Hold the Light (2 page)

Chapter 3

Distant gunfire was as common as galloping hooves. It hadn't always been this way, but it didn't take long to accept as normal. Freedom was worth it. At least that was what the Smithe family believed. Their children were born in the colonies after they had sailed from England years ago. Though they suffered the insults of fellow colonists' anti-Loyalist slurs, not a single thought of returning to their home country ever entered their heads.

They swore to keep the family printing press going in the New World - as Americans.

On a morning not much different from any other, the Smithe children played in the kitchen as their mother tidied the breakfast table, careful not to stain her best dress, visibly angry that she forgot to clean up before she dressed. But that annoyance didn't dim her vibrant blue eyes. Even as her cheeks reddened her fair skin wouldn't allow an unpleasant look fall her.

Her family was about ready for church, every one of them dressed in their Sunday best, when the boys pulled their mother away to play. She'd feign poor excuses about cleaning more but always let them fall away as her precise warnings came next.

"Keep clean and stay close."

Her children nodded silently for a moment until little smiles burst from beneath their bowed heads. The trio erupted into laughter as they raided the forest. Before they left for the seriousness of chapel, the children let loose all their foolishness and pranced about the forest. The deep green trees stretched for miles, with each leaf an emerald of joy. But not on this day. The many skirmishes fought here took there tolls. So many trunks lie twisted and cleaved. The stale smell of gunpowder lingered on faint breezes and stained the crisp wooden air. Her husband and so many of their family's friends were out fighting for freedom somewhere in the same serene woods. A backyard and a battlefield.

Clamorous thuds pounded throughout the fringe of the forest as the boys searched for sticks to sword fight with. Stripping the low limbs off any tree they could reach, Mural and Nathaniel fenced with the small branches, as the youngest, Rebecca, sat quaintly in the grass, pulling out dandelions with her gloved hands and blowing the seeds into the wind. Their mother watched them, soaking what innocent bliss was left in such troubled times, yet knowing the fighting wasn't on their doorstep. That was only a matter of time though.

As if fate heeded her fears, the children's laughed was cut soberly off with the muffled din of musket fire from deep into the woods. All she wanted was her husband to return. Worry spun within her stomach, knotting it up even tighter than normal as the horizon rumbled under hundreds of footfalls. From the corner of her eye she watched rows of marching bodies climb into sight. She hated how they marched on a Sunday, bullying decent folk as if they had no honor. The small regiment, lead by a few rigid officers on horseback, marched on her house.

The red coats that draped them screamed out past the lush surrounding green land as the bayonets on their muskets bounced, seemingly stabbing the low lying clouds. The worn hard pack cart path they traveled down couldn't contain the regiment and the troops spilled errantly into the forest.

"Mural, Nathaniel, Becca! Come here now!"

All three slowly emerged from the woods with sullen faces, ready for reprimanding. They knew that tone. Once their eyes spied their mother's anger was aimed away from them they clung to her dress, dirt and dust spattered on their nice clean clothes. Her back straightened and her lip stiffened, revealing the face her children had worried about initially. They had got their Sundays best dirty, but she saved her anger for the approaching troops. Her hand flattened above her eyes to shield the reflections from the muskets and the heated morning as an officer pranced up on horseback and stared at her from under the brim of his cap. With mouth agape, she stared back at him and looked up at her hand, then quickly brought it down to her hip. This officer didn't look much older than her Mural. Babes with guns. So wrong.

"Could my men rest here for a while?" The lead officer asked.

Warily she welcomed them onto the property, out of courtesy, feeling odd about how the officers never tipped their caps to her.

"Inside the house children,
now
," she whispered and Rebecca and Nathaniel obeyed.

The lieutenant rode up to the porch of the house as the children raced through the door. Their mother followed but remained on the steps.

Without breaking eye contact, the officer dismounted awkwardly, clanking his scabbard about. Mural, sneaking up from behind the horse to get a good look at the soldier's sword, watched it clank, reached his hand out and dislodged the sheathed blade, and watched it land in the dirt. He wrenched his hands back with his palms raised, trying to maintain innocence.

