Ghosts of Loyalty

Samuel’s return to Arlington was indeed a delicate dance, each step laden with memories and the weight of unfinished business. The snow whispered secrets, and the eyes that followed him bore into his back like shards of ice. Who could be watching him this time? The possibilities swirled like the snowflakes falling around him.

The Barkeep—a seemingly innocuous figure wiping down glasses behind the tavern’s frosted window. But Samuel knew better. The barkeep had seen him arrive, noted the tension in his shoulders, and observed how he scanned the room for familiar faces and troublemakers. Samuel suspected the barkeep was one of Allen’s informants, ready to report his presence to the self-appointed town vigilante.

Mr. Jenkins, the farmer—the encounter that had triggered Samuel’s downfall. Jenkins, with his calloused hands and hard eyes, was rumored to be one of the rebel leaders in town. He held meetings at his farm, passing coded messages to the Green Mountain Boys. Despite Jenkins besting Samuel in their last verbal sparring match, the big man likely harbored a vendetta against him.

His Own Ghosts—past discretions clinging to the cobblestones like mud. They whispered warnings, their breath frosty against Samuel’s nape. Had they conspired to expose him? Were they more than spectral witnesses to his slow demise in public society?

Samuel’s hand tightened around the hilt of his pistol. Despite the trouble he’d faced for brandishing it in town, tensions against Loyalists were violent. He couldn’t afford to leave the house unarmed. As he reached the town line, he stopped. There was only one man who truly knew all in Arlington.

He turned around, recognizing the mirth in the eyes of his pursuer instantly—the Barkeep. The man rarely left his post, and Samuel suspected he had something important to pass along or a grislier task.

“Evening, Sam,” the Barkeep said, his voice steady but his hands betraying a slight tremor. “Surprised to see you back so soon. People have long memories and even longer grudges these days.”

Samuel leaned back on his heels, hands going to his hips to disguise reaching for his pistol. “I need information,” he said. “You know everything in this town. You report most of it to Allen. So, tell me: who planned it? Whose idea was it to trespass onto my land, breach the sanctity of my wife’s hearth? Do what you want to me, but leave Martha and the boys out of it.”

The Barkeep wiped his hands on his apron, considering his words carefully. “There’s been talk—gatherings of those who once called you brother. This is bigger than one near-brawl in my tavern, mate. This is about loyalty.”

“Loyalty?” Samuel sneered. “You rebels don’t know the meaning of loyalty! How loyal is it to turn against your King? I do what’s best for my family. Speculating for New Hampshire wasn’t in my best interests. It was too dangerous. New York still understands the status quo. I can do my job, support my family, and not worry about being arrested for treason.”

War had revealed the cracks in loyalty. Samuel had once toyed with rebellion, felt the fire in his veins. But the revolution blurred lines between right and wrong. Everyone wanted freedom and justice, but definitions varied. He’d stood shoulder to shoulder with the rebels before the town divided. Now, the vigor he’d felt had turned to disdain.

“Loyalty isn’t a banner waved in the face of change,” Samuel continued. “It’s an anchor, keeping my family safe. The rebellion turned from a beacon to a storm threatening to uproot everything we’d built. Liberty is fine, but only when won honorably.”

“That’s dangerous talk around here, Sam,” the Barkeep growled.

“There are ears everywhere.”

Samuel stalked closer. “Is that a threat, Thomas?”

“Consider it what you want,” Thomas replied. “It’s not I who seeks vengeance against you.”

They considered each other in silence. Then Samuel turned away.

It wasn’t worth another confrontation with the rest of the town’s rebels. He wouldn’t risk violence against his family.

“Alright, Thomas,” he sighed. “Goodnight.”

As he stepped farther into the trees, the Barkeep spoke again, almost reluctantly. “The mill. But be careful, Sam. The war’s changing everyone. These men want blood, and some don’t care where it comes from as long as it bleeds Britain.”

Samuel nodded. “Thank you, Thomas.”

The warning hung in the air, a reminder of the delicate web of trust and treachery in Arlington. Samuel pondered his next move, the Barkeep’s caution echoing in his mind.  `

The tempest in his mind was all he could think about. On one hand he could continue to maintain his loyalty to the Crown – a belief that once had been as clear as the ringing of the church bell on Sunday mornings. Loyalty to the King was a legacy, a line of service that had been instilled in him since he was a boy, and in his ancestors before him. On the other hand, however, was family. The faces of Martha, his wife, and their five boys, who looked to him for safety and guidance, swam before him. His family was a hearth’s warmth against the chill of winter. It filled his home with laughter and promised him that whatever storms tomorrow might bring, he had solid ground to come home to at the end of the day. 

The rebellion had shaken the foundations of Samuel’s world. It whispered of opportunities, but at what cost? The streets of Arlington already bore the scars of division, he would not inflict them on his home, as well. Yet, as the flames of freedom grew, so did the shadows that loomed over Samuel. To stand with either side at this point was to risk everything. 

Each step Samuel took felt like a dance on the edge of an abyss. He was having trouble keeping balance between the world he knew and the future that threatened to shake it. As the snow continued to fall, blanketing Arlington in silence, Samuel thought of his past. He thought of his sins as well as his honor and survival. How did he choose between the loyalty owed to a distant homeland and the love owed to the family who depended on him? 

Whichever path Sam chose would define him. It would be the story told in hushed tones around town and passed down by his children to their children, and grandchildren, and their grandchildren, and beyond. As he broke through the trees to behold his home from atop the hill, he realized that the loyalty he wanted to represent was not to a crown or a cause, but to a future where he could provide for and protect his family.