Angels & Patriots

by Salina B Baker

  Jeremiah and Abe dragged the two dead men to the barn to keep them out of sight until they could be buried. When they returned to the road with Gordon to make sure they had not overlooked incriminating evidence, they saw several dozen volunteer soldiers from the provincial army camp walking toward the farm in response to the earlier sound of musket fire.

  There was no denying muskets were fired. The smoke and the smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the stagnant air. The reason for it required lying; something the angels were incapable of doing.

  “Why didn’t Fergus stop them from coming out here?” Gordon asked Jeremiah.

  “I got no idea. I ain’t his nanny.”

  “Let me talk to them,” Abe said. “Everyone knows they drink a bottle of rum a day and are usually rowdy. I think a similar story about what happened here will satisfy them.”

  The soldiers did, indeed, look drunk, except one young man who stepped forward and identified himself as Captain Amiel McCurdy; he seemed only marginally drunk.

  Captain McCurdy assessed his surroundings. He saw nothing threatening—just an ordinary farm and three countrymen standing in the road. “What happened here?”

  “A drunken friend of ours and his cohorts came by looking for a fight,” Abe said. He jerked his head at Gordon. “Our friend does not like Gordon because he is a free black man. When he gets drunk, he rides over here and shoots at him.”

  A man standing near the front of the group pointed at the musket in Gordon’s hand and said, “It appears that Gordon was shooting back.”

  There was scattered laughter among the soldiers.

  Jeremiah’s eyes darted from one man to another. They looked bored and restless, like a fight was just what they needed to break the tedium of sitting around all day waiting for action. Jeremiah reminded himself that these men where fellow rebels who posed no more threat than a drunken brawl.

  “We were afraid the regulars were marching into Roxbury and killing Americans,” Captain McCurdy said. He looked disappointed knowing that was not the case. “Do you belong to one of the companies come to join the army?”

  “No,” Abe said. “We live here, but if there is call to fight, we will answer it.”

  Jeremiah saw several men put a bottle to their lips.

  “We thank you for coming out here, but we need to get back to the work we were doing before our friend arrived,” Abe said to Captain McCurdy.

  “I’m curious. Who is this man you consider to be your friend?”

  The angels watched from the living room windows.

  Gordon and Jeremiah exchanged glances.

  Abe smiled broadly. “General Fergus Driscoll is a close friend of ours. He knows our unruly friend. Have you heard rumors about General Driscoll? Rumors about who he is?”

  Ten men broke off from the group and walked away.

  Captain McCurdy’s stomach lurched. He willed his eyes to remain on Abe’s face. “My company is from Hartford, Connecticut, but yes, we have heard the rumors.”

  “Those men who just walked away believe the rumors. You also believe the rumors.”

  Amiel McCurdy nodded.

  The sound of hooves pounding the road grew closer. A cloud of dust surrounded the horse hurtling toward them from the west. Colm’s hair was free of its queue, and it flowed in streamers away from his face. His unbuttoned coat billowed like a sail. His eyes were bright with urgency.

  Abe saw, with satisfaction, Amiel McCurdy’s eyes widen when he looked at the horse’s rider.

  Gordon and Jeremiah breathed a sigh of relief.

  The thunderstruck Captain Amiel McCurdy and his eleven remaining men breathed, “Oh…my…God.”

  Colm slowed his horse and dismounted.

  The soldiers from Connecticut sobered and fell to their knees.

  Michael threw open the farmhouse door and ran to his brother. Without regard to the kneeling humans, he jumped on Colm and threw his arms around him. Colm hugged Michael tight. Michael sensed anxiety and fear in his brother’s spirit. It scared him worse than Colm’s panicked behavior earlier in the day.

  The brothers let go of one another.

  Colm considered the kneeling men. He looked at Gordon, Abe, and then Jeremiah. They smiled and shrugged.

  “Get to ya feet,” Colm said to the kneeling men.

  The men shivered at the sound of Colm’s voice.

  The man closest to Colm began to cry.

  Another man lowered his head, and begged, “Please, God, have mercy on us.”

  “I’m not God,” Colm said. “Get to ya feet!”

  “He emanates green light,” Captain McCurdy murmured.

