Angels & Patriots

by Salina B Baker

  Jeremiah saw the look on Joseph’s face when he said Benjamin Church’s name. “Paul told me he don’t trust Church. You don’t wanna admit it, but you’re beginnin’ not ta trust him either. Even I’ve heard Church has been ta Boston several times since Lexington and Concord.”

  “Benjamin is a member of our inner circle. I have known him most of my adult life.” Joseph’s eyes saddened. “I cannot admit it—not yet. He is one of the few who agree with my opinion that we should launch an assault on Boston before reinforcements arrive from Great Britain.”

  They entered Braintree in silence.

  When the angels rode up to the Adams’ house, Philomon Morris was in the front yard talking to several people who had fled Weymouth. Philomon recognized Jeremiah, Michael, and Joseph. A sneer tried to form on his lips. How is Dr. Warren associated with these ruffians?

  “If you will excuse me,” Philomon said to the people with whom he was conversing. “I need to inform Mrs. Adams that we have visitors.”

  Those standing in the yard eyed the approaching men. Some of them also recognized Joseph. They were surprised to see the man holding the patriotic cause together in Braintree.

  The six angels and two men dismounted.

  Abigail ran out of the house and into Joseph’s arms. He hugged her tight.

  She stepped back and looked into his young handsome face. A breath caught in her throat and her eyes opened wide. Her fingers fluttered near his cheeks. “Your face is badly bruised! Who did this to you?”

  Joseph reached to calm her fluttering fingers. “We will talk about it later. The angels have come to take Liam home.”

  Abigail’s eyes shifted from Joseph’s face to search for the archangel she had spoken to at the meetinghouse nearly three months ago. He was there, tall and thin; he looked like a young fatherly king who would never dream of leaving his subjects desolate and afraid.

  She went to him, “I must warn you that Liam is not doing well.”

  He nodded.

  “Please, bring your men and come in, Mr. Bohannon. You will have to reacquaint me with them, except, of course, Jeremiah and Michael.”

  Abigail stepped aside as Colm, Jeremiah, Seamus, Michael, and Joseph filed into the house.

  Brandon and Patrick lingered on the portico with downcast eyes.

  Ian sat on the step, propped his elbows on his knees, and rested his chin in the palms of his hands.

  “You and Michael look so much alike,” Abigail said to Patrick.

  He glanced at her.

  “What is your name?”

  “Patrick.”

  “I remember you. You shielded me from the demon in the meetinghouse.”

  Patrick nodded.

  Sensing their shyness, she said, “Do not linger outside because you feel uncomfortable. Liam will want to see you.”

  Patrick and Brandon reluctantly entered the house. Ian remained on the step.

  “Mrs. Adams, leave Ian,” Colm said from where he stood near the door. “He’ll come inside in his own time. Where’s Liam?”

  “Follow me,” she said. “Quietly, please. My youngest children are napping.”

  The angels and the men followed Abigail up the steps. The Adams’ saltbox farmhouse was modestly furnished. Colm was reminded of the furnishings in Joseph’s house on Hanover Street.

  Abigail led them to a bedroom near the end of the upstairs hallway. She knocked on the door and said, “Liam, your angels are here to see you. May we come in?”

  There was no answer. She opened the door anyway.

  Michael shrank from the door. Memories of Ian’s pain and confusion at the Barrett farm paralyzed Brandon. He stood in the hall with Michael as the others entered the bedroom.

  Liam was asleep. Light blankets covered his naked body from the waist down. His green aura flashed weakly just as Ian’s aura had done before it went out. Colm sat on the bed beside him. He stroked Liam’s dark hair and touched his cheeks. The gash on Liam’s forehead had festered and grown to cover most of his forehead. The skin around it was black. The smell was noxious.

  Abigail bit her lower lip, and then said, “He is in so much pain. Our physician here in Braintree, Dr. Abner Hall, has been attending to his wound, but the wound continues to worsen. Dr. Hall prescribed something to make Liam more comfortable and allow him to sleep. He eats very little.”

  She blushed. “He often pulls off his nightshirt. I do not think he realizes he is doing it.”

