The Immortal American (The Immortal American Series) (36 page)

I gazed at the lay of the land and saw that ahead of me stretched a game trail. I followed it until it rose enough for me to get a better vantage point. As much as I hated leaving my husband’s side, I knew that if I could see more, the better I would be at spotting any risks for him. I ran to the hill where an overgrown juniper bush had usurped most of the trail. It was the perfect location to bury myself while I loaded my weapons. I didn’t think even Jacque could catch sight of my nest.

The thorns from the juniper were strong enough to rip at my skin when I hunkered into its lair, and at first I flinched from the scratches, then shuddered as my wounds almost instantly healed. I swallowed away my tight throat and put my energy into placing the gunpowder in the frizzen pan, down the barrel of my gun, then the bullet. I replicated the procedure with the pistol, then searched my surroundings for my husband.

Across the highway from the long line of redcoats I saw the distinct shadows of more men. The militia surrounded the Regulars on both sides. This was going to be a complete ambush. I shook my head, trying my damndest to not think about the moral ramifications. I wanted to yell at my father for installing me with such thoughts in the first place. What good could these considerations come to when blood was already shed?

The sun was beaming down on the earth and shooting a few rays into the forest. When had the sun begun to shine? Wasn’t that a strange phenomenon? When I thought the world was on fire about to go up in smoke, Mother Nature proved me wrong by letting the sun shimmer, growing green grass, and nurturing yellow buttercups in a field.

I listened to my breath when I saw a Regular officer on horseback followed by some wagons start the parade down the highway toward Lexington, toward Meriam’s Farm, toward destiny. Paying attention to the air going in and out of my body was a ritual that Daganawida had taught me–how to calm my body with breath so that it clarified my thoughts, bringing me better aim and a more productive hunt.

I nestled to my belly, securing my rifle’s butt against my shoulder, and spied through my rifle’s sights upon the scene below me. My eyes caught the bright red of Cherry, and I smiled. That big horse was one of the reddest sorrels I’d ever seen. I wiped my grin off when I realized, oh dear God, Cherry would make for an easy target if Mathew ever moved out of the woods. As I was thinking that, I saw Jacque catch up to ride beside him. I sighed as Jacque’s dark horse overshadowed Mathew’s. Their horses were strolling at a turtle’s pace, and Mathew said something to Jacque that made him lift his black brows in surprise. But after a beat he nodded, and both reined in their horses to a standstill, as the militia walked around them on the trail, and the redcoats kept marching toward Meriam’s Bridge.

Mathew nodded as men passed him, some saluting. He looked like a god atop that on-fire horse, his own golden hair loosened and waving about him like he was Thor himself. He was beautiful. He glanced at his dark comrade, and my finger inched toward the trigger when I sighted Jacque. I chided myself, knowing I couldn’t make a sound, let alone shoot someone, but there sat black Jacque, the man that had forever changed me. What a choice of words! Forever.

I hated him. I
wanted
to hate him. Well, I did hate that I thought of the way his voice softened when he recited to me French poetry. Then I hated myself as I peered down at Jacque, the sun pouring down on the two men at that instant, but it made Jacque so blue, not black, as I wanted.

Luckily I couldn’t think any more of the two men I loved as I noticed that there were some men, militia, making their way to
my
hill up top. There were only four of them in total, but I stopped breathing as I watched their approach.

Not one of them noticed me, until one was standing almost on top of me.

“Jesus, boy, why didn’t you say you were already stationed here?”

I rolled to my back, the rifle long against my body, and looked up at the young man. I recognized him as another man from Acton. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but I’d danced with him several times at a few county dances. Although he’d been too nervous to talk to me when we danced, he’d asked me repeatedly to be his partner.

But as I lay before him with my rifle he did not recognize me.

“I thought I was the only one here with a rifle.” He hunkered down next to me, less than a foot from my person, not taking another glance at me, then threw his cartridge bag and a powder horn close to mine. “You’re quiet. Where you from?”

