Defiance Under Fire

The story of Sarah Tarrant is more than simply a tale of a single woman’s defiant act that almost began the American Revolution almost three months early, it is the story of the spirit of independence that inspired patriots from one end of the continent to another.  From slaves to the richest men in the colonies, from young southern lads to Yankee ladies.  Sarah Tarrant spoke what so many felt when she boldly challenged the British regulars.

On the 26th of February, just over eighty days before the fateful shots on Lexington Green “changed the instruments of warfare from the pen to the sword” as future President John Adams put it, a tempest was blowing in the bitter cold winter winds of Salem, Massachusetts.  General Thomas Gage, the conflicted British Commander in Chief in the colonies had received word that a munition store, not unlike those in Concord that he dispatched his ill-fated troops to seize on April 19th, was in the town of Salem.  Fortunately for it’s inhabitants the cool and steady leadership of Lieutenant Colonel Leslie at the command of this expedition prevented any bloodshed, but just narrowly.

After being delayed for nearly two hours by residents, who had roused themselves out of their houses of worship to defend their homeland on this chilly Sunday the patient Alexander Leslie had finally been allowed to cross a necessary drawbridge by the obstinate patriots (whose brethren had also scuttled and hid all ferries and other means of crossing) on the opposite shore where he desired to search for the arms and munitions, and a couple of rumored canons.  With that contrived delay, naturally the militia’s stores had been secured in a new location, and with Leslie’s consent that he would harm no property and only go 500 yards from the opposite side of the bridge before turning about and going to Boston, the locals had little worry that Leslie would do any harm.  So amid taunts and derogatory nicknames the Lieutenant Colonel and his men conducted his now pointless search and prepared to head back across the bridge in shivering dejection.

That is where the saucy Sarah Tarrant comes in.  From an upper story window this plucky nurses’ pink face showed itself, with a boldness and audacity that was a little much for one of the regulars, especially when taunted with such invectives by a member of the fairer sex, which few seemed to believe had the right to speak up on weighty matters, and none in public settings to be sure.

“Go home and tell your master he sent you on a fool’s errand” she goaded them before launching into upbraiding them for breaking the solemnity of their Sunday meetings “and has broken the peace of our Sabbath. Do you think we were born in the woods, to be frightened of owls?” One equally hot-tempered British soldier wished to answer her fiery tongue with his firestick and leveled his musket at her as she challenged him from the upstairs window.  Sarah’s defiant response still imbues the reader with a sense of boldness over two hundred and forty years after  “Fire, if you have the courage, but I doubt it.”

Sarah lived in Salem Massachusetts and from her brief interview with the British on that frigid February day, we can surmise she was a woman of faith.  One who was not going to sit by and watch her day of worship be desecrated by loud martial displays intended to frighten the populace into cowering before the most successful fighting force then treading the earth.  She publicly despised the might and power of the British Empire, while simultaneously defying the norms of her day, where women’s opinions were not to be stated outside of their homes, private circles, and correspondence.  A public display of patriotism by a female, would have been shuddered at a handful of years before, but women had been aiding in the boycotts and non-importation agreements, right alongside the men.  The desperation of the times had eased the restraints on the gentler sex in some cases, such as Sarah’s. The patriot fathers understood that the support of both sexes was crucial to success. Charles Gadsden, the man behind the ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ flag that still flies in defiance of oppressive government to this day, confessed that without the women, the embargo against the British would never work.  The men needed the cooperation of their women-folk.  The idea of a woman expressing the fervor of nationalism and a defiant attitude towards corruption was less appalling to the senses of the countryside already in turmoil, at least for the patriot colonist, the British clearly had a difficult time stomaching her heated speech.  Her opposition summed up the grievances and determination of so many patriots of every race, sex, and creed.  They would not see their Sabbath desecrated nor would they be bullied by the long strong-arm of the British Crown. They, their tea, their troops and the whole line of Tories from Amity to St Augustine could leave or be forced to leave, their sacred rights would not be infringed upon an inch without a fight.

