Christmas Tea

December, 1776 - Outside Trenton, New Jersey

"Come on now, wake up, child! You shan't sleep the entire morning, there are chores that need doing."

At the sound of her mother's voice, Lucy's eyes fluttered open. She was already awake, but was laying still until the last possible moment, warm under the heavy quilts and blankets. She briefly pulled the covers over her head, basking in the warmth, then sighed and hopped out of bed.

She glanced at George, Benjamin and Daniel, and barely made out their forms in the darkness of the room. George was the eldest still at home, at six, and he was not expected to rise as early as she. Lucy was the eldest child in the house after her brother David left with her father, and she expectedly took the lion's share of housework and chores. She dressed in the darkness by feel and memory, then hitched her leg over the top of the ladder leading to her sleeping loft, and descended.

As she reached the bottom rung, she paused mid-step. "Why mother, it's snowing!" she exclaimed.

Lucy rushed to the front window and pressed her nose against the glass. An inch or so of fresh, fluffy snow had fallen so far, giving the town a magical, friendly feel. She felt the warmth of the stove from the kitchen, and it seemed so decadent to look at that cold, glittering snow while she remained safely cocooned and comfortable inside. Smoke wisped through the chimneys of the other homes in the village, which seemed to merge with the early morning clouds. The snow was falling steadily, and Lucy sensed they were in for a long snowfall.

Her mother placed a large platter of hasty pudding on the table, next to the crock of maple syrup. "It's snowing," Lucy repeated.

Her mother glanced up and leaned her head to look out the window. "So it is. Somewhat late for the first snowfall of the season, isn't it?"

Lucy nodded and put on her shawl. Her mother was immensely kind, never shouting at her or her brothers like her friends' mothers, but there were limits to her patience. Stealing a few minutes extra rest in the warm bed was not likely to irritate her much, but failing to do her chores without a reminder likely would.

The snow was even more beautiful outside, but it was colder than she thought. She hurried to the small barn where their few chickens and dairy cow were housed, stopping only once to try and catch a snowflake on her tongue. She fed and watered the animals, milked the cow, remembering to return the low stool to the proper place when she was done, and briskly returned to the house, milk sloshing in the pail as she went.

By then, her brothers were awake and dressed, bright-eyed and excited at the season's first snow. Most years come December, they typically had at least one good snowfall, even if it rapidly melted, but this year was only cold, rainy, and gray so far. Her brothers were thrilled, eager to get outside and play in the fresh snow. With a smile and firm look, they took their seats around the table for breakfast.

Lucy felt a pang as she looked at her father's empty chair. Though he only left a few months ago, after he finished helping the neighbors with the fall harvest, she thought of him often, and was still unaccustomed to his absence. He had a way of showing excitement about the changes in the seasons that resonated so dearly with her; her mother didn't mind the snow, but was more inclined to complain about the tracked in puddles of melting snow than anything else.

"Where do you think Father and David are today?" she asked her mother, as she poured syrup into her pudding, careful not to drip on the clean table.

Her mother tilted her head. "I'm sure I don't know, but I certainly hope they're inside and warm on a morning like this."

Lucy thought that rather unlikely, but didn't say so. It was David who was so eager to join the cause, and her father, always rational, seemed to discourage him the best he could. However, her father was as appalled as everyone else in the village at the taxes levied by the British, and worried about the growing unrest and unease in Boston. She heard her parents speaking long into the night on many occasions, wondering what would happen to their farms, their lives, and, of course, their eldest son.

Defiant as always, David spoke briefly but fiercely to his father one evening before supper. At the end of that conversation, David was happy, and her father was determined. "I can't let him go alone," her father had said to her mother later that evening, their voices quietly murmuring long into the night.

After breakfast, her brothers ran to get their warm mittens and hats, and out to play in the snow. The wind had picked up some, and though it still looked beautiful through the window, it was apparent that Lucy's premonition of an extended storm was correct. She went to the well, filled the bucket, and set it on the stove to warm for washing the breakfast dishes. She was nearly finished, thinking of studying while her mother worked on her needlepoint, when she heard a loud knock on the door.

She turned around, drying her hands on her apron as she locked eyes with her mother. Visitors were certainly not uncommon, but with the sudden change in weather, she thought that most would stay inside, except for the boys throwing snowballs and playing complicated versions of tag through the woods.

She headed for the door, but her mother shook her head, set aside her needlepoint as she stood, and briskly walked the few steps to the door. "Why, Mr. Smith!" she exclaimed, opening the door broadly and stepping aside. "Please, come in!"

Mr. Smith had moved to the vacant house across the street a year before. After his young wife died only minutes after giving birth to their first child, Lucy's mother and father had helped him the best they could, inviting him often to meals and helping with chores, though Mr. Smith quickly became indispensable to Lucy's father, with his strong work ethic and desire to do anything to take his mind off his sorrows. Immediately after the battles at Lexington and Concord, Mr. Smith joined the Continental Army, and sent his infant daughter upstate to live with his parents.

"Thank you," Mr. Smith said, his face red with cold. Lucy gestured to the chair nearest the stove, and quickly scooped up some leftover pudding and set a kettle on for coffee.

"I can't stay," he said as he sat, eyeing the pudding greedily. "But I'll make short work of this, I thank you."

He attacked the cold pudding with relish, speaking quickly between spoonfuls. "I come from our camp," he said, nodding politely as Lucy refilled his bowl. "There's going to be a big battle."

Lucy's mother seemed frozen to the spot. "What of David and my husband?" she asked, her voice slightly trembling.

"They're doing well," he said quickly, meeting her gaze. "They're just fine, in camp working on fortifications." He pushed back the bowl and sat up straighter, shaking his head slightly as Lucy motioned to give him more pudding. She turned back to the stove and began fixing coffee.

