Spirit of the Revolution

by Debbie Peterson

  William made his appearance just outside the doorway. He swung his rifle to shoulder height. Without hesitation, he aimed his weapon straight at Owen’s head and fired. Owen jerked to the side, wiped the side of his face, and looked at his hand. Again, he screamed. William’s ghostly bullet whizzed right passed his ear, and the smell of gunpowder filled his nostrils. The boy exhaled short gasps as he struggled for air. Owen squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, and then grabbed at the doorknob closest to his position. His gloved hand slipped right off the handle. Alex and William flew toward him while he frantically yanked off a glove. He grasped hold of the knob, then twisted and tugged at the thing to no avail.

  For added effect, Mathias made the doors bulge out from their frames. Owen’s shoulders slumped forward and while shaking his head, he inched backward, away from the sight. The doors creaked and moaned eerily under the strain as the wood expanded and contracted.

  “Watch out, he’s going to bolt,” Sam called out.

  Their guest alternately shrieked and cried as he staggered toward the stairway. Mathias moved off to the side to allow the descent, knowing Jed waited at the bottom with Dakota at his side.

  Jedediah, standing with a tomahawk in each hand, let loose with one of his war cries. Owen stopped dead in his tracks. Dak rounded the corner and jumped right through Jed’s ghostly form with teeth bared. The dog halted just inches away and all the while, he snarled and barked at the intruder. The kid dropped to his knees, rolled, and then bumped and twisted all the way down the stairway.

  He landed at the bottom in a heap and then turned and looked back. Mathias, alongside the boys, appeared midway on the steps. With a skill honed by decades of experience, they slowly, so very, very slowly, descended the stairs toward the trespasser. They could hear the acceleration of his heartbeat with each step they took.

  Jedediah patted the dog on his way down the steps. “That’s a good boy, Dakota. You did a good job. Stay now.”

  Self-preservation prompted Owen to whirl away from them and make a break for the entryway door. Once again, he found himself tearing at the handle of a door that simply refused to open. “Let me out,” he screamed pitifully, helplessly. “Please. Please, just let me out.”

  Mathias snorted his disgust and nodded at the others. “I think he’s had enough, lads. Let’s go ahead and let him out.”

  At long last, they allowed the door to give way. Yet, before Owen could make his escape, Sam slammed the door shut once again, sidled up next to him, and said, “I wouldn’t think of ever coming back here if I were you—for any reason. Because next time you pay us a visit, you won’t ever leave. You’ll get to stay here forever and play with us. We’ll have such fun—”

  Owen squeezed his eyes shut against the voice that would sound like the rumble of distant thunder to his ears. At the same time, he turned the doorknob with ease. His eyes popped open in surprise. He jerked the door open and in one fluid motion, sprinted across the street.

  “I think I’m going to follow him for a bit and see where he goes,” Mathias said.

  “I’m coming with you,” replied Sam.

  Owen ran straight through several harvested fields toward his home. The thick foliage slapped against his face and tore at his legs and arms. He paid them no heed. Several minutes later, his energy spent, he collapsed and rolled over onto his back. They could hear his pounding heart as he stared upward at the late morning sky. Several minutes passed before he regained a semblance of normalcy to his breathing. He placed his arm over his eyes, fumbled inside his pocket, and extracted his cell phone. His trembling fingers floundered several times before he successfully made his call.

  Paul Sanders’s muffled voice filtered through the phone, “Did you get it?” he asked.

  “No. No, I didn’t get it,” Owen snarled back.

  “Why are you calling me then? Where are you?” asked Paul.

  “Where am I?” Owen breathed out a shaky laugh. He closed his eyes and rolled his head from side to side. “I’m in the middle of my neighbor’s crops.”

  “Excuse me? I don’t think I heard you right.”

  “There’s no need to repeat myself,” Owen snapped. “And you want to know something else? I’m actually enjoying the feel of slimy bugs and thorny weeds.”

  “What’s wrong with you, man?” asked Paul. “You’re not making any sense. Did you get inside the house or didn’t you?”

