“Yes, sir!” they shouted in resounding unison.
“Very well. Live free or die!”
“Live free or die!”
“Let’s move out!”
* * * * *
Zacharias had been sitting in front of the fire for more than an hour. After Jesse’s attempts to comfort him had been rebuffed, she had decided to leave him to himself for a while. The twins were still sleeping in the back bedroom. She let the children sleep as much as they cared to. It seemed to be easier on all of them.
But now she saw her husband slouched in front of the fire in a rocking chair. He was an old man. Of course she’d noticed his white hair when she returned, and the toll that forty difficult years had taken on him. Surely he had noticed her aged body as well. But it hadn’t hit her until this moment that he was, in fact, an old man. All the life seemed to have been drained out of him, leaving a wrinkled and sagging shell. It frightened her. This would not do. She felt as if she saw him careening toward death as surely as if he were sliding toward the edge of a cliff. She knew she had to do something to stop it.
“Restless and lost on a road that you know, eh?” She walked up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, so much thinner than she remembered, and hard of bone.
“What’s that mean?” he grumbled.
“Old Lawson poem. I just mean we’ve been here before. You’ve always been your own worst enemy.”
“I’m not the enemy.”
Jesse walked around to face him, blocking the fire, throwing a shadow over his lined face, then knelt with difficulty before him. “You know, I learned a lot of hard lessons when I was in prison, and after—when I was in the Forbidden Grounds.”
“You haven’t told me much about that.”
She laid her head in his lap. His hand naturally began stroking her hair. “There’s no reason for you to know things that will only hurt you. But one of the most important things I learned—I would have gone crazy without it. Completely mad, I would have been.”
“Tell me.”
“Happiness, contentment, glory, whatever you’re looking for, is not something that will come from the outside. It’s something that grows from within. That feeling when you see the sun shine through autumn leaves or you hear that perfect piece of music or a baby laugh. When a simple kiss shows you all that’s beautiful in the whole world—these are the glories or part of a larger glory, and it fills you with a kind of light, a spark that can’t be doused like a fire. It can only be put out by our own self-doubt and fear. It’s within our own hearts and souls that we hold the seeds of the fire and the means to kill it. Everything good and everything that stops the good.”
“Jesse, you don’t understand. I did it. I killed that child by not taking care of her, just as I was responsible for our own children and your capture. It’s my fault. Everything that was ever good in me came from you.”
She sat up to look in his eyes. “Now ’ang on. If you believe that, then you’ll lose yourself when you lose someone else. Everything good in you was already there, love. I maybe just helped you to see it. Those things we love and the things we fight against—none of it comes to us from the outside, but from within. It’s all within us. These young ones, they don’t know that yet. But they will.”
“If they survive.”
“They will survive. And you will survive, my love, because I need you to. But more than that, they will live because of the love and strength they give each other. Because of the love and strength they already have inside.”
* * * * *
Mark took position at one of the center guard stations with five of his new rebels. He’d sent Lieutenant Colonel Taylor north, and his second in command, Captain Peck, south. He spread out his high command along the Border. He was hot in his gray coat in the guard station and thought about removing it. The men with him weren’t men at all, really. The oldest couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. He thought of how many battles he’d already seen by the time he was twenty-five. More than one for every year of his life. Fighting was all he’d ever known, and it was all he wanted to leave behind.
“Look!” one of the soldiers shouted, peeking through a crack in the wood slats of the guard station. Looking north into the blaring blue sky above the trees, Mark could see a string of smoke curling up like a giant hand pulling apart a swab of cotton. A few minutes later, another string of smoke closer to them appeared. The first was larger now and turning gray.
“That’s two stations down,” the young soldier’s voice was valiantly trying not to quiver.
“Steady, men. Focus on what’s right in front and around you. Your fight is here at this station.”
Mark felt like he had the advantage over the enemy, knowing their exact methods. General Drape was always somewhat predictable in his ruthlessness. He knew he’d order his Fire Brigade to light up the stations regardless of the men inside. The key was to shoot them before they had a chance to get close enough. He just wished there wasn’t so much blasted fuel for the fire all around them.
“Rogers, take that bucket in the corner, bring water from the stream. Douse this shack with it. Stratton, you go with him.”
At least that would slow down the fire a little, if it hit. Another station had thrown smoke in the air. And another. The brigade was getting closer.
* * * * *
Sam held three pieces of photographic paper tightly in his hand as he shuffled through the morning snow. He checked his belt again to make sure the pistol was there, even though he knew it was. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to keep the anger high in his chest. He couldn’t afford to let the adrenaline that was fueling him wane. He couldn’t let the anger turn to sadness.
