life together that they planned. Seeing the Redcoats marching so near called back his memories of the men shot at Lexington, the sharp smell of their blood mixed with black smoke, and all his plans with Emily felt as fragile as a man's life. One musket ball could destroy them.
Down below, the British commanders sent several companies across the bridge and north toward the mill. That drew angry exclamations from several of the men. “They know exactly where we hid the munitions,” Brooks said. “That means there's been Tory spies among us.”
One of the other Lincoln men said, “I hear that Rucke up from Lexington is one of them. He moved out here with his daughter just so's he could spy on the militias.”
“That's a damned lie,” Proctor snapped.
“Says who?” The man had a lopsided mouth that made it look like he was ready to bite someone.
Proctor balled his fist and stepped up to punch that ugly mouth. “Says me.”
Eleazar Brooks shoved between them, holding up his hand for peace. “Save it for the Redcoats, boys. We'll be needing both of you afore the day is out.”
The other man backed away. “That's fine with me,” he said. “There'll be time to deal with Tory spies and their friends after the day is over.”
“You make sure you know what you're talking about,” Proctor said. A cold knot tightened in his chest, different from the one he had when scrying. The worse things got today, the harder it would be to make things right with Emily. He turned back to his place in line and tightened his grip on his musket.
“I haven't ever heard anything like that about Miss Emily's father,” Arthur said quietly.
“Because it's a damned lie,” Proctor growled back. Immediately he regretted it. “Forgive my language, Arthur. It wasn't meant to be directed at you.”
“We'll show those damned scoundrels,” Arthur replied, trying to match Proctor's tone. “And we'll give them something back for what they did to my uncle. If I see any of them lying there injured, I'll bayonet them myself.”
Proctor swallowed his first real laugh since sunrise. “But you don't have a bayonet.”
“Then I'll just use a hatchet,” the boy said in deadly earnest, looking at the one in Proctor's belt.
A barking dog slammed into Proctor's leg, knocking him off-balance, before it chased another dog up the hill and into the mass of confusion there. Men's dogs had followed them from their homes and farms and frolicked as if it were a picnic.
In many ways, the hillside did resemble a church picnic. Laundry hung from the lines outside the house atop the hill. Besides the dogs, women and children ran back and forth from town with food and news. Old faces mixed with young, the black faces of slaves and former slaves mixed with the white. The officers gathered there were dressed inordinary clothes; the colonel in charge wore an old coat, a flapped hat, and a leather apron. The Reverend Emerson, Concord's minister, was present in his dark coat, moving among the crowd to offer words of encouragement and prayers. He carried a musket instead of a cross.
“You don't look well, Proctor,” he said.
“I saw some things at Lexington this morning, Reverend,” Proctor answered, though he meant to say
did
instead of
saw
.
“Your Miss Emily lives up that way, doesn't she?” Emerson asked.
How like the Reverend. He seemed to remember everything about every member of his congregation as easily as other ministers remembered their Bible verses. “Yes, she does,” Proctor said.
Emerson clapped him on the shoulder. “You get her away from her father and make an honest patriot of her.”
Before Proctor could reply to that, Arthur tugged at his sleeve. “Look!”
A column of smoke rose from the town below.
“That's the town hall,” Emerson said in alarm.
Everyone saw it. Before the Concord men charged down the hill on their own, the drums started beating, calling them to order. As they fell into a double line, Proctor realized
Down below, the British commanders sent several companies across the bridge and north toward the mill. That drew angry exclamations from several of the men. “They know exactly where we hid the munitions,” Brooks said. “That means there's been Tory spies among us.”
One of the other Lincoln men said, “I hear that Rucke up from Lexington is one of them. He moved out here with his daughter just so's he could spy on the militias.”
“That's a damned lie,” Proctor snapped.
“Says who?” The man had a lopsided mouth that made it look like he was ready to bite someone.
Proctor balled his fist and stepped up to punch that ugly mouth. “Says me.”
Eleazar Brooks shoved between them, holding up his hand for peace. “Save it for the Redcoats, boys. We'll be needing both of you afore the day is out.”
The other man backed away. “That's fine with me,” he said. “There'll be time to deal with Tory spies and their friends after the day is over.”
“You make sure you know what you're talking about,” Proctor said. A cold knot tightened in his chest, different from the one he had when scrying. The worse things got today, the harder it would be to make things right with Emily. He turned back to his place in line and tightened his grip on his musket.
“I haven't ever heard anything like that about Miss Emily's father,” Arthur said quietly.
“Because it's a damned lie,” Proctor growled back. Immediately he regretted it. “Forgive my language, Arthur. It wasn't meant to be directed at you.”
“We'll show those damned scoundrels,” Arthur replied, trying to match Proctor's tone. “And we'll give them something back for what they did to my uncle. If I see any of them lying there injured, I'll bayonet them myself.”
Proctor swallowed his first real laugh since sunrise. “But you don't have a bayonet.”
“Then I'll just use a hatchet,” the boy said in deadly earnest, looking at the one in Proctor's belt.
A barking dog slammed into Proctor's leg, knocking him off-balance, before it chased another dog up the hill and into the mass of confusion there. Men's dogs had followed them from their homes and farms and frolicked as if it were a picnic.
In many ways, the hillside did resemble a church picnic. Laundry hung from the lines outside the house atop the hill. Besides the dogs, women and children ran back and forth from town with food and news. Old faces mixed with young, the black faces of slaves and former slaves mixed with the white. The officers gathered there were dressed inordinary clothes; the colonel in charge wore an old coat, a flapped hat, and a leather apron. The Reverend Emerson, Concord's minister, was present in his dark coat, moving among the crowd to offer words of encouragement and prayers. He carried a musket instead of a cross.
“You don't look well, Proctor,” he said.
“I saw some things at Lexington this morning, Reverend,” Proctor answered, though he meant to say
did
instead of
saw
.
“Your Miss Emily lives up that way, doesn't she?” Emerson asked.
How like the Reverend. He seemed to remember everything about every member of his congregation as easily as other ministers remembered their Bible verses. “Yes, she does,” Proctor said.
Emerson clapped him on the shoulder. “You get her away from her father and make an honest patriot of her.”
Before Proctor could reply to that, Arthur tugged at his sleeve. “Look!”
A column of smoke rose from the town below.
“That's the town hall,” Emerson said in alarm.
Everyone saw it. Before the Concord men charged down the hill on their own, the drums started beating, calling them to order. As they fell into a double line, Proctor realized
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