  “Oh yeah—I got in all right. You know, my aunt and uncle would die if they knew I broke into our neighbor’s house with the intent of robbing her. I find it such a pity that I can’t tell them. I mean, I could tell them a story that would top any they’ve shared to date about that creepy place, and they have some pretty wild tales of their own.” His eyes glazed, Owen paused and heaved himself into a seated position. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the real reason you didn’t go in and get it yourself. Why you no good son of a—”

  “I told you the real reason,” Paul cut in.

  “No—No, you didn’t. You paid me a pittance and then served me up to the devil himself. You hoped I’d survive long enough to fetch your precious letter. Well, I did survive. Barely. No thanks to you. I’m outta here, dude, and I’m taking the money with me. I earned every dollar of it and then some for the hellish nightmare you put me through today. If you want that letter, you can go in there and get it yourself. Let’s see how long you survive in a house full of demonic entities that don’t appreciate visitors. Happy hunting.” After letting out a string of curses, Owen shoved his phone back inside his pocket.

  His legs trembled as he stood to his feet and took a deep breath. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, brushed off his jeans, and headed homeward. Mathias saw no need to follow any farther.

  “Although a bit brutal perhaps, do you think the boy’s ordeal will have any impact on Sanders?” asked Samuel.

  “I don’t know. Owen didn’t divulge any of the details as I had hoped,” Mathias replied. “And you need to consider that Sanders’s type usually allows their desires to overrule all sense of intellect, especially when they can get someone else to take the risks.”

  “You’re right,” Sam said. “I wonder then, if he’ll try to persuade someone else? Perhaps the next person won’t care if Jolena is home or not.”

  Mathias clenched his fists at his side and shook his head over the very real possibility of such an occurrence. “Heaven help them both if he does.”

  “Indeed.” Sam flashed a roguish grin as they turned toward home. “Though it’s been awhile since we’ve last had the pleasure of something akin to this morning’s entertainment, I find it comforting to discover we’ve not lost our ability for lack of use.”

  Chapter 17

  The first snow of winter danced toward the ground, and formed a shimmering white blanket atop the landscape. Jo didn’t have time to stop and enjoy the view, though. Not today. Instead, she wrapped her long coat close to her body in an effort to ward off the chill and hurried inside the mall. Brady O’Connor, the artist she hired to paint Mathias and the boys, called while she made the drive to the concert hall this morning. He said he had finished the painting, and she could pick it up at her convenience. She found it very difficult from that moment forward to concentrate on the upcoming Christmas concerts or anything else for that matter.

  She hurried past the throng of shoppers and made her way inside the gallery. Several customers stood inside, yet the moment Brady spied her, he excused himself and made his way toward her. His smile charmed as they met near the entrance. The man, who seemed the living embodiment of Santa Claus, grasped both her hands with his own.

  “Miss Michaelsson, as you might expect, I’ve anxiously awaited your arrival,” he said. “Now, before we go any farther, I’ve a confession to make.”

  “A confession?” she repeated.

  “Yes.” He applied gentle pressure to her hands and said, “Before you see the painting, I need to tell you I didn’t paint the scene we discussed. After caref
ul consideration, I used my artistic license to fill the canvas with the portrait I saw in my mind’s eye.”

  “Oh, I see.” Jo took in a breath and nodded.

  “Now, before you form an opinion, let me add this. If the painting doesn’t please you, I’ll not only give you the one I completed, but I will also paint the one you originally commissioned free of charge. And what’s more, I guarantee I’ll have it finished by Christmas Eve. What do you say to that?”

  Jo returned his mischievous smile. She couldn’t imagine him painting anything less than perfect. Several examples of that fact adorned the gallery walls. “You have yourself a deal, Mr. O’Connor. So, can I see it now?”

  “A moment, if you please. I must also confess a love for theatrics, so would you kindly close your eyes until I unveil the painting? I’ll let you know when it’s time to open them. Don’t worry, I’ll lead the way,” he said, nodding toward a large covered easel in the corner.