  “Let’s go inside,” Colm said to his brotherhood. He nodded toward the soldiers from Connecticut. “I can’t soothe them. They’ll leave eventually.”

  Darkness wrapped her arms around the farm. Colm tried and failed to hide his anxiety and exhaustion while they ate dinner. His men had not eaten since the night before, and despite their archangel’s spiritual state, they wolfed down their meal.

  After dinner, Colm walked outside to make sure none of the humans were still kneeling in the road under the belief that he was God. The road was deserted. Captain Amiel McCurdy and his company from Connecticut left Roxbury that night, and never returned.

  Everyone looked at Colm when he walked in the house. The living room was silent except for the sound of embers popping in the fireplace. They were waiting for him to explain why he had left them in a panic.

  Patrick and Michael sat together on a couch, drinking excessive quantities of rum. The others were gathered around the big table, also consuming great quantities of alcohol.

  “Robert attacked Joseph on the road just east of Newton,” Colm said. He took the jug of rum Patrick was holding, poured a healthy drink into his tankard, and handed the jug back. “He sent those demons here to distract me so he could have his fun without interruption. I got there before he could do little more than leave bruises on Joseph’s face.”

  “Robert touched Joseph?” Ian asked, appalled.

  “Aye.” Colm drained most of the rum in his tankard and shoved it toward Patrick for a refill.

  Jeremiah got up and made eye contact with Colm. “You scared your angels ta death. Don’t say it ain’t none of my business, because it is. You didn’t have ta make up a story ta satisfy them men who came here. Abe did. You didn’t have ta worry about them same men maybe causin’ a fight because they didn’t like the color of Gordon’s skin. I did. You didn’t have ta bury Abijah Cunningham and the other dead man. Me and Gordon did.”

  Colm’s jaw tightened.

  “We expect you ta protect Joseph because he’s one of us, but you could’ve said why and where you was goin’.”

  “Are ya done shaming me?” Colm asked.

  “Damn archangel,” Jeremiah spat. “Sometimes, talkin’ ta you is like talkin’ ta an infant. You’re lookin’ at me, but you ain’t hearin’ me.”

  Colm let Jeremiah finish, then said, “Gordon, ya are right. The sigil requires a spell.”

  “I thought so. We have to find one that will counteract God’s wrath.”

  “How’re we going to find a spell like that?” Brandon asked.

  “I have a grimoire a witch living in Providence gave me ten years ago,” Gordon said. His eyes lit up with thoughts of the past. “Her name was Phoebe. She was a young, black-skinned beauty who gave me a lot more than a grimoire. I would have stopped chasing demons and stayed with her forever if…”

  Ian got up from the table and took the steps to above stairs. The ceiling in the living room creaked under his heavy footfalls. Then, they were silent.

  “Was it something I said?” Gordon asked, surprised.

  Seamus’ eyes darted at the ceiling. “Sidonie’s death is beginnin’ to weigh on his spirit.”

  “Maybe, he didn’t want to hear Gordon talking about fucking a woman and having to picture it in his mind,” Michael retorted.

  Rum spurted from Patrick’s mouth, and he nearl
y choked laughing.

  Brandon burst into laughter. Beer slopped out of his mug and soaked the front of his shirt.

  Colm let the boys laugh and carry on. He was afraid that what he was about to say would silence their light-heartedness for a long time—if not forever. When the boys calmed down, he called for Ian.

  Ian dragged himself down the steps and sat on the bottom riser.

  “We can’t use a witch’s grimoire,” Colm explained. “Those spells aren’t for angels. Even if they were, we couldn’t concoct one strong enough to accomplish what we need to do.”

  “Get on with it, Colm, before we all go crazy from watchin’ you sulk over what’s goin’ on in your head,” Jeremiah grumbled.

  Colm sighed. His eyes flashed. “We must reject Heaven in favor of the children of man.”

  Wings rustled and a breeze swept through the living room. The angels released their auras. The human men squinted against the blinding light.

  Seamus and Brandon knocked their chairs over backward as they jumped to their feet. Ian put his head in his hands. Michael and Patrick sat drunk and dumbfounded.

