The Enemy Says Good Morning

And still I'm not sure...

I wake up early that next morning to help my mother prepare breakfast. My father comes in for a cup of tea with businessman from New York on his way down to Pennsylvania. Mr. Miller, I believe. He's friendly enough, but has a very free tongue. He and my father are speaking while we prepare breakfast. My mother starts to fry some sausages while I slice some bread to toast in the oven.
          "I'm serious, Levi! They can't just do this to us! Come into our homes, take our supplies, and take our money! Do you think this is okay?" he asked, gesturing wildly with his tin mug.
           "Mr. Miller, I'm none too fond of this either, but I'm not ready to stand up against the British army. I've got a wife and three daughters to take care of. If I had it my way, I'd have the three soldiers out of my house, but George's way it has to be," retorts my father.
            "Mr. Miller, don't think that we're king worshipping loyalists, we're not, but we're also not some raving Patriot! We're just people trying to make our lives," adds my mother. Mr. Miller scoffs.
            "Everyone says that they're not on a side, but they sure are! In this day there is no neutrality. You can talk of Britain's unfairness when you know good and well that you'd pledge your life for the king. Or you can abide by all the rules when underneath all you want is to have those redcoats hop on ship back to where they came from. Believe what you will, Woodard, but neutrality is a bloody lie!" I blush at the obscenity. And Mr. Miller looks sorry.
            "Sorry, about that Missus Woodard, and you too, Miss. If I could get some breakfast I'll continue my journey to Pennsylvania." I nod and hand him a piece of warm toast and a some sausage, along with a bowl of grain. He takes it to the main room and finishes just as the officers come down. Crawford and Martin have recovered from last night's escapades, but Second lieutenant Gray looks sluggish and sick. Reflexively I give him some water and a piece of toast, which I believe is all he can stomach at the moment.
            "Thank you, Miss Woodard," he says in a fog. "Again, I- we apologize for our conduct last night and it will not happen again." My mother sighs and my father still looks upset.
            "Never mind, Lieutenant Gray. It's not the first time," my mother says.
            "But it will be the last, at least from us," adds Crawford. Martin remains eerily quiet as he keenly watches Mr. Miller gather his belongings and leave.
            "It takes quite the person to be so hospitable. Not many colonists are this gracious you know. New Yorkers especially seem to resent this whole thing. Luckily, we are staying in a fine home with such pleasant patrons," he says, turning his reptilian eyes towards me. My father walks over at embraces me protectively. Captain Crawford rises from the table.
            "Come, men, to our posts," he says with authority. "You too, Gray." The poor man blinks and squints at the sun, then nods and rises also. The officers gather their articles and whatnot and begin to leave. Gray takes up the rear. Before he closes the door he turns to our family and tips his hat.
            "Have a good morning," he says then follows his sentrymen out. My father finally lets go of me, shakes his head, then finishes his duty. My mother goes to wake my sisters, while I remain in the middle of the main room. I think of what Mr. Miller, the spirited New Yorker, has said this morning. I think of the British and who they are, who the colonists are. And still I'm not sure which side I'm on.