Abigail Jane Applegate--The Rescue

Outside of New York City
1778
British Occupation of New York

The soldier looked about ready to fall over in fear.

That's Nathan! I thought again, even more horrified. Why on earth is Nathan being so stupid as to come out in the open and try and rescue me?! I mean... I'm ready to die for my country, aren't I?

"Don't...don't get any ideas," the other soldier begged.

The mask covered Nathan's face well. If he hadn't spoke, I wouldn't have known who it was. But I did. And I was still feeling like he was being stupid by trying to rescue me. Then again, maybe he was sent by my father to come and rescue me. I mean, he was my father's apprentice. And...

"Hand over the girl," Nathan commanded. "NOW!"

One of the soldiers quickly nodded towards me. "Get out," he hissed. "Quick, quick!"

I struggled to get out with the bonds on my hands and finally jumped out onto the ground, my skirts billowing beneath me. I quickly ran towards Nathan, keeping my eyes straight ahead and trying not to think of the fact that I might be shot in the back by the second soldier.

"Are you alright, Abigail?" Nathan whispered so that only I could hear it.

"Of course," I whispered back.

I managed to pull myself up behind him in the saddle. Nathan kept his gun trained on the driver soldier's head. Only when he was sure I was on did he yell, "YA!" and kick his horse into a gallop.

We took off across the countryside. I closed my eyes, the thought racing through my head--If it hadn't been for Nathan, I would have been hanged.

God was looking out for me.

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.

Abigail Jane Applegate--Taken

New York
1778
The British Occupation of New York

My heart beat wildly in my chest as my feet brought me closer and closer to the house. There should be something on the clothes line, my mind thought, over and over. There should be something. But there's nothing. Why isn't there anything? I ignored the thought and continued towards the house.

As I rounded the side of the house, I was sure that I'd made a big mistake. Five British soldiers, dressed in red uniforms, were sitting around the door and laughing with each other. I froze, not knowing what to do.

"Oi! Who're you?" demanded one of the soldiers, suddenly catching sight of me.

All of the soldiers jumped to their feet and pointed their muskets at me. I didn't know what to do. Run, Abigail, the voice spoke in my brain. Run! But I couldn't, because I knew that I'd be shot before I could take another step.

"Abigail?" One of the soldiers stepped forward, and I felt like I should've known who it was.

I couldn't speak. I was terrified.

"Abigail!" The boy rushed forward happily. He whispered, "Hey, it's me, Will. Don't you remember? Your second cousin?"

I sighed in relief. "Will!" I couldn't believe I hadn't recognized him.

"Do you have the message?" he whispered.

I nodded. "I've got to deliver it to the woman who lives here." I paused. "Why are you all dressed up as the British?"

"It's because the woman who lives here isn't here," Will explained in a whisper. "We came by to make sure that she was still safe, and so the message that you were supposed to deliver didn't get taken. But she was gone."

"Then I must give the message to you," I realized. "Here." I thrust it into his hand.

He smiled. "Thank you, Abigail."

That's about when the sack came down over my head.

Abigail Jane Applegate--The Invisible Message

New York

1778

The British Occupation of New York

I sat before the fire, staring into the flickering flames. I could hear Father's quill pen scratching behind me on the rough paper. I got up and glanced over his shoulder. The fake message that I'd written in my own hand, addressed to an Aunt Mary, was there on the paper. In between the lines Father wrote swiftly with ink that slowly disappeared as he wrote it.

Invisible ink.

"When I'm done with this," Father started in the quietest of whispers, "you'll need to take it to the woman at the edge of town. If the dresses are out on the clothes line, then all's well. If there are men's work shirts out on the line, then that means that you've been followed. If there are trousers on the line, then that means that the soldiers are nearby. And if there are sheets..."

"Yes, Father?" I prodded in a whisper.

He hesitated and then glanced up at me. "Then, Abigail," he whispered, "you must run for your life and destroy the letter, for the British are at her house and know that somebody's coming. If they know that she's part of the ring, they'll suspect anybody coming near the house to also be part of the ring."

I nodded solemnly. "You can count on me, Father."

He smiled. "I know I can."

He finished the letter and then handed it to me. I stuck it in my skirt's hidden pocket and then walked out of the back room and back through the stable. Nathan was still pounding away on the blacksmith's anvil.

He stopped hammering as I walked past. "Abigail," he whispered.

I paused. "Yes?"

Nathan's brown eyes met mine. "Be careful, alright?"

"Aye," I nodded. "I will."

He smiled a wan smile, one which I shared. Both of us knew that if I was caught with the message, despite the fact that I was a young woman I would be hung for my deeds. For being a spy for the Patriots.

I started out along the street. I passed a troop of soldiers with my head down, but they didn't even pay attention to me. The thing about the British is that they would never think a woman smart enough to be a spy. That's why there were so many of us in the ring.

The Culper Ring.

I finally reached the border of New York. I spotted the house, just on the outskirts. I started towards it, looking for the line. My green eyes peered around the house, and that's when I saw something that made me gasp.

There wasn't white sheets hanging on the clothes line.

There wasn't anything.

I paused. What should I do? It couldn't be good if there were no sheets. But what if the woman had just been struck sick, or was too busy and had forgotten? I paused, my hand straying to the secret pocket.

"I've got to do it," I whispered.

I strode boldly forward towards the house.

But what would I find?

The Agent Files, sticky oranges, my wantings, and a question

Dear Readers,

I'm proud to tell you that my friends and I (Piano Bookworm, Hadassah) have finished the first The Agent Files and are working on the second one, which seems to be going better than the first one. (Very Hobbitish. And funny........ if you haven't read the book or watched the movie The Hobbit you might want to do so......)

