The Immortal American (The Immortal American Series) (35 page)

“Then I have to find my husband in all this mess, and we will all go to Boston then to India.”

“I think your husband will wish to stay with his militia until he is no longer needed.”

Lord, I’d almost forgotten about this God forsaken day. There were dead men in Lexington. Isaac was dead. Many other colonists were dead. Dead redcoats too.

The lobsterbacks were waiting for their orders in the Concord Commons from some plump colonel who couldn’t make up his mind about what he should do. That much had been relayed to me. My husband was to wait with other militiamen in the copse that surrounded Concord, watching to see what the redcoats would do.

I looked at Jacque, the man who had all the answers. “What is the militia going to do once the redcoats leave?”

His jaw line bulged. “Do you know Meriam’s Corner?”

I nodded once, recalling the lush meadow land that encompassed the Meriam house that was more than a century old and stood only a few miles from Concord. It was called Meriam’s Corner, instead of homestead or home, because the Lexington Highway ran in front of it at a sharp corner to compensate for the crossroads that ran to its west, Bedford Road. The meadow would, by now, have a vast array of wild flowers there this time of year, mostly yellow buttercups. Lord, how could I think upon flowers at a time like this?

“The militia intends to send a message to the British soldiers and their General Gage, perhaps all the world,” Jacque said. “They intend to fire once the British army is on Meriam’s Bridge.”

Meriam’s Bridge was small and made room for only one wagon to pass at a time. I visualized the militia waiting for the redcoats to pass over the bridge, effectively bottlenecking the Regulars, becoming better targets for the ever increasing Massachusetts’ militias.

It would be a slaughter.

I stood and turned, looking through the forest, searching for Mathew through the thick trees. “Why? Why are they doing this?”

“Reciprocity, Violet.”

I looked down at Jacque. He seemed shrunken from our conversation. He had been hoping for a helpmate, and found obstinate me. My heart pinched, but that was all the feeling I would give him at the moment. I should hate him. Hate him for doing this to me, but I would hate him later. I had to find my husband.

“I have to get Mathew—”

“Violet, he’s a gentleman. He won’t leave his militia. He gave his oath he wouldn’t.”

I had tried to seduce Mathew from joining his militia this morning, but not even that had slowed him down to join his men. All right, suffice to say he was distracted and took his time when I needed him to, but after we were done, he left me for this battle. The only reason he would ever leave this cause was if I were in danger. Seeing as how I could now heal my own broken, gun punctured heart, there was no way I could be in any real peril. Ever again, for that matter. I could try to fake that I was threatened somehow, but I wasn’t the playactor that my sister was. I’d probably just admit my lie to Mathew anyway, which would make him, more than likely, cross with me for trying to take him away from a noble battle.

“It is why I decided to come and protect him, Violet,” Jacque said. “I knew he would stay to fight.”

My heart sank. Damn Mathew’s virtues.

Then I remembered that being a militiaman, Mathew could possibly face criminal charges if he left while he was still needed. I sighed.

I had already decided to protect my husband, to protect my future. But what kind of future did I have now? I could hardly understand that I had just been killed twice by Jacque, and that was really starting to irritate me, but how could I tell Mathew about my condition, especially since I had become . . . a not dying person because I had spent a chaste yet lustful night with Jacque? How could I explain my disloyalty? How could I explain that I might not be able to have our children?

No, no, I had to have Mathew’s children. I dreamt of our babies—they had his blond hair and my streak of stubbornness. I would find a way to tell him about whatever was wrong with me, but then tell him I’d make it right. I was his wife, and I loved him, and I loved our future children, our future.

There was nothing that was going to stand in my way of my expectations.

The major disadvantage to a rifled musket, or long rifle, like the one I was carrying, was in its reloading time: It would take up to a full minute, sometimes more, to cool the rifle enough to reload. Also, the gunpowder itself could foul up the barrel, making accuracy a distant dream. The Kentucky rifle often needed a good cleaning after so many shots, which was not conducive for battle; hunting, yes, but definitely not for warfare.

