Wings rustled, and a breeze swept through the meetinghouse.
The angels scattered to search the meetinghouse. John Adams and John Hancock ran to the exit to the right of the pulpit. Jeremiah looked up at the ceiling horrified that he might see something hanging from the rafters. Paul, Samuel, and Colm ran toward the front door.
The meetinghouse door swung open just as Paul reached to turn the knob. A bruised and bleeding Dr. Samuel Prescott stumbled through the door.
Colm’s rage distressed Michael because he perceived Colm as always in control of his spiritual force.
The man, who once lived in Michael’s human vessel and had died in Wexford, Ireland in 1169, idolized his older brother. The ghost of that spiritual idolatry haunted Michael. It was Michael’s palimpsest—traces of what used to be showing through what exists now.
While Captain Robert Percy advised John Hancock to pray to his God, Michael stood alone near the front of the meetinghouse. He heard someone call his name. He turned around and saw Dr. Samuel Prescott, the twenty-three-year-old patriot who lived in Concord, standing in the front doorway. Samuel looked as if he needed someone to keep him from falling into distraction.
“Praise God you are here with me!” Samuel said, relieved. “Was that…a…demon?”
Michael went to soothe Samuel’s fears. Suddenly, musket muzzles were jammed into the young men’s backs.
“Do not issue a sound!” The man with the musket to Michael’s back said.
Samuel felt the musket press hard into his kidney. “What are—?”
“Shut your mouth forthwith!” a man growled at him.
Michael had no idea if their assailants were demons or just men. Before he was able to act, a blow to the back of the head rendered him unconscious.
Samuel heard several men grunting as they dragged Michael away. Someone said to him, “Walk out the door, turn right, and turn right again. If you try to do otherwise, you will be shot.”
The young doctor could not see the men who marched him out of the meetinghouse and into the narrow adjoining alley. The musket remained jammed in Samuel’s back while two large men pistol-whipped him. He passed out when one of the men brought the butt of his pistol down on Samuel’s clavicle for the fifth time.
Then, the men turned on Michael.
“Joseph! William! It is young Dr. Prescott! He is severely hurt!” Paul shouted.
Samuel collapsed into Paul’s arms, and William Dawes and Colm helped him get Samuel seated. Joseph and William Eustis arrived right away and began assessing Samuel’s condition.
“Who has done this to you?” Paul demanded.
“We did not see them. They came from behind. They knocked Michael unconscious right off. He is lying in the alley.”
Colm and Eustis ran out of the meetinghouse and into the alley. Patrick and Brandon followed. William knelt and began examining Michael. Patrick fell to his knees beside William.
Joseph and Paul hurried into the alley. Joseph said, “Patrick, stay out of the way so we can help him. Go back inside, and take Brandon with you.”
Patrick made no response.
Colm put his hands on Patrick’s upper arms. Patrick stood up, but kept his eyes on Michael.
Brandon asked, “Is he dead?”
“He is not dead,” William assured.
“I will get Fergus to go with me to fetch a wagon,” Paul interjected. He ran back inside the meetinghouse.
Joseph knelt beside William. The two doctors conferred briefly, and then Joseph removed his cravat and used it as a tourniquet on Michael’s upper left arm.
It was then that Colm saw blood saturated the left arm of Michael’s coat. Blood pooled in the dirt beneath his forearm. He was bleeding from a wound that would prove to be fatal if his assailants were demonic.
Colm tried to keep his attention on what Joseph and William were doing to care for his brother. It was difficult to concentrate on one member of his brotherhood when he knew they were all in danger.
John Hancock, Samuel Adams, Benjamin Church, and John Adams entered the alley.
As a lawyer, John Adams’ inclination was to note the evidence left behind by the assailants. There was little to note except the amount of blood on the ground where Samuel and Michael had fallen. After a last glance at Michael’s bloody coat sleeve, he said, “If this was meant to frighten us, it has failed. It has only served to embolden our courage.”