Anyway, does anybody else get irked when they're eating an orange and their hands get all sticky? Even when they've washed them?! I know that's kind of random, but I just ate an orange...... =P

Sometimes I wish that I could be like other bloggers. I wouldn't show a picture of myself (of course) but I wish I could at least give an age-range, kind of what I look like, my first name, and then use like "I live in Xxxxx". (You kind of get the picture.) But I don't. Oh well. =P

I was wondering.... should my next post be Abigail Jane Applegate, the Patriot spy, or Jessie Bender, the hilarious Ohioan? Please tell me. :)

Love,
Katrina

P.S. Don't forget to enter the design contest!! It ends the first of February. :)

I might have a story in a magazine...?

Dear Readers,

Guess what?! I might be (might be) having a continuing story in a magazine! (like again and again) (and a real magazine) (by a really awesome person I know) Anyway, we haven't figured out everything out, but I'm pretty sure it's all going to work out. :) I'M SO EXCITED!!!!!! I really love the lady who's going to be doing the magazine. I just can't wait!!

The editor of Connie has told me that they have gotten to the end (I believe) of chapter eight, and when they start editing again they can get to chapter nine. Like I said, they're thorough. I'll make sure to keep you updated, and if/when I get Connie published/agreed-to-be-published I'll make sure to let all of you know!!!!! :)

So, did you guys like the new Abigail? Well? (Well, I did!! =D)

I'll tell you guys more about the magazine later.

(I'm also probably going to have an add for it. And a place where you can subscribe. And of course a link to the magazine's website.)

As for now, I'll be seeing you later....

Love,
Katrina

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.

A very short letter from Jessie and a message from Storyteller.err.Katrina

Dear Readers,

This is Jessie, and I just got back to my own beautiful house in Dayton, Ohio, and away from the farm. PHEW! I'm glad to be back.

Bye!

P.S.From.Storyteller.err.Katrina. OK, just to say, Abigail Jane Applegate WILL be coming back, but she's very different. Everything's that happened before... it's zilch. So, we're starting over! Clean slate! Whoohoo!! Keep a lookout for it. ;)

W.O.W.

SHOULD I GET RID OF ABIGAIL JANE APPLEGATE AND START ANOTHER CONTINUING STORY?!

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.

This is Abigail. Something has come up.

I have to write quickly. My father has gone off to war against England. Mother says we have to leave Boston. She fears bad things are brewing. Please pray for me. I shall be going into the country to live with my uncle. Who will survive this war?

More About Me--Abigail Jane Applegate

Dear Readers,

My mother told me that I should tell you more about myself. I suppose 'tis a good idea. As you already know, my full name is Abigail Jane Applegate, and you know that I am of fourteen years of age and that I am tall and slender. 'Tis true, all of it.

My hair is long and brown, and my eyes of a peculiar brown flecked with several colors. My face is pale, such is the style for young ladies in my age. I also have a particular dislike of our mop caps that we always have to wear.

Yes, 'tis horrible, isn't it?

Our dresses can be horrible, too. Aye, they pull so much on you. At least since I'm so slender, that at home my mother does not make me wear a corset. I'm afraid that my sisters, Beth and Mary, have to wear them, though. They are not yet to the age of thirteen, and yet they are as plump of pigs.

Here is a sketch of my mother's best dress.

Looks like a horror, does it not? My mother tells me often that next year, it shall be mine.

That's Beth. She's giving me a strange look. It makes me feel strange as I sit here, writing at the table on the porch.

Isn't she adorable, though?

Anyway, I am going off on a bunny trail. Aye, my mother says that much to me.

I live in a beautiful town in Virginia. I have already showed you my house. (Go to the second post below.) Other than Beth (5) and Mary (8), I have two older brothers, too.

William has gone off and married a beautiful girl and lives now in Williamsburg. But thankfully John is still here with us. I do not think I would be able to feel sane if he wasn't. He is my best friend.

I admit it. I do not have many lady friends. In fact, I don't have any. My mother complains that it's because my face is plain. (John says that it isn't, bless his heart.)

I would say it's because I'm so quiet.

Really, if you were to meet me, you might think that I was bored or something.

That's me over there, by the way. I know that it looks like I have blonde hair, but, really, I have brown. It just sometimes looks like it's blonde. I really hope you don't agree with my mother that I'm plain. I really can't help it.

I am very simple. I like hard work and writing poems to myself. Some people would think that I am crazy, but I would love to go to a university some day, just like all of the boys. My mother says that I should be looking for a husband, not day-dreaming about some university. But get married? I cannot imagine it. John agrees with me and says that he could never imagine me, his beloved sister, married to someone.

So I guess that's all about me. I hope you enjoy the rest of my life.

My name is Abigail Jane Applegate.

Dear Readers,

My name is Abigail Jane Applegate. I am fourteen years of age, and to tall for my mother's taste. Aye, I am the tallest female in my family.

This is my beautiful house. We live in Virginia.

This is a copy of a document that I found in my father's office. He says that he got it from Philidelphia, so it must be very important.

My father's desk. 

This is my detailed sketch of the Liberty Bell.

'Tis gorgeous, isn't it? Aye, it is.

I hope to be writing more. I hope that you will enjoy my observations. My mother says that I am blessed to be able to write. "Aye," she will say to me, "when I was your age, I knew naught of a quill pen and bottle of ink." And now 'tis my pleasure to write.

Thank you. I hope you enjoy my letters.