Angels & Patriots

by Salina B Baker

  “Outside the Neck. Let’s go home.”

  Michael focused all his energy on staying upright.

  Patrick took two tentative steps, and then stopped.

  Liam picked up Patrick’s musket from the road. He slung the musket onto his shoulder alongside his own. Colm had already dispossessed Michael of his musket.

  “Come on now,” Seamus said to the drunken boys. “I ain’t carryin’ you.”

  Patrick burped and gagged and swallowed the bile in his throat.

  Michael took a step, stumbled, and fell. Colm broke his fall and stood him up.

  The boys were finally able to walk. Liam was exhausted. He dawdled along behind them until Colm took up the rear to protect his charges from anyone lurking in the woods. It took them over an hour to walk the mile to Roxbury.

  Just before they reached the perimeter of the farm, they encountered Brandon and the newly formed Roxbury watch.

  “There’s movement north from Dorchester,” Brandon told Colm. “The watch there sent a rider. They aren’t sure if the patrol’s returning to Boston or coming our way.”

  Abijah Cunningham, a twenty-eight-year-old farmer and the brotherhood’s closest neighbor, observed Patrick’s muddy condition. “You and Michael were to be on watch with us tonight. Where were you?”

  Colm said, “Liam, go in the house. Patrick, Michael, go with him.”

  Brandon could see and smell why they hadn’t joined the watch.

  “Abijah, don’t ever question my men when me or Seamus is with them,” Colm warned.

  Despite Colm’s calm demeanor, Abijah was afraid to rebuff the order. There was something about Colm that frightened him. Abijah stepped back.

  “This is the last point of our patrol tonight,” Brandon said to the men of the watch. “Dawn’s less than two hours off. Go home and get some sleep.” He failed to address Michael and Patrick’s absence from the watch. Belittling or making excuses for his brotherhood for the benefit of outsiders wasn’t done.

  The farmers, blacksmiths, lawyers, and saddle makers of the Roxbury watch dispersed.

  “I’m gonna stay on alert until dawn in case that British patrol is coming our way,” Brandon offered. He looked at the one dimly-lit living room window and cocked his head. “Where did you find them?”

  “Lying on the road outside the Neck,” Colm said. “Me and Seamus got back from Concord late, and they weren’t home, so we went looking for them.”

  Seamus said, “Liam was with them. He weren’t drunk. He was just sittin’ there guardin’ them.”

  “Why wasn’t Ian and Jeremiah looking for them?”

  “They was sleepin’.”

  “Brandon,” Colm said. “I’m proud of ya for taking the responsibility of commanding the local watch.”

  A comment like that from Colm was rare and cherished. It helped Brandon come to terms with the difficulties he had getting the human men to form some kind of ranks. For the most part, they had been cooperative, but they were strong-willed, independent thinkers who were competitive and sometimes argumentative. It didn’t occur to him that Colm faced those challenges every day.

  Colm said to Seamus, “Go get some sleep. I’ll stay with Brandon. I don’t want him out here alone.”

  That afternoon, Jeremiah, Liam, and Seamus were in the living room cleaning and oiling muskets and flintlock pistols. Colm sat with them while he cleaned the long rifle he used for hunting. The large round table in the middle of the room was littered with guns, various knives, a whetstone, and balls, powder, and paper for cartridges.

  Ian and Brandon were in the kitchen preparing supper. Both hated to cook, and they often made food that caused the men to suffer later in the night. It had been weeks since the men had eaten a meal together.

  Michael and Patrick were outside washing their muddy clothes. They shivered in the early spring breeze. The only coat and cloak they owned was in the washtub.

  This domestic harmony had been learned from Jeremiah and Mkwa. Before that time, the angels streaked through the cosmos like a flock of birds unable to roost. When they took human vessels, they had no example of domestication that they understood. So, they wandered like sheep with no shepherd whom they could look to for shelter.

  Colm thought about Jeremiah’s Shawnee woman, Mkwa, and wondered how men felt about leaving a woman behind while they marched off to war. Love and shared responsibility between human men and women was a curious attachment. Aside from Jeremiah and Mkwa, the angels paid little attention to that relationship.

