Rebecka’s Birth of a Soldier

By Kim M Grubb

Rebecka’s tragic life begins in seventeenth century colonial New England.

The settlers struggle to establish villages throughout the beautiful landscapes of the newly discovered world. Pressures to survive and thrive in this environment are overwhelming. This was a time when it was dangerous to be born a girl.

Will Rebecka survive both childbearing and the oppressive society rules? Superstitious fears are the cause of many societal mistakes as Rebecka struggles with the implausible loss of many friends and family members.

Spirituality factors into this haunting story, which is intermingled with religion.

Rebecka’s Birth of a Soldier is a thought-provoking memoir of one woman’s struggle for justice and equality hundreds of years before woman had neither.

This book is based on the life of the author’s ancestor, but it is a work of fiction. The details in this story are the imagination of the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Oct 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684711284

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Grubb

Copyright © 2019 Kim M Grubb.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

ISBN: 978-1-6847-1129-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6847-1128-4 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date:   10/07/2019

INTRODUCTION

IT’S A COOL AUTUMN NIGHT. A small group of teenage girls are gathered outside. A campfire is smoldering as the leader adds another small piece of seasoned maple wood to the fire. The rebellious meeting will soon commence. Their parents do not know they are meeting in the night. No one could have ever guessed what these meetings would lead to.

The leader wants the fire to continue because she has an idea to share with the others. She knows that she could do her plan alone, but it would be better if she had helpers. She isn’t exactly a bad person, but she is not a good person either. She gets more rewards when she misbehaves. She knows that some of the girls at this campfire are only here because they are afraid of her and she is happy about that. It has been so easy to get them to follow her. She has carefully chosen these specific girls because she noticed how they are desperate to have a friend and they have so few natural talents of their own. It only took a few simple compliments before they willingly did as she instructed.

Everyone is quiet as they wait for her to start whispering. The group must be careful to make little sound because they are in the back yard of the minister’s house. They choose this location because they know he is a single man who goes to bed early. This is the most secret place in the village.

The minister knows them all because he sees them weekly at his sermons. He knows which families they belong to. He has seen them standing together outside the front doors of his makeshift church. They understand that if he finds them near his home in the night that he might tell their parents, but they have a feeling he would just as well keep the secret. It would be better for him if he did.

A shadow moves near a dark window and they all freeze. Was it the minister watching them? They begin whispering to each other that they think it is so.

It’s not him. Stop making up stories. It’s just a cloud moving past the moon. The leader scolds the group. Part of her wishes it was him. After all, he is a handsome man.

The problem is that it is likely this meeting will never begin if they get frightened and run off back to their houses. Everyone gets frightened so easily these days. It can be difficult to keep the group focused.

CHAPTER 1

Massachusetts

I CAN HEAR THE CHURCH bells even while walking a mile away from the village. I am walking through the woods on an old cart road traveling south towards Boston. The bell ringing is sharp and distinctly civilized. These tolls are the only thing from this village allowed to be loud and powerful. I shiver at the combination of that sound and the cold wind sweeping past me. I am not supposed to go walking this far by myself. Something could happen and no one would know if I needed help. Something within me always wants to walk alone.

It is not that life would be better in a big city like Boston. I just wonder what it would be like to live in a place where you do not know every person. My current home is a place where every detail is exaggerated. There are so few entertainments. I am struggling with the pressures of living in Lynne Village. Walking away from this place towards the unknown is my only comfort.

Lynne Village is in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. It is where I was born. There is breathtaking beauty here but also isolation. My family was not here in the very beginning when it was just raw land. It must have been difficult for the first settlers, to be part of a movement of people to create a new society. To them, before things got complicated, it must have seemed so possible to create a world better than the old. The strictly religious Puritans tried to control these new villages but already it is a strange mix of things.

My family is Protestant and came here for less noble reasons. Our social ties have been disconnected from our ancestor’s ambitiously aristocratic past. They had been defeated and defiled; it is possible to imagine them influencing us to begin again in a place where the rules might be different. We were not comfortable in Ireland, where the shores lurked near the injustices of England. Geography and the literal attempt to distance ourselves from the tragic past has granted us hope for success here, in Massachusetts.

Civilized people have been here for at least a generation and the accomplishments have been unexpected. The populations are growing as villages turn into towns, and towns turn into cities, but just not in the calm thoughtful ways envisioned by the first settlers. There are other things growing here too… struggle, strife, and superstitions.

The sky starts to darken, and I realize it’s time for me to turn around and get home. Walking to Boston was just a daydream anyways. I turn quickly while rolling my eyes and stomp back down the path I came from. If I make good time, maybe no one will notice I was ever gone. My white apron snags on a twig and I swat at it so it will release me.

Mother is in the kitchen with the smaller children teaching how to wash stockings. Even the smallest in our family have tasks to complete.

Life is hard work and the people in the old country will never understand how we do it. My mother explained as she tried to teach their small hands how to move over the washboard. I must teach you to work hard, always. This is my job. Work hard and love God. Do this and your souls will be thankful.

Our large family was different from the average New England residents. We have inherited a strict, unwritten code of ethics. When we work, we work harder than other families. When we play, we play more energetically. When we eat meals, we do it properly and respectfully, from the prayers to the manners. When a dispute erupts, we speak our minds and work tirelessly to right the wrong and most importantly, we operate as a team. We stick together and take care of each other. These traits are important. The lives of our ancestors have taught us many lessons.