“Concord.” My voice was raspy due to the fact that I was dreadfully thirsty.

He nodded and flung a canteen at my chest. I caught it and whispered my thanks.

He nodded once more. “I’m from Acton. Sam, Sam Raymond’s my name.”

After a heavenly sip, I gave him back his canteen.

He extracted a cartridge and tore the paper that held one bullet and a pinch of powder, then stuffed them down the barrel of his pistol. “You got a name, boy?”

I watched as he extracted his ramrod and was beginning to shove it down his gun when I said, “Mrs. Adams. Violet Adams. You know me, Mr. Raymond. We’ve danced before.”

Slowly he lifted his eyes from his labor to meet mine. He stretched his neck to get a better look at me, his brown brows furrowed.

His mouth opened and he quit breathing.

I couldn’t help but smile at the dumbfounded look he had.

Suddenly he laughed. “I should have known. You smell too damn good.”

I chuckled myself.

He reached out and wiped at my cheek, but then stopped himself, extracting his hand almost painfully away from me.

“Sorry. I just wanted to see under the mud to make sure it was really you.”

“My face is muddy?” I asked.

He nodded. “Looks like you got blood on you too. You ain’t been in a fight, have you?”

No, I was just shot in the heart. I shook my head. “I ran into a blueberry bush. Might be juice from the berries.”

He nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “Mrs., er, what are you doing out here?”

“Same thing as you, I suspect, Mr. Raymond.” I knew that Samuel Raymond had an eye that other men swore the devil himself inserted, and as such was one of the best hunters in Middlesex. The other men must be his peers; they were up here to find nests for their sniper fire.

Even though the gravity of our mission should have been weighing my mind with sober thoughts, I only thought of Mr. Raymond being a pest on the dance floor, as many of the Acton boys were. Although too shy with me, he’d terrorized my poor sister almost to tears once, then as I danced with him minutes after I had calmed Hannah down, I’d stomped on his toes until his eyes watered, all the while smiling coyly at him. As Hannah, my mother and I left the dance, he’d hobbled after me in stocking feet, clutching at his toes, and claimed to be mortally wounded. I thought he’d had too much spiked punch to feel much of anything.

He crouched low to accost me with a gigantic smile.

“Miss . . . er, Mrs. Adams. I seem to be having a problem saying your name now.”

I took his hat from his head as I’d done for myself, knowing that it would make us even more undetectable, and set it close to our powder horns. “How about Violet, then?”

He gave me another giant smile, then scooted to lie on his belly next to me as I rolled back to my stomach too.

“Violet,” he parroted. He said my name on a sigh then elbowed my arm. “I was real sorry to hear about Miss Hannah. She was real nice. I liked her. Sure did. I always liked you too. Thought I’d marry one of you girls. Then, you had to marry Adams,
Lieutenant
Adams, I should say.”

For some strange reason, his jesting soothed me, and the usual sensation of bleeding internally when someone mentioned my sister’s name was not there.

“Mr. Raymond, I do believe this is the most you’ve ever spoken to me. And you seem to be quite the flirt. What’s the change?”

“Sam,” he instructed then gave me a quick glance. “Don’t know. Figure since you’re dirty as hell I can talk to you now.”

I quietly laughed.

“My pa told me that you have quite the eye, for shooting, that is,” Sam said. “Your daddy was bragging about you, and my pa said, ‘Ain’t no woman who can shoot that good.’ And your daddy grabbed you, and had you shoot at a target, and my pa came home shaking his head, saying, ‘Didn’t know women could do that sort of thing.’”

I smiled and recalled the incident. I’d done my father proud that day, making a shot with my rifle a little more than three-hundred fifty yards away. One man had call me a saint and another a witch. Ah, men. What can one do with them?

“I heard you have quite the sharp eye as well.”

He nodded and licked his lips, looking at the passing redcoats and militiamen. “Don’t like to brag, and I’m real humble about it, but I bet I could outshoot you.”

