Angels & Patriots_Book One

by Salina B Baker

  “Get the children and Miss Scollay to Back Bay, but do it before nightfall,” Brandon said. “Skulking through the streets at night will attract more attention.”

  “And you should have a story concocted about where you are going if you are stopped and questioned,” Abe added.

  William nodded.

  “Abe, you go with them so they know where they’re going. But stay out of sight,” Brandon ordered. “Me and Jeremiah will leave after Seamus is gone. We’ll make our way to Back Bay and hide somewhere until nightfall.”

  The long boat was still on the shore of Back Bay. They had landed that morning in a sparsely populated stretch of beach. Seamus shoved the boat off the shore, climbed in and sat down. He took an oar in each hand and began to row. The boat was wieldy and heavy. He cussed under his breath while he struggled to get the bow to turn away from the shore. When he finally got the boat turned around, he rowed toward a marshy area where he slipped into the cover of reeds.

  In the meantime, Jeremiah and Brandon took a different route toward Back Bay than they had come. They walked further north toward Mill Pond, just east of the Green Dragon Tavern, then swung west toward the Charles River. This maneuver kept them north of Cambridge Street and away from the surrounding neighborhood. Once they reached the shores of the river, they moved south along Back Bay.

  Brandon bent slightly backward to check the pistol he kept shoved between the waistband of his breeches and the small of his back. He felt the pistol’s site reassuringly graze the top of his buttocks. Jeremiah removed his skinning knife from the pocket of his breeches and tucked it up the sleeve of his coat. That way, he could grab the hilt without obvious movement.

  At the Warren house, Mercy was in the girls’ bedroom dressing them in layers of clothing. If they were to travel with only the clothes on their back, she intended to ensure they took plenty of clothes.

  Mary whined when Mercy slipped another frock over the one she already had on.

  There was a knock on the bedroom door. “Mercy, we need to go,” William said from the other side of the door.

  “We are almost ready,” Mercy reassured him. She said to Elizabeth, who was pulling at her layers of clothing, “Take your brothers to William.”

  “Joseph and Richard, come with me now!” Elizabeth told them.

  The children left the bedroom with much noise. Mercy and Mary followed them a few minutes later.

  “Are we ready?” William asked Abe.

  “It seems so. Do you have Dr. Warren’s pistols?”

  William nodded and handed one to Abe. Then, he stashed the other loaded pistol in his coat.

  Mercy said to Abe, “Wait a moment.” She said to the children, “You will not speak while we are on our walk. You will not answer any questions asked of you. Tell me you understand.”

  The three oldest children said, “We understand.”

  Mercy picked up Mary and set her on her hip.

  It was six o’clock in the evening when they left the Warren house. This was the supper hour for most people, including the British soldiers. The streets would not be as crowded, and that would make their way to Back Bay easier.

  They took Hanover Street to Cambridge Street, with the intention of moving through the neighborhoods. This route would take the least amount of time to reach the shore, but William feared it would draw them the most attention. He was right.

  From behind William, a male voice commanded, “Stop immediately!”

  William and his group of escapees did as they were told. They slowly turned around to face a British corporal. A small troop of soldiers stood behind him.

  “Dr. Eustis?”

  William’s heart sank. The corporal was one of his patients.

  “Corporal Webb,” William acknowledged with a surprisingly steady voice.

  “Why are you out and about at the supper hour with Dr. Warren’s children?” The corporal took another look at the children. “They are Dr. Warren’s children?”

  Abe backed away so he would not be seen.

  Mercy was extremely nervous, but she kept her eyes on the corporal so she did not appear guilty of being on Cambridge Street.

  “Yes, they are Dr. Warren’s children,” William answered. “We have already had our supper and are taking a stroll to enjoy the cool evening.”

  Corporal Webb narrowed his eyes and asked, “Where is Dr. Warren?”

  Sweat wet William’s underarms and the back of his neck.

  Young Joseph forgot his nanny’s warning not to speak. He said, “Father is at a meeting.”

