The Immortal American

In Lexington a thousand relief Regular soldiers met their compatriots. That’s what Sam told me that Mr. Whitely had heard from Colonel Barrett, a thousand new redbacks, had come to rescue what was left of the seven hundred soldiers that had marched through our Massachusetts’ country in search of cannons, rifles, gunpowder and bullets.

  Like Concord, a dense forest enveloped Lexington, yet through it I could just spy the early spring green lawn of Lexington’s Common. On it laid a little over fifteen hundred Regular soldiers. Lexington men had died in that exact site less than ten hours ago. The redcoats were taking a break from their retreat, treating their injured, and eating from the town’s people. Were the Lexington people forced to feed them? I know not. I do know that as colonists we pride ourselves on our good food and our etiquette. I’d like to think that the people of Lexington tried to service food and water to the redcoats because, really, why not? Why not show a little decorum in the midst of barbaric battle?

  During the reprieve from the skirmish, a gigantic boom of cannons was held about every five to ten minutes, making any further attack from the militia worthless, as well as any conversation that could be had. But it didn’t deter Sam all that much.

  I liked him very much, that funny boy.

  Sam gave me a portion of some aged sharp cheese and bread. The dark brown bread was amazing. Anadama. I recalled that Hannah had finally gotten the recipe for that particular bread and was going to feed it to her fiancé. I shuddered at the thought.

  “You know where it gets its name from, don’t you?” Sam smiled at me.

  I shook my head while chewing on the bread he spoke of.

  “Some fisherman’s wife out of Boston made this bread up, and that fisherman didn’t eat it until he was on his boat, the boat full of sailors, you know. That’s when he finally bit into this here bread and said, ‘Anna, damn her, that’s good bread.’ Now you get it. Annadamnher. Anadama.”

  I choked with my quiet laughter and slugged Sam’s shoulder.

  “I ain’t making it up. That’s a true life story.”

  I finally swallowed and rolled my eyes.

  Sam nudged me in the ribs again, and we ate the rest of his cheese and bread silenced by the salute of the occasional fire from the cannons.

  “You know what just sticks in my craw about his whole thing?”

  I looked up at Sam and wiped his upper lip free from brown bread crumbs. Somehow, I felt he was kin to me, like a younger, annoying brother.

  I shook my head. “But I reckon you’ll tell me.”

  “I will, Vi. And I’m going to right now. So these Regular soldiers, they come all this way out here, specifically to Concord—”

  “My home town.”

  “Aye, your home town, Concord, looking for arms, but here they are shooting into the woods, not getting even close to a one of us with their cannon and muskets. Wasting all that ammunition. Makes me wonder, you know, were they going to steal our arms just so they could use it to keep shooting at us?”

  I nodded. “Makes one wonder, all right.”

  “Why’d they do this, anyway? Why’d they pick a fight with us? I ain’t never wanted to do anything but have me a farm and not be a virgin.”

  “What noble pursuits.”

  He winked at me. “You willin’ to help me out with any of that?”

  I sniffed and tilted my head to the sky. “I’ll talk to Mathew, my husband, about that.”

  He pushed on my shoulder and bore a huge lazy smile.

  Mr. Whitley, while crouching low, walked to where Sam and I sat.

  “You get enough to eat, Vi?” Mr. Whitley asked.

  “How come you don’t ask me, Mr. Whitley? Ain’t I as pretty as Vi for you to worry about what’s in my belly?” Sam kept his smile, even through all the booms from the Regulars’ cannonade.

  Mr. Whitley looked Sam over and said with a straight face, “No.”

  “Damnation, I think I’m just as pretty as Vi.”

  I rolled my eyes at Sam and nodded to Mr. Whitley. Mr. Whitley was a lieutenant of the Acton Militia, but more than that he was in charge of the sharp shooters, and had just gained another brick of men from Sudbury who had lost their Ranger commander. I had become one of his men in the last three hours, since Sam had snatched me while I was running away from Jacque.

  Mr. Whitley, either not really listening or thinking it gentile, gave me another slice of bread and ten rings of dried apple.

  “Really, sir, I don’t need any more.” I tried to give it back, but Mr. Whitley, stubborn man, refused to look at me or take the food.

  I divided the bread and apple rings in half and gave it to Sam, who began to eat at the dried apples—with a grin, of course.

  Mr. Whitley took in a huge breath. “We’re going all the way to Boston.”

  “Damn,” Sam said through a mouthful.

  “Watch your mouth in front of the lady,” Mr. Whitley chastised.

  I sighed, and how I hated my shaking voice while I said it, but I had to, to gain some sort of equal respectability in Mr. Whitley’s eyes. “Yes, Sam, quit fucking swearing around me.”

  Sam snorted and clapped me on the back with a loud thud. “That’s it. I have to marry you now. God, I love you.”

  Even Mr. Whitley wore a small smile, but he began to frown when he said, “She’s already married, kid. Which reminds me,” he turned to me, the lines around his mouth and eyes cracked, adding more stress to his already tense face, “I told Colonel Barrett I picked up another man. I didn’t want to tell him who, but he insisted I say. I told him to keep it in confidence, but, God damn it, when I was making my way over to the two of you, I saw Colonel Barrett talking to your husband, Vi.”

  “Oh, no.” I sighed.

  “You going to eat the rest of your bread?”

  On default I handed the half slice to Sam, wondering if Mathew was coming to yell at me and order me to go home. Out of the periphery of my eye I saw the rest of the brick that Mr. Whitely commanded start to group around us, perhaps to join in the rally to keep me aboard this enterprise, perhaps they were a bunch of gossips, I don’t know.

