Chloe Helton | Historical Fiction

The Red Pearl: Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 

Did not see that redcoat today. I don’t know what I’d have done if I did. Maybe he was transferred out of the city; maybe he fell into the harbor trying to get his smuggled gin and drowned.

Wonder when the boat is coming? How funny would it be if I foiled it and took all the gin, and we sold it in the tavern. We could make them pay us for what they’d failed to smuggle in.

Jasper had sent me to bed in the afternoon, saying I shouldn’t serve customers looking like I’d just crawled out of my own grave, and I was so grateful that I didn’t argue with him. For awhile, I laid in bed, curled in the blankets, closing my eyes to shut out the memory that plagued me. But the bed smelled like Jasper, so I crawled out and opened my trunk, ignoring the necklace I had dropped there last night, and grabbed my journal.

I want to make him pay, I wrote. I want his blood to turn the harbor red, and the whole city will smell like iron as it smelled like tea after the Tea Party. And I want to be the one to do it; I want to see his eyes go wide as he realizes it is I, not any Continental soldier or even his Creator, who will be his end.

I scribbled that part out. If, somehow, my future children ever found this book, I wouldn’t want them reading that.

Wouldn’t it be funny if I stopped that shipment? This fool, running his mouth around me like I was invisible, not realizing that I was listening and I could ruin his little plan. And if he ever pulled that knife on me again, I would have a knife, too, but because he wouldn’t suspect it I’d have the upper hand, and before he knew it I’d have sliced his throat, and the blood would dribble down his coat, and he’d regret what he had done to me.

Never again, I wrote, will someone make a victim of me.

 
 

It all started when…

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