Leaving the claymore on my bed, I dressed and armed myself. I departed before I saw any signs that the Joneses might be rising. In the night, I had retrieved the box full of my savings and left it on my bed, indicating—I hoped—that if I died, they were to have all of it: Bess, the wagon, and the horses too. I’d heard of a small town in Pennsylvania, where the Dutch and some Quakers had settled, where free blacks were being treated fairly. I left a map with the town circled next to all my money.
In the woods the early morning sun bled its orange and rouge rays in between the gray tree trunks and even bleaker clouds. I walked, feeling the tomahawk sit on my palm, the sgain dubh catch at my calf.
It didn’t take long, not long at all, before I heard the signals that men were close by—a fire popping, a clang against metal, deep male murmurs. I wore my father’s large brimmed brown leather hat low on my head. It hid my face well. I slunk through the woods, remembering how Daganawida had taught me to walk without any sound. With each step I absorbed all the impact into my feet and legs.
I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me sooner, but I suddenly realized that Colonel Devlin, by taking Kimball to the outskirts of Concord, was almost certainly breaking the rules for quartering a prisoner. For that I was grateful.
Colonel Devlin cut a fine image in the very early morning light. His tall broad back faced me, a back not many men could brag about, except for a warrior like him. I knew it was him, also, because I could smell him. All my senses were heightened that morning. I walked within three feet of him, then stood still. He cleared his throat, then as if sensing a ghost, he turned quickly to me.
He gasped. At first he looked shocked that anyone had gotten that close to him, then further surprised as he realized it was me in the red uniform. He stumbled a couple steps away, clenching his teeth. “Violet, couldn’t you find a man?”
My teeth were chattering in anticipation, so I could only grunt out, “I want to do this.”
Colonel Devlin’s eyes rounded, and he held his breath. “Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“Of course. I understand. I do.” He sighed, then his shoulders stooped as he whispered. “I did the same. I didn’t want you to know that I committed murder with my own hands. I’m an officer and considered a gentleman, but what of gentlemanlike battle? I’ve killed hordes of men with cannons and rows of men with rifles. And that is a gentleman? No . . . No, I forget myself and you, and why you are here.” He sighed again and straightened his shoulders. “He’s through that clearing, by the river. You have twenty minutes.”
I nodded again.
He extended a pistol and a bag of bullet cartridges to me. I took them both, pushing the gun into the belt of my breeches and the cartridges—paper pouches full of gunpowder and bullets—I wrapped the leather pouch around my waistband too.
“You may consider them a gift.”
I looked up at him when I heard the strained inflection in his voice.
“Violet, if you find that after . . . it’s changed you, as killing a man changed me, come to me. I will protect you.”
Nodding again, I hardly heeded his words, as I stepped away from the colonel and turned to the clearing. Listening until his footfalls were far away, I then searched for my sister’s rapist. Only twenty feet from where I had stood with Colonel Devlin was all it took for me to see him—my sister and my mother’s murderer. The man who ripped my love, my life, my heart and soul away from me.
He wasn’t a monster or a devilishly appearing fiend. He was just a man, tied to a tree with his head drooping to his chest, sleeping. His dirty blond hair hung loose around his shoulders, and I couldn’t make out his face, but I knew he was just a man after all.
I walked quietly, so quietly. But I wasn’t walking, I was swimming. The forest floor became the river’s bed, granting me silent passage. Murky, shadowy water flooded and filled the forest. The trees turned into water plants that swayed in premonition of what I was about to do. They grieved for me, cried for me, yelled for me.
He still wore his dark red coat with its regal gold frog buttons and gold fringe at his shoulders, yet the coat was battered and dirty. His light colored hair was covered in filth, and I could just see that both his eyes were swollen and black.
The river gushed, became a maelstrom around my prey and me. He hadn’t moved as I made my approach, and there I stood beside one of his legs, waiting for him to look up at me. Waiting for him to leer at me, then to plead for mercy. I would tell him that I had none. No, better, I would ask where his mercy had been for my sister. I would tell him he was going to hell, and I was going to take him there. Then I would slash his throat or his head or his heart. Yes, find if he even had a heart.
Time slowly inched by, more slowly than last night’s turtle’s pace. I could not hold back the swirling cold river any more. I gripped at his matted, dirt infested hair and yanked his head up. He had a deep cut on his bottom lip that looked black and thick. It was almost exactly where he’d smashed Hannah’s lip, forever scarring her. I was going to scream at him, but extended my arm behind my back, stretched my hand forward, letting the tomahawk spring out, catching it and clutching the tool with my rage.
Then I saw his bloody neck. Like Colonel Devlin, Kimball wore a smile under his jaw, a morbid grin. The skin along his upper neck had been deeply ripped apart. Black red blood stained him, darkened his uniform’s collar.
The Britons were always proud of their Roman past, even choosing to have red uniforms, to hide the blood of their dead enemies’ or their own. Had I not lifted Kimball’s head, I would have never known that someone beat me to killing him. I let my tomahawk fall to the ground on a soft thud. Out of grotesque, unkempt rage, I strangled his neck, but upon feeling what might have been his backbone, I retracted. What I felt was cool. His body was losing its heat. He had been dead for at least an hour, maybe more. I stood, staring down at my murdered prey confused, feeling the tidal waters stir to a stop. A snap behind me quickened my senses. I grabbed my tomahawk and ran.