Some of Sarah’s language seems foreign to us today in some aspect, ‘what’s all this business about owls and woods?’ could plausibly be a thought you had upon reading her words.  Fortunately, I found an explanation for it to save you the effort of googling it yourself.  And the meaning is possibly the most defiant part of Sarah Tarrant’s challenge, even more than the daring a man with a loaded gun and the government authority backing him to fire at you. “Do you think we were born in the woods to be frightened by owls?” was a common phrase employed to express your fearless regard towards something.  It was the same as to say, I’m accustomed to dangers, and you, wind-burnt redcoat, are nothing compared to what I’ve already been through.  Pause a moment and think of the woods of the time.  The “backcountry” as it was called, or the wilderness.  The “woods” of those days weren’t the nice places you go for a summer hike in.  The woods still had bears and other hazardous wildlife which might try you for lunch.  There was also still the clear and present threat of coming across hostile natives.  The “woods” were full of dangers, surviving minus the Indians and the carnivorous wildlife was hard enough.  Away from cities you had to rely on yourself or die for lack of food.  Now picture all of those perils, and how much effect on you is the hoot of a screech owl in the night going to have on you? You’re more worried about the things you can’t hear, like the soft-tread of moccasins or the slither of an unseen poisonous snake or the loud approaches and primal growls of the bear and the wolf.  An owl is not going to phase you in the woods of colonial America, and a British military display is not going to frighten you when you know you have the moral high-ground.

Little is known of Sarah Tarrant, except for her actions that day which nearly sparked the patriots to arms as Lexington was destined to do, but much can be learned from her.  Defying social customs for a good cause, not arbitrarily for attention, but for the benefit of all, has a definite place in the range of what is proper for a woman, because it transcends your sex and speaks to you as a human who is not about to see things sacred and dear be tarnished by tyranny. To be bold as brass staring down a bayonet backed by the mightiest power on the earth is something in this day of ever-increasing government interference that ought to be remembered.  It seems reasonable, that were Sarah Tarrant walking the streets of twenty-first century America in addition to her cell phone and a packet of disinfectant wipes (can you imagine how thrilled nurses of yesteryear would be about Lysol?) she would probably be packing heat to go with it.  So remember the saucy nurse of Salem who nearly started the Revolution.  She’s a hero worth holding up to the young women in our lives as something to strive to be, the spirit and strength of a real woman, something that is fastly fading in the modern era’s obsession with victimhood and passivity.  Remember the defiant folk of Salem and Sarah Tarrant (also you could remember the Alamo, and that’d make my little Texas heart glow with joy too!)

Love

&

God Bless

Austen Lea

You can connect with Austen at riversdontbreak.wordpress.com and on facebook https://www.facebook.com/AirForceBabeDanvers/?ref=bookmarks.

Hello fellow readers and writers. What a joy to be here today and share a bit of my heart.

I hear you talk a lot about defiance on this corner of the blogosphere, and when I think defiance, I think standing against what’s wrong (a visual being putting on the armor of God), and shoving God’s goodness in the face of brokenness.

With that in mind, I want to make two short connections. First, let me encourage your heart with thoughts on Isaiah 61:7.

The words of the Lord: “Instead of their shame my people will receive a double portion, and instead of disgrace they will rejoice in their inheritance; and so they will inherit a double portion in their land, and everlasting joy will be theirs.”

This is why I love the prophets. This hope. This spoken truth: the shame that is universally experienced in the curse of our sinful nature is promised to be taken away in Christ. More so (there is always a more so, isn’t there? A beyond-our-expectations goodness that God pours out on us), we are promised a double portion.

To fully understand the depth of this radical promise, take a moment and dwell on an area of shame in your life . . . we all have those areas. A weight of shame sinks deep and carries the lie that what was done to us or by us has so dirtied us that we have lost worthiness.

Now consider Jesus, stretching his arms wide and publicly enduring the humiliation of the cross, bearing the crushing weight of my sin, your sin, the world’s sin, and then throwing off the chains of death and rising from the grave. That’s grace. That’s salvation. That’s defiance of death and sin.

And that’s enough for us, isn’t it? To be snatched from hell’s jaws and promised eternal life in heaven?

That’s not enough, God says. He goes beyond what’s enough to what is abundant. He offers restoration of brokenness. Plenty where there is lack. Joy where there was sorrow. And worthiness where there is shame. This is the double portion. This is scandalous grace.

This is an in-your-face defiance of the enemy of our souls. Not only does God redeem us by crushing the serpent’s head. He blesses us with every spiritual blessing through Christ so that “those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame” (Psalm 34:5).

We have a defiant God. A Father that seeks to not only stand down evil, but fully rebel against the effects of sin in this world—His created world.