I would need a pistol too, as my weapon that I could use while the long rifle cooled or needed a cleaning, I reasoned. I had Colonel Devlin’s sidearm, but that was more than a mile away at my house. And since no one knew if the fat colonel would leave Concord any time soon, I wasn’t sure I could leave my Mathew unattended, even if Jacque had promised to watch over him. Actually, especially because Jacque had promised to watch over my beloved.

There was only one course for my dilemma: I would have to pilfer a pistol. As fate would have it, a few hundred soldiers, men who were often with weapons, were lying ‘round the Concord Commons eating their midday meal.

I made sure Jacque was occupied, then ventured off to perform my first act of thievery.

It was difficult navigating around all the militia soldiers. Luckily, I seemed to be at my best for that moment and managed to maneuver in and out of the crowd of men at record speed. Further helping me was my father’s large brimmed hat and my husband’s now muddy black overcoat. Thank God for black. It hid the specks of blood from being shot by Jacque. By God, I just might shoot him myself after today, even if it was childish of me, but I thought Jacque owed me at least one death to my two.

I stopped in my tracks at that last thought. Cocking my head to the side, I wondered if I had just imagined my deaths. Imagined Jacque too?

Pulling my husband’s coat from my neck, I peered down. My men’s white linen shirt was no more but red and pink shreds; the beautiful light blue corset under had a large hole over my heart and blood splattered over the whole of my chest.

Looking up, I gulped down the need to scream, but instead made tight fists. I nodded to myself. I had somehow died twice yet still lived. Once more I glanced under Mathew’s coat, caught sight of the wreckage, then decided to continue on with my plans. I couldn’t solve my bizarre problems while staring at my now bruised skin, after all.

I approached the Commons by way of scraping my thin body on the sides of houses so as not to be detected. It was the first time I thanked God for my body.

I could make out the Commons easily enough from where I stood, leaning against the Brown’s home. Astonishing me, I spied the Regular soldiers acting kind almost to the point of scrupulous to my fellow Concordian women, as the women served them water and loaves of bread and stew. A few companies were in the very beginning of making their formation to march back to Boston, but most of the Regulars sat in crowds, eating in a hurry.

I needed one man who had unpacked his arms, and for him to be alone or nearly alone, so I could steal his pistols. Pistols were usually something afforded to officers, so I began my search for a high ranking soldier.

Found him! He was a lieutenant who was angrily talking with his fellow officers, his back turned against his pistols, a sword, a powder horn, and a cartridge bag. All his arms were unattended, and, glory be, he had a shred of bread neatly packed beside one of his pistols. Oh, thank heavens, for I was hungry too.

A herd of sheep provided me coverage while I crept toward the arms and bread. They bayed happily, as they were quite pleased with the crawling woman who let them munch on her hat and hair. I let them nibble on me as much as they wanted, as they encircled me, protecting me from sight.

Then, shocking me almost into a scream, the angry lieutenant plopped down near his arms and bread. He was looking away from his provisions, but still he was less than two feet from them, and I was less than two feet from him.

Help me. Help me, please
, I prayed . . . I don’t know to whom. The sheep? They got me that much closer to my prey, but should I really filch from a man who might notice me? As I listed off reasons to run away, the lieutenant’s head suddenly jerked upright, and I saw the granddaughter of Colonel Barrett, Melicent, walking toward us. She was fifteen, and very much her grandfather’s granddaughter in her self-determination and self-reliance. She approached the young lieutenant with a large pot of water and drinking spoon. Melicent looked down at the Regular soldier as if he were a bug she would like to squish under her boot.

“Water?” she asked with disdain clearly marked in her dark eyes.

“Ah, thank you, miss,” said the man, not noticing how Melicent stared at him as if he were the devil himself.