He’d spent the entire night blowing the photographs up to get a closer look at what he didn’t want to see. Somehow, in the pictures of the white stag in the misty woods of the night before, he’d managed to capture something in the distance, something he and Ethan hadn’t even seen with their own eyes. He had to make sure he was right. But the evidence was there in his hands. Kyle had been with Daisy in the woods and had knocked her to the ground, leaving her there. Sam had sent Ethan back to the cabin to let them know where Daisy was and to see if anything could be done for her. But the responsibility of facing Kyle was his. He’d gone too far this time in attacking a child. A child!
“Kyle!” Sam burst through the back door without knocking. He wanted to catch Kyle off guard. He didn’t want him to have any time to prepare for their confrontation.
Gemma sat up from the couch. Now it was Sam who was caught off guard. She didn’t say anything but sat staring at him as if she were still half asleep.
“Gemma! What the . . . I thought you were still out looking for Sophie or . . . worse. God, I’m so glad you’re okay.” Sam was across the room, holding her by the shoulders. “Is Sophie . . .”
He cut himself short. Something wasn’t right. Gemma wasn’t herself. She held a piece of paper crumpled in her hands. It looked like a child’s drawing. She hadn’t spoken a word since he came in. She would never normally let him burst in her house without giving him hell for it.
“What’s wrong? Where’s Sophie? Where’s Kyle?”
She stared at him, barely seeing him.
“Gemma. Gemma!” He tried to shake her a little. But when he stood back and looked at her again, he noticed for the first time there was blood on the front of her clothes.
“Gemma, whose blood is it?”
“They found Daisy,” she whispered.
“Oh, Gemma. I know. I’m sorry.”
“She’s dead.”
“Dead?” Sam gripped the photos tighter in his hand.
“Just like that.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“No, they just found her this morning out in the woods. All alone.”
Gemma hadn’t moved from the couch. Sam pulled up a chair to face her.
“So no one told you what happened?”
“Nobody kn
ows.”
“Where’s Kyle?”
“Market Day. He wanted to get me something from the G.O. to help me sleep. I haven’t slept.”
“I don’t think you should take anything that he gives you.”
Gemma dropped the drawing, covered her face with her hands, and spoke through her fingers. “Don’t, Sam. Not now. What are you even doing here?”
“Um, well, I came to talk to him, actually. I should probably go find him. But first I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Nothing’s okay. Nothing can be.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No. I can’t.”
“I’m going to fix you something, alright?”
“Just go, Sam.”
“Nope. Lunch first.”
Sam started moving around the kitchen, putting a light lunch together. Some smoked ham from the cool box in the cellar, a few sautéed vegetables. The house had been freezing when he walked in. So he stoked the fires in the kitchen stove and in the fireplace. Every few minutes, he looked over his shoulder toward Gemma. She sat on the couch staring straight ahead, not speaking. He tried talking to her but ended up just talking to himself. Silly things about what he was doing in the kitchen. Still not a word in response from her.
“Okay, you think you can come to the table, or should I bring your food to you?” he called to her. She still didn’t speak but stood up and walked over to the table.
“Maybe we should change your tunic first, huh?”
“Don’t touch it.”
“Alright. Alright. Suit yourself. Just eat, okay?”
Gemma sat and started moving the food around her plate. Sam set a cup of water before her, splashing lightly on the photographs that lay facedown on the table. He quickly snatched them up and brushed them off with a dish towel.
“What are those?” Gemma asked as if she were hypnotized or sleepwalking.
“Nothing. Something I wanted to talk to Kyle about, that’s all.”
“Let me see.”
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’m not a damn child, Sam! Give me the papers.”
“They’re photographs.”
“Of what? Don’t make me pull it out of you. I don’t have the energy.”
“Well, Ethan and I were out setting traps last night. I took some photos of a white stag.”
“What does that have to do with Kyle?”
“It’s what I didn’t realize I’d caught in the background of the pictures.”
“And?”
“It’s what happened to Daisy.”
“Show me.”
“Gemma . . .”
“Show me, damn it!” She ripped the photographs out of Sam’s hand before he could stop her, laying them out one by one on the table. In the first photograph, Kyle was talking to Daisy. In the second, he was stepping toward her with his hand outstretched. In the final picture, Daisy was on the ground and Kyle was leaning over her.
“What does it mean?” she asked, staring at the pictures, willing them to give her answers she didn’t have and wasn’t sure she wanted.
“Well, it looks like he might have been there when she fell. He must at least know something about it.”
“He killed her. That’s what you mean.”
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
“He did it. He’s been so strange and cold. Then today, all of a sudden, trying to take care of me. It’s guilt. He feels guilty because he’s the one who killed her.”
“We don’t know for sure.”
“Don’t we?” Gemma collapsed in the chair behind her, her head in her hands. “Oh, God, Sam. What have we come to?”
“We’ve been in situations like this before, only we were the children.”
“I didn’t think it could happen again. Not like before.”
“Humans have found ways to do terrible things to each other.”
“So many terrible things. It’s exhausting trying to fight them all.”
