The Immortal American (The Immortal American Series) (38 page)

“All you Acton boys have sharp eyes?” I smiled, trying for a jesting confidence, when of all the damned moments of the day it was then that I wanted to lie down and cry.

The eldest man smiled as Sam nudged me in the ribs. Ouch. Even though I’d been shot hours ago, my bones still ached, yet I resisted a wince.

“I heard that Concord had their women out fighting for them. Now I believe it. Josiah, Josiah Whitney.” The eldest of the men extended his hand to me, and I shook it.

“Vi.” I nodded, not saying the rest of my name. They probably knew it anyway, and I reasoned that if they didn’t have to call me Mrs. Adams then I could be one of them—just one of the boys.

Then Sam had to mention, “Isn’t she something in those breeches?”

An amen was said as well as a couple grunts.

“As good as she looks, her shooting’s better. Better than mine,” Sam added.

The men’s eyes widened, but as Sam slapped me on my back, they all gave me a quick nod of what I thought was respect. And that was my initiation with the other snipers.

Sam spoke up again. “Tell Vi the orders.”

Mr. Whitney nodded. “We’re still targeting officers. Makes the rest of the lobsterbacks real nervous when their officers fall off their horses.”

I nodded myself and swallowed. I wasn’t going to admit that I doubted I could shoot to kill. Shoot to injure, yes, but I didn’t think I had it in me to kill. Unless Mathew was endangered.

“As I was saying,” Mr. Whitley began, “that sharp turn in the highway up ahead. Everyone know it? It’s about midway through Lincoln?”

We all nodded.

Mr. Whitley continued, “If we got ahead of that angle in the road, we’d have all the Regular officers pointing their big hats right as us, perfect targets.”

Sam elbowed me again with a smile, and I tried not to grimace. Certainly, with my new condition I could heal quickly, but there was the residual ache of a wound that was, well, normal. At least that part of me was the same.

Mr. Whitley cracked a small half smile. “We’re marching triple time to get there, boys, er—”

I shrugged as Mr. Whitley gave me an apologetic grin.

Mr. Whitley was the lead as we all followed, but I mimicked Sam more than anything. He’d hide behind a tree, and I would do the same. The big young man would aim while concealed behind that tree, then shoot. I tried to do the same.

On the torso of the redcoats’ uniform was a white cross of belts. It made for a perfect target, but I knew that shooting at it would more than likely be fatal. So instead I aimed at shoulders, and sometimes the legs of a man. I missed quite often at first, which utterly irritated me. But shooting at a man was much different than hunting a doe. For a deer, I’d wait until the happy animal was chewing their cud, standing still, or at the very least walking slowly, then fire. For today though I had to measure my aim against my target’s movement, quick movement at that, and after a while I finally could figure out where a man might be when my bullet would make its impact.

As Sam and I ran from tree to tree he informed me that Mr. Whitley’s father had been a Ranger in the French Indian War and had taught him all the tactics before his untimely death from being trampled by a runaway horse. We ran in a jagged line behind Mr. Whitley, not even the militia seemed aware of our company as we passed.

I saw Cherry and Mathew as I ran, but he did not see me. Mathew was encouraging his men to keep up with the Regulars who were keeping a brutally quick pace.

We all managed to make it to Lincoln where the highway did hold the tight corner that Mr. Whitley spoke of.

I caught up with Mr. Whitley quickly. “I want to be closer to my husband,” I said as I grabbed his linen shirt in an effort to plead for my case.

He looked down at his forearm, and I released the light hold I had on him. His brown eyes met mine for a moment and he nodded. “I sure wish you’d stay with us. Saw you picking off most of the men we shot at. You got good eyes. Most of the other boys, ‘cept Sam, don’t have the aim. But I understand. If my wife were fighting, I’d want to be close to her too.”