Seizing the opportunity, I inched forward with the sheep protecting me from the lieutenant’s view, but not Melicent’s. She saw me immediately, but darted her eyes back down at the man close to her feet. She bit her bottom lip, while her dark eyebrows lowered.

The lieutenant took a few sips, then after saying thanks again, leaned back, very close to his stash of arms, and very close to my outstretched hand.

“Take more,” Melicent hollered.

The soldier stopped his descent and stiffened his back. “No, no, thank you. I shouldn’t take more than any of my men.”

Melicent glanced at me, then back down to the man, then bellowed, “I like you. Very much. I like a man who shares.”

That halted him instantly.

If it had been any other day, any other circumstances, I would have laughed until I was rolling around on the ground at Melicent’s loud and forward behavior. But I needed the man’s gun to try to shoot his fellow soldiers. Sobering thought, that.

The lieutenant slowly rose to his feet, looking down at Melicent. She tried not to recoil or cringe as I stole his bread and pistol then rushed away. Yet I could hear him say, “When this is all sorted out, I could call on you, if you’d like? I must confess . . . I like a bold woman.”

I don’t know how she answered as I ran so fast I could only hear the drum-like beat of my heart and wondered if my feet ever touched the ground. The sun popped out again from the clouds and was at its highest peak above my head—noon—when I heard in the distance the Regular fifers began to play for the soldiers to get into formation. I kept running to Meriam’s Corner. Even while holding my very long rifle, more balls and powder for my new-to-me pistol all tucked into my belt, I knew I was sprinting faster than ever before. I was rushing so fast that I saw everything in blurs. Oh, what had happened to me?

I tripped and fell as a spark in my memory served me at that damned time. Herodotus, the Greek historian, wrote of a spring of water that caused people to remain young and live eternally. I skid to a stop, wincing as pain shattered through my jaw, chest, knees, and an elbow. Yet in another moment, the pain ebbed. I sat up as I recalled other stories: there was a spring in Ethiopia; another reported in the Caribbean; Juan Ponce de León supposedly found the Fountain of Youth in the Florida territory; there were tales of eternal water from Germany, Scotland—or was it Ireland?–as well as Spain. I pressed my fingers to my jaw and saw blood on my hand, yet after I smeared the blood away by the sleeve of my coat I couldn’t find where I was bleeding. Mayhap because I wasn’t injured anymore.

Tears stung my eyes, and I ached to be comforted. What had I turned into? As much as I hated to explain whatever I was now, there was only one person I wanted to wrap his large arms around me. I needed to push all thoughts aside and just find my husband.

I got up and ran through the woods. I spotted Jacque first, then my heart warmed and grew in size as I finally found my husband. They were both riding their horses, talking and smiling at each other as if they were just out on a day’s hunt, that they weren’t surrounded by an ever mounting militia about to commit battle.

The militia was growing with every minute. I couldn’t believe how many more officers and their men were now lining behind and ahead of my husband on the wide trail parallel to the highway. None of them wore any kind of uniform, many just as muddy as me. Suddenly they all stopped and hushed.

Off toward the Commons I heard the fifes song change to a quick paced one and their drums began to set a fast rhythm too. The lobsterbacks were on the move.

I trudged carefully closer to my husband. Jacque and I both agreed that it was for the best that I shadow Mathew, not let him see me. Mathew would want me safe at home, God bless him. So I had to figure out for myself how to stay near enough to protect him, yet far enough that I wouldn’t distract him. I somehow succeeded in this.

For about fifteen minutes the quieted militia followed the redcoats while they left Concord. Being that the militia was steadily increasing it was difficult to keep the forest still, and the Regulars, as they walked along the rutted highway, watched the woods with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

At Meriam’s Farm, the meadow was wide and large, making it so that some of the militiamen became bold enough to walk out of the copse and exposed themselves as they marched alongside the redcoats. The Regulars knew very well that they were being escorted out, and each soldier held his Brown Bess–his smooth-bore musket–tightly.