Inside the meetinghouse, Jeremiah and William Dawes remained near the pulpit and the side exit doors in case of an unexpected intrusion.
Samuel Prescott shivered uncontrollably. Ian removed his coat and wrapped it around Samuel’s shoulders. Samuel groaned. The weight of the coat increased the pain from his broken clavicle bones. He thought of his fiancée, Lydia Mulliken, who lived in Lexington. She would be frantic when she received the news of his attack.
Ian sat beside Samuel. He answered Samuel’s silent prayers to God. “They’ve gone to fetch a wagon to get you to Dr. Warren’s house. You’ll recover from your physical injuries. The damage to your soul from what you’ve seen today will need more time to heal, but I assure you it will heal.”
Liam and Abigail hovered near the meetinghouse front door while she waited for John to return to take her home. He stared at her lovely face, trying to think of something to say.
Abigail felt the weight of his stare. “Are you aware that staring is impolite?”
“No.”
“Well, it is. Do you wish to say something?”
“Yes, but I am not certain about what I wish to say.”
She laughed. “You are candid. I must remember to censor my questions lest I get an answer I do not wish to hear.”
A carriage pulled up in front of the meetinghouse. A footman stepped from the back of the carriage and opened the passenger door.
John Adams climbed the meetinghouse steps. He smiled as he approached Abigail. He looked into her eyes. She did likewise. He offered his hand. She accepted it and returned his smile.
Liam watched their unspoken exchange like a child who had no conception that a loving relationship could exist between his mother and father.
Abigail said to Liam, “Thank you for protecting our dear Joseph.”
“What are you saying?”
She smiled into his blue eyes. “Mr. Bohannon said angels do not understand the purpose of apologies. It appears you do not understand the purpose of showing gratitude, either.”
“Perhaps you can teach me,” Liam said, solemnly.
“She is a very patient teacher,” John said with a tender smile. “Shall we go, Abby?”
“One moment, John. I would like to invite Mr. Kavangh to our home one afternoon for coffee and conversation. Are you agreeable?”
“Of course, my dear.” John blinked. We have invited an angel to our home. How odd.
Michael awoke groggy in a shadowed and strange place. It took him a moment to realize there was another bed in the room, and the noise he heard was snoring. There was a figure silhouetted against the window to his left. Judging from the delicate features in his profile, and the long straight black hair pulled into a ponytail, it was Ian.
Michael focused his eyes on his bandaged forearm in the gloomy room.
“I told Colm I’d stay with you until you woke up,” Ian said.
Michael sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. The back of his head pounded in time with the throbbing in his forearm. His face felt raw and swollen. “What happened?”
“You and Samuel Prescott were attacked. We aren’t sure if it was just men or demons.”
Michael remembered nothing. He stood up, and reeled with dizziness. He plopped on the bed.
“Is that Samuel snoring?”
“Yes. He’s got broken bones, but he’ll be fine.”
“Where are we?” Michael asked.
“Joseph Warren’s house.”
“Where’s Colm?”
“With Joseph.”
“Where’s Patrick?”
“Colm sent the rest of us back to the farm.”
Michael attempted to stand again. Dizziness pushed him back down on the bed. He raised a hand to wipe away the sweat on his face, and then thought better of it.
Samuel exhaled a loud snorting snore and groaned.
Michael looked at the vague mound in the other bed that was Samuel. He said to Ian, “Those men or demons could’ve killed him, but they didn’t. Why?”
“They’re trying to scare us and the patriots. John Adams told Colm it didn’t work.”
Michael lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He remembered what he was thinking when Samuel had called to him in the meetinghouse. “When ya tried to kill me, did ya feel like there was something there that wasn’t a part of ya spirit?”
“Something where?”
“Something within ya anger.”
“Do you mean something that belonged to the human man, Ian Keogh?”
“Then ya did?”
Ian was unsure, and that uncertainty lingered like an intruder near his spirit. “I don’t know. Did you feel something like that?”
Michael nodded at the ceiling.
Joseph opened the bedroom door. Colm followed him into the room.