That was permission enough. I took off running. My legs were, oddly, never tired, and although I should’ve been hungry, I wasn’t. I just wanted to be close to Mathew. I wanted this day to be over and all the violence to end. I wanted Mathew to take me home, once and for all, and hold me.

I found Cherry, of course, and slowed immediately, as I paralleled the horse. Mathew was sitting on Cherry, his voice calm and steady to his men.

I let the woods envelop me as I walked beside Mathew, a few feet off. His gentle voice reminded me of my wedding night, how after he’d made his confessions to me, he’d erupted with passion, yet I knew it to be bridled. He had made sure to pleasure me before himself. I thought of his lips roaming my body, and how the thought alone made my breasts ache.

Mathew took out his sword, yet kept his voice serene, urging his men forward a little more, a little more.

His voice had been so gentle with me, asking me if I wanted more. Did I like it when he kissed this? Did I like it when he suckled that? So carefully he’d dipped his head between my legs, making me catch my breath.

The loud pop of a musket erupting yards away startled me, and I returned to watching my husband riding slowly along the trail. Then I checked on the Regulars, still on the highway, making sure not one of them would turn and aim their guns at my Mathew. Then I remembered when he finally pushed himself inside me, the pain, the elation, his eyes searching mine. He’d asked on a tender whisper if it hurt too much. I couldn’t answer with words. My desire was too strong by then. I wrapped my legs around him, making him smile.

“Quiet, men, quiet. We’ll get our chance yet.” Mathew grinned at his men.

They respected him. I saw it in their eyes. I saw how they beamed back at him, trusting my Mathew, proud of their commander.

Lincoln went by in a hurry, and as we approached Lexington, Mathew’s voice grew fuller and more animated. “It’s about time, boys. It’s about time.”

The Regulars were beginning to slow down, but the militia was not. I saw on the other side of the highway that there were many companies in the woods, following the redcoats just as we were.

“Eight men died just this morning at the hands of these bastards.” Mathew’s voice was beginning to boom. “Eight. These were men with all their lives yet to live. Men with children and young wives. Men just like you and me. They died today with their backs turned on the Regulars because they were making ready to go back home. They didn’t come to fight. They were leaving, giving way to the Regulars to search their houses looking for ammunition and arms that the Regulars didn’t even have a proper search warrant for. Those damned demons were conducting unlawful search and seizures when they killed eight of our men. Eight. And ten more are wounded.

“For the last ten years the Regulars and all of the King’s men have been trying to whittle away our God-given rights as Englishmen to protect our homes and protect our loved ones. They’ve been trying to take away our God-given right to have our government be fair in dealing with us. And today those blasted redcoats killed men, our men, as they were making their way back to their homes.”

Mathew’s voice broke with emotion. The faces of the men marching beside Mathew were shining at my husband. My God, but he would make a good politician.

Mathew gripped his sword as he said, “Today is the day when we say, ‘No more.’  We say it as one. One brotherhood, one family, today is the day that united we say,” he raised his sword, “don’t tread on me!”

“Don’t tread on me!” a man echoed.

Then four thousand voices rang out, “Don’t tread on me!”

Subsequently, the militia on both sides ambushed.

The Regular officers, those still firmly in their stirrups, had enough insight to know that Mathew was making his speech to up the already high morale of the militia and to attack. The Regulars were running by the time the militia opened fire on the rushing red uniforms, racing into Lexington 

I didn’t watch much of the action, only the environment around Mathew. If any Regular soldier aimed his musket in my husband’s direction, which many did as Mathew had made himself quite a target with his loud speech, I shot. Again, I aimed for shoulders and legs and hats. I exhaled after every shot, gave my long rifle a few moments to cool, then packed the bullet deeply, slid my rod back into place, aimed and fired and fired, again and again. Within the short moments of the ambush, I spent half of my bullets, and worried about the powder ruining the helical grooving inside the barrel.

Suddenly a gargantuan boom exploded, and the Lexington’s meetinghouse shattered through and through–cannon fire. That meant that there were more redcoats in Lexington, and they were armed to the teeth.

