Abigail Jane Applegate--The Man in Black

Outside of New York City
1778
British Occupation of New York

I couldn't believe it. I was going to be hung as a Patriot spy. Which, of course, was true. As part of the Culper Ring, I knew the risk that I took every day. But until I saw the look in the British leader's eyes did I realize what he'd just told the men--I'm going to die.

Now I was being hauled out of the barn that they'd brought me into by the soldiers. They threw me up onto to a cart. The man's words echoed in my brain--She'll be hanged tomorrow morning with the rest of them. Where were they going to take me?

"Don't move," glared one of the soldiers. "We're watching you."

One of them sat in the back of the wagon with me and the other jumped up onto the seat and whipped the horses into a canter. I bit my lip to keep from crying. I was going to die. The thought just wouldn't go away. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. It kept on going through mind, time and time again. Was I ready to die? Was I really ready to face God for all of the sins that I'd committed in my lifetime? I felt like this was all wrong. There was so much more that I had to do. The wagon bounced me back to real life.

We were away from the barn and the farmhouse, traveling down a bumpy dirt road. I was thrown about by the ruts. My eyes strayed ahead, hoping, praying, that somehow I would find a way to get out of this. Some way. I didn't know how. But God was on my side. I knew that.

That's about the time when the man dressed in black flew on horseback in front of the wagon. In his hand was a gun.

To avoid a collision, the soldier driving pulled hard on the reins. The horses cried in protest but pulled to a halt right in front of the man. His gun was trained on the soldier driving's head.

"Let the girl go," he commanded.

I recognized that voice.

Nathan.

Abigail Jane Applegate--Captured!

New York
1778
The British Occupation of New York

I blinked as the sunlight as the sack was whipped off my head. I was in a barn somewhere, the light glowing through the cracks and the smell of hay thick in the air. I coughed and saw dust flying through the sunlight.

I sitting in a chair in the middle of the barn's floor. And I was staring at a man in the red uniformed outfit of England's soldiers. Medals crossed over his jacket. A large black three pointed hat was perched a top his head.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I wouldn't reveal anything about the Sons of Liberty, about the Culper Ring, or about the Patriots. I wasn't going to say anything, though they'd be likely to either hang me or throw me in jail with other Patriots captured.

"You're only a girl." The man spat on the floor. "Why were you helping the Patriots?!"

 I bit my lip.

"Answer me!"

I closed my eyes.

I felt a hand slapping my cheek, but I didn't move.

"Take her away!" the man bellowed. "She'll be hanged tomorrow morning with the rest of them."

Soldiers that I hadn't seen before because they were behind me came over, untied me from the chair, and escorted me out of the barn.

 I was going to die.

Spy--Chapter 1

My name is Abigail Jane Applegate, and I was ten years old when the British started taxing us horribly. And it's not fair. Mother has refused to buy tea anymore. Instead, we drink coffee, which isn't quite the same, but it has to do. It comes from our friend's plantation. And if coffee was taxed, then we'd go to water. I know it. My parents do not like the British. They would do anything to oppose them.

Last night, my father came home, his hat in his hands. I was just telling Betsey to get her hands off the table and Priscilla to stop trying to pull off little chunks of bread from the bread plate when the door burst open.

Mother, who'd just been bringing out a pot of stew, nearly fell over in surprise as Father burst into the house, a happy smile on his face. By the scared look on my mother's face, I knew that she had thought that my father was one of the British.

"Oh, Beth, you won't believe it!" he cried merrily.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"I just got news from... some friends of mine that something wonderful has happened," Father told her. He glanced over at us and then said, "Abigail, please get your sisters into your room, please. Thank you."

I sighed. "Come along, Betsey, Priscilla."

The girls bounded out of the room with me on their heels. They started up the stairs to their room, glad that they'd gotten out of hearing of the conversation that they, no doubt, thought was boring beyond belief. And me? I stayed behind, moving towards the door into the dining room again, pressing my ear to crack to ear my father's words.

"...and the Sons of Liberty have gone and dumped tea in the harbor!" Father was whispering excitedly. "The British are furious. It's got to be war!"