  Corporal Webb looked at the little boy. He had children of his own, and he knew that children often told the truth, when the truth was what the adults were hiding. He knelt and asked, “What meeting is your father attending?”

  Joseph looked at William.

  The corporal stood up. “What meeting is Dr. Warren attending?” he asked William, impatiently.

  William relaxed. “I have no idea. He is not in Boston.”

  Corporal Webb smiled and said, with no regard for the children, “I have heard that he and his cohorts will be hanged if they are found.”

  The corporal’s statement upset Mercy, but she bravely hid her distress. She asked, “May we continue our walk?”

  “Yes—Miss Scollay—is it?”

  She nodded.

  The soldiers let them pass.

  Abe rejoined them when they were out of sight of Corporal Webb and his patrol. The supper hour had passed, and people were leaving their homes for various reasons—to visit friends or run the last errands of the day.

  The children were already tired of their journey. Mary cried and kicked at Mercy to be put down. Richard whined that he was too tired to walk anymore. Joseph hit Elizabeth in the arm while he accused her of stepping on his feet.

  “Hush,” Mercy hissed at the children. She tightened her grip on Mary’s flaying body.

  When they finally arrived at the sloping shores of Back Bay and reached the spot where the long boat had landed that morning, Abe stopped them.

  The sun was setting. Ribbons of pink and orange clouds streaked the sky. Abe’s eyes swept the darkening bay and the shoreline. He saw something unusual and murmured, “That is odd.”

  William looked northward and said, “What is it, Abe?”

  Abe lifted his chin toward what he saw on the shore. “Do you see three British officers at the water’s edge?”

  William strained to see in the fading light. “Yes, I see them.” Then, he saw what Abe had deemed unusual. “There is an old woman with them. She appears to be holding a bow and arrow.”

  Oars swished the water. Seamus was approaching with the long boat. Brandon and Jeremiah were with him. Abe ran to the boat as it slid onto the shore.

  The last remaining light of the day turned crimson gray as Brandon and Jeremiah got out of the boat.

  Abe took Brandon aside, pointed down the shore, and relayed what he and William had seen. A vague outline of the officers and the woman was still visible.

  William took Mary from Mercy’s arms so Jeremiah could help her into the boat. Seamus tried to keep the boat steady.

  A bow twanged as it released an arrow. The sound vibrated across the waters of the bay. The darkening sky back dropped the arrow’s arching flight. It hit one of the British officers in the chest.

  Brandon’s eyes widened. “We gotta get them out of here!” He ran to the boat.

  Abe ran after him, and asked, “What is it?”

  Mercy and the three oldest children were seated in the boat. William handed Mary to Mercy.

  Brandon jumped in the boat and startled the children. Richard and Mary began to cry. Brandon said to Seamus, “Serepatice is here, and if she’s here, Robert Percy is here!” He pointed down the shore.

  It was nearly pitch black. Seamus couldn’t see anyone, but he saw two pairs of orange lights flare.

  “Shut them up!” Jeremiah growled at Mercy.

  Mary and Richard howled louder, though Mercy
tried to quiet them. Joseph shouted, “I want father!” He, too, began to cry.

  Abe scrambled into the boat.

  “Get down so Robert and Serepatice can’t see your aura!” Brandon said to Seamus. He took off his coat then shoved Seamus into the bottom of the boat. He threw his coat over Seamus. Jeremiah also removed his coat and draped it over Seamus. The angel’s purple light was still visible, but shaded.

  Elizabeth bent to comfort Joseph. She stroked the top of his head and said, “Don’t cry. The angels are taking us to see father.”

  As William pushed the boat off, they saw lanterns and heard oars break the water’s surface. Two British long boats were coming toward them.

  The sound of a single beating drum rolled across the water from the place where Robert and the other demons stood. A bell accompanied the steady drum beat.

  Brandon tried not to shout when he said to Jeremiah, “Get us out of here!”

  Jeremiah and Abe each manned a set of oars.

  The British long boats’ oars silenced. For a minute, all three boats just floated.

  The steady drum beat intensified into a powerful throbbing rhythm. Orange lights flared on the shore.

