Prelude to Glory, Vol. 1 by Ron Carter

Author:Ron Carter [Carter, Ron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Deseret Book Company
Published: 1998-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

Wednesday, April 19, 1775

Chapter XVI

* * *

Head bowed in somber and foreboding thoughts, Margaret sat at the dining table staring out the window into the gloom of deep dusk gathering in the street. She had not drawn the shades, nor had she yet lighted the evening lamps. Since morning, when the British column had marched south with the cannon, Margaret had become quiet, then silent, and Brigitte saw the ter-rible apprehension growing. Half a dozen times in the late afternoon mounted criers had ridden horses through the streets, shouting the latest news of the battle. Lexington—Concord—the British in full retreat—heavy fighting—cannon—they will be back in Boston during the night. And each time Margaret’s hands had trembled and she had busied herself with housework to hide her terror from the children. After the supper dishes were finished Brigitte had quietly taken the children to her bedroom to read to them, to give Margaret time to herself.

Margaret slowly