by Ron Carter
The drawn window shades began to lighten, and Brigitte drew them back and sunlight streamed into the room. For a moment they all looked out at the backyard, where the great oak caught the light of the rising sun in its top and the bursting buds and greening leaves were ablaze, and the flood of pink and white blossoms on the cherry and apple and peach trees glowed like gems in the fresh morning. Jays and robins argued, and squirrels chattered. As though caught in a spell, they all stared for a time, awed by a beauty they had not seen before. Then they broke it off and looked at the floor or the bed, but not at each other, and they settled back into their vigil.
Five minutes later Tom thought to turn down the lamps.
At six fifty-five a.m. Margaret spoke to Brigitte. “Would you get something for the children’s breakfast? We had porridge yesterday. Maybe griddle cakes?”
Brigitte stood. “Shall I get them ready for school?”
“No. They stay here today.”
Brigitte silently walked out into the kitchen.
A knock came at the front door while Caleb was helping Adam cut his griddle cakes. Brigitte wiped her hands on her apron and opened it.
Kathleen stood before her, and Brigitte instantly flew into her arms, and the two girls stood in an embrace for a time while Brigitte sobbed. Then she backed up and wiped her eyes, and Kathleen spoke. “I heard about your father. Has Matthew come home?”
“Yes.”
“Could I see him?”
“Oh yes, yes, come in.”
“I think it would be best if I talked to him here.”
Brigitte turned to run to the bedroom, when Matthew came through the archway and walked steadily to the front door.
“I heard your voice. Will you come in?”
“I think not. I had to come find out. How is your father?”
Matthew looked back at the children and motioned to Kathleen, and followed her outside and closed the door. “Bad.”
Kathleen recoiled. She could hardly bear what she must ask next. “Will he live?”
Matthew studied her eyes for a long time. “I don’t think so.”
She gasped and her eyes closed. She swayed on her feet for a moment, and Matthew reached to steady her.
“Will you send one of the children to tell me what happens?”
“Yes.”
She fell silent for a moment and raised her eyes to his, and he saw the need in her and knew she would not be able to say what was in her heart. He chose his words carefully. “Is your family all right? your mother?”
“She’s asleep. The doctor gave her some powders. She was not in her right mind for a time last night.”
“Your father?”
She spoke firmly. “He’s in prison. He confessed. He was an informer to General Gage.”
Matthew studied Kathleen’s face for a moment. In her dark eyes he saw there was nothing left except the instinct to survive. Every other meaningful part of her life had been wrenched from her within the past two days and left her utterly devastated, adrift, reduced to existing in a thick blackness from which she saw no escape, no faint gleam of light or hope. He saw it, and he yearned with all his soul to pull her within his arms and hold her and talk to her gently until she knew it would be all right.
But he could not. He could only frame the single question that would let Kathleen choose the direction their lives would travel—together, or apart. “Could I come visit you later today?”
She looked steadily into his face for a time before she answered, and her voice was firm. “I think that would not be good.”
Matthew did not move or respond, and she continued.
“There would always be the question standing between us. Did my father bring about the death of yours?” She paused. “We may never speak of it, but it would always be there. I will not do that to you.”
Matthew’s eyes dropped for a moment, and he accepted it. “I will always love you.”
“I will always love you too, Matthew. More than life itself.”
“There’s no other way?”
She shook her head. “None. I must go. I would give my life if it would save your father.”
“I know you would.”
“Tell your mother—”
“Kathleen, is that you?” Margaret’s voice came from behind Matthew, and Matthew stepped aside as Margaret approached. She did not stop, but walked directly to Kathleen and embraced her and kissed her on the cheek and held her, and Kathleen clung to her.
“Are you all right, Kathleen? Is Phoebe?”
“Mother’s not well. She’s under doctor’s care. I heard about John. I don’t know how to say how sorry I am.”
“Don’t try, child. I know. Come in.”
“I can’t. I have to get home to Mother and the children.” Kathleen was desperately clinging to self-control, and suddenly she could no longer hang on and she collapsed in Margaret’s arms and stood for long minutes, sobbing uncontrollably. Margaret embraced her and stroked her hair and waited. Kathleen leaned back and stared into Margaret’s eyes and sobbed, “What’s happened to us? What’s happened to the world? It’s all gone! Gone! Everything we loved, ever dreamed of, ever wanted! How, Margaret? How?”
There was no answer. Margaret could only hold her and wipe her tears.
Kathleen shuddered as she brought herself back under control. “I love you, Margaret. No matter what happens, know that I and my family love you.”
“I know, child. And we love you.”
Kathleen backed away and wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked at Matthew, and then she turned and walked to the gate and into the street and did not look back.
“Mother!”
Margaret jerked at Brigitte’s frantic cry, and Matthew ran to the bedroom with Margaret following. John was moving, turning onto his side. His eyes were open, trying to focus, and Tom was on his knees beside him, preventing him from rolling onto his back. Margaret knelt beside Tom, and Tom moved so Matthew could take his place.
