Yankee Determinism

The old man had lived there, on that plot of farm land, all his life. His parents before that, and on back to the days not but a few generations beyond the original Bay Colony. Well, there'd been the years when "duty-to-save-some-foreign-nation called" and he and the family's men before him had gone off to get shot at and shot up for good old Uncle Sam.

To say this official "common wealth" land confiscation was a kick in the teeth, after all that, was an understatement. Its date was hand printed larger, even more neatly, than the rest of it. Oh, and it was highlighted orange. No missing it. And less than three weeks away…

But seeing those words in black and white merely added a splash of fuel to a fire that had been kindled in his soul who-knows-how-many "election cycles" ago.

He worried most about the two older kids. If the spark of hard-won Liberty was to survive, it wouldn't be in their travel rucksacks. Nope. It'd have to be the youngest, little Eliza. But performing well in peacetime training, the old man knew, was far different than feeling the pressure of "the day." She knew some of her stuff, but was it enough to keep her safe?

He'd known deep down this day would come. Had hoped, though, he'd been six-feet-under and very cold by then.