Joseph smiled and said, “It is good to see that you are with us.” He picked up the candle from the bedside chest, lit it, and then sat on the bed beside Michael. “How do you feel?” he asked, holding the candle up so he could see Michael’s face.
“What do ya mean?” Michael asked.
“How is your pain?”
“I’m not in pain.”
Joseph frowned and unwound the bloody bandage. Michael’s forearm was mauled from elbow to wrist as if an animal had clawed it. The tendons were ruined.
“It is impossible for you to suffer no pain from this injury.”
“Are ya asking me if my arm hurts?”
“Yes.”
“The arm hurts, but I’m not in pain.”
“I do not understand.”
Michael didn’t know how to explain.
Joseph looked at Ian and Colm’s calm faces. It did not appear that an answer was forthcoming from either of them. Angels must have a different perception of pain, he thought. Yet, Michael said his arm did hurt.
Joseph continued his examination, and then dressed Michael’s forearm with a clean bandage. “I will have to attempt to repair the tendons in your arm. Otherwise, you may never regain full function in your hand.”
“What does that mean?”
Colm said, “Joseph, wait a few days. If men did this to him, his arm will heal on its own. If it was demons—”
“—I’m gonna die,” Michael said. There was no fear in his voice.
Joseph looked at Colm. How can I possibly respond to that statement? Then, he looked at Michael and asked, “Are you hungry?”
“Aye. Can I have beer, too?”
“Of course.” Joseph smiled. Michael looked like a little boy who was happy just to be alive. The contrast between the Bohannon brothers’ demeanor astounded Joseph.
William Eustis stepped into the room. “Did you ask for me, Dr. Warren?”
“Yes, we need to remove Samuel’s clothing so he may be more comfortable. I will wake him, but he may not be agreeable.”
As if in answer, Samuel groaned from beneath his blanket. Joseph got up and went to his bedside. He pulled the blanket away. The young man’s clothing was drenched in sweat, and he was shivering.
“Samuel,” Joseph said. “Samuel, wake up.”
Samuel moved his head and shoulders, which caused his broken clavicle bones to shift and grind. His eyes flew open, and he screamed. William tried to calm him by promising to give him whiskey.
Colm leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.
Joseph rose and took the few paces from the bed to stand in front of Colm. “This man is in terrible pain, and you lean back and take it in as if you are watching a cow birthing a calf? I thought angels eased human suffering! Or is that not the function of an archangel?”
Ian and Michael glanced at one another, surprised.
Joseph continued, “I tried to understand your unfamiliarity with appropriate social responses, but this is pure brutishness! If I prayed to God to help Samuel, of the eight of your brotherhood, which angel would he send?”
Colm walked out of the bedroom.
Joseph looked at Ian and Michael. “How could I have said that? I am so sorry.”
“He knows you’re upset,” Ian said.
Joseph went back to Samuel’s bedside. He and William helped Samuel remove his clothing and don a sleeping gown. As promised, William brought Samuel a bottle of whiskey.
After Joseph and William left the room, Samuel drank too much whiskey, and then threw up all over himself. He tried not to whine like a child, but his pain was horrendous, and he could not stop shivering. He felt like he was going to die, and he murmured a prayer.
Ian sat on the bed beside Samuel. He helped Samuel out of his vomit-stained nightgown, and then wiped the sweat from Samuel’s face and chest and trembling arms.
Michael watched in silence.
“Don’t pray to God,” Ian said to Samuel. “He won’t hear you because there are so many voices begging for mercy. I’m here, and I’ll help you. I can’t heal you, but I can assure you that you aren’t alone. Lay your head down and close your eyes. Think of Lydia. Think of how she feels when you bed her.”
Samuel managed to say, “I have not…”
“I know what a woman feels like. It was my downfall, and I realize it’s my weakness, but it’s your gift. When you go home, she’ll come to nurse you. Her tender hands and loving words will heal you. There now. Close your eyes. Sleep and dream of Lydia.”
