It is 1774. People, especially women, relied on the mail for news that affected them directly. They wrote in their diaries, journals, and ledgers to record events, their reactions to them, and the direct effects on their lives. 

 After observing the Lord's Day, a letter arrives that causes alarm and could put Priscilla in danger. A local discovery adds to the distress of the day and the disruption of Priscilla’s world.

Dear Diary,
    My sister came into my room today and quietly asked if she could sit down.  I was concerned immediately because she never does anything like that unless something terrible has happened.  

    Then she told me.  My maid Eliza, who traveled with me from Philadelphia, has run away.  Nathaniel had brought her into our household as an indentured servant from London.  I thought we had become friends.  I was relying on her to help me through my pregnancy and to care for the newborn.  And now, she is gone.  

    I could not hold back the tears.  I was truly frightened.  What if I get the chance to go back to my home in Philadelphia?  How can I give birth among strangers? “I feel abandoned!” I screamed.

    My sister held out her arms and pulled me to her.  My fears tumbled out in gulps while I sobbed.  When she could finally get a word spoken between my wails, she made me realize that I was not alone.  I would not be among strangers.  She assured me all would be well.  I am embarrassed to admit I directed my anger at Eliza toward my sister, demanding to know how everything would be well.  Abigail understood and calmly stated, “Because it always is.  I will make sure.” I am blessed to have such a woman as a big sister.

   Then the expression on Abigail’s face changed.  The skin around her eyes tightened.  Her mouth grew taut into a thin line.  Then she held out a folded piece of paper to me and said I was not totally abandoned.  She asked if I knew what she was holding in her hand.  With great trepidation, I said that it appeared to be a letter.

   She nodded.   letter written to her by someone named Rebecca.  

    I exclaimed, “My friend in Philadelphia?” 

    Abigail handed me the letter, but she could barely hide her fury. She chastised me for telling a friend our secret plan.  Even when I was small, she sometimes acted like she was in charge of me. Our mother didn't even speak to me the way Abigail spoke to me today. 

    I knew I wasn't supposed to tell anybody. I was scared.  The situation in Philadelphia was in such flux before I left that one day we, who were loyal to the king, might go about our day in complete safety. In a moment that could change.  I feared those men who were rising up against the King were capable of anything.  That is the reason why my dear Nathaniel insisted I come to Abigail here at Waterwood.  

   But Becky had become my dearest friend in Philadelphia.  I knew she would worry if I just disappeared.  I also knew I could trust her to keep a secret of my whereabouts.

   I had to make Abigail see that she could not deny me the comfort of a sister’s support and love.  Yes, I truly think of Becky as a sister and she of me, even though we do not share a blood connection.  I tried hard to make her understand.  

   When I had said all I could say, Abigail went and stood at the window high above the land of Waterwood.  I could see she was shivering.  I tended the fireplace that Edmund had built into the chimney system.  I am grateful that it works.  

   The longer she stood there in silence, the thicker I felt the wall grow between us.  The room began to spin.  I could not countenance the loss of both Abigail and Rebecca, my sisters at this time in my life.  How cruel these times were becoming.  

  Then she stepped away from the window and spoke so softly, I had to lean toward her.  She said she understood how precious friends could be.  Then, with steel in her voice, she reminded me that I was never to send a letter or message of any kind to anyone.

   I agreed, then asked if she would pen a note signed by herself and send it to Becky to confirm that the package had arrived.  Abigail moved to the door but before she walked out of my attic room, she paused and said she would send the letter.  

   Then she left me alone.  

   As I listened to her footsteps fading away, I desired, no desperately needed, arms of warmth and sisterly love around me.  But the promise of a letter making its way to Philadelphia would have to be enough.