“We spent days backtracking through the Appalachian Mountains looking for you!” Ian exclaimed. “We were racked with worry and grief! The only thing that gave us comfort was knowing Abe was with you.”
Seamus recalled the walk from Breed’s Hill back to Roxbury after he and Ian and Colm repossessed their dead and buried vessels. The countryside was eerily quiet that night. They experienced a haunting emptiness as they stood in the living room of the abandoned farmhouse. At that moment, Seamus had been sure Patrick was dead.
Jeremiah saw that Colm’s consciousness had left the conversation. He handed his son to Mkwa, waded through the stream and garnered Colm’s attention.
“Me and Joseph saw the struggles you all endured aligning with the children of man. You cried for the first time. You clung ta one another seeking comfort from confusion, doubt, and fear. Liam died. It was like watching the Romans throw innocent lambs ta the lions, yet all of you stood up under the weight of constant exposure ta human emotions.”
Colm’s eyes flashed hard golden light.
Jeremiah continued, “I know Joseph’s death is inflicting agony on your spirit. It hurts all of us, but don’t shy away from the children of man because you’re afraid of the pain of lovin’ ‘em.”
Colm said nothing.
It was what Jeremiah expected.
Mkwa noticed that Patrick was shivering. She removed the blanket draped over her shoulders and handed it to him.
Her son began to fuss in her arms. A silken thread of drool slid from the baby’s mouth.
Abe fished in the inside pocket of his coat where he kept a gift, that was until now, forgotten. It was a pacifier crafted from red coral and silver. He scooped it out of his pocket and offered it to Mkwa. “This is a gift for your son from a friend—Paul Revere.”
Mkwa had never seen red coral, but she had seen silver many times within the angels’ wings and the crystals that rained from them. She was surprised to see that silver could become tarnished as it had on the pacifier.
“Jeremiah has spoken of Paul Revere,” she said.
The baby cried out in frustration.
“May I give him the pacifier?” Abe asked Mkwa.
She nodded.
The baby took the pacifier and sucked on the red coral with contentment.
Colm remembered the first time he had seen the baby. He had asked Mkwa, “What’s ya son’s name?”
“I think you know his name,” Mkwa had said, smiling.
Colm had nodded. Joseph.
Forty-eight
Portland Place, London December 25, 1775
Margaret’s labor began in the early hours of Christmas morning. She called for her personal maid, Constance McCaskey. Constance was heavy with child. She would soon give birth to her own babe.
A few hours later, with Thomas pacing the living room, Margaret gave birth to her eighth child—a blond-haired, blue-eyed baby girl. She kissed her baby’s soft cheek and sighed, “Your father was a man of great courage.”
Read other books by Salina B Baker
About the Author
Salina is an avid student of Colonial America and the American Revolution. Her lifelong passion for history and all things supernatural led her to write historical fantasy. Reading, extensive traveling and graveyard prowling with her husband keep that passion alive. She has three forthcoming novels in the works for 2017. Salina lives in Austin, Texas and is a member of The Writers’ League of Texas.
Connect with Salina
https://www.salinabbaker.com/
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