  “Why would you even consider doin’ that?” Seamus asked, incredulously. “You got no idea what that’ll do to us!”

  “Where did you get the notion that we need to reject Heaven?” Brandon demanded.

  “I know it weren’t Joseph’s idea,” Seamus growled. “He wou’dn’t never say somethin’ like that.”

  Colm didn’t want to answer. His angels were already shaken, but he knew they’d continue to ask him where he got the notion, so he forced himself to respond. “I got the notion from Robert. He said the sigil would never work because we’re still bound to Heaven.”

  “You listened to a demon?” Gordon was stunned.

  “Robert’s right,” Colm said. “We can’t fight God’s wrath because we’re still Heaven’s messengers.”

  Tears rolled down Ian’s cheeks. The spiritual burden he had begun to carry over Sidonie’s death was heavy. Compounded with his fear of suffering a human soul again, he was certain he would never be able to shed those burdens if he rejected Heaven.

  “What if we reject Heaven, and we ain’t angels no more?” Patrick asked. He stumbled to his feet. His wings unfurled in response to his apprehension.

  Michael grasped Patrick’s arm and pulled himself up. He couldn’t conjure a single rational thought in regard to what his brother had said.

  “I know ya are scared,” Colm said. He swallowed the dread rising in his throat. “We can’t go on like this anymore. Our war with the demons must end. Otherwise, where will we go? Back to Burkes Garden? Or some other isolated place where we’ll continue to hide from our fear?”

  He looked at Jeremiah. “Ya told me when we moved to the farm that my boys were tired, and they are tired. I’m tired.”

  “You’re suggestin’ we kill ourselves,” Patrick stated.

  Michael’s wings unfurled.

  Colm was stunned by Patrick’s clarity. He hadn’t thought of it that way.

  “What about Fergus and Liam. Don’t they have a say in this?” Brandon asked Colm.

  “We can’t do it without them. It has to be a spell conjured and chanted by all eight of us. Maybe, if we reject Heaven, Liam won’t die. Maybe, if we reject Heaven, we’ll be able to throw off the chains that bind us, once and for all.”

  “What about Joseph and the other patriots we’ve formed a friendship with?” Seamus asked. “Are we gonna be able to protect them from Henry if we reject Heaven?”

  “If we reject Heaven and counteract God’s wrath, we may be so much stronger than we are now.” Silver tears brimmed in Colm’s eyes. “We have to have the courage to walk a different road because the road we’ve been walking hasn’t gotten us anywhere. We’re still scared and weak and unsettled. Do ya think I would purposely do anything to hurt any of ya? Ya are my family.”

  Ian’s muffled sobs set off Michael. He laid his head on Patrick’s shoulder and cried.

  “Things have changed,” Colm said. “Our family has changed. The children of man have joined our family. I know rebellion is a strange concept to angels, yet we’ve been participating in it with the children of man.”

  Seamus stroked his beard thoughtfully. His epiphany felt warm and strong within his spirit. “The patriots have rejected their motherland. Did that make them weaker? Did that make them someone they ain’t? Did that take away their humanity? No, it didn’t. In fact, I’d say it made them stronger.”

  Ian raised his head. He thought of the passion and fire he saw in Joseph’s eyes when he delivered his oration commemorating the Boston Massacre. John Hancock and Samuel Adams had been hiding in Lexington the night of April 18, but their enthusiasm for the rebellion they were stirring resonated in their voices when they spoke.

  “Seamus, you might be right,” Ian said. He wiped the tears from his cheeks.

  Wings rustled and the bright light dimmed.

  Brandon saw the wisdom of Seamus’ words. He said, “I’ll fetch Fergus in the morning.”

  “Let’s wait until we bring Liam back from Braintree,” Colm said. “I’m going so I can speak to Mrs. Adams. The rest of ya can choose to go or not.”

  Michael wiped his wet cheeks on Patrick’s shirtsleeve and said, “Me and Patrick are going.”

  Jeremiah watched Michael drying his cheeks, and was struck by Michael and Patrick’s physical resemblance. It wasn’t a new concept, but somehow, at that moment, it felt different.

  He said, “I’ll go.”

  Ian and Brandon chimed in at the same time, “Me, too.”