"I wouldn't be so sure," answered Mother.

"But don't you see?" Father whispered. "We've shown that we don't need the British, or their tea! Soon every man will be raising their arms against England!" His voice had risen into a happy cry.

"Lower your voice, William," Mother warned. "These walls have ears." She stared right through the crack where I was listening. "Abigail, please come in."

I sighed and opened the door. Mother was frowning but Father was smiling.

"Abigail, my lass," started Father, "you're about to witness something amazing in American history. Did you know that?"

"Yes," I whispered. "I do."

He smiled. "Are you ready?"

"I'm not quite sure," I answered truthfully. And I wasn't.

***

Five years later

1778

I hurried through the streets of New York, my eyes trained to the ground before me. Clutched in my hand, hidden under my shawl, was an important message that I needed to get to my father as soon as possible. 

I glanced up ahead and saw several British soldiers marching towards me. I glanced around and saw a woman peeking out of one of the doors.

"Girl," she whispered.

I quickly came over and slipped inside the house just as the soldiers turned down the street. Panting, I leaned against the wall, waiting for the soldiers to pass. I glanced over at the woman and saw her staring at me, her eyes scared.

When the sounds of the soldiers' stomping feet had left, she whispered, "Is it urgent?"

I nodded. "Thank you so much. May God bless you."

I quickly left the woman's house and continued down the street. I spotted the old stable, with the sounds of a blacksmith's hammer inside, and quickly went in. My father's apprentice, Nathan, was there, pounding away.

"Where's Father?" I queried.

He got the meaning. "He's in the back room."

My skirts swept around my legs as I walked over the old hay and came to the big wooden door in the back of the stable. I knocked three times and then kicked the door. It promptly opened. My father's worried face melted into relief when he saw me.

"I didn't think you'd make it with all of the soldiers marching around," he whispered. "Thank goodness you're alright."

My hand came out of my shawl. "Here's the message."

He nodded. "Thank you, Abigail. You're a true Patriot."

No. I was a spy.

I'm sorry I haven't written. So much has happened.

Dear Readers,

This is Abigail Jane Applegate. I'm sorry that I haven't written in what seems like ages to me. The war (Revolutionary War) is still raging around me. I feel the sadness of the people as more and more fall to the cause of freedom for this country.

I am currently living at my grandmother's plantation, and my father has gone off to war. It's not easy living here. My grandmother expects that we all have to be perfect ladies. But I do not want to be. I am considered to be the ugliest of my sisters, but I do not care. I just wish that I could get away from here... and from the war...

Thankfully, I manage to escape sometimes during the day. This is wonderful--when I can escape to the barns and hide in one of the lofts. Nobody finds me, and I can write one of these letters or write in my diary that is, mostly and sadly, empty, because I cannot bring myself to write of the tragedies of war.

I hear somebody calling me.

Sincerely,

Abigail Jane Applegate

* * *

Meanwhile, I (Storyteller/Katrina) found some awesome pics on Pinterest for ya'll. ;D

A Letter (FINALLY!) from Abigail Jane Applegate

Dear Readers,

I am scared for my father's safety. It has been many months since I have heard from him. People who go through the town often talk about how the war is bloody and horrible. I managed to talk to a drummer boy just the other day. He told me what he had seen. He looked down, his eyes full of tears.
    "Miss," he whispered, "you should praise the Lord your God if your father comes back alive in one piece." Then he ran off after his company.
I am horrified. Come back in one piece? Of course my father must come back in one piece. He is my father. He should live many more long years after this. But shall he?

My mother, for our safety, has decided that we must spend the winter in our grandmother's plantation down in the Carolinas.

There is my sketch of her plantation. I believe that it is a beautiful place, but my heart is full of fear. I talked to another boy who had run away with the army. He told me of plantations that have been overrun by soldiers, from both sides, and sometimes the occupants are killed. Though my father is a Patriot, my grandmother is a Loyalist, so perhaps we shall at least be spared by the English. I do now know if the Patriots have robbed any of the plantations, but I shudder to think of seeing my own father raiding a place that was home to one of his own fellow Americans.

I shall keep you updated.