I walked over to the door, my arm over Philip’s shoulders, his arm on my waist, supporting me. The old wooden stairs creaked under our feet as we made our way downstairs, where Eliza was sat at the dining table. Philip moved his hand slightly on my waist, and I winced in pain. Eliza noticed.

“What happened?” she asked, and motioned for me to show her my side. I walked over to her, away from Philip, and raised my shirt slightly on my right to reveal a purple bruise on my side, the skin slightly cracked, dried blood on the bruise. Eliza, in motherly fashion, hurried to a cupboard to get medicine and bandages, and Philip excused himself, going back upstairs, most probably to read, or to write more poems. When Eliza came back, she was carrying various medical items and salves.

“I’m so sorry to bother you with all of this,” I told her, feeling slightly guilty. Eliza smiled,

“It’s no trouble, dear. You’re almost like a daughter to me anyway,” She said, “Do you know how this happened?” She asked, motioning to the bruise. It was then that I noticed the footprints on my shirt.

“I was probably kicked. People do that, they probably just assumed I had passed out drunk,” I replied, and Eliza looked at me suspiciously.

“You weren’t drunk, were you?” She said, and I shook my head.

“I think it was the cold, and just having a big meal all at once after not eating for a few days. Also, the fever can’t have helped,” I replied, glad that my fever had finally broken. Eliza looked at me, concerned, and bandaged the bruise and wound on my side. I winced when she touched a particularly damaged spot, but I didn’t complain. As the pain subsided slightly, I remembered something, the Christmas Day speeches. I looked over at the calendar hanging on the wall, then realized that I couldn’t remember what day it had been when I passed out. “What’s the date?” I asked Eliza, who replied without even thinking.

“It’s the 23rd of December, why?” Eliza asked. I bit my lip, I hadn’t told anyone about the speeches yet.

“I’m speaking at the Christmas Day gathering in the City center,” I told her, smiling slightly. Eliza looked up at me, obviously surprised.

“That’s wonderful! Have you told anyone?” she said, smiling. I shook my head, I was planning to surprise my friends, who would be watching the speeches. Lizzie, Philip’s youngest sister, came running down the stairs, tripping over the front of her skirt.

“Hello Ly-jah!” She said, unable to pronounce my name properly. I laughed,

“Hello Lizzie,” I said, smiling at her small, bright eyes and curly black hair. She ran towards us, jumping off the stairs. I ran forwards to catch her before she hit the ground and hurt herself. Lizzie laughed as I put her back down on the ground. Eliza smiled at me, then went to put the bandages away. Philip came downstairs, his shoulder-length curly hair flopping in front of his face.

“Philip, come here,” Eliza called out, a pair of scissors in her hand. Philip brushed his hair out of is eyes, then looked at the scissors in his mother’s hand.

“No, come on, Mom!” he said, he refused to cut his hair short, against Eliza’s decisions.

“Come on now, this is getting ridiculous!” She said, sighing. Philip pulled a hair tie from his pocket.

“Look, I’ll put it up in a ponytail, but you are not cutting my hair,” he said, reasoning with Eliza, who agreed, slightly defeated. Philip pulled his curly hair into a ponytail that did anything but lie flat. Eliza motioned for Lizzie to join her in the music room, where I assumed she would begin to teach her piano. The clanking of piano keys rang through the house, and Philip laughed.

“I’m speaking at the Christmas Day event,” I told Philip, anxious to see his reaction. He looked over at me with mix of disbelief and happiness.

“That’s great!” He said, smiling, and he pulled me into a hug. My chin rested perfectly on his shoulder, and I smiled. We pulled apart as I heard someone coming downstairs.

“Do you know where my sister is?” Angelica asked, stepping off the staircase. When she looked up to see Philip, she did a small double-take, then shook her head.

“She’s in the music room, teaching Lizzie piano,” Philip said, pointing to the music room. Angelica nodded.

“Well, I’m heading home now, so I’ll see you over Christmas, goodbye,” she said, making her way to the music room. We said goodbye, and Alexander came downstairs, ink stains on his hands, looking down.

“Hello Alexander,” I said, and he looked up. When he saw Philip, he stopped, and I saw sadness overwhelm him. He stumbled backwards up the stairs, and a piece of folded paper fluttered out from his waistcoat pocket. I unfolded it to see a picture of a man I recognized as John Laurens. He had curly brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail, a thin sword in hand. His smile was sincere, even through the faded grain of the picture. I felt Philip looking over my shoulder. “You look so much like him,” I said, and I turned over the picture. In neat handwriting, a note read,

“My dearest Alexander, I can only wait for the day when we I may see your face again. This war has taken its toll in so many ways, but I do feel that we shall not be parted for much longer. Ever yours, J. Laurens.” Neither of us spoke for a few minutes, until Philip said,

“He died in 1782, after the war was over. My father told me.” I blinked, pushing back tears that I didn’t know were even in my eyes. “Now, you’d better practice for those speeches,” he said, gesturing towards the large, empty space in the family room. I pulled the piece of paper containing my speech from my pocket, stood at the end of the room, and began to read.