  Mr. Whitely smiled at Sam, I think despite himself, and Sam just shrugged. “We’ll just tell Adams she’s too good not to be with us. We need her, right?”

  Mr. Whitely frowned and sat down on a group of green ferns.

  “We’ll tell Adams she needs to be with us,” Sam repeated, losing his smile, and taking an edge of defiance in his tone.

  “I’m not one to meddle in a marriage, kid.” Mr. Whitely finally let his brown eyes meet mine, looking like a man in the middle of an estate hearing.

  “Hell, this ain’t about a marriage,” Sam said. “This is about needing all good men, er, and a woman, I guess, to help with fighting these redcoats. This is about getting our rights back as Englishmen. This is about making a stand, like Adams said.”

  “Yes, I did,” Mathew said, making all of us jump.

  Mathew smiled down at us. We stood, then heard the loud boom of another cannon being fired somewhere into oblivion. Shrinking from the impact of the noise, we then smiled at each other sheepishly.

  Mathew clutched onto my wrist and pulled me into his arms. He chuckled softly while he retrieved a handkerchief and wiped at my face.

  “Gunpowder?” he asked as he showed me the black markings on his white linen kerchief.

  I nodded.

  He shook his head. “I should have known it was you, watching over me. Has she told you about the time I tried to prove my manliness to her by taking her on a hunting expedition?”

  The other snipers shook their heads while Mathew sat within the circle of men, pulling me on his lap. He’d never been so affectionate or so jolly. His face shone brightly, and he had a smile almost as big as Sam’s. He had made such a great speech, and lifted the spirits of thousands of men, while dampening almost seven hundred redcoats.

  I knew it then, he was destined to become a politician, like his distant cousins, Samuel and
John. Lord, but I didn’t want to be a politician’s wife. Namely I didn’t want the lifestyle, but on the other hand, I would do anything for the man whose warm legs I sat upon.

  “Well, I was eighteen, and you were, what, fifteen?”

  I nodded and smiled.

  “I knew that her father had taken her hunting, as he’d bragged about it. So I thought I could prove what a man I was by taking her on our own hunting trip, close to the hollow where all the Dutch seemed to have settled there. What is that hollow called?”

  Mr. Whitley responded and Mathew nodded. “Right. I decided to take her there, a most romantic spot was my reasoning, when a huge elk runs from the woods straight toward us. My chance to prove myself to my love, I think. Only, I’m shaking because I’ve never shot at anything so big, and truthfully I was just thinking about what kind of petticoat she was wearing that day.”

  At that all the men started to laugh. I blushed and hid my face in Mathew’s shoulder.

  Mathew proceeded. “So, I blunder and shoot wildly. I wasn’t even holding my musket correctly, and had packed too much powder in the pan. The recoil knocked me asunder and flat on my back.”

  The men laughed harder at this.

  “There I am, on my ass, this wild, gargantuan stag coming to kill the love of my life and me, and then, she rips the musket from my fingers, reloads the rifle in a second’s time, and on the most sturdy yet feminine legs, she shoots the elk, square between the eyes.”

  Some of the men were tearing up they were laughing so hard by that time.

  “I asked her to marry me on the spot,” Mathew said on a calm sweet voice. “It only took three years for her to say yes, if you can believe that.”

  Sam clapped Mathew on the shoulder while wiping at his eyes. In just one day’s time, Mathew had become a demigod in the militia, and I saw it right there. He was humble and humorous, spirited and intelligent, passionate and articulate. With him, the men would feel safe and virtuous about what they were doing. With him, the militia would stay strong and have high morale. With Mathew, there was a promise of a bright future.

  Mathew’s grin dimmed. “May I speak with this sniper, my beautiful bride, in privacy, please.”

  All the men around me, uncomfortably started to move, but did not leave. Finally, Mr. Whitely said, “Lord help me, but Lieutenant Adams, I need her. I don’t want her to go home. Not yet, at least.”

  Mathew’s grip on my waist tightened. “I can understand, but—”

  “I’ll vouch for her safety, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Whitely—”

  Sam interrupted Mathew this time. “Sir, I’ll guarantee her safety as well. I’ll take a bullet before she ever does.”

  I began to shake my head, but soon I heard the murmurings of all the men around me agree to put their life before mine. I was moved to the point of tears, and didn’t know if I should smack all of them upside the head, imprecate, or just cry in gratitude.

  “I can understand. I do,” Mathew said slowly and calmly. “But I want my wife to be home and safe.”

  “No,” I said softly.

  Mathew straightened and looked down at me surprised and perhaps a bit hurt I would openly defy him.

  I couldn’t contain my emotions, and began to cry. “I’m sorry, husband, to be so disrespectful in front of an audience, but don’t you see? It’s not my home without you. I won’t step one foot in that house without you. I can’t do it. I need you. You’re . . . my . . . everything.”

  Men cleared their throats and sniffed, as Mathew’s eyes began to glisten with tears of his own.

  He shook his head, but then slowly began the oscillation into nodding. “Fine. Stay. As long we stay in ambush mode. If we ever turn into . . . firing lines or hand-to-hand combat, you run like hell for the hills, you hear me?”

  I nodded and smiled and embraced him around the neck.

  “I still need a damned moment of privacy with my wife so I might kiss her rapturously and find out what color her corset is today.”

  I heard the men’s rough guffaws, and Mathew wrapped me in his arms and carried me into the woods. I looked over Mathew’s shoulder in time to see all the men, my men, turn their heads and walk away from wherever Mathew was taking me. We would be given plenty of privacy.