"I said get in the house Mural!"

The sword slid from the sheath as it hit the ground. Mural noticed, disappointedly, that there were no bloodstains on it. He turned and ran inside as the officer strolled up to his mother. With an unkempt uniform and beard, this boy of a soldier had more honors adorning his coat than years of his life. Something was terribly amiss.

"Thank you for your kindness ma'am." His British accent seemed shaky.

"Indeed, you are welcome," she nervously replied, "but please, do not take this offensively, you must please leave as soon as you could sir, I need to get off to church."

"Ah, yes, church. Have we been marching that long? My apologies, I had almost forgotten the day."

Another officer strode up on horseback; he was about twice the age of the boy she was speaking to. The rank on his coat made him the boy's subordinate.

"Sir, the men?" He asked as he dismounted.

"Ah yes," the boy said and motioned his fingers. The regiment slunk down from attention.

"Oh, my dear sir!" Mrs. Smithe said, with one dainty hand to her mouth and the other outstretched, pointing towards the older man. "You are injured. Blood there, on your arm. Let me dress that for you..."

Her hand caught a flap of his jacket as he tore away from her help. The buttons of his uniform popped and beneath the flap, below his coat, she saw common clothes. Tattered and torn imposter clothes. She stepped back, gasped, frozen in fear. The teenaged soldier's worn eyes rose to meet hers with a vengeful glare. A shiver ran up her spine and filled her with the energy to run into the house and lock the door behind her.

Both officers angrily bantered back and forth as they approached the door she had already begun to barricade. They pounded on the door with hard fists and polite words.

"Ma'am, please?"

She found her children gazing out the bay window next to the door and she hugged them to her. After their patience wore thin, the men's boots thumped along the wooden porch until they stood before the same long window. The elder man peered in; head crooked on his neck like a curious bird. He cracked a jagged smile.

"Now ma'am, where is the man of the house?" he said. The younger imposter sneered.

"Who are you?" her voice wavered as she pulled her children away from the window.

"We are His Majesty's troops my dear," the young man said, his eyelids closing to slits. "Here to do what we do best. Now, where is your Loyalist scum husband?"

She crouched down between each of her boy's ears and whispered,

"Where are the muskets my dears? Can you get them?"

"Yes mother," Mural and Nathaniel answered in unison and ran off to a hallway closet, quickly returning with a gun each.

The two redcoats outside stepped back as the boys aimed the muskets at their hearts. Each of their little faces were stained with childish, nearly comical anger yet their eyes held only protective glares. Responding in kind, a man brought the two imposters a musket apiece, which they swung and aimed at the boys.

"No God, no!" their mother shouted. Instinct possessed her hands as she balled up both of her boy's collars and yanked them away from the window. Mural, rocked by the sudden jerk, pulled the trigger. The window shattered. Mural gasped as he and his brother fell to the floor. The thin white drapes dislodged from the window frame and collapsed on top of the older imposter like a shroud.

Time seemed to stop. The wind stilled and the heat hung silently. Shock coated everyone like the delicate cloth that had settled atop of the old man's chest. Time lurched back to normal as the old man's blood spread out like wings, imbruing the white cloth red. Wide eyed and mouth agape, the young imposter gathered up this old man in his arms.

With protection the only idea in her mind, she dragged the boys by the collars further into the house, with Becca behind them. She heaved them upstairs so quickly that the boys dropped their muskets. Behind a locked door, she barricaded her family into the second story bedroom that overlooked the front lawn, while the young imposter aided his fallen comrade.

The humid air and the morning sun pressed down on the young man's neck and head, matting his hair to his forehead. The wool of the redcoat he wore was soaked with his own sweat and his father's blood. Both were crying.

"Son, you must continue on now without me."

"No you'll be all right, just..."

"Son, these people need to see the tyranny of the crown," he coughed up blood, "Show them. Avenge me!"

"I'll kill those Loyalist pigs Pa, just you wait and watch. I'll kill every one of them bastards with pleasure. They'll scream so loud King George will hear them."