The militia, held away from Lexington, out of the cannon’s range, stayed in the woods, as the Regulars made their passage into the sanctuary of the small town. Both the Regulars and the militia rested. And I was certain both sides were in meetings, war councils, trying to figure out what was to be done now.

Mathew was making signs that he was going to dismount when Mr. Whitley immerged close by and looked out at the highway little more than fifty yards in front of my husband. There lay at least four men clad in red. I didn’t think I had shot any of them with that severe of a wound to lie bleeding on the road.

“You got an angel watching out for you, Mr. Adams,” Mr. Whitley said to Mathew, pointing with his head at the prostate red men.

Mathew looked at the soldiers lying on the road. I realized then that the men on the highway were dead.

“Was that your handy work, Mr. Whitley?”

“No, sir. I was up ahead some.”

Suddenly Mathew looked angry, nodded, and at a quick clip, rode Cherry further east into the forest.

I was certain I hadn’t shot anyone to death, but . . .

I looked around and saw about twenty feet above me, a rifle’s barrel slowly sink into a bush.

Mathew truly did have an angel watching over him, a blue angel.

In Lexington the militia was met by a thousand relief Regular soldiers. That’s what Sam told me that Mr. Whitely had heard from Colonel Barrett: a thousand new scarletcoats, come to rescue what was left of the seven-hundred soldiers that had marched through our Massachusetts country in search of cannons, rifles, gunpowder and bullets.

Like Concord, Lexington was enveloped by a dense forest, yet through it I could just spy the early spring green lawn of Lexington’s Common. On it laid a little over fifteen hundred Regular soldiers. Lexington men had died in that exact site less than ten hours ago. The redcoats were taking a break from their retreat, treating their injured, and eating from the town’s people. Were the Lexington people forced to feed them? I know not. I do know that as colonists we pride ourselves on our good food and our etiquette. I’d like to think that the people of Lexington tried to service food and water to the redcoats because, really, why not? Why not show a little decorum in the midst of barbaric battle?

During the reprieve from the skirmish, the gigantic boom of the cannon was held about every five to ten minutes, making any further attack from the militia worthless, as well as any conversation that could be had. But it didn’t deter Sam all that much.

I liked him very much, that funny boy.

Sam gave me a portion of some aged sharp cheese and bread. The dark brown bread was amazing. Anadama. I recalled that Hannah had finally gotten the recipe for that particular bread and was going to feed it to her fiancé. I shuddered at the thought.

“You know where it gets its name from, don’t you?” Sam smiled at me.

I shook my head while chewing on the bread he was asking about.

“Some fisherman’s wife out of Boston made this bread up, and that fisherman didn’t eat it until he was on his boat, the boat full of sailors, you know. That’s when he finally bit into this here bread and said, ‘Anna, damn her, that’s good bread.’  Now you get it. Annadamnher. Anadama.”

I choked with my quiet laughter and slugged Sam’s shoulder.

“I ain’t making it up. That’s a true life story.”

I finally swallowed and rolled my eyes.

Sam nudged me in the ribs again, and we ate the rest of his cheese and bread silenced by the salute of the occasional fire from the cannon.

“You know what just sticks in my craw about his whole thing?”

I looked up at Sam and wiped his upper lip free from brown bread crumbs. Somehow, although I’d never had one, I felt he was kin to me, like a younger, annoying brother.

“Uhn-uhm. But I reckon you’ll tell me.”

“I will, Vi. And I’m going to right now: so these Regular soldiers, they come all this way out here, specifically to Concord—”

“My home town.”

“Aye, your home town, Concord, looking for arms, but here they are shooting into the woods, not getting even close to a one of us with their cannon and muskets. Wasting all that ammunition. Makes me wonder, you know, were they going to steal our arms just so they could keep shooting at us?”

I nodded. “Makes one wonder, all right.”