“Margaret, is that you?”
A sob welled from Margaret’s chest and she choked, “I’m here, John. I’m here.”
He brightened. “Matthew?”
“He’s right here.”
John squinted, and slowly his eyes came into focus and he smiled. “You’re back. How’s Billy?”
“Good. His fever broke in the night. The doctor said he’ll be all right. I’ll go back for him in a few days.”
“Have you told his mother?”
“I stopped there on the way here.”
John turned to look at Margaret, then past her at Tom. “Are you all right?”
Tom came to his side. “I’m fine. Don’t wear yourself out talking.”
“I won’t. My back’s sore. How bad is it?”
There was the slightest hesitation before Tom said, “You’ve got a bullet in your lung. Now that you’re awake I’ll go get Doctor Soderquist.”
John caught the hesitation, and realized Tom’s words did not answer the question, and in that instant he knew. “Get him. He’ll have to take it out.”
Tom looked at Margaret, and she waved her hand and he left.
Matthew asked, “Are you comfortable? Can we move you?”
“On my side, maybe.”
Matthew turned him onto his right side while Margaret moved pillows to prop him up, and she replaced the cold packs while Matthew raised John’s head and slipped a pillow beneath it.
John smiled. “This fever is making me light-headed.”
“You’ve been fevered all night,” Margaret said.
“Have you been up watching me?”
“We all have.”
“That was a waste. One could have done it.” He smiled and Margaret smiled at him.
John breathed deeply with the exertion, and suddenly he coughed and winced and groaned at the pain of the big lead ball in his chest, and he swallowed and tasted warm salt blood. He reached for a wet cloth to wipe at his mouth, and he saw the flecks of bright red on the cloth. He fo
lded it and held it in his hand away from the sight of the others. He looked out the window at the sunlight in the trees and blossoms, and the endless blue of the sky, and revelled in them.
“Beautiful day,” he said quietly.
“Walter said you should drink something cold.”
“Good. Is there any cider? You make good cider.”
Matthew left and returned with a glass, and John sipped at it and smiled. “That’s good.” He sipped again, and coughed, and again swallowed and wiped and hid the red flecks in the folded cloth. He looked up at Margaret. “Was there any fighting in the streets yesterday?”
“No. We got news from time to time about the fighting in Concord, but there was no shooting here.”
“What did you hear?”
“The British took a terrible beating.”
John nodded. “They did.”
“Joseph Warren came to see you in the night.”
“What did he want?”
“To know if you were all right. And to tell us you did well yesterday. You and Tom.”
“No more than the others.”
“You led the Boston militia.”
“We only tried to show them what we learned years ago.”
The front door sounded, and Doctor Soderquist walked into the bedroom, dressed in fresh clothing. He walked to the bed and reached to touch John’s head and face.
“On your stomach,” he ordered, and John rolled onto his stomach. Walter lifted the cold pack and once more looked carefully at the large red splotch in the center. He laid his ear against John’s back, then shifted and listened again. He pursed his mouth for a moment and then spoke to everyone else in the room. “I’ll have to be alone now to do some things the rest of you should not see.”
He waited until the room cleared, and then he closed the door and sat down beside John. His face was drawn, eyebrows peaked. “Can you feel that ball in your chest?”
“Yes, heavy. There’s pain when I breathe, and when I cough it feels like something is tearing inside.”
“It probably is. Can you taste blood?”
“All the time.”
Walter exhaled and his shoulders slumped. “I hate it, John, but I have to tell you. I doubt you would survive an operation to get it out. And I doubt you’ll survive if it is left in there. I don’t know what to do.”
“Let me take away your burden. I’m dying. I can feel it. I doubt I’ll last the day.”
“It’s breaking my heart, John.” Walter swallowed hard.
John smiled. “It wasn’t your doing. You’ve served Boston well for forty years. I’m grateful to have you here.”
Walter said nothing, and he slowly worked his hands together and stared at them as he sat in the shaft of sunlight, not knowing what to say next.
“Walter, how much time?”
Walter thought long before he answered. “Maybe an hour, maybe less. You’re bleeding to death inside.”
“I thought so. Would you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Can you bandage me and put me on my back so I can talk, and let me tell the family.”
Ten minutes later Walter pulled the sheet and quilt up to John’s shoulders as John lay on his back, propped up with pillows. “That bandage will hold. I’ll bring them in.”
Walter opened the door and said brusquely, “You can come back in,” and they silently filed back in, wide-eyed, waiting for the doctor to speak.
“He’ll be all right on his back. That bandage will hold for today. I’ll be back tonight to change it. His fever’s dropped a little. He can talk when he wants. Let him drink when he wants it, and give him some bread and milk if he’s hungry. If anything changes come get me.”
He paused and reached to take John’s hand, and he said quietly, “I’ll see you soon, friend.”
“Thank you.”
When the front door closed behind the doctor, John smiled at the twins, Adam and Priscilla. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
“Mama said we should stay home today,” Adam said. “Was there a battle yesterday?”
