Priscilla has traveled home to the Eastern Shore at the urging of her husband.  At Waterwood, he believes she will be safe there surrounded by friends and family.  Only she is to discover she will be a prisoner.

Priscilla's Diary Entry #7

Dear Diary,

    My welcome back to the Eastern Shore, hugging my sister, and seeing Waterwood House have filled my heart to almost bursting with joy.  

    This day of drizzling rain finds me warm and comfortable at my sister Abigail’s home. I am grateful to settle into a soft bed.  I sleep deeply and am recovering to my sister’s satisfaction.  The trip from Philadelphia was arduous.  My body feels bruised but the baby fared well.  I pray this is so or all this effort will be for naught.

    I remember the evening my dear husband first raised the idea that I should repair to Waterwood House and remain in my sister’s care until I am delivered.  At first, I was shocked and offended.  Did he not want to be encumbered with a pregnant wife?  When I saw the tears in his eyes, I realized his concern was deep and true.  At first, I pointed out that being in the care of a Philadelphia physician would help guarantee a successful birth and outcome.  

    When he finally admitted his true concern, I was shaken to my core.  He expressed his growing fear that the unrest among the colonists may create some difficult times in the upcoming months, a time he wants me to be calm and quietly resting in anticipation of the birth of our first child.  

    I conveyed my fear for his safety, but he assured me that he will be fine seeing to his business interests.

    If, for some reason, it became prudent for me to leave Philadelphia for a time, he did not want me to travel the roads in a more advanced condition, as summer heat or fall chill settled in.       

      Now that I have been fortified by good food and family love, I must look at the predicament I find myself in.   I have discovered that real life will not allow me to dwell in freedom and camaraderie. I shall not be allowed to live in the magical world of my childhood.  Real life will not let me.   I have survived the trek from Philadelphia only to be shut up in an attic room.  I am to be a prisoner. 

    As Edmund, my brother-in-law, explained the situation, it appears that resentment toward supporters of the King is rising here on the Shore.  More than I had noticed in Philadelphia.  The people here must feel free to express dislike and growing anger over the taxes on tea and other commodities.  I asked what that had to do with me.  Born and raised here, I am a daughter of the Shore.  He waved away my comment.  It felt like an accusation or condemnation when he said that did not matter anymore.  I married a man who deals in British imports.  

    I wanted to cry.  I didn’t marry British imports.  I married Nathaniel for love.

    I could not sway him or my sister.  They want me to live in this attic room, rest for my own health and the baby’s and to stay here out of sight for my own safety.

    This was not what I expected coming to Waterwood.  I thought Abigail and I would take long walks through the woods and along the creeks.  Edmund said we could do that, in secret and with an escort.  

    But I had hoped to go to meetings of a sewing circle so I could prepare clothing for the baby while enjoying local companionship.  Edmund said that would be a terrible mistake.  

    I must limit my social contact to my sister and my maid..  Mr. Mercer has already left to return to Philadelphia.  I will be denied a visit to Turner’s Point, the home where I grew up.  I understand my mother is frail and being tended by a doctor in Easton, a hotbed of unrest.  Somehow Abigail and Edmund are keeping the farm safe and operating for our brother.

     My emotions are at war.  One moment, I rail against the unfairness of it all, then I feel nurtured and protected.  I am confused.  Are my unsettled feelings created by the pregnancy or a sign of what is really happening in the world?

    Time will tell.  I shall sit in my attic chamber spinning wool for baby things and hope for a quick resolution.

    I dearly hope this baby is a boy.  He would bring such delight to Nathaniel and brighten our world as storm clouds seem to be gathering.