  “Dr. Hall cannot treat Liam like a human patient. Liam’s human vessel is alive because of his angelic spirit. There is no way to balance his bodily humors,” Joseph said. He examined Liam’s rotting forehead. He touched Liam’s bare chest, in several places, with his fingertips. Then, he touched Liam’s arms and shoulders.

  Colm saw the alarm in Joseph’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “This did not happen to Ian,” Joseph said. He shook his head, as if in denial of what he discovered. “His muscle tissue is degenerating.”

  Colm stared at Joseph in disbelief.

  “Wake him,” Joseph said.

  Colm didn’t respond.

  “Wake him.”

  Colm put his hands on Liam’s cheeks and kissed the top of his head. His voice was soft and tender when he said, “Liam, wake up.”

  Liam moaned.

  “Wake up.” Colm stroked the top of Liam’s head.

  Liam’s eyes fluttered. To the angels, it seemed an eternity before Liam succeeded in keeping his eyes open.

  “Joseph?” Liam asked in a hoarse voice. He turned his head and shifted his eyes. “Colm?”

  “We’ve come to take ya home,” Colm said. He tried to smile, but the effort hurt his spirit.

  Joseph saw that Liam’s blue eyes were dull and cloudy.

  Liam tried to focus on the others in the bedroom. It required an effort he could not put forth. He did not need his eyes to tell him his brotherhood and Abigail were there.

  Joseph got up and went to Abigail. He whispered, “When did his eyes begin to show signs of cataracts?”

  Abigail’s lips quivered. “My daughter brings him breakfast. Afterward, she reads to him. It helps him concentrate on something other than his pain. Anyway, she saw the change in his eyes yesterday morning. It happened overnight.”

  In the hallway, Michael put his head in his hands.

  On the step outside the Adams’ front door, Ian did the same.

  Brandon swallowed the lump in his throat. He stepped into the bedroom beside Patrick.

  “Why are you taking me home?” Liam asked Colm.

  Seamus sat on the bed beside Colm.

  Liam reached for Seamus’ hand.

  Seamus grasped it. He looked to Colm for permission to answer Liam. Colm’s eyes flashed hard and silver. He nodded.

  “Colm may have found a way for us to beat Henry and the demons. It might…might…” Seamus wiped at the tears in his eyes. “…get you well. But we ain’t doin’ it unless all eight of us agree to it. Everyone’s agreed except you and Fergus. We ain’t told him yet.”

  Liam moaned. He raised his left hand. It traveled to the infected gash on his forehead—it looked more like a monster’s decaying mouth than a wound. His forefinger brushed the black skin under the wound near his eyebrows. He cried out in pain.

  Brandon and Patrick burst into tears. Joseph went to them. He opened his arms, and they fell into them. The angels’ tears soaked the shoulders of Joseph’s cloak. He stroked Patrick’s curly black hair, and Brandon’s broad shoulders.

  Liam’s hand moved to his chest. The fingers tried to tear away the nightshirt he thought was still there. He moaned. “Abigail, are you here?”

  She sat on the bed beside Seamus and stilled Liam’s groping hand. She said, “I am here, Liam.”

  Michael sobbed. Ian sobbed.

  With the love and gentleness of the mother Liam’s palimpsest longed for, Abigail asked, “Do you understand that Colm and your brotherhood are here to take you home?”

  “Y
es.”

  “Did you understand what Seamus said?”

  “Colm wants me to agree to…something.”

  “Does this have to do with the Sigil of Lucifer?” Abigail asked Jeremiah.

  “It does.”

  She released Liam’s hand and looked at Colm. “Tell Liam what you want him to agree to before he cannot understand your words.”

  Wings rustled.

  Joseph tightened his arms around Brandon and Patrick.

  “Liam, do you hear me?” Colm asked.

  “Yes.”

  I know he’ll understand. He’s always been the smart one, Colm thought. The thought stung his spirit. He said, “We have to reject Heaven to become strong enough to defeat the demons once and for all.”

  Liam’s weak grasp squeezed Seamus’ hand for reassurance. “I cannot think clearly.” His left hand tried to travel to his forehead, but he was able to stop it. His hand dropped beside him on the bed. “You have my agreement, but whatever I must do, I cannot do it without Abigail.”