  “Ya child’s a boy,” Colm announced to Jeremiah.

  Jeremiah looked up from the musket he was oiling. His hands stilled. “What? How do you know?” Jeremiah rolled his eyes. “That was a stupid thing ta say. ‘Course you know. You’re omnipotent.”

  Colm frowned. “I’m not omnipotent.”

  Liam and Seamus did not look up from the pistols they were cleaning.

  A son, Jeremiah thought. He said, “I ain’t never gonna meet ’im. I’ll never make it back ta Burkes Garden. Do you see that in your visions archangel? My death?”

  “No.”

  “Then you ain’t been lookin’.” Jeremiah returned to oiling the musket, but his mind stayed on his son.

  “Supper!” Ian yelled from the kitchen.

  Colm was the principal game hunter among the brotherhood. Since they moved to Roxbury, his many absences left a void in the pantry, which Michael and Patrick were happy to fill. Jeremiah skinned and prepared the game for cooking or salting or smoking depending on the animal that was laid on his skinning table.

  Now, on this early evening in the last week of March, the angels and their human friend gathered in the warm living room to eat supper.

  Colm noticed that Liam did little more than stare at his food.

  The sound of horses galloping toward the farm along the road from Boston Neck didn’t alarm the eight men in the living room. What did alarm them was the sudden silence of clattering hooves. There was banging on the front door.

  Colm put his plate down and reached for his long rifle. He nodded at Jeremiah and Seamus to take up arms, and then he shifted his eyes to Brandon, Michael, and Patrick. The boys armed themselves and retreated to the kitchen. Ian and Liam were already armed with pistols. They ran to flank the door.

  Colm leveled his rifle at the center of the front door.

  “Colm, open the door!”

  “Joseph?”

  “Let us in!”

  Colm nodded at Ian. Ian disengaged the bolt. No one moved from their stance.

  Joseph burst into the house with Paul and William on his heels.

  Liam closed the door and threw the bolt.

  Colm called for Brandon, Patrick, and Michael. The boys were alarmed at the patriots’ presence. However, they kept quiet. “Take their horses to the barn. Stay there on the defensive until I say otherwise,” Colm ordered.

  The boys took the order.

  Joseph looked at the cache of weapons piled on the table in plain sight. “Hide those!”

  Colm pointed at Seamus, Jeremiah, and Ian, and then pointed above stairs. “The attic.”

  They scrambled to clear the table of weapons except the knives and whetstone. William and Paul collected the powder horns, scooped up the balls and cartridges, and dumped them into the cartridge boxes. All five men ran up the steps that lead to above stairs and the attic.

  “What’s the alarm?” Colm asked.

  “Someone has tipped off Lord Patterson to the presence of dangerous rebels in Roxbury,” Joseph said as he walked to a window.

  “Who’s Lord Patterson?”

  Joseph surveyed the road through a small diamond-shaped window pane. “He is a ruthless royalist who is known for taking matters into his own hands without consulting General Gage. He has dispatched regulars to make arrests.”

  “The presence of rebels living in the surrounding towns and villages is well-known,” Colm said. “Why’s this different?”

  Joseph turned away from t
he window. “Something happened yesterday that caused this sudden aggressive move. That event concerns me because we have not been able to identify it.”

  “How do ya know they’re coming here?”

  The five men thundered down the stairs to the living room.

  “I was told the captain commanding the regulars referred to the Maguire farm as the starting point,” Joseph said. “That is the surname Ian used to lease this farm.”

  “Henry’s gotta have a hand in this,” Seamus said.

  “Perhaps you should consult with Liam,” Paul spat.

  Seamus noted the guilty disbelief on Liam’s face, but it wasn’t his place to ask questions when Colm was present.

  Colm gripped the butt of his rifle. This can’t be because of Liam. Liam is intelligent and thoughtful and dependable and reasonable.

  Liam had intended on confessing his disobedience after supper. What shocked him was the idea that John Adams’ nephew had gone to the loyalists and reported what he had seen take place between his aunt and Liam. Even more puzzling was the fact that this Lord Patterson had believed a story about an alleged angel.

