Journal of Margaret-Holly Adkins, 1776

(COMPLETED) What would it have been like to be a girl growing up in Colonial America, in 1776? Learn about the life of Margaret-Holly Adkins through her inspiring journal entries. Read along as she deals with her friends and family life, as well as the struggle of being a proper young lady of her time, and fitting in with society's borders. Yellow for death and disease.

*I am not a historian, this isn't non-fiction. Facts may be bended for storytelling purposes. Please self-asses yourself before reading. There are some parts and references of death and disease. Happy Reading!


19. January 19th, 1776

Father was up all night, and apparently he was having trouble breathing. Mother sent George on his horse to the doctor who came back with him. The doctor stumbled in and Alexander who was also awake began to cry, which woke the rest of the family up.


Frantically, we all ran around the house in our bedclothes, which must have been quite the sight. When the break of tending to Father and Alexander, plus grabbing supplies for the doctor had slowed, I opened the door quietly to Father’s room.


It was a cold, quiet serenity, surprisingly, totally unlike the rest of the house. I had never seen Mother cry before, but she was sobbing, tears pouring out of her eyes. She was sitting in an armchair by his bed. The room was dark, except for a small candle in the corner where they sat. The doctor had left the room before and was currently in the kitchen. They didn’t see me from behind the corner, peering into the room.


In between tears, Mother began to whisper to Father. She slowly got off of the chair and sat on the bed, next to father. She laid down a bit turned on her side so they were looking directly at each other. I could feel the longing of the silence in the room. Longing for health. Longing for a better life. Longing for hope. It was weighing.


Mother leaned in closer to Father. She wrapped her arms around him in a sort of distorted hug and her sobs turned to silent cries. And she kissed him. Twice. Three times. Four.


At this point I was standing from far behind Father. I could see Mother’s shut eyes still leaking tears. She drew back and I could see the rush of emotions; sad, angry, afraid. They were all there in her deep brown eyes, the same ones all my siblings and I had.


One look at those eyes and I could tell exactly what was going on in her head. She was thinking of the time she met Father, and when she had me and all of my siblings. And when she had just kissed him she realized this just might be it.


If Father were to die, there would be no way to get him back. No way at all. He would be gone forever. The weight in the air finally crushed her I guess, at last. And she frantically ran out the door at the other end of the room, her skirts and silky brown hair following after her.

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