Mural and Nathaniel argued as they heaved the dresser in front of the bedroom door. Their mother slowly opened the window and tried to listen to the conversations below. The boys'

fight escalated even louder as the dresser drawers banged.

"Hush up, boys," she barked, "and mind your mother."

They stopped immediately and walked over to watch the young imposter storm out from under the covered porch. His coat had come off, revealing a white shirt with a loose vest over it. There was no doubt in her mind that he pillaged the uniform from a dead officer. With a quivering bark from the imposter, the small regiment lowered their weapons from their shoulders and leveled their aim on the bedroom window.

"Listen you Loyalist bitch! If you won't listen to reason, will you listen to force?" he bellowed.

"Why are you doing this? This is nothing but a terrible misunderstanding, please..."

"You lie! If you come down to me now, I will spare your children."

"Who do you think you are?" she spat.

"Thought you knew ma'am. We're just a group that wishes to act rather than talk. This war will end in our favor and we are here to make sure of that. Now, will you come down?"

"Never!" She screamed and ducked away from the window.

"Fire!" The young imposter ordered.

A hail of gunfire pierced the window and ripped it and the frame apart.

She covered the children's heads and screamed. It was only one volley, but it was accurate. Glass and splinters littered the air and stabbed down onto their heads, then stopped as quickly as a summer rainstorm.

"Stop, stop, stop for the love of God stop," she bellowed.

"Only if you come to me."

A long silence stuck to the muggy air. The branches drooped with weeping leaves. Sweat beaded on every brow. The noon heat shortened every temper drastically.

"There is the truth," she thought, "he wants his way with me. Would he just take me and spare the children? Spare Mural after shooting his father? No, he would kill us all..."

"Please, sir, if you would just..." She muttered.

"Too late," he interrupted her. He turned to his troops.

"What will he do? Storm the house? What kind of monster would do that? No, he is bluffing."

She muttered. Her mind raced. "There's always an option, I just have to find it..."

Glass and wood crunched beneath her shins and knees as she crawled to the demolished window and peered out. A sigh of relief overwhelmed her as the troops paraded away casually with the fake lieutenant glaring over his shoulder. She returned the look with contempt until he backed away from his troops and disappeared underneath the roof of the porch. Again, the world stood still. His boots echoed in her ears as she traced his movements.

He stomped about the porch and stopped before the broken window and she heard no more. Silence stretched on unbearably until several thuds sounded from inside the house. Objects clunked into the family room and came to an abrupt stop. The imposter strolled out from the porch with a smile. Her curiosity was quickly replaced by fear.

"Something's inside," she couldn't figure out what until he faced her and waved a torch in each hand.

"I saved two for you my dear," he said and tossed one torch onto the roof, mere inches away from her. It rolled back and settled on the shingles.

The other soared through the window and bounced into the bedroom.

The flaming log tumbled end over end, shedding shards of fire along the way, until its momentum slowed and it rolled to a halt by Mural. His mother quickly retrieved it and launched it back out the window.

Through the flames on the roof, she watched the man put his red coat back on and enjoy a sadistic laugh. She panicked as her children cried in a huddled mass at the center of the room. They watched the smoke seep into the room.

Tears fell from their faces as the charring smell of hickory overtook the atmosphere. Shouts from her and her children's mouths overbore the last of the orders blurted from outside the house. The children were rigidly huddled together, so panic-stricken they couldn't move. Flames danced all about the room so randomly that no clear path of escape was obvious. She tugged on the dresser and vanity that blocked the doorway to escape back down the stairs, but she couldn't budge the barricade from the door without Mural and Nathaniel.

"Damn you!" She cried at the door, fists pounding on the oak. She hit the wood until her arms grew tired and her tears stopped flowing. "Damn you," she whispered then looked over her shoulder to the children and raced to them.

She tugged on the three of them, searching for some gap so she could pry them apart. Smoke billowed in and brought the heat and flames curling at the door. Death breathed hot on her neck.