Ian stroked Samuel’s sweating forehead. Samuel drifted away into Lydia’s arms.
Joseph stood in the bedroom doorway watching Ian soothe Samuel. He turned and quietly closed the door. He went to lock up the room he used as his medical office. Then he went to his study. Colm was sitting in a chair near the fireplace, drinking whiskey. Joseph poured whiskey into a crystal glass, and then sat in the chair across from Colm.
Colm didn’t look at him.
“I was wrong,” Joseph said. “I will never say something like that again.”
Silver light flashed in Colm’s eyes.
“Your ways are foreign to me. I did not understand your reaction to Samuel’s pain.”
“I’m not angry with ya,” Colm said. He drank some of his whiskey.
“Is this about your spiritual burden, which is none of my concern?” Joseph asked.
“It was none of ya concern.” Colm drank more whiskey. “When that demon threatened ya in the meetinghouse, I experienced something I’ve never experienced before. And I projected it onto my men.”
Joseph waited for Colm to continue.
“I felt rage, Joseph. My men and I have protected humans in the past, but this time, I experienced an emotion triggered by a threat to a human being. Archangels don’t invest emotions in the human condition. We’re merely beholders and preceptors. I felt involved when that demon threatened ya. I shou’d only feel emotionally involved when it concerns my men.”
“That is why you had no reaction to Samuel’s suffering,” Joseph said.
Colm nodded.
“Jeremiah is your friend. Have you not experienced the same thing with him?”
“No.”
The study door flew open, and four rambunctious children spilled through the doorway. Their nanny, Mercy Scollay, came in behind them.
“Joseph, the children wish to say goodnight,” Mercy said. She produced an alluring smile for his benefit.
She and Colm had met the first time he had come to the Warren house to speak to the doctor. She dipped her head. “Mr. Bohannon.”
Joseph Warren’s children were climbing into his lap or hanging on his shoulders. They stopped what they were doing when they noticed Colm. Five-year-old Richard and two-year-old
Mary curled up in their father’s lap and buried their faces in his chest. The older children, Elizabeth and Joseph stared at Colm.
“I’ll let ya have private time with ya children,” Colm said, rising from his chair. His experience with children was limited to those he saw in public places. He had never spoken to one nor had he had any sort of contact.
“Please, stay. I want them to meet you.” The children in Joseph’s lap turned their heads slightly and stole a peek at Colm.
“Come forward,” Joseph said to his oldest child, nine-year-old Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth Warren, may I present Mr. Colm Bohannon.”
Seven-year-old Joseph watched his big sister’s reaction so that he may follow her example when it was his turn to be introduced.
Colm had no idea what the rules of etiquette were when being introduced to a child. He looked at Joseph for guidance, but Elizabeth took the lead. She went to him and demurely offered her hand, not as a handshake, but as a queen who expected to be kissed on the back of the hand. The gesture was not intended to be regal. It was intended to be polite.
“Mr. Bohannon, I am pleased to meet you,” she said as if she were an adult. Her blue eyes sought Colm’s attention.
His eyes shifted to look at her offered hand. Elizabeth let her hand drop.
“I prayed to you when my mother was dying,” she said. “Why did you not save her?”
Colm had no answer. She looks like Joseph, he thought.
“You are God, are you not?”
“Betsey, that is quite enough,” Mercy scolded.
But Elizabeth could not stop looking at Colm. His tranquil features were calming. He was quiet, unlike other men, who asked her silly questions and talked too loud. Above all, she saw the green light he emanated. No, Mr. Bohannon was not God. He was an angel of God, and her scolding nanny would not change her mind.
“Betsey, you are being rude,” Mercy said in a stern voice. “I said that is quite enough.”
“I will say when that is quite enough,” Joseph warned Mercy.
He knew Colm was not going to respond to Elizabeth in a manner in which she expected, but at least she could gaze upon the archangel for a little longer. He urged his son, Joseph, forward to introduce himself. Then, he insisted the two youngest in his lap turn around to behold Mr. Bohannon.
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