The Enemy Says Good Morning

Forgive Us Our Trespasses

“When we are faced with deciding what is right and wrong, pray to the Lord, for He shall guide us through the wicked of the world,” preaches Reverend Page. Cornelia fidgets in the pew and Abigail smooths her skirts. I place a hand on my younger sister’s knee to stop her from swinging her legs then turn my attention back to his sermon. “For man’s judgement is flawed and we are ever pulled to sin and wickedness!”
        I look down into my lap then at the sun streaming in through the windows and the dust floating slowly through the air. Someone across the aisle coughs and I turn my head. My father catches my eye and quickly look back at the Reverend. After the conflict with the soldiers and Gideon, my parents have not looked at me the same. I become awash with shame and take hold of Abigail’s hand which she squeezes softly.
        “Amen,” says the congregation in unison as the sermon ends before Reverend Page blesses us and bids us go in peace. Abigail does not let go of my hand as we stand file out of the church building. Cornelia skips ahead to say hello to one of her little friends. The two hug and skip off giggling. On my way out of the church doors I notice Gideon’s parents and call out to them. How long it’s been since I talked with Eli Price. I remember him being a large man of few words. He was not an expressive man, but I remember him giving me a few affectionate pats on the head if he ever visited the inn to say hello to my father. And it was known the Eli Price had an enormous soft spot for his only child.
        The blacksmith turns and takes a moment to recognize me then flashes a small smile. He and his wife look as if they might come over to say hello, but as soon as Reverend Page emerges from the church they turn quickly and walk towards town.
        “Father, wasn’t that Eli Price?” I ask. My father squints at the blacksmith and his wife walking away.
        “So it was.”
        “Why didn’t they say hello?”
        “Perhaps they’re ashamed that their son did not accompany them to the service,” my mother says, a hint of disgust in her voice.
        “Abigail, go and fetch your sister,” I say, trying to get her away from this talk.
        “They should be used to it by now. I haven’t seen Gideon here in ages,” my father adds.
        “Perhaps he had a good reason for being away,” I say, trying to defend him.
        “For as long as he’s been away from this church? Come now. What a sad thing it is, though. Gideon was always such a good lad,” my father sighs.
        “Is he not still?” I ask.
        “A rowdy young drunkard who gambles, finds himself in the company of… indecent folk and provoking British officers in my inn, costing me business? I think not, Elinor. Not to mention his wild political ideas.”
        “His what?” I ask.
        “He and his father are both… opinionated in terms of our government here in the colonies. It’s better you stop associating with that boy. Really I shouldn’t say.”
        “Oh.”
        “It is a shame, though. I was always fond of him as a child, but now that he’s a man I cannot excuse him,” my father says.        
        “You’re not being very Christian, Father.”
        “Neither is he, and any Christian tolerance I extend to him is beyond what he deserves.”
        “Pray for him, Elinor,” my mother says before giving my shoulder a push to shepherd me towards the walk home. She calls to my sisters who gallop to my parents and follow us home.
        The walk through town is silent among the five of us, besides some occasional small chatter between my sisters. A group of British soldiers pass by us, their boots clicking on the cobblestones and their muskets on their shoulders. I watch my father’s jaw clench as he keeps moving forward. We round a street corner and hear a commotion on the street. My family stops as we watch a tavern keeper throws a man into the street. A small group of people gather around to watch the events unfold. My mother quickly pushes my sisters behind her, but my father and I walk closer. A woman calls at the man from an upstairs window.
        “Next time ye use our services make sure ye can pay!” she says. I dare look up at her and feel my face burn when I see her powdered face painted with rouge that’s as red as her corset out of which her ample bosoms spill. She throws a coat and a pair of shoes to the man in the street. A few men passing guffaw at the sight.
       “And keep yer Patriot politics out of me business or yer next drink will be shared with yer Maker!” the tavern own calls before going back inside and slamming the door shut. The man in the street turns his face towards us and to my humiliation it’s none other than Gideon Price. His eyes blink then focus on my family. His face falls immediately when he sees me. I cannot bear it and turn my back, my hand covering my mouth.
        “Have you no shame, boy?” my father asks sternly.
        “Mr. Woodard, sir, I-” Gideon says. I hear him gather his things and stand up.
        “Lord have mercy on you and your poor parents. I know they didn’t raise you like this, Gideon Price. Run home before you shame yourself anymore.”
        “I- yes, sir,” Gideon stammers. I turn to see him put on his shoes. He gives me an apologetic look before he dons his coat and bolts down the street. My father shakes his head slowly.
        “Come on, let’s get the girls home,” he says, walking towards my mother. I don’t make a move. I’m still in shock. Suddenly I feel Abigail link her elbow in mine as she turns in the direction of home. I silently thank the Lord for my sister’s goodness.
        “The Price boy is trouble,” my mother says as we walk. My father’s face darkens.
        “Yes, he’s trouble alright. In more ways than one.”