What does Isaiah 61:7 mean for me as a storyteller? It means every story I tell has a portion of shame and an aspect of redemption. Every story sets forth the battle that we live every day between flesh and Spirit, between lies and Truth.

In my upcoming release, Such a Hope, this shame/redemption dance takes place on the heart of a hero who’s turned his back on the God he believes let him down. If you want to know what defiance looks like in an unredeemed, worldly way, you need only look to Tristan, the hardhearted one, the one who’s rebelled against hope.

For a godly image of defiance, I present to you Anna, the tenderhearted heroine with the gift of healing. Despite being questioned and held in suspicion by her community, she refuses to back down from her faith in the God that heals. But it’s not without fear, for she’s not your usual stubborn, bold heroine.

Here’s a glimpse of the cover and a blurb:

Anna Warren grew up on the seat of a wagon, the daughter of Seattle’s busiest freighter. After her father’s death—a tragedy away from home—she returns to their cabin on the outskirts of Seattle, seeking the sense of belonging that eluded her childhood. But will her desire to pray for miraculous healing for the sick and wounded endear or alienate her to the community? Her most aggravating challenger is also her staunchest defender and has brown hair and eyes, stands six feet tall, and farms with unchecked tenacity. Tristan Porter. This farmer her father had befriended holds more secrets than Yesler’s Mill holds logs.

When ugly rumors arise about her spiritual gift and her property, Anna fears her quest to find belonging will be thwarted.

Tristan holds the truth to set her free, but revealing it will require him to face the disappointments of his past and surrender his plans for the future—a sacrifice he’s not sure he can make.

I want to invite you along on a journey of storytelling—and storylistening—with me. My desire is to not only tell stories that entertain but that nourish the soul. Let’s draw closer to Jesus together. I look forward to meeting you along the journey.

Ways to connect with Sondra:

A big thank you to Robin E. Mason for joining us today. She has an interview to share with us from the lead character in her newly released book Cissy. Find out more about the Unsavory Heritage series and all about Cissy!

rem: Good afternoon, Cissy. Welcome.

Cissy: Good afternoon, Robin. I’m so delighted to be here. [hugs me]

rem:  You’re wearing the same dress Clara wore yesterday. Did you plan that?

Cissy: No, but we do think alike. [winks] It is my favorite, you know.

rem:  Yes, I remember that. Cissy, you are one of the most gifted people I know.

Cissy: Thank you. [smiles]

rem:  And you’re talented in so many things. What’s your favorite?

Cissy: Oh dear! Robin, I could no more choose a favorite thing to do than, as you say, choose a favorite of your children.

rem: [laughs] I get that.

Cissy:  It depends on my mood, really. Some days, I pick up my pen and write poems, some days, I draw or paint—

rem:  Do you feel a different mood for drawing versus painting?

Cissy:  That goes more to what I’m painting or drawing, or the mood I’m trying to capture. But  yes,  I reckon it has a good deal to do with my mood, as well.

rem: You wrote a lot of poems. Did you have a favorite one that you read?

Cissy:   Easily Be Thou My Vision. It’s a Gaelic prayer.

rem: I know. It’s my favorite, too. [winks] What about your music?

Cissy:  There’s not a day I don’t enjoy playing the piano.

rem: What’s your favorite thing to play?

Cissy: Sonatinas.  Muzio Clementi composed sonata and sonatinas—he was the “Father of the Piano,” you know?

rem: I did not. Clementi is a favorite of mine as well.

Cissy: You play?

rem: I have. Not in many years, though. Cissy, besides your remarkable abilities, you were quite intuitive. Beyond your years.

Cissy: I just understand things without anyone explaining them, I always did. It’s hard to explain—for instance, I knew that Clara wasn’t like that. It was puzzling to me sometimes, when we were still small.

rem: Can you give us an example?

Cissy: When Mama and Papa would speak of Scriptures. Of an evening, after Clara and I were abed. I didn’t fall to sleep right away—in fact, most nights I didn’t sleep until after Mama and Papa were abed. I would creep down the stairs—I wasn’t spying mind you—and I’d sit and listen to them, to the rhythm of God’s Word.  I could have answered—I knew the answers to their questions.

rem: Tell us about the day your Uncle Clem came home. You had never met him before that day, had you?