  Jo dutifully closed her eyes and at once, he let go of one hand and then tugged her along with the other. “Let me know if I’m going to trip.”

  Brady chuckled. “I’m not going to let you fall. Now, recall with me for a moment the discussion we had about each of your Revolutionary War re-enactors. I did a little bit of research myself on Morgan’s Rangers before I began the painting. Fascinating and admirable group of men. No wonder your little band of boys enjoy their hobby.”

  “Yeah—” Jo bit down on her lip to hide her smile. “No wonder.”

  “All right, here we are, but don’t open your eyes just yet,” said Brady. He positioned her, she assumed in front of the easel. “Take as much time as you need to study the scene before you say anything and then you can tell me what you think. Are we agreed?”

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” Jo replied. A brief moment later, a soft rustling sound indicated the unveiling of her painting. Much to her surprise, along with the unveiling, several gasps of delight surrounded her. Then, applause thundered from the small group of people inside the gallery.

  “Okay, now you may open them,” Brady said.

  Jo let out a small gasp of her own. A painting, much larger than the one she commissioned, stood before her and she just couldn’t take her eyes off the portrait. When she first gave Brady the pictures, they discussed the possibility of putting the boys in a wooded setting around a campfire. Maybe position them in the relaxed stance for which the history books seemed fond of noting. Perhaps even have one of them leaning on his musket, even though their faces would reflect the full attention and respect given to their commanding officer.

  “This—” Jo gestured toward the painting, and then placed her hand against her cheek. “This is just so much more than what I expected or hoped for.” Unbidden, small rivulets of tears coursed down her cheeks.

  The artist painted her boys inside a traditional eighteenth-century home without a single detail of the colonial home neglected. They appeared in various stages of readiness in preparation of an upcoming battle. Sam, geared up and ready to go made his way to the unseen door. He painted William in the act of retrieving his musket. Alexander checked his flintlock pistol. Jedediah stooped down to say goodbye to the ever-faithful dog at his side. How interesting that Brady created a big dog with Dakota’s same colors and similar markings.

  The surprises didn’t end there. Brady O’Connor included her in the painting as well. She wore a beautiful royal-blue-and-ivory-striped dress, with a royal-blue underskirt and bodice. The bodice featured ivory crisscross laces. He gave her an upswept hairdo with a few loose tendrils framing both sides of her face. The artist depicted Mathias with an arm around her waist, cuddling her close to his body. They smiled tenderly at each other in fond farewell. And to her delight, he painted Mathias with the grin she loved so much. In fact, other than their stance and clothing, the couple in the painting looked very similar to the couple in the photograph she left with him.

  A tan-colored linen liner surrounded the painting and as a final addition, Brady included a dark-brown rustic-looking frame. That frame set the tone, mood, and colors to perfection. She dropped her gaze to the brass plaque, centered at the bottom of the frame. The oblong plaque contained the engraved names of her boys, dates of birth and death for each, and noted them as Morgan’s Rangers. The artist simply entitled the painting, A Young Nation Calls.

  “I take it you like it then?” asked Brady as his arm rested lightly across her shoulder.

  “This painting is absolutely beautiful,” Jo whispered in awe. “How in the world did you manage to come up with something like this?”

  “The inspiration arose from the pictures you left with me. I think it obvious from those pictures, you and these fine gentlemen share a great and unique friendship,” Brady said, pointing to Sam and William, then Alexander and Jedediah in turn. “And I found it equally obvious that a very deep love exists between you and our ‘Mathias’ character, though you failed to mention that fact. So, in spite of our first conversation, I found I couldn’t paint this picture without all of you in it, no matter how hard I tried. Thus, this image was born and I just had to paint it.”

  In response to his observations, Jo found herself gazing objectively at the couple in Brady’s painting. They did look very much in love with each other. But, surely, she didn’t feel— No, she couldn’t possibly have fallen in love with a—at least not in the sense that he—did she?

