Storm of Love - A Historical Romance Set during the American Revolutionary War Read Online Free

through the wall behind her as she lay on her right side. Her head was facing the right side of their home, if the front door was considered the front, and the kitchen was located immediately to the right upon entering the residence. Then, to the left, was a large open room separated only by one wooden step. The upper level, close to the front window, was the front room and sewing area, and the far side was the den and dining area all mixed into one. Her father's armchair sat in the corner by the fire, and the long wooden table with affixed bench-like seats where she and her father had discussed revolution just the night before was placed almost to the wall.
              To the right were the kitchen and her bedroom, and across from her bedroom was her mother and father's bedroom. As she lay staring toward the back of the house, she wished she had a doorway she could simply walk through. She would escape past the farm, past the crops, and take off into the forest to the back of the home. Revolution would be hers as much as her father's, and she would not have to contend with simple, lady-like chores while their country's future was forged by the men.
              Instead, she stared at a wall with only a high window and a desk. Her desk was wooden, much like the wood that made up most of the house but a bit lighter and not as rough. It was of simple construction, but it was the only place in the world she felt she had to herself. Studying was forbidden, of course, as education was of no use to women, according to her mother and most others. But she would still sit at her desk and write. She made sure to hide her writings well in a compartment beneath her desk. Nobody knew the compartment was there except for her, so when she found it she began to store things there that were her own. One day, she promised herself, she would take those things that were hers and hers alone and escape her life of drudgery.
              Upon her desk sat the only thing she was allowed to display save for the brisk decor of the room or flowers from the garden, and the only thing she now had of her father. He had once used a compass to hike in the mountains and came back with a handsome kill. We ate for almost the entire winter from that single hunting trip. Her father recounted to her in one of their conversations, which stretched almost until dawn, about how he and his hunting partners had almost become lost in the woods. When she asked him how he found his way home, he said his heart and his compass led him there. He then gave Abigail his compass and told her that he had another one, but that if she ever became lost, she could use her heart and his compass to lead herself to safety and home.
              The front door of the house creaked open and she could hear the curt, short tone of her mother's voice and the calming response of her father as they exchanged final goodbyes. Part of her was jealous of her mother for having the last goodbye, particularly because it was so undeserved. Her mother was responsible for so much of the tension in the household, and yet she stood there like the dutiful wife bidding her husband goodbye while she no more cared about the revolution than she did about Abigail, at least after her chores were complete.
              With three heavy boot steps her father was beyond the reaches of the home and headed off toward danger, revolution, freedom, and bravery. Abigail knew her mother would never understand. She knew she would always resent the both of them for their wild ambitions and that somehow any ill that might befall her father would be swiftly blamed on Abigail. In that moment, she resolved to ignore whatever her mother said, knowing somehow that she would not be kept in that house much longer. Revolution called Abigail, too, and when her time came, she would fight.

 
    3 Freedom
    The morning felt strange when Abigail awoke. It was a