The Crimson Fall (The Sons of Liberty Book 1) by Jordan Ervin Page A

gradually ease into the next season of life; the stage where age and work would finally begin to slow him down. But now he felt the death of Joe had thrown him head first into the frigid waters of sorrow, deadening every fiber of what had been a lively and energetic man.
    Back in September, shortly after Joe’s death, Adam and Sarah had decided it best to leave their home outside of Denver and move in temporarily with Rick and Judi. The members of Congress had granted Adam an extended leave of absence so that he might support his family and process everything before he returned to work. Initially Adam had vowed to his colleagues and constituents that he would come back renewed and fighting for those who had lost their lives. But as the weeks dragged on, any zeal he had for continuing his mission was buried beneath a mountain of suffocating doubt.
    The congressman had never dealt with depression before, but Joe’s death had successfully condemned him to the darkest period of his existence. Food had lost its taste and drink had become flat, lukewarm, or both. Despite the growing cold, Adam would take long walks in a fruitless attempt to process through his tormenting thoughts. His dad would walk with him occasionally, with only their boots on the pavement to speak out in their loneliness. For the most part, though, Rick had kept to himself. Adam’s father handled the pain by staying busy: getting up early and tinkering on his Jeep, chopping extra firewood, or reading a novel in a desperate attempt to lose himself in another world. The two of them had their own methods of coping with the pain and neither one of them felt it was time to change a thing.
    As autumn came to a close, Adam realized that his vain attempts to process Joe’s death mattered little anymore. Regardless of the angle from which he viewed the question nagging at him, he always reached the same conclusion. He wanted to blame the two men that killed his brother. He wanted to confront them, wrap his hands around their throats, and choke them. But they were dead, mocking his hopelessness from beyond the grave. He tried avoiding what had come next, but he couldn’t help but continue to search for someone to crucify; someone alive to take the blame. Sadly, that foolish search always led back to him.
    I could have helped, he thought time and time again. I should have helped.
    He knew it was irrational to take the responsibility on such a random act of violence. But his brother had contacted him for help in his final hours of desperation. Though Adam had decided after their conversation that he would indeed go, it gnawed at him that the last thing he had said to his closest friend was no. Whether or not the deaths of the attackers ever granted a sense of peace to the other family members of the victims, he knew deep down inside that he could never find justice for his final words to his brother.
    Despite the sadness that filled the ranch daily, Judi, Sarah and the girls, Eva and Grace, had become very close over the last two months. Lately, the two mothers had begun passing on their culinary secrets to the young girls as preparation for the customary Thanksgiving feast. The thought of Thanksgiving brought more hurt than it did anticipation for Adam. Tradition had each member of the Reinhart family say what they were thankful for over the past year and Adam didn’t think he would be able to muster up one iota of thanks. In fact, he wondered if any of them would.
    Regardless, the women and the girls were the only source of joy in the home. They laughed together, made crafts together, cooked together, and had even begun to sing in the house together, mostly harmonious melodies meant to worship Christ. It was not the words but rather the sound of Adam’s mother, wife, and two girls’ voices that brought a welcomed warmth. While he loved their sweet voices, he had begun to despise the lyrics they sang. All the thanking God and praising God angered him almost as much