running down his face reached for me. One hand was clutching a bullet wound on his side.

“Oh, my Timothy!” I cried ripping myself away from my passed father. I grasped his hand, “Help will come.”

“They were throwing snow balls,” he choked out, “And the British retaliated with guns.” The monstrosity of this fact would later make my blood boil with rage. Now, though, my vision was blurred with tears as I tried to stop the bleeding.

“Hush now!” I whispered, wishing someone would help.

Tim touched my face, and I looked at him. Our eyes met and in that moment I knew he was not going to make it. The night was filled with much grief and in the last moments of Timothy’s life, I swore to him that I would somehow avenge him.


December 16, 1773.

I pray you forgive my lack of writing. I only now found my journal, though I must admit it could not have come at a more needed time. My head is muddied with the memories of the past two years, and I hope that letting them all out here will make it much easier to think.

Right now I am sitting in the room that is warm and dry for the first time since leaving home. No one knows who I am, and heaven knows what would become of me if anyone were to find out. For all intense purposes I am Lee Remolds, only son of the deceased Lee Remolds Sr. I am a Patriot Soldier.

Only two people know my true identity, my mother, who helped me prepare to enlist, and my tent mate, Paul Revere. He understood by need, and believed that anyone who was willing to fight for our cause should be welcomed. He is a wise man who will go down in history, mark my words.

We have only had mild scuffles thus far with the Brits as King George passes more and more ridiculous decrees. Tonight, we will make our point known. We are currently located in a Boston Port. Two years ago, during one of the most painful nights of my life, I never would have dreamed coming back here. I should stop and see my mother, but I do not think I can bring myself to.

I am grateful to be staying in this warm room, resting my aching feet. We walk all over and the rations are few and far between. Tonight though, when we dump British tea into the harbor, it will all be worth it.





June 15, 1775

George Washington was made commander of all the Patriot troops today. I feel we have made a wise decision in this. I have been a part of his troops for the past year and he has led with wisdom and daring. The only person who has more respect from me, belongs to my dear friend Paul Revere, who rode his horse from Boston to Lexinton on the 18th of April this year to warn a faction of an impending attack.

On another matter all together, it is becoming increasingly difficult to conceal my identity. I am thinking of going to Washington himself. Not now…but soon.

Dec. 27th, 1776

So much has changed. Yesterday was the sweetest and most needed victory that we have ever had. So much blood has been shed, so many lives lost, and even General Washington seemed to give up hope after we lost New York to the British. Supplies have been so low, and there looked to be no hope of aid. We thought the battle against the Hessians was a suicide fight, and we were all prepared to die.

Little did we know that somehow, by the grace of God, we would be able to come out victorious. It was in those moments when we stood above our captured that I decided to speak with the General. I was tired of living my life in deceit.
This morning I stood outside his door, a sense of peace settled on my heart. When I entered his tent I asked for a private word and he excused the other officers.

“What is on your mind my friend?” He asked quietly. Taking a deep breath I began.

“Well sir, you see, never in my life did I believe that I would be here now, speaking to you as a loyal member of your army. I have followed you for the past four years. I have faced many men, I have killed more than I can remember and I have lost many brothers. I have walked, shoeless for the past year, the bottom of my feet are hard and callused, as are my hands. I have drank and laughed and loved my fellow soldiers, all because of a tragedy that forever changed the course of my life. I have asked no more than anyone else, and I stand before you now to tell you the truth. I am not Lee, sir, son of Lee Sr. I am actually the only daughter of Lee. My name is Analee, and if you will allow it, I will remain fighting with you until we have a victory, or there is no more breath in my lungs.”
Washington looked at me with a small smile and a gleam in his eyes, “Well my dear, I always thought your voice was a bit high, but you do understand, when you walk out of my tent, this conversation will not have taken place?” Joy filled my heart, he was not going to send me away!
“Now, I believe we have a celebration to attend and then we will set off in two days. Good day Captain Lee.”

“Good Day, General Washington.”





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