  Brandon’s and Patrick’s sobs abated. Joseph released them from his arms.

  Michael and Ian continued to sob.

  The angels and Jeremiah and Joseph looked at Abigail with expectance.

  “I cannot leave my children and go to Roxbury,” she said.

  The momentary lucidity Liam had managed was slipping away. He reached for the last thread of it and said, “Abigail, if you do not help me, we may all die.”

  She looked at Colm and Seamus with an apology in her eyes.

  The last thread of lucidity slipped from Liam’s grasp. His palimpsest surfaced and said, “Mother, I am also your child. Why will you not help me?”

  She touched her hand to her breast and breathed, “I…”

  Michael’s sobs, from where he stood in the hall, filtered into the silent bedroom.

  Philomon Morris stood at the top of the steps and laughed while he watched Michael cry. He was tired of the dying man Mrs. Adams was caring for. Despite Dr. Warren’s presence, Philomon was glad these men were grieving.

  Michael heard Philomon and sensed his hateful thoughts. He wiped a hand across his blurry eyes, turned, and ran at Philomon. Michael was choking the servant before he realized what he was doing.

  “Do ya think Liam’s death is amusing?” Michael asked. The sneer on his lips and the hate in his eyes terrified Philomon. “Do ya know who I am? Do ya know who my brother is?”

  Michael shook him.

  Philomon gagged and his eyes bulged. His fingers clawed at the hand Michael had around his neck.

  Michael’s green eyes seared Philomon’s soul with hatred. “We’re done!” Michael screamed. “We won’t have to bow to human filth like ya anymore! We won’t have to bear the suffering and hatred and selfishness of the children of man. We’ll finally be free!”

  Philomon clawed at Michael’s hand. The world turned gray.

  Michael’s angry words shocked Colm. He faltered before he dashed into the hall to pull his brother off. That servant is a vile man, Colm thought.

  Abigail’s two youngest children cried for their mother from behind closed doors.

  Michael slammed Philomon against the wall. “LIAM’S DYING AND YA LAUGHED! YA LAUGHED, YA FUCKER!”

  Just before his world went black, Philomon heard distant voices screaming Michael’s name.

  Seamus, Jeremiah, and Colm struggled to get Michael to let go of Philomon’s throat.

  “Ya are killing him!” Colm shouted. “Ya are gonna break his neck!”

  Michael’s body was numb, and his spirit was out of control. The hands that grasped him and pulled at his body seemed far away and unimportant. His palimpsest surfaced and spoke to him. “I know ya are scared and angry, but ya aren’t alone. I am here. Let Colm soothe us.”

  Michael panted.

  “Calm yaself.”

  Michael’s breathing slowed, and he became aware of Colm’s arms enfolding him.

  “Let Colm soothe us.”

  Michael’s palimpsest slipped below the surface of his memory and his hands slipped from Philomon’s neck. The servant fell in a heap on the floor.

  Jeremiah and Seamus let go of Michael and backed away without looking at the man on the floor.

  Michael trembled in Colm’s arms. His voice quivered. “He laughed at our grief.”

  Joseph stood in the hall. He made no move to help Philomon.

  Abigail’s joy at seeing Joseph and the angels folded in on itself. Her children were crying, the angels were upset, everything she had done to mother Liam seemed useless, and Philomon had revealed a callousness she did not know he was capable of.

  Her three-year-old son, Thomas, came out of the bedroom crying. She picked him up and hugged him to her breast. Five-year-old Charles cautiously followed his brother. He was no longer crying, but upon seeing strangers crowding the hall, he clung to his mother’s skirts.

  “Joseph, are you not going to attend to Philomon?” Abigail asked. “What if he is—?” She did not want to say the word in front of her sons.

  “He is not dead,” Joseph said with disgust. “If he was, the angels would be tending to his soul despite what he did. What he is, however, is a contemptible human being. He deserved what he got.”

  A disconcerting silence settled in the hall.

  “Let’s leave Joseph and Mrs. Adams alone so they can say what they need to say to each other,” Colm said to the angels and Jeremiah.

  They filed into Liam’s bedroom and closed the door.

  Abigail set Thomas on his feet. He cried and threw himself on the floor in a fit of anger. She leaned into the stairwell and yelled down the stairs, “Nabby, John Quincy, come up here and get your brothers!”