Cissy: No ma’am, I surely hadn’t. I knew who he was, though.  Not just on account of him being in uniform. Any old soldier could have come by our house. I heard folk at church talking about how soldiers would come to their door, begging for bread—or ale.

rem: But you invited Clem in and made him coffee.

Cissy: He hadn’t had real coffee in so long. And I wanted to talk with him.

rem: You sure surprised him.

Cissy: [shrugs] I remember how awful he smelled. I was never so glad as when Aunt Abby helped him with a bath. [laughs]

rem: Cissy, things changed for you when you were still so young.

Cissy: Mrs. Whalin. Although it really wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know any better. She just said what she believed.

Cissy:  Oh, I remember that. I did love Mama’s lavender bath powder.

rem: She was a very sad woman.

Cissy:  You’re right, Robin, she was.

rem: But her words that day—

Cissy: —I didn’t stop to think about it. In my heart I knew better.

rem: You fought against it.

Cissy: Much later, yes, I did. But it was too late…

rem:  It’s never too late, Cissy.

Cissy: [stares] Dulci—I mean, Dorothea told me that.

rem: There was so much to your story, more than the book could begin to encompass. What was the hardest thing for you?

Cissy:  Being apart from Clara. I felt I was split in two, and a part of me hated her. I couldn’t bear that, so I stayed away.

rem: Cissy what a sad note.

[pause]

rem: You left your paintings and poems as a message, correct?

Cissy: That’s right.

rem: Were they for Clara?

Cissy: I hoped she would find them, yes, and understand. But I didn’t really believe she ever would. Although, she surprised me when she came to me that day.

rem:   It gave us all such hope for you.

Cissy: Me too, Robin. Me too.

rem: Cissy, I think we should end here before we give too much of your story away.

Cissy: [laughs] I imagine you’re right. It’s been a pleasure talking with you today, Robin. Thank you for inviting me.

rem: Cissy, it’s always a pleasure to chat with you. You’ll always be in my heart—and my head.

Cissy: Thank you for telling my story. You did a mighty fine job. [hugs me again]

I once said I should write down all the story ideas in my head so someone could write them someday. I had no idea at the time that someone was me!

I have been writing since 1995, and began working in earnest on my debut novel, Tessa in 2013.  Meanwhile, I cranked out a few dozen poems, made countless notes for story ideas, and earned my BFA in Interior Design.  I lived with depression for many years, and the inherent feelings of worthlessness and invisibility; I didn’t want to be who I was and struggled with my own identity for many years.  My characters face many of these same demons.

I write stories of identity conflict. My characters encounter situations that force the question, “Who am I, really?” For all who have ever wondered who you are or why you’re here, my stories will touch you in a very real—maybe too real—and a very deep way. I know, I write from experience.

The unsavory heritage series. Tessa, Clara Bess and Cissy, is available on Amazon, both for Kindle and in print. I also have several poems included in an anthology, Where Dreams and Visions Live (Anthologies of the Heart Book 1) by Mary Blowersas well as a short story, Sarafina’s Light, also in an anthology, Blood Moon, compiled by Mary Blowers. I will also be working on a personal compilation of poetry to be released in 2017.

http://www.robinemason.com

http://robinsnest212.wordpress.com/

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Robin-E-Mason-Author-Artist/224223274404877

http://www.amazon.com/Robin-E.-Mason/e/B00MR5IQ9S

https://twitter.com/amythyst212

http://www.pinterest.com/amythyst212/

https://plus.google.com/u/0/108929134414473292325

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7808042.Robin_E_Mason

robinemason212@gmail.com

https://writingpromptsthoughtsideas.wordpress.com/

BLURB and AUTHOR’S NOTE

Evil words. Words that should never have been spoken. Words that she should not have heard.

But she did. And she believed them.

Everything changed when Cissy heard those words that day. She was five.

What torment is wrought when wicked words are spoken? Can Cissy’s ravaged life be redeemed? Or will she wreak havoc on all who love her?

Can the lie be undone? Is there a word powerful enough to break the curse and undo the unsavory heritage?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Cissy is not easy reading. She faces evil and succumbs to it. She is seduced at a young age, and learns to wield her body to manipulate and wound those most dear to her. There are no graphic scenes, but neither do my scenes merely allude to what is happening.

Cissy is the dark and gritty, high-tension climax to the Unsavory Heritage series.