  Elizabeth had managed to quiet Joseph, but Mary and Richard were still crying. She whispered to Brandon, “You can quiet them.”

  “I can? What shou’d I do?”

  Men were talking among themselves in the British long boats. Another lantern flared. An officer stood up in one of the boats.

  Voices praying in unison rose from the northern shore. The Latin words flew like a flock of birds across the bay.

  “What in the devil is that noise?” the officer shouted. He saw orange lights flare again. “Swing the boat portside and move north toward those voices.”

  A confused soldier asked, “Are we to abandon the boat with the crying children, sir?”

  “Take the order! Row!” the officer ordered.

  Elizabeth got up and pulled her wailing two-year-old sister toward Brandon, and sat her down beside him. “Touch her cheek,” Elizabeth instructed Brandon.

  Brandon traced the wet trail of tears down Mary’s cheek with his fingertips. She looked into his face. Her cries settled into sniffles. He touched her cheek again, and she quieted.

  The British long boats moved away to investigate what was taking place further down the shore.

  Robert Percy was performing the ritual to give a lower demon a permanent human vessel. This particular vessel once belonged to the living Captain Anthony Jameson. By performing the ritual on the shore of Back Bay, Robert had unknowingly helped Joseph Warren’s children escape Boston.

  Twenty-nine

  Sidonie lay beside Ian in his bed. The light of his red aura had gone out. She held him tight against her body and tried not to cry.

  Twenty-four years earlier, Ian energized Sidonie’s dying soul with a part of his essence—his red aura. Now, she felt it burning brightly within her soul. If I could give it back to him, perhaps he would not die.

  Ian shivered in her arms.

  Sidonie whispered to her dying angel, “I love you. Feel that love. I know you can feel it in your heart even if you can’t say the words. Love is there within both of you—the man and the angel.”

  The sound of a horse galloping toward the farm broke the silent night. Joseph reined the horse. He jumped from the saddle and ran to be with the angels awaiting his return.

  Colm was in the living room drinking whiskey and pacing, emulating Joseph’s actions from two nights ago.

  Joseph entered the living room with quiet urgency.

  Colm’s green eyes flashed silver light that diffused through his tears. “Ya children and their nanny are safe in Worcester.”

  Joseph breathed a sigh of relief. “Have the men returned?”

  Colm’s voice was thick with grief. “Aye, but Rufus Williams was killed. It’s my fault for allowing him to go.”

  “No, it is my fault. I should have sent my children away weeks ago. What happened?”

  “They were detained by a British patrol. The ensign in charge shot Rufus because Seamus wouldn’t answer his questions. Seamus said the ensign, in turn, killed himself.”

  Joseph wanted to feel guilt for what had happened to Rufus, but Colm had already taken on that guilt for him.

  Colm closed his eyes and rubbed his tense forehead. He opened his eyes and said, “Ian won’t survive the night. I’ve failed him, and I’ve failed Liam.”

  Joseph looked Colm in the eyes. “You have failed no one.”

  He took the glass of whiskey from Colm’s hand and set it on the fireplace mantel. They climbed the steps to above stairs.

  Jeremiah and the angels were in the bedroom where Ian lay dying in Sidonie’s arms. Emotional agony tainted the room. It reminded Joseph of the night his wife died.

  Sidonie looked at Joseph and said, “Help our human souls move on, Dr. Warren. When they are gone, then all that will be left is Ian’s spirit. Perhaps, it will survive.”

  Michael knew he couldn’t endure what was about to happen. He left the room.

  Jeremiah held out his hand to Joseph. “She wants it to be you.”

  Joseph looked at the dagger in Jeremiah’s hand.

  Jeremiah said, “This is Ian’s dagger. She wants you to use it to kill their resurrected bodies.”

  Joseph realized what they expected of him was vastly harder than the battles he waged against King George III’s tyranny. Yet, it was a merciful act of freedom that was no less liberating than everything he and his fellow patriots were fighting for. He took the dagger.

  Wings rustled. Green, blue, yellow, and purple light filled the bedroom.

