The Immortal American (The Immortal American Series) (33 page)

I found a thick and wide weeping willow to hide under that provided me safeguard from most eyes, I hoped, as I scanned in front of me through the crowd of Provincial men for my husband and that damned Jacque. The willow’s budding leaves were like green flowers surrounding me. Those tiny green blossoms floated around me, sometimes shyly tickling me, sometimes angrily whipping me if the wind picked up. I hung on to one small branch, like I would my sister’s hand, and watched my husband talk to my phantom, Jacque.

Oh yes, he was there. I hadn’t imagined him.

What was he doing here?

Behind the rock and earthen wall that stood on the eastern side of the North Bridge, Jacque said something that made Mathew laugh so hard that he had to tilt his head back. The sun shone at that moment through the gray clouds and glistened off my husband’s head of blond hair, presenting him again to be angelic—Gabriel of the most high, the most sacred of warriors. He laughed once more as Jacque made another statement, and I saw that Jacque held a tight small smile himself. They both were on horseback while the militia surrounded them on foot, muskets at the ready.

Then I saw in my periphery the approaching Regulars. I jumped on a three foot tall boulder and saw the red worm of men marching closer and closer to the Old North Bridge. I could clearly see the vibrant flare of golden feathers atop a red uniform, Captain Parsons.

The odd thought suddenly occurred to me that I saw them all rather well. They were more than a hundred feet from me, but I saw them as if I had a spy glass. Strange. Can one’s vision improve with age? Perhaps it was because I was in a stressful situation, and I just thought I saw things more clearly. And I could have sworn I heard Captain Parsons give orders to slow his troops. Over the distance and the loud river there was no possible way for me to hear that. But no matter. I jumped down from my perch and, while crouching, raced closer to my husband, looking for a vantage point to take aim at any man that might target Mathew. That’s when the thought occurred to me that might be the reason Jacque had shown up. My stomach dropped and hollowed. I fell to a knee, yet looked up at Jacque. His back was to me, so I couldn’t read his face.

I panicked and tried to stand, but floundered all the more, until I was on a hand too, crouched low, staring at the black back of the man I had thought I’d love so well. Another cursory glance at the Regulars let me know that they were now close to the front of my drive. Captain Parsons found the boys I’d left on the road and conferred for a moment, but then gave orders for some of his troops to collect the man that was still unconscious. He noticed the other injured men that seemed to come out of the very woodwork of barns or houses, and ushered them close, safe. Then I watched the captain’s gaze lay upon the dead on the highway. There were only a handful really, but one redcoat had been axed through his face. I had seen the brutalized dead man earlier when I instructed the boys to stay and wait for their officer to come for them. It was something I wanted to forget I had ever seen. Yet couldn’t stop envisioning the hollow space where a face should have been on a bloody head. The captain shook his head and spat in the opposite direction of the body.

Then my husband gave a quiet order. In one flowing unit more than two hundred men stepped from the rock wall to let themselves be seen.

Parsons’ breath hitched.

Then, the world quit spinning. Or God closed his eyes.

The biting cold wind stopped. All men stood still, not even breathing as they stared at each other. I doubt the Regulars ever imagined that the militia could have mustered more than two hundred men to guard the bridge. I wondered if the Regulars thought all those men with muskets were just apparitions—two hundred ghosts.

Then the oddest thing happened, something I couldn’t have even imagined, it was so utterly ridiculous: Elias Brown, a man who talked to himself and urinated publicly in the Concord Common, suddenly appeared and was shambling ‘round the Regulars with a pot and sipping cup, asking if anyone wanted a drink of some questionable cider. Surprising me all the more, some Regular soldiers took out their billfolds and offered money for the brew. A few minutes later, Elias proceeded on to the militia, offering said cider to those men too.

I was staring at this offhand madness in the midst of the tense stare-off between militia and Regulars. Elias saw no sides, only men, who wanted a drink and to forget their death-defying worries. Perhaps Elias wasn’t as crazy as I thought. Or mayhap I was just as farcical, since I understood, too, that ultimately there were no sides, just worries.

Captain Parsons flicked his gaze sideways then back. Then, just as I finished watching the captain take in all his surroundings, I spotted Jacque’s head moving to look at me. From such a distance, he might think he could make out a frame of a human, but I could have sworn he shook his head and rubbed over his heart. Could he see me? I knew I blended well into my surroundings. Deganawida had taught me how to camouflage myself.

But my eyes diverted back to Captain Parsons and his men. My husband gave another quiet order, and all the militia moved to the side of the highway, making room for their hundred counterparts. Captain Parsons gave a curt nod, then with just a flick of his wrist his men moved eastward, carrying their wounded or helping any man that might have been limping.

One of the scarlet privates bellowed at the militiamen some kind of insult as he passed. The militia straightened their backs and squared their shoulders at the Regulars. A few more screams were issued from some other Regular privates. Then I saw Captain Parsons trod his horse closer to the Regulars that were yelling. He pointed a finger to Concord; the troops began to march, quietly.

I looked again at my husband and Jacque, but in that small gap of time Jacque had disappeared. I quietly gasped and circled, looking for the man in black. He was nowhere to be seen.

The militiamen that had been on the hill behind my house suddenly floated into view and caught up with their comrades on the east side of the North Bridge. The crowd was enormous. I saw Colonel Barrett talking with the other officers. A decision was made.

A militia captain talked to my husband and other lieutenants, the lieutenants barked something and the huge group of men started to follow the Regulars from a safe distance. Many militiamen were jogging through fields and began to vanish as they merged into the woods. If I were to guess these men were there for periphery support for the militia that followed the Regulars on the highway. Both Regulars and militiamen walked east toward Concord.