  Amid the little ones’ crying and temper tantrums, ten-year-old Nabby and eight-year-old John Quincy managed to get their little brothers down the stairs.

  Abigail knelt beside Philomon. His neck was bruised, but he was breathing. Satisfied, she stood up and faced Joseph. His eyes were somber and calm.

  She sighed and said, “When Michael and Jeremiah brought Liam here, I realized the angels were delicate and loyal beings. I wondered aloud why mankind did not know that about them. I wrote to John asking for his guidance on how to mother a dying angel.”

  “Did John reply?”

  She pressed her lips together to keep from crying and nodded.

  Joseph waited for her to continue.

  She sniffed. “John’s advice astounded me. He told me I would have to turn my back on God if I hoped to help Liam. Not forever. Just until Liam either healed or…died.”

  “But now, you have chosen to turn your back on Liam.”

  “NO!” Abigail took a step toward Joseph. “I will not turn my back on Liam! I—love him.”

  “Then, why have you refused to help him and his brotherhood?”

  She looked away.

  Joseph put his hands on her shoulders. “Answer me.”

  “Liam has the Sigil of Lucifer tattooed on his neck. I know the other angels have the same tattoo. They want to reject Heaven because they are afraid and desperate. I am afraid of their desperation, Joseph!”

  “Then help them!” Joseph resisted the urge to shake her. His hands dropped from her shoulders.

  She studied his face. “You will do anything for them,” she stated.

  “Yes.”

  “Then, so shall I.”

  “Abigail, your devotion must be unselfish. The angels are incapable of offering apologies or expressing gratitude.”

  She gave him a small smile. “I am well aware of that.”

  On the floor, Philomon stirred.

  “Despite your abhorrence for Philomon, I will not release him from our employment,” Abigail said in an indignant tone, although Joseph had not suggested she release her servant. “He has been a part of our family since before I was born, and he shall stay.”

  Philomon blinked and ran a hand across his eyes. He struggled to his feet and touched his painful throat. “Mrs. Ada
ms, what happened?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  The bruises on Philomon’s neck pleased Joseph, and he said, “You got what you deserved.”

  “Joseph!” Abigail hissed.

  Philomon, in turn, noted the bruises on Joseph’s cheeks. He tried, and failed, to raise his voice above a whisper when he hatefully asked, “Did you also get what you deserved, Dr. Warren?”

  “That is enough!” Abigail warned. “Joseph, take care of our...friends. I will prepare for our journey. I am sure I can make arrangements for the children’s care while I am gone. Philomon, come with me.”

  Abigail’s shoes tapped on the wooden risers as she and Philomon went downstairs. When she crossed the living room, she saw, through the open front door, Ian sitting alone on the portico step.

  “Philomon, rest. I will bring you some chamomile tea in a few minutes.”

  He feigned confusion and innocence. “Why are you choosing to help these strangers at the risk of endangering your children’s well-being? What would Mr. Adams say about this?”

  Abigail opened her mouth to retort his question, and then snapped it shut. Joseph is right. Philomon does deserve what Michael did to him, she thought. I will not let him ensnare me in his hateful trap. She did not look at him as she turned and walked through the open front door.

  Ian’s knees were pulled in close to his chest, and his arms were crossed over his knees. His forehead rested on his arms. He raised his head when he heard the swish of Abigail’s skirts as she sat beside him.

  “Are you Ian?”

  He looked at her and nodded.

  “Liam told me that Sidonie, your…friend…your female companion died recently. He told me that you almost died as well.”

  His gaze did not shift from her face. He said nothing.

  Can I speak of these things to him? She wondered. Yes, I think I can. Unlike Brandon and Patrick, he is not afraid to look at me.

  She asked, “Are those the reasons you will not see Liam?”

  “You sound like Sidonie. She asked me questions I couldn’t answer.”

  Abigail smiled. “I think you can answer my question; you chose not to.”

  Ian considered her delicate features. Except for her brown eyes, Abigail’s facial features were not much different from Sidonie’s. He asked, “Did Liam tell you what me and Michael and Seamus did to get us banished from Heaven?”