  Joseph tried to gather the strength to do what needed to be done, but it seemed out of reach.

  Then, Colm’s golden radiance washed over the light of the angels’ auras. He wrapped his hand around the hand in which Joseph held the dagger. Together, they ended Ian Keogh’s and Sidonie Roux Denning’s life on Earth. The angels’ spirits ached as they felt the struggle the souls endured as their bodies died.

  Colm summoned reapers to escort the human souls to their destiny. The gossamer draped reapers appeared. Colm made a decision normally left to God. He instructed the reapers to escort the souls to Heaven. The reapers looked at Joseph and Jeremiah with cold eyes, and then they moved in silence to the bed where the dead lay. A sorrowful wind gusted through the bedroom.

  The angel was freed of the human soul. Its red aura darted and flashed in the bedroom like a firefly on a summer’s night. A spark of red light infused Sidonie’s soul. It was an eternal gift from the angel who loved her.

  The reapers disappeared.

  The colorful bright light in the bedroom went out. The angels lifted the dead bodies from the bed. Jeremiah accompanied them as they took the bodies downstairs.

  Joseph watched them with a heavy heart.

  “The time for grieving their physical loss has long since passed,” Colm said to Joseph.

  Joseph nodded. It was difficult for his human emotions to rationalize.

  “The angel that possessed Ian’s body will find another and will be back to fight with us. This time the angel will make sure the soul has been reaped before taking the vessel.”

  Joseph tried to smile.

  “I need to soothe Michael,” Colm said. “He’s angry with me. He’ll always be angry for one reason or another.”

  “Your burden is great, Colm. I wish to be someone you can lean on.”

  “Joseph, ya have already given me that—and more.”

  The archangel and the idolized patriot doctor left the bedroom. The angel once named Ian Keogh went to find a vessel in which his spirit could reside. Jeremiah and the angels buried the dead in the woods while Abe, Gordon, and Tatoson watched in silence.

  The day after Ian’s spirit was released, Tatoson returned to Concord. After they had both helped the angels, he and Samuel Prescott felt a need to renew their brotherly relationship and spend more time with Samuel�
�s father, Abel.

  Joseph lodged in Hastings House in Cambridge, close to the Provincial Congress and Committee of Safety meetings. Fergus moved to Dillaway House in Roxbury to oversee the fledgling provincial army stationed in Roxbury.

  At Gordon’s request, they both returned to the farm on the eerily quiet night of April 27. Everyone gathered around the large table in the farmhouse living room.

  “I’ve already shown Colm this. I think we might be able to use it to combat Henry’s lower demons.” Gordon held his sketch of the Sigil of Lucifer up for everyone to see.

  The angels looked at Colm in surprise.

  Gordon tried to hand the sketch to Michael.

  Michael shrunk from it. “We can’t touch that! It belongs to Lucifer!”

  “Did you agree to use this, Colm?” Patrick asked. He kept his eyes on the sketch as if it would come to life and strike him dead.

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ve been thinking about how to use it,” Gordon continued with no regard for Michael or Patrick’s reaction. “Maybe, the sigil can be etched into a knife blade or a musket ball or any weapon that could be used to combat a demon. Maybe, we can have it tattooed on our bodies. Maybe, a blacksmith can forge the sigil so you can shove it up a demon’s ass. I need your—”

  “Did you not hear Michael?” Liam asked. “We cannot touch the sigil of a fallen angel.”

  “Oh Lord,” Jeremiah interjected. “Do you hear yourself, Liam? You is a fallen angel.”

  Gordon grinned and huffed out a laugh. “Try touching the sketch, Liam.”

  “No!” Colm said. “No one touches it until I say so.”

  Gordon’s grin faded. “That brings me to what I asked you about a few days ago, Colm. You said you could conjure spells. We might have to cast a spell over the sigil to release Lucifer’s evil and counteract God’s evil. I’m asking you again. What did you use spells for?”

  Wings rustled and a breeze swept through the living room.

  Jeremiah raised an eyebrow in surprise. He’d never heard the angels refer to using spells.

  Colm’s eyes traveled to each face around the table.