“Yes, there surely was.”
“Were you in it?”
“Tom and I and Matthew were all in it, and Billy Weems too.”
“Did you shoot at them?”
“We chased them from Concord clear back home.”
“Did you win?”
“I think we did.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Yes, I am. A British bullet hit me in the back.”
Priscilla stared, wide-eyed. “Are you going to die?” she blurted.
“Not right away. I’ve got too much to do to die right now.”
“Oh.”
“If I tell you some things, will you both promise me to do them?”
“Uh-huh,” they answered.
“Have your prayers every day and learn to read the Bible.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Take care of each other and Mother.”
“Uh-huh.”
Suddenly Priscilla and Adam understood that the others in the room were standing still, silent, and that John was talking to them alone, and they knew something was happening. They moved their feet and looked at the others with questions in their eyes, then looked back at their father.
“Will you try hard to learn to understand how to love others and God?”
“Yes.”
“Will you learn to listen to that little voice inside of you that tells you what is right and what is wrong?”
“Uh-huh.”
John smiled and nodded at them. For a moment he studied Priscilla’s heart-shaped face and her blue eyes, and then Adam’s blocky face and serious eyes, and he reached and they came to his bed. He gently touched each of their faces, and then he said, “You’ve promised. I’ll expect you to do it.”
John now turned to Caleb, who approached the bed, his face somber and his head bowed. “Caleb. Will you look after your younger brother and sister and see that they do the things they’ve promised?”
“Yes, sir,” Caleb answered, his lower lip quivering.
“You will soon be a man. Your mother will need you to be strong. Will you be strong for her, son?”
“I will,” Caleb said firmly.
John nodded. “Good.” Then he spoke to Brigitte. “Same promises as your brothers and sister have made?”
Brigitte’s chin trembled. “Yes.”
She bent low and kissed him, and he smiled and looked at the lines of her face as though to memorize them as she backed away from the bed.
“Now, would you four go out into the parlor for a while. I have some serious things to talk over with your mother.”
They waited until the door closed behind the children, and John turned to Tom.
“Thank you for everything.”
Tom bit down hard against tears. “Don’t thank me, John. Don’t thank me.”
John reached and Tom came to his bedside and sat beside him, and John grasped his thin, strong hand and held it.
“You’ve been a friend. My true friend.”
Tom’s chin trembled.
“Will you look in on Margaret and the family from time to time?”
Tom nodded but could not speak.
“One more thing. The battle yesterday—it was right. We stood on the right side. It was more than resisting the regulars. It was part of a bigger plan. It was a privilege to be by your side.”
Tom’s shoulders shook with silent sobs.
“Don’t worry,” John continued. “I’ll be seeing you again soon. I promise.”
Tom bowed his head, and the silent tears ran down his cheeks, and he clutched John’s hand in both of his. He tried to speak and there were no words that would come, and he tried once more. “God bless you and keep you,” he choked out.
John released his hand, and Tom rose and wiped his sleeve across his eyes and backed away from the bed.
John spoke to Matthew. “You did fine yesterday.”
Matthew
did not answer.
“You’ll have to be master of the house. You can do it. Listen to your mother.”
Matthew kneeled beside the bed and grasped John’s hand in both of his, and John looked him full in the face.
“Matthew, try hard to understand what’s going on all around you. There is a plan unfolding for this land. I see it in bits and pieces. Somehow the battle yesterday was a necessary part of it. You made the right choice when you joined in. Study the affairs of this country and watch. Something remarkable is going to happen. Will you do it?”
“Yes. I will.”
“Stay close to God. Read his holy words. Pray. It will come to you.” John paused and coughed, and could not hide the bright froth that showed at the corners of his mouth, and he wiped it away. “Have you talked with Kathleen since you got back?”
“She came here to see you.”
“Did you two talk?”
“Yes. It’s over. She chose it, not me.”
The air went out of John, and for long moments he stared at the ceiling. “I am sorry to know that, but you must move on. You will do well.”
Matthew leaned over John and kissed him on the cheek. “Father, I love you with my whole heart. You’ll be with me as long as I live.” His chin trembled and he swallowed. “God bless you.” He rose and wiped silent tears.
John coughed once more and gritted his teeth against the violent stab of pain in his chest, and he quickly wiped at his mouth. His breath came in short gasps for a moment, then slowed. “Could I talk with your mother alone?”
Matthew and Tom walked from the room and closed the door.
“Margaret, come sit beside me.”
She sat down and reached for his hand.
“I have little time, and there are some things I must tell you.”
Her eyes were dry, her face soft, and her eyes shined as she listened.
“I love you with all that is in me. More than life, more than anything on this earth.” His voice was weakening, but his eyes were bright, intense.
He paused, and her eyes widened in surprise. Never had he been so open with his feelings.
“I cannot imagine what my life would have been without you. You have been my greatest blessing, my friend, my wife. I cannot think of a virtue that you do not possess. I thank you for all you have been to me, and for the children you have borne and reared for me.”