Nathaniel had decreed that Priscilla must leave Philadelphia, travel down the Chesapeake Bay by boat, and stay with her sister at Waterwood.  He believes he is protecting her from growing anger and unrest that might threaten his wife. But he could be sending her into the center of a gathering storm.

 Dear Diary,
I leave tomorrow for Waterwood.  It is still shocking to me that the time has come already.  The days since Nathaniel made the decision have passed so quickly.  I have been madly sorting and packing my clothes and personal things then repacking everything.  

I had persuaded myself that this would truly be a short visit away and there would be plenty of time to prepare for the baby’s arrival when I returned.  When I mentioned my plan, it felt like an earthquake when he calmly told me to pack everything I would need for my confinement and to care for the baby after birth.  He believes I will be away from him and our home for months and months.  

I was not prepared for this news.  The servants unpacked everything and started again.  I wanted my maid to handle everything.  I only wished to curl up in my bed.  That was not to be.  In every moment he could spare from his business, Nathaniel followed me around the house, making sure I had made all the purchases of things I would need and had them packed away into trunks.  Yes, trunks.  There are more trunks packed for this trip than when I first moved to Philadelphia.  

It was sad to see my beautiful gowns and tea dresses placed in storage, but there is no place for them on the Eastern Shore.  I will need practical country wear, as my dear friend Becky calls it.  She has made sure wool gowns, a few day gowns, warm petticoats, and wool shawls are packed.  Many of the simple gowns I had brought to Philadelphia will be packed in the trunks for my trip back.  I have traded delicate shoes designed to stroll over city sidewalks for boots made for soil and mud.  He locked my better jewelry in his safe.

Becky has been by my side every moment she could spare from her duties and obligations.  Without her encouragement and support, I do not think I could have done all that was required.  Yesterday, when she came to say goodbye, I told her that we could not write while I was away.  It was one of the hardest things I have ever done.  It broke my heart to see tears well up in her lovely blue-gray eyes.  I quickly explained that my husband was worried that the growing hostile feelings against supporters of the King would spread to the families of British importers like him.  He said, “No one could hurt me if they could not find me.”

I do not know if he realized how much it hurt, cutting me off from my dear friend.  Still, I have the utmost trust in her.  I whispered that if she wrote to my sister Abigail at Waterwood, the letter would find me.  Could my sister be persuaded to let me write in response using her name?  That is a question for the future.

The packing is done.  Only a small case for toiletries, a brush, and personal items is left to be closed tomorrow morning.  A portmanteau containing a simple wool gown, stockings, personal linen, and wraps for changing weather will be delivered to my cabin. 

Now, I shall walk the rooms of my home and take my fondest memories of them with me:  the formal staircase that I descended so recently to the delight of my husband; the main parlor decorated with fine European fabrics and furniture; my personal sitting room, an island of safety, meant for letter-writing and intimate conversations with my closest friend; and the elegant dining room with a graceful crystal chandelier lighting the fine oil paintings on the walls and the faces of those seated at its massive table.  There will be no elegant dinner tonight.  The table will be set for only two, my husband and me.  

Tomorrow, in the hour of early dawn, I shall step into the carriage and be escorted to the wharf and onto a ship headed to the Chesapeake Bay and ultimately Waterwood.  My escort shall be Mr. Mercer, a trusted man who works for Nathaniel.  Oh, how I wish my husband was coming with me.  

I must dry my eyes.  It is not to be.  I must make this trip on my own.