“I tripped.”
I pushed her and followed her into the shelter of a holly. We wrapped our arms about each other. The prickling leaves tore at my face and hands. “Be still,” I mouthed. Feet thundered past us, first one man, then a dozen. We caught our breath. I counted twenty men passing us. “Can you stand, now?”
“I will wait here. You run.”
“I cannot leave you, Alice.”
“No one will t’ink anything. I’ll tell them I am hunting berries.”
“Come on, lean on me.”
“Go, Missy. You run.”
“Not without you.”
Alice began to weep but she came when I took her hand. In a few more minutes, we were almost home. Through the trees I could see the open soil of the road, and flashes of red coats as soldiers moved upon it. “Run for the house now, and bar the door. I will come the long way around, through the barn.”
She nodded and hobbled across the road, reaching the oak on the other side just as another Regular soldier came down the road. I waited, then stepped from the shadows just after five mounted officers went barreling by. I dropped into the grass at the side of the road until the thunder of hooves passed me. I raised my head. They did not look back.
I thought of Cullah’s words about soldiers in pursuit not looking back. I ran up the road, across the field, toward the barn. Someone followed me. I heard feet, the heavier tramping of a man. A man in boots. More steps! There were two at least, I was sure. I felt I would choke, my throat so dry I could not swallow; I needed to cough. The men wore metal. Perhaps a sword. A musket or pistol or both. I ran until, breathless, I fell against the barn door and then got inside the barn. The cows and geese made a racket. Rather than going for the kitchen, which was well seen and obvious, I headed for the narrow opening hidden behind the farm implements, crept between them and a useless shock of dried cornstalks, and slid through the door. Alice went to the basement to hide with Dolly and the children.
I made my way up the steps, trying with every footfall to make no noise. When I reached the top and stepped into Gwenny’s bedroom, I tripped and fell to the floor. A chair stood by the opening where I had used it to stand upon to ring the bell. I heard a loud knock below me on the front door then another anxious knock and a voice called out, “Open the door, Ma. It’s I, Brendan. I’ve brought Bertie and a couple other ragged boys you should feed.”
I came down the stairs. Alice was panting, sitting at the table with a huge carving knife in her hand. I asked, “Are you going to open it?”
She answered, “Do you know it’s him?”
I flung wide the door, to see Bertie, hung by his collar and grinning, held by his father in full Redcoat uniform. He pulled off his hat and rushed inside.
“Brendan! What is the meaning of this?” I asked, though I was barely able to speak. On Bertie’s heels followed Benjamin and Cullah. “You are safe!” I cried.
Brendan said, “Roland went home to get his kit. Ma, Pa, don’t think me a coward. I saw what happened. I’ve turned ‘cat-in-pan’ against them. I could not fire upon my own friends, my own son, my pa and brother. The Lexington boys made good show of it, but they seemed hopeless. Unkempt, untrained, and most of them unarmed. It was meant by the Regulars to be a massacre. In the end, it was the pathetic Patriot who gave us a rout. Perhaps some of the Regulars were loath to fire, I cannot speak for them. I have fought for my country and my sovereign but I cannot go on if we are to war against our brothers. I think I scared poor Ben out of three years’ growth when I caught up to him, him thinking he was a prisoner of war.” Brendan stripped off his coat and buckler and untied his neckerchief as he spoke. “Have you a plain coat, Ma?”
Benjamin looked at his brother then and gave Brendan’s neckerchief a tug before he had it removed. “It’s the gallows for you, now.” They nudged each other then put their arms across each other’s shoulders and clasped Bertie to them.
I gasped at the word “gallows.”
“Boy!” Cullah roared. “Don’t upset your mother.”
Benjamin was a good two inches taller than his older, brawnier brother. “It is all right, husband,” I said. “I knew he was teasing. They are brothers.” I cupped my hand across my lips, fighting the urge to weep for joy. This was a bold and terrifying comradeship I saw before me.
Alice went to fetch the latest coat we had finished, made of undyed wool.
“But, Pa, where are you going?” Bertie asked.
“We’re going, the five of us. Come with me, son, and we’ll find Roland.” He picked up his musket. “Bring your drum.”
And then all of them were gone. I sat, my mouth open, my heart aching, my mind spinning in the smoke of war that filled the house. “Godspeed,” I whispered.
Alice said, “We have to get rid of that red coat he left.”
CHAPTER 39
April 19, 1775