  No, Liam thought. That is not correct. Bertie Adams made other accusations. That has to be the explanation for what is happening.

  “How did ya get through the guard post on the Neck?” Colm asked Paul.

  “William talked our way through.”

  “Talk ya way back through.”

  “No. William and I are riding to spread the alarm that the regulars are marching with malicious intent toward citizens.”

  “Seamus, get the boys and ride west as fast as ya can,” Colm said. “Ian and Jeremiah take your muskets and start walking the road to Menotomy. If a patrol stops ya, ya are traveling from Hartford to Menotomy. Ya can all circle back at dawn.”

  Jeremiah and the brotherhood swiftly carried out their orders. Paul and William went with Seamus to the barn. They mounted up and left to spread the warning throughout the countryside.

  Colm leaned his long rifle against the wall beside the fireplace. He stacked the eight abandoned dinner plates, shoved them into the china closet, and said, “Joseph, go home.”

  “And leave you and Liam to face this alone? No.”

  “Joseph, do as Colm has asked,” Liam said quietly. “I must pay penance for what I have done.”

  “What have you done?”

  “Ya are interfering, Joseph.”

  “Is that really what you believe?”

  Colm crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw. He tried to stand his ground, but he realized there was nowhere to get even footing. Damn this man who is capable of shaking my resolve. Damn this man who I’d do anything to protect and makes me feel the human need to explain.

  “We don’t know how many soldiers are coming or if they’re demons or if Henry’s with them,” Colm said. “I won’t expose my men to an unknown situation if I can help it. I won’t let them die like that. I won’t let ya die like that.”

  “But you will let Liam die like that?”

  Colm clenched his jaw.

  “Answer me, Colm.”

  Colm’s jaw muscles flexed and tightened.

  “You and Liam came to my aide and protected me at the Boston Massacre commemoration,” Joseph said, undaunted. “I will not turn my back on either of you.”

  Horses galloped the road toward the farm, and then came to a stop. A man shouted. Sabers clattered. Boots thudded across the porch.

  Colm slid his long rifle under a couch to avoid provoking gunfire. Then, he snatched the wrought iron poker from the fireplace mantel.

  The front door trembled under the punishment of a man’s fist. “The King’s troops! Allow us entry!”

  Liam walked to the door.

  Colm tightened his grip on the wrought iron poker.

  Joseph touched the butt of the pistol that was tucked in his coat pocket.

  Liam threw back the bolt and opened the door.

  An officer and eight troops stormed into the living room. The soldiers quickly assessed how many men were in the room and their activity.

  The young captain in command pointed at Liam and said, “Detain and disarm him.” Two soldiers shoved Liam against the wall and held crossed sabers to his throat while another soldier seized Liam’s pistol.

  “Subdue this man as well. Search him for weapons.”

  Joseph was propelled face first into a wall by two overzealous soldiers. They patted his coat and extracted the pistol.

  The captain began to approach Colm, but his knees buckled as he suddenly experienced a vision. He saw an angel with long flowing brown hair and unfurled wings etched on a stained glass window in the wall of a meetinghouse. The male image of the angel wore a breastplate, carried the scales, and brandished a sword as he trampled Lucifer with his sandaled feet. It was the archangel, Michael. He represented God’s love and God’s wrath. The archangel had terrified him since he was a boy.

  He shook his head to clear the vision. The archangel brandishing the sword vanished. The stained glass window dissolved. The captain’s overwhelming reverence and fear of God remained. In his heart, he knew that the man—no the being—who stood before him gripping a wrought iron poker was the embodiment of his childhood terror, for this being was the archangel Michael’s brother.

  The pious young captain’s fear turned inward, and he berated his blasphemous heart. This man is not one of God’s warriors! How dare I presume to entertain the notion! This is Lucifer’s foolery!

  Despite his emotional denial, the young officer forced himself to look at Colm. It took every ounce of fortitude he possessed to keep focused on Colm’s serene face when he said to his ensign, “If this man moves, break his arms and legs. Or better, bash his brains in.”

