The Price of Loyalty

Genre: Historical Fiction

Copyright © 2025 by Glen Munro
All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review or scholarly purposes.

This is a work of historical fiction. While grounded in real events and settings, certain characters, names, dialogue, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously for narrative purposes.

For permission requests, questions, or licensing inquiries, please contact:
Glen Munro
publisher@glenmunro.ca

First published in Canada.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication data available upon request.

This title is available in paperback from Amazon

---

Chapter 1

The Price of Loyalty

The moon cast long shadows across the fields. Frost crunched underfoot as twenty-five-year-old Abigail, her breath clouding the air, hurried young Thomas through the darkness. Behind them, the farmhouse, once a comforting presence, now loomed against the horizon, a silent silhouette.

They were running, fleeing in the heart of the night, leaving behind everything familiar. Their crime? Loyalty to the Crown in a land ablaze with rebellion. The American Revolution, a distant storm that had raged for years, had finally reached their doorstep, turning neighbour against neighbour, friend against friend.

A network of safe houses whispered words and coded messages guiding their flight. Each night, a different hiding place with a new set of risks and fresh waves of fear threatening to overwhelm them. Thomas, bless his brave heart, clung to Abigail with a tenacity that belied his age. He asked few questions, his trust in his mother as unwavering as the North Star.

Finally, after weeks of careful movements and near captures, they reached the coast. The sight of the ship, its masts stark against the pre-dawn sky, filled Abigail with a mix of trepidation and hope. It was a ramshackle vessel, overcrowded and stinking of tar and desperation, but it was their only escape.

The journey was a nightmare. The Bay of Fundy, notorious for its treacherous currents and unpredictable weather, lived up to its reputation. The wind howled, the waves a raging frenzy. The small ship, groaning under the weight of its human cargo, pitched and rolled violently, threatening to capsize at any moment.

Abigail, seasick and terrified, clung to Thomas, her knuckles bone white. The poor lad, his face pale and streaked with tears, buried his head in her skirts. "Mama, are we going to die?" he whimpered, his voice barely audible above the storm.

Abigail forced a smile, though fear gnawed at her. "Of course not, my love," she lied. "We're just going on an adventure.”

But it was an adventure balanced on a knife's edge. Storms raged, food dwindled, and disease swept through the crowded ship. Abigail, drawing on a strength she never knew she had, nursed the sick, comforted the dying, and kept a watchful eye on her son.

Finally, after an eternity at sea, the shores of their new world emerged from the mist, a dark wall of forest. It was a far cry from the gentle hills of their farm, but it was sanctuary, a refuge, a new beginning.

They landed in Parrtown, a chaotic mess of ships, tents, and people, all speaking in a bewildering array of accents. Abigail soon learned they were among tens of thousands who had fled to the region, seeking refuge from the victorious rebels.

The Crown had promised them land and provisions, but the reality was harsh. Resources were scarce, the land unforgiving, and the winters brutal. But the Loyalists, forged in the fires of adversity, were nothing if not resilient. They set to work clearing the land, building shelters, and planting crops. Slowly, painfully, a community began to emerge from the wilderness.

Abigail and the other women worked tirelessly, tending to the sick, teaching the children, and keeping spirits up. The men laboured from dawn till dusk, hunting, fishing, and building. It was a hard life, but they were determined to make the best of it.

One evening, huddled around a campfire, Abigail listened to the stories of her fellow exiles. There was the former soldier, his voice thick with emotion as he spoke of the battles he had fought and the friends he had lost. There was the merchant, his face etched with worry as he lamented the business he had been forced to abandon. And there was the young mother, her eyes filled with a desperate hope as she spoke of her dreams for her children's future.

As Abigail gazed at the faces illuminated by the firelight, she saw a reflection of her own journey – the loss, the fear, the uncertainty. But she also saw a glimmer of hope, a shared determination in their eyes. They were survivors.

---

Chapter 2

A Scrap of Hope

The wind howled through Parrtown like a butcher's blade, piling snow high against the rough-hewn cabins. Inside their drafty dwelling, Abigail and young Thomas huddled for warmth, their breaths misting in the frigid air. The fire in the hearth, their only defence against the cold, sputtered and threatened to die.

"Mama," Thomas whimpered, his small voice barely audible above the wind's howl, "I'm hungry.”

Abigail's heart ached. The meagre rations they had received were long gone, and the promised supply ship was nowhere in sight. She forced a smile, hoping to mask the fear gnawing at her. "I know, sweetheart," she whispered, "Mama's hungry too. But we'll be alright.

"Don't you worry," Abigail reassured him, though a shiver of doubt ran down her spine. Could they really make it through this brutal winter in this unforgiving place? Abigail, raised on a cozy farm, knew a thing or two about hard work, but this was a whole different beast. This was a fight for survival,