"General Washington has a plan, we think it will work, and the snow may actually help, but we have very few supplies. We need food, clothes, and anything the village can spare." Mr. Smith spoke more surely now, and Lucy noted a formality in his bearing that hadn't existed before he left.

"Of course, anything we can do to help," Lucy said as looked at her mother. "We'll help, won't we?"

Lucy's mother paused, then said, "Yes. We stored a great deal from the harvest, and I have some old cloth I was going to work on over the winter." She considered. "It's not pretty, but you can have it."

Mr. Smith nodded. "We're very grateful, I'm sure ma'am. Anything you can provide would help."

"How will you bring it back?" Lucy asked, leaning toward the window. She half expected to see a group of men outside, stamping their feet in the snow.

Mr. Smith chuckled, following Lucy's gaze. "It's just me," he said. "We couldn't spare anyone, there's so few of us already."

Lucy felt the blood drain from her face. "It's not as bad as all that, is it?" she asked, wishing she hadn't.

"Of course not," Mr. Smith said, without much reassurance. "Of course not," he repeated, stronger. "We just need help."

"I'll go," Lucy said at once, looking at her shoes as though she was leaving this instant.

"You may not," her mother snapped, showing a flash of anger. "A battle is no place for a woman."

"Well normally I'd agree with you, ma'am," Mr. Smith said. "But there isn't a battle, at least not yet, and I can only carry so much in my arms.

Lucy looked at her mother, her eyes pleading. "I've got to help Father and David," she said. Her mouth opened say more, but she felt those few words of spoke volumes.

The house was momentarily silent. Lucy could hear the boards of the house gently creaking against the increasing wind, and in the distance, shouts and laughter as the boys played. She and her mother were looking at each other, Mr. Smith shifting his gaze between the two, keeping silent. A fierce, quiet battle was happening, and he knew he had no part to play.

Lucy saw the release before her mother spoke. "You visit the neighbors on the east side of the village, I will take the west. Mr. Smith, if you'd be so kind as to wait here, the boys may return and would not expect us to leave."

Mr. Smith looked as though he would protest, but he looked toward the stove, the fragrance of coffee now filling the room. "If you think it best," he said.

"I do," she said firmly.

Lucy and her mother were out of the house in a moment, each heading in opposite directions. The snow was deep now, and trudging through the snow took effort, even though it was light and not yet compacted. By the time she reached the first house she was covered in snow. Mrs. Anderson answered at her second knock, surprise on her face. "Why, Lucy, why are you outside in this weather?" she asked, then continued without waiting for a reply. "Come in, come in!"

Lucy shook her head, and briefly explained Mr. Smith's presence and request. Mrs. Anderson, like nearly everyone in the village, had spent the last year living in a village where practicing as minutemen was a matter of course, so rapid action was nearly second nature. She gave Lucy a box heaping with dried meat and corn, and insisted on accompanying her to the next house.

She continued in this manner, visiting house after house as quickly as she could. Some neighbors came with her, while others provided what they could. No one turned her away with nothing, even the poor Blake family at the far end of town. Half way through, she returned with a small group to drop off what she had accumulated, and saw her mother had already done the same; a growing pile was stacked near the door, which Mr. Smith was apparently arranging into some semblance of organization.

Within an hour, she had visited as many houses as possible in the vicinity, and she returned with her last load. "Hitch the horse," her mother said as greeting when she returned, and Lucy dropped her bundle, did an about face, and headed to the barn, where she began the process of hitching the old plough horse to the cart her father sometimes used to haul supplies.

She drove the horse to the door, aware that this was the first time she had accomplished this particular task without her father or brother. She could see the horse's breath, and realized she was damp from the snow and exertion, but no longer cold. The snow continued to fall unabated.

Lucy, her mother, Mr. Smith, and three neighbors started loading the cart, strategically placing items so they might fit as much as possible. Lucy knew her mother intended to send the horse and cart with Mr. Smith, and they would likely never see either again. The horse was old, but needed for ploughing, and horses were becoming a scarcity with the onset of war.

"I must go with him," she said as she nearly bumped into her mother between loads. "To bring back our horse."

Again, her mother stopped and considered, but shorter this time. "I suppose you must," she sighed. "You're the lightest, so can fit the most on the cart."

Lucy handed her box to Mr. Smith, and followed her mother back inside. "Take these," she said, handing Lucy a small bundle.

"What is it?" Lucy asked.

"Some socks, a little tobacco," she said, then added, with embarrassment, "and a little tea." It's nearly Christmas, and," she broke off, clearing her throat.

Lucy smiled. They had given up tea in protest, but her father secreted away as much as he could. He hated coffee, and didn't think that using the little tea they had left was disrespectful to the cause, something he said often, probably for himself more than anyone else. Lucy, who preferred coffee to tea, didn't quite understand, but she did understand the small act of love and feelings of home her mother's gift conveyed. Lucy carefully put it deep in her pocket.

"Be careful," her mother said, as Lucy gingerly climbed atop the wagon and nestled herself next to a stack of cloth.

Mr. Smith followed, quickly climbing aboard. "You don't know what this means, ma'am," he said, touching his hand to his hat. She nodded, and reached up to briefly touch Lucy's hand.

"Give them my love," she said.

Lucy nodded, and the wheels started rolling as the horse started trudging through the snow. Lucy looked behind after a moment, and saw a picturesque scene reminding her of her thoughts when looking at the first snowfall of the season that very morning. The wagon wheels formed two long, windoing snakes through the snow, stopping in front of her warm house, where smoke gently wafted through the chimney. Her mother stood by the door, her hands clasped, and in the distance, Lucy heard her brothers. They were still playing.