Charlotte

I kind of figured out the fact that this was going to be gruesome and probably dangerous. So, I just waddled back inside and laid down. After a few gunshots, everyone was awake. Mother woke up Delilah and we ran through the back door. We were all in our nightgowns hiding behind our small house. I yawned at how quiet we were being. 

“Charlotte, can you be a dear and make sure everything is okay?” Mother basically pushed me as she spoke. I peeked around the corner and there were only American soldiers looking around. That was fast. I waddled out, almost tripping on my nightgown.  A soldier was holding a gun, panting. He looked starved and—well—I felt bad for him. He was bony and—well—gross. He turned around and his eyes filled with joy that quickly faded. 

“H-Hello. Are you a friend or f-foe?”  The man took a few steps closer to me holding his gun tightly.  

“Friend, I think. Unless you’re from England. If you were a redcoat then I would be a—" I broke off, remembering my mother’s rules of the use of that word. 

“Okay,” He lowered his gun and walked up to me. “James, that’s my name. James Crawford.” 

I helped my mother up from her seated position and dusted off Rose’s nightgown. We all walked inside, and I got James a loaf of bread from the bakery. I was so fascinated by the stories he told me. The fact that he had come here all the way from Ireland to fight in this war. I was surprised at how young he was, too. Only a fifteen-year-old boy who looked to be the age of twenty-five. I suppose war can make anyone look a decade older than they are. Not to mention how English his name was.  

“Charlotte! Stop giving James goo-goo eyes and come help me with the chores.” I blushed at my mother’s choice of words. I walked towards the broom that Mother made from hay and began to sweep. I yawned. It was too early for this and I barely got any sleep last night. I was too busy worrying about Delilah and freaking out about meeting James.