My mother and father were born in England and Ireland respectively. Together they sailed to the new world with their families when they were young adults. They still remember the different life in the established towns in the old world. They told us it was not a place we should ever want to witness. Poverty stricken people clogged the streets all while grand carriage hauled pampered and polished people of privilege. My parents explained the clothes worn by elevated families and the excessive habits of the rich as my siblings and I stared with wide, wondering eyes. They said drunken beggars stagger the streets that are crowded and filthy. The loud banter continues nonstop even into the night. My youthful mind had some difficulty understanding the extremeness they describe. One thing was obvious, they preferred their children never to leave our new home and never return to the old. Based on their descriptions, I decided early in my life never to set foot on a ship.

There are things called playhouses where actors laugh out a comedy or tell a lewd story while dancing with painted faces. They do not act normally but to some it is enjoyable to watch. That is called theatrics. The people who work in theatrics are low born with ill repute. Their success in life depends on how well they can deceive. It is best never to do business with a person of that occupation. My mother warned while we worked together to fold clean dry bedding. Trying to understand it was perplexing and much like a mysterious dream. Our settlements would never have any of those excesses and extremes.

It’s difficult to understand how anyone could want to live there or have time to watch strange trivial stories when there was so much work to be done. I say.

They do not wash their clothes. They just live in filth. my mother replies.

What about the smell? That would make them sick. I say as I wonder if my mother’s dislike of the old world is causing her to exaggerate. Part of me just can’t believe it.

We must all remember how fortunate we are to live our lives here and remember it is all God’s plan. It is comforting to think about the great distance between us and the old world. My mother always wanted us to see the positive side of things. We plan for almost everything and there are difficult daily tasks that we have become contented to do. Our clothes are plain, and church is the top priority. Christianity is the cultivated grace that will form the foundations of a better society, or so we thought.

Even without the playhouses in England there are mysteries here too. We share stories of strange people living near our settlements. It is said that they have darkened skin, wild faces and natures, and they dart in and out of the woods like ghosts. We know little about them and can’t help to wonder if they might be evil. There is no way to gain evidence because they stay out of reach. There are stories of their violence, but I have noticed that our people can be violent too. Maybe we fear them because we do not speak their language. Maybe they fear us too.

My father believes the native peoples are being manipulated or maybe even employed by the French. There is no way to prove it unless one believes the rumors of wondering drunkards. They have reported seeing French troops moving quickly and quietly through the town of Salem. They believe the French are hiding in the woods to the northwest, building an army of natives. My grandfather disagrees and has forbidden the entire family to be associated with heresy born of a foul source. Regardless, the colony has formed armed militias to patrol and protect.

More mysteries exist in many of the larger towns. Settlers have taken to a way of life that seems very dangerous. They are lacking in any religion. They do as they please and their lives are reckless. Criminal behavior is abundant. The constables continuously fail to catch them due to the crowd sizes and overall collective chaos. Poverty and illness are rampant. Unholy superstitions are brewing, and stories have filtered into the smaller communities.

Part of the trouble comes from an uncertainty in government rule. Exactly what are the laws? If we are part of England than where are our leaders? Why is England not protecting us from the French and native threats? We have been governing ourselves for many decades already. Should we use the bible to administer the law or should we create our own set of rules?

Many people are for the creation of a new code while others are clinging to the power of the old-world elite. The struggle to understand who the law is and what the law is has caused some confusion. Into the void a chattering has begun as many individuals have tried to make their opinions known.

Confusion and superstitions are sovereign here and sometimes it doesn’t feel safe. This dangerous, beautiful place is all I know, and I hope to remain here forever. I understand that it is a difficult way to live but I feel like I belong here; this is my place in the world, and it suits my cautiously curious personality.

The small community I was born in is considered rural. We practice our religion away from the squabbling and corrupt traditions of the other ways. We are located a day’s journey west of Salem, Massachusetts. We are optimistic that here will be a beginning of a favorable society far away from and unlike the entrenched places that our ancestors have escaped.

The American Colonies are growing, and it is likely that the established towns will one day become fashionable. The climate in the south is very good compared to the old world. Building a new field is difficult work but after it is established, farming is easier here. Warm gentle winds are common on sunny cloudless days. Rain and sun come abundantly enough to allow vegetable crops to grow larger than we thought possible. The warmer climate in the south allows for the growth of exotic crops of fruits and tobacco. There is wild game to be caught in wooded lands that seem immensely far reaching. There are no other established communities besides the wandering natives who prefer to move inland.

The northern land is so beautiful that it is to be adored. The air is fresh and clean with the abundant scent of pine trees. Climb a hill and look out over a mountain to one side and an ocean to the other. The hills are covered with trees and the waters are teaming with fish. The rivers are so crisp and clear that they seem to be giving a blessing as the water trickles by. Even if the people are not, the lands are pristine. Did we expect that these lands would cleanse us?

I am Rebecka Preston and I was born in the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1670. I died in the same place in 1711. Other women of my time would say that my life, excluding my death, was easy and privileged. I married twice and had many children of which four survived. I never had the honor to own land or even to wear a colorful dress. I never had the opportunity to attend an organized school. Women were not allowed to work in government or leadership positions. Women must always follow the orders of their husbands or male family members. Abuse,