  “Me and Gordon do not need to go,” Abe said to Colm. “Someone shou’d stay here. How long do you think you will be gone?”

  “That depends on Liam’s condition and how fast he can travel.”

  As the noose of the siege tightened around Boston, fresh provisions for its soldiers and citizens, as well as fodder for its livestock, became increasingly scarce. General Gage turned his attention to the many islands that dotted the reaches of Boston Harbor.

  In the last week of May, Gage ordered four sloops to sail to tiny Grape Island near the town of Weymouth to pick up some recently harvested hay. The appearance of this little British fleet along the shores of Weymouth immediately created concern among the local inhabitants. Believing this a prelude to a full-scale invasion; people living along the coast south of Boston began to flee into the countryside.

  The angels and Jeremiah found themselves caught up in this situation as they rode to Braintree. Alarm guns were firing in Weymouth and Braintree, causing several thousand militiamen to gather on the Weymouth shores. The angels and Jeremiah gathered with them.

  Although they were out of musket range, the militia began firing on the British regulars as they gathered hay from Grape Island and loaded it on board the sloops. One of the sloops fired a few rounds from its swivel guns, but the balls flew over the rebels’ heads.

  The alarm and the sound of guns spurred Fergus to dispatch three companies from Roxbury to the Weymouth shore. When the companies arrived, Joseph was with them.

  He saw Colm and his men sitting on horseback watching the skirmish and ready to participate, if the need arose. Joseph rode to meet the angels.

  “I did not expect to see you here,” Joseph said to Colm. He looked out across the sparkling water at the regulars loading hay. “We will put a stop to this and take care of Elijah Leavitt’s audacity to sell his hay to Gage. Leavitt’s done this before.”

  “I suppose that means ya will be burning his hay as soon as ya can get to the island,” Colm quipped.

  Joseph smiled. “Yes, it does!”

  A sloop shot another round at the rebels. Again, the balls missed their target.

  “Are you on your way to Braintree to get Liam?” Joseph asked.

  “Aye.”

  A militia captain and several of his men approached Joseph. “Dr. Warren, there are a few lighters grounded near the shore. The tide’s coming in. As soon as the
lighters are floating we will row them to the island to chase off those rascals and show that loyalist, Leavitt, we are not standing for selling to the British.”

  “It appears we are not being invaded after all,” Joseph replied. “I will ride to Braintree to spread the word and calm the panic.” It was an excuse to go with the angels.

  The militiamen left to join the others and board the lighters, which were now floating. Joseph and the angels watched them row to Grape Island and swarm onto the shore. The regulars hastily returned to their sloops. There was a brief exchange of British swivel guns and rebel muskets.

  Joseph, Jeremiah, and the angels turned their horses west toward Braintree.

  Joseph did not know if Colm had talked to his men about rejecting Heaven. He could not tell by the angels’ demeanor. They were quiet, but they did not look downcast. Then, he realized their eyes kept darting to his face.

  The fingertip-size bruises on Joseph’s cheeks were black and painful. Hidden beneath his sleeve, his upper arm ached under a ring of heavy bruises from Robert’s grasp. He said, “I am fine.”

  The angels gave him another solicitous glance.

  “Really, I am fine.”

  “Robert Percy is the first demon I’m killing after we reject Heaven,” Michael proclaimed. “He’s not getting away with hurting ya, Joseph.”

  “That is the general reaction I have gotten when I am asked about the bruises.”

  “You’re tellin’ people Robert did that to you?” Patrick wondered.

  “Of course not; but enough of that. Based on what you said, Michael, Colm has spoken to all of you about rejecting Heaven.”

  Michael nodded.

  “Is that why you are going to get Liam? You have all agreed?”

  Brandon said, “We still gotta get Liam and Fergus to agree.”

  Ian grimaced. “Can we talk about something else?” he asked.

  It will take time to get accustomed to Ian’s new vessel. Yet, there is no mistaking, his unhappiness with their choice to reject Heaven, Joseph thought.

  Colm changed the conversation. “Joseph, did ya write ya missives to the Continental Congress?”

  “Yes, and I have sent Benjamin to Philadelphia to deliver them.”