I watched as my husband began to trot with Cherry toward the east as well, and decided to follow him. Maybe Jacque had disappeared for good.

Mathew drove Cherry off the highway and through a small plowed field then into the forest himself. I gave chase, knowing I could never keep the pace with Cherry, but still I would try.

Surprising me all the more, I caught up with my husband in a matter of minutes. I had to run through the outer circle of the forest, so as to not be detected, but even with all the mud, the few bogs, fallen trees, or overgrown blueberry or juniper bushes I somehow ran faster and jumped farther than I ever had before.

No, no, Mathew probably just had paused a few times to watch over his militiamen that were cutting through the trail that paralleled the highway to Concord. That was more than likely the reason for my catching up with him.

I crept close enough to Mathew to hear him get the order to speed ahead to Concord to gather intelligence as to what the Regulars were doing. Mathew took a wide game’s trail that ventured close enough to Concord to spy the Commons. I was on a less traveled game’s path that paralleled my husband’s. I could just make out that the redcoats were sitting, supping, or treating the wounded, but most were napping. Napping! I had no clue how they could do that.

Mathew cocked his head up then squinted his eyes. I wondered what he was looking for, but then he sighed and pulled on Cherry’s reins, digging his heels into the sides of his red horse, and began to gallop through the trail. He was probably looking for another position for his reconnaissance, and I decided to run alongside him, as best as I could. I kept my eyes on my husband, whose form was beginning to get smaller and smaller. I gripped my rifle and put more effort into my legs. They pumped quickly and almost easily. So I decided to try to run even faster. Then faster. And faster. I was actually catching up again to the galloping Cherry when suddenly a thick black tree branch reached across my chest, and I thudded to the ground on my back, struggling for air.

I rocked from side to side in my agony for another breath. I clutched at where the branch had struck, feeling the phantom clamp surround my ribs, making me feel as if every bone was broken around my lungs. I heard the very distinct French accented voice say, “It will heal soon.”

Jacque crouched beside me and placed a warm hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at me apologetically with dark brows drawn tight, “I didn’t mean to catch you with such force, but you were running wickedly fast.”

Finally, almost as if it were not my own body, I could breathe again. I sucked in a sail-ful of air, but then coughed and eventually gagged. I curled my body around his bent legs, trying not to vomit, but then as if it never happened, I suddenly had my strength back. I swatted his hand away and sat up.

“What—what—what—?”

His face darkened as he looked at his hand that I had rejected. “What, Violet, is the question you want to ask me?” His voice was too low, too emotionless.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard about Lexington. I came as soon as I could.”

“Why?”

He looked at me incredulously, as if I were mentally slow, but then he arched his brow. “I could tell you that I’m supposed to be here. I was training those militiamen who fired on those British Regulars. But that is not quite the truth. I could tell you that I’m here to gather intelligence for my country or that I wanted to join the fight myself, but, again, that is not quite the truth. Each of those statements are a little truthful, but not—”

“So what is the truth, Jacque?”

After I had said his name one of his eyes slightly twitched, but he recovered to his cold countenance in a second. “To protect your husband.”

My mouth might have been gaping for a few moments before he murmured, “You have made your choice abundantly clear to me, and, honestly,” his shoulders slumped, “I don’t blame you. Mathew is the better man. He is kind and virtuous, and I am . . . ah, so old.”

“So you came to protect him? Really? Then why aren’t you with my husband now?”

“The British Regulars are resting in your Concord Commons for God knows how long. Their officer in charge is not a swift decision maker, so they might be there for quite a while.”

“You think Mathew doesn’t need your protection right now; that nothing more will escalate while the Regulars are in the Commons?”

“
Oui.
Besides, I needed to,” he paused and swallowed, “tell you more about your current condition. Mathew should know too and soon. He will grow suspicious if you don’t.”

“What are you talking about? My condition?”

His lips pursed, and he talked with his voice thick with anger. “You never let me explain.”

“How on earth can you explain why you poisoned me? I know why. You were trying to trick me.”

“No trick.” His nose flared. “How has the running been lately, Violet? Didn’t you notice that you can run faster now? That you can see better? You can even hear better? Your ability to smell is massively improved, and sometimes, as odd as it sounds, you can hear, see, or scent a person’s emotions. Tell me you have noticed.”

I swallowed and straightened my back, not wanting to tell him anything.

His smile widened. “Violet,
chér
—er, Violet, you are not the same person you were before you drank the water I gave you.”

“Yes, I know. You poisoned me. I will never trust you again.”

He shook his head, a small smile still annoyingly visible. “I didn’t poison you.”

“I almost died, you liar!”

“
You did die
,” he said so calmly I almost didn’t hear him. He leaned closer to me. “You know you did. You felt your heart stop. You couldn’t breathe anymore—”

“It was the poison you gave me. It made me—”

“For the last time, I didn’t poison you! I love you. Why would I want to kill you? I love you as I’ve never loved another person. I thought—I thought—it doesn’t matter what I thought. It just matters that you finally listen to me. I didn’t poison you, and from here on out you will never be poisoned. Or, more to the point, you may be poisoned but you will never die from it. I know.” He snorted.

I wanted to push him over. But I held my anger in check. “What are you talking about?”

He snorted again and shook his head. “The water you drank was the water I saved from the sacred Indian spring. You are immortal now, like me. You will never age either.”

I used my hands behind me and my feet to scoot away from him, shaking my own head.

“Don’t believe me?”

I laughed. “How could I? I never noticed that you were mad.”