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

Tuesday, the twentieth day of June in the year 1775. Instead of being lulled awake by the rays of sunshine that normally accommodate such a summer day, she sat up straight in her bed after hearing a crash of thunder and seeing a bright bolt of lightning outside her window.
              The weather in Massachusetts was usually muggy but hot at this time of year. This day, however, was cold and formidable, even from the outset, and it did not much improve throughout the day. She remembered the day because it was embedded in her mind as though one of the lightning bolts that had pierced the sky that morning had seared it indelibly in the recesses of her memory. She shall never forget, for as long as she lives, that morning.
              Abigail looked at the clock that hung just above her desk above the compass her father had given her. It was not yet time for her to be awake, and she was in no rush to tend to her daily chores. For a moment, she thought that perhaps she could simply drift off to sleep again, but she knew that if she did she would be in danger of sleeping through her morning chores, and that would be more reprehensible than being up early.
              As she sat back against her pillows in the four-poster bed that took up the majority of her bedroom, she rested her eyes for just for a moment. Suddenly, she was startled awake by a knock at the door. She knew she was not allowed to exit her room, particularly while she was still in her morning gown, but she walked as close to her door as she could without being seen and pressed her ear against the crack around the door frame.
              Mother walked to the door and opened it. Abigail could hear her shoes lightly clicking across the wooden floor, and the door's audible creak could not be missed. Low voices murmured, almost whispered, and then she heard the sound that would never leave her memory. Her mother screamed. Abigail had not in all her eighteen years heard her mother scream, nor seen her lose her composure, nor witnessed her show any emotion whatever. After the scream came a continual sobbing, and Abigail knew that horrible news had arrived on their doorstep that morning.
              Ever so silently, Abigail opened her bedroom door and peeked down the hallway toward the front door. Two men in uniforms, or at least what she assumed were uniforms, ill-fitted and unmatched as they were, stood with somber faces as they attempted to console Mother, who had somehow regained her composure in the moments between the sobbing and the opening of Abigail’s door. She stood with a solemn face, nodding frequently and speaking in low tones to the men at the door.
              Their hats were in their hands and they looked at the ground frequently when speaking to Mother. She eventually closed the door, and while she had her back turned Abigail quietly shut her bedroom door and retreated to the comfort of her bed, where she assumed she would not long be able to stay. She was correct.
              She held her breath, knowing what Mother was about to tell her, realizing that the only possible reason for the men's visit and her mother's reaction was that her father was dead. She kept her eyes closed until she heard her mother’s voice wake her. Every fiber of her being willed time to slow down, to stop, so that she would not have to hear the words, would not have to face the truth. Her heart beat so loudly in her chest that she thought her mother would certainly be able to hear it. When her mother spoke to her in quiet tones, she knew something was very wrong.
              "Abigail, wake up," she said. It was more of a question as to whether or not Abigail could be woken with such a subtle tone than a direct command, and Abigail took her time responding so that the facade of her having been asleep in the first place would be more believable. She let