  The ensign acknowledged the order and four soldiers moved closer to Colm.

  Colm’s green eyes reflected a powerful captivation that made it impossible for the captain to shift his attention away from the archangel’s face.

  With the knowledge that the regulars were mere men sent to the farm to confirm his whereabouts, Colm asked, “What’s ya name?”

  He’s attempting to unnerve me. Still he answered, “Captain Levi Chitwood.”

  “Tell ya men about ya vision.”

  “I do not know what you are referring to.”

  Silver light flashed in Colm’s eyes.

  “BASH HIS BRAINS IN!” Captain Chitwood shouted.

  The soldiers did not move. General Thomas Gage had issued the strictest orders to his soldiers to treat the colonists with lenity and justice.

  It was not just the strict orders that caused the soldiers to ignore a direct order. There was a sense of reverence surrounding the tall man standing on the fireplace hearth, holding a wrought iron poker. The soldiers could not imagine bashing his brains in as Captain Chitwood had ordered.

  Colm said, “Tell them about ya vision, Captain Chitwood.”

  A sound like water streaming from a tipped bucket surprised the silent soldiers.

  Joseph realized the streaming water was Captain Chitwood pissing himself. Strangely, he thought that the captain’s breeches should have absorbed the piss and muffled the noise, but it sounded as if he had pulled out his penis and aimed it at the living room wall.

  Colm dropped the poker. It clattered loudly on the brick fireplace hearth.

  The soldiers released Liam and Joseph then fell back in astonishment at their commanding officer’s actions. The stunned soldiers shifted their eyes between the captain and Colm.

  Captain Chitwood’s ensign mustered the fortitude to shout, “All out!”

  None of the regulars obeyed.

  The ensign approached Captain Chitwood cautiously. “Sir, let us retreat. This has been a mistake.”

  Captain Chitwood shivered and murmured, “An archangel.”

  “Sir?”

  Without looking at anyone in the room, the captain turned and walked out of the house.

  Colm signaled for Liam and Joseph to ga
ther near him. He said to the ensign, “Give these men their pistols back.”

  The soldiers holding the confiscated pistols looked at the ensign. The ensign took the pistols and ordered the soldiers to leave the premises. When the soldiers were outside, the ensign handed the pistols to Colm, and asked, “What did you do to Captain Chitwood?”

  “What do ya think I did?” Colm asked. His eyes flashed.

  Chills ran up the ensign’s spine and down his arms. He backed away from Colm then turned and ran out of the house.

  Joseph walked to a window and watched the British regulars urge their horses back toward Boston. Satisfied that they were gone, he turned to Colm and said, “What did you do to Captain Chitwood? He was terrified of you.”

  “He conjured his own fear.”

  “And you helped him along.”

  “I don’t manipulate human fear. They’re either fearful of me or they’re not.”

  “And what of Liam? You did not ask him what he did to disobey you.”

  “Those regulars were sent here on a fool’s errand,” Colm said with anger. “They came here without bravery, truth, or fairness. They pretended they were strong. They pretended they were carrying out God’s will. Liam isn’t like them. He doesn’t lie to himself about his behavior. He knows he was disobedient, and he knows the price of that disobedience.”

  “Joseph, I beg of you, let this go,” Liam said.

  “I cannot.”

  Colm reined in his anger and calmed his tone. “Joseph, I know ya see our ways as cruel, but it’s the only way we’ve been able to survive. Everything has gotten so much worse. Fergus is gone, and Seamus has been thrust into second. We’re trying to protect ya. We’re trying to live among ya. We’re trying to face Henry and his demons.”

  “And with all that, letting Liam die at the hands of a demon is still an acceptable punishment? You did not punish Fergus for his disobedience!”

  “He was released from Colm’s command,” Liam said. “We suffer the same fate. We have no one to protect us now.”

  The demon that possessed Bertie Adams reported to Henry that he heard Abigail Adams ask the angel they called Liam about his accommodations at the farm. Henry, in turn, ordered Lord Patterson to dispatch Captain Chitwood and his regulars to verify the angels were indeed living on a farm in Roxbury.