  Of course, you love him, her heart shouted as if demanding a say in the matter. You know you do—and you’ve known it for a long while now. She found it difficult to swallow past the lump in her throat as the absolute knowledge filled and then like a raging fire, totally consumed her.

  “The larger canvas is also my gift to you, for giving me such a wonderful experience. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a project so much. Also, I want you to tell each of these fine men for me that never in my life, have I seen anyone portray a Revolutionary War soldier so convincingly. A person could almost believe they witnessed the Revolution for themselves.”

  “Yeah, almost.” Jo breathed out a bit of laugh.

  “So, Miss Michaelsson, what do you say? Shall I get started on the other scene we discussed or shall I not?” asked Brady.

  Jo forced her gaze away from the painting to meet Brady’s smile. “I should probably say yes, just so I can have two of your beautiful works of art hanging on my wall. But in all honesty, I have to admit, I’m very pleased with this one. Truly, you have exceeded all my expectations. Thank you, so very much.”

  “My pleasure.” He gave her a hug and then added, “Well then, let me get my boys out here and we’ll get this crated and loaded into your vehicle before you tempt me with painting a second.”

  During the drive home, Jo noted the brief clearing of the skies. In that small moment, she could see the full moon as it cast a magical glow over the fresh covering of snow. She didn’t think on it long. Her mind centered on Mathias and her recent discovery.

  Somewhere along the way, she fell deeply in love with Mathias McGregor. How and when it happened, she couldn’t say. Maybe she loved him the moment their eyes met. Or, perhaps even before. Why did it take her so long to understand that fact? And now that she admitted it, what did she plan on doing with that knowledge?

  Loving Mathias meant she would never know life with a man in the normal sense of the word. But would she trade away her love for Mathias in order to have a “normal” life with a man who breathed air and possessed a heartbeat? Would she trade that love for someone who could physically hold her? The ridiculous questions made her scoff. She could hardly stand the separation while she worked, for goodness sake.

  The reason no one else captured her heart seemed obvious now. She waited her entire life to find Mathias. Yet, for whatever reason, the heavens withheld their appointed meeting until now.

  None of the reasons really mattered nor did she feel any resentment. Nothing else mattered except that she loved him. Yet, as long as she drew breath, she could never re
veal these feelings to him. Such a revelation might interfere with a growing need or desire he might have to leave this sphere. Despite her own wishes, she wouldn’t want to hinder his choice.

  ****

  Mathias sat back in the chair behind the desk and fastened his gaze on the framed picture of Jolena and her parents. They stood near a river, lush with trees in the background. Jolena positioned herself just behind them with the wind blowing freely through her hair. She placed a hand on each of their shoulders, and they all smiled happily for the camera. She looked so beautiful.

  “It’s all right to love her, you know,” Sam said, as he appeared inside the library, seated askance in the leather chair across from the desk.

  “Be it right or wrong, I’m afraid there’s not much choice left in the matter, Sam,” Mathias replied. “But in case you didn’t notice, Jolena is a vibrant, mortal woman.”

  Samuel merely scoffed at the statement, shook his head, and sniffed. “Insignificant details. Mortality is naught but a fleeting thing. Here today, gone tomorrow. We’ve seen how quickly it comes and goes ourselves. And not only with our own mortal existence. Think of the generations of your own kin who lived out their entire lives from birth to death, right here in this house. Why, if not for calendars, newspapers, and now the television, we would have no idea the time or the century.”

  Sam did have a point. A total of five generations of McGregors lived in this house before the children of his great-great-great grandnephew sold the remaining property to outsiders in the year 1919. After that, the unwanted strangers who invaded their home vacated the premises with the change of seasons. They didn’t allow any of them to stay for any length of time. Yet, as one looked at all of those events at once and together, they fell as a mere spit in the bucket of time.

  “Jolena needs more than what I have to offer her. She should have the chance to find a husband and have children of her own someday—and grandchildren—maybe even great-grandchildren before she leaves mortality,” Mathias said. “Live life the way one is intended to live it.”