“Humble, indeed.”

He flicked his eyes over my face and down past my shoulders. “We could runaway together after this. I heard Nova Scotia’s real nice.” Despite the day, the circumstances, the fact that I was where I was to protect my husband, I liked Sam’s flirty teasing. He was a calming energy to my frenzied, frantic one.

“We could.” I smiled.

“You like the Carolinas more, don’t you?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never been outside my country, Massachusetts.”

“Me neither.”

We both stopped our gabbing as the Regulars were starting to come closer and closer. The crimson soldiers oozed down the road. Two wagons, I was sure that had been confiscated, were at the front of the parade, more than likely holding the wounded that couldn’t walk. Other more capable wounded were at the center of two long lines of red-clad men. I wondered how the boy with acne was, hoping he had survived.

Sam whispered even more quietly, “How’d Adams talk you into shooting for us boys?”

I glanced at him and wasn’t too sure if I should answer him, but he gave me his goofy wide grin and I gave in. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

He shook his head. “Damnation, I’m lyin’ here next to a real renegade then?”

I chuckled and shoved at his arm closest to me.

He scooted nearer, then whistled. “Nice rifle, Renegade.”

“Thank you.” Then I looked at his. It was also a long rifle, but was a few years more modern than mine. “Your rifle is very fine too.”

Sam fingered the pistol I had inherited and cocked a brow at me. “Nice pistol too . . . uh, Lieutenant Sutherland.”

I pursed my lips as I read the former owner’s name on a gold plate at the bottom of the pistol. “Oh . . . oh, right, I . . . found this, you know.”

“I bet you did, missy.” He laughed.

“Well, all right, I made a deal with a group of sheep for it. They concealed me as I stole it from an officer.”

“What’d the sheep get out of the bargain?”

“They bit my hair and back.”

“Hell, I’d give you all this year’s grain if you’d let me bite your back.”

I quietly chuckled again and slugged his arm. He rubbed where I smacked him and smiled at me.

“Do you flirt with most the militiamen this way when you’re readying yourself for battle?”

“Sure. Calms my nerves. Doesn’t much calm the man I’m next to though.” I quietly laughed, while he continued to talk. “Have I ever told you that I think more women should wear breeches?” He shook his head and looked down my body again. “Yes, sir, women in breeches would sure be a good thing, I think.”

I laughed again, and then we both startled at the firing of guns. We looked down our sights as smoke erupted from behind the marching Regulars. Good grief, but someone was shooting at the Regulars’ back. Reciprocity, I wondered about the word. The Regulars broke from formation and began to return fire into the woods and behind them. At the front of the red parade they were just beginning to cross Meriam’s Bridge.

There was returning volley for a couple seconds more when Sam leaned into my ear and whispered, “Aim for the officers.”

I peeked at him, then back down to Mathew. His men surrounded him while they hid behind trees, shrubs, or a large rock. He had a hand up and was quieting his men, making them wait for the right opportunity to fire.

“Those are the orders?” I whispered back to Sam.

Sam nodded. “We shoot if we’ve got a clear shot.”

I nodded too and waited.

There were a few more shots fired, then quiet—deafening silence.

Something was finally called out from one of the Regular officers, and the light infantry that flanked the stockier and supposedly braver grenadiers turned, then a line of the grenadiers about faced–right in front of the area where Mathew was sitting on Cherry. I watched as his hand, palm out to his men, waved about, as if pleading with them to stay still. Jacque was trying to maneuver around Cherry, protecting Mathew from the highway, the Regulars. But in a fast move Mathew gripped Jacque’s reins at the bit, and stopped the dark horse, forcing Jacque to be motionless beside him.

Then from the other side of the highway a shot was heard, then several more. The Regulars turned around and waited for their officer to say something, but the officer–if I wasn’t mistaken I thought him to be Captain Parsons with his gold plumed hat–never uttered a word, but looked hither and thither across the road.