“Come on, Gemma. Let’s get you changed and into bed. You need rest more than anything.”
“Actually, can you go out to the pump and get me a fresh cup of water? This pump in the kitchen has had some silt in the water.”
“Sure, I can do that. Wait here.”
While he was gone, Gemma went quickly to the desk in the main room where she had started writing a letter to him before they went across the Border. She scribbled a few more lines, signed it, and put it in her pocket just as he was coming back in the house.
As Sam handed her the glass of frigidly cold water from the outside pump, she looked at him over the top of the glass.
“Can I ask you another favor?” Her voice was a whisper, something you’d catch on a breeze from far away.
“Anything.”
“She’s out there alone, Sam. With strangers. My Daisy with strangers . . .” Her voice started to trail off. She took a gulp of water and forged on. “I need you to be the one to bury her. Bring her back home and bury her. Don’t leave her with strangers. Bring her home for me.”
“Of course I will.”
“Go now, Sam. It can’t wait.”
“Gemma, I need to make sure . . . I mean, are you going to be alright?”
“You’ve kept the code here, Sam. I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I need you to do this for me. Please, Sam. Before it’s too late.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just go. I’ll be fine.”
Sam tried to see into her eyes, tried to read what was hiding there. But Gemma could be inscrutable when she wanted to be. He wasn’t at all sure he should leave her alone. Then he thought of Sophie. If Gemma had come back, maybe Sophie was waiting for him back at their house. Maybe she needed him too. He couldn’t bring himself to ask Gemma the unspoken question. Was Sophie still alive? He needed to hold on a little longer to the belief that she was, and that she’d be waiting for him at home.
Gemma threw her arms around Sam’s neck, pulling him out of his thoughts. She held tight for a few moments before releasing him. “Now go. Hurry.”
“I’ll come back later.”
“Fine.”
“We’ll get through this.”
“Of course we will.”
She sounded sure. Sam held onto that surety as he forced himself to walk away from the house.
* * * * *
Smoke was filling the woods around them. Mark didn’t know how many guard stations had been taken. He still had his five men in the guard station with him, and they hadn’t seen a Corsair yet. He started to wonder if his plan had been faulty from the start. Maybe they were avoiding the guard stations altogether.
“Rogers, Stratton. You’re with me. We’re going to scout out the perimeter. The rest of you hold this station. If you see a Corsair, fire at will. Do you understand? You are to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Yes, sir!” the three remaining soldiers shouted.
Rogers and Stratton flanked Colonel Goodson on either side as they started to make a wide sweep of the area around the guard station. It was hard to see anything through the thick smoke, but they could not tell where it was coming from. They saw no fire.
“Stay close, men,” Mark found himself whispering.
“What if it’s a trap, sir, to draw us out?” Rogers asked as they crunched and slipped through the snow.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“It may not be fire at all. It could be smoke bombs.”
“Maybe. But we’ll soon find out.” Mark began coughing. The smoke was getting thicker. He turned to look at Rogers just in time to see three Corsairs running up behind them. “Look out! Down!”
Rogers and Stratton dropped to the ground, barely missing the swing of a rifle butt. Mark fired on the first Corsair. One down.
Rogers was back on his feet, giving the next Corsair a bayonet in the belly. Two down.
Stratton and another Corsair we
re going hand to hand. Mark and Rogers started to assist, but Mark caught a glimmer of orange out of the corner of his eye. One, two, three torches that seemed to be floating in the air, coming closer. He and Rogers ran toward them, pistols drawn. The other Corsairs were on horseback going for the guard shack, while another was on the ground pouring fuel on every stick and blade of grass in sight. It was too late to stop him adding fuel to the fire. They had to get to the men with the torches.
“Rogers, if we shoot them from here, the torches will fall in the fuel and it will all be useless after that.”
“What should we do, sir?”
“We’ve got to get those torches out of their hands.”
“There’s three of them, sir.”
“We’ll give the others the signal to come out. Are you ready?”
“Ready, sir.”
“When I give the signal from over here, you run in the other direction and get that first Corsair on horseback. We’ll take them one at a time and hope the smoke disorients them.”
“Right.”
“One, two . . . Live free or die!” Mark gave the signal, then ran toward the second Corsair. Three of his rebels came running out of the guard station, guns drawn. They saw the situation and didn’t start shooting right away. Seeing their colonel and other comrade going hand to hand with the men on horseback, they did the same.
One Corsair went down hard from his horse, Mark wrenching the torch from his hand as he fell. He kicked the soldier in the head and threw the torch into the nearby stream. Another down.
He looked to his men and seemed to see it all moving in slow motion, every second drawn out into minutes. Gray tunics blending with smoke and snow. Blue uniforms illuminated by fire, eyes wide and shining all around him.
The second Corsair was off his horse on the ground. Two of his men subdued him and threw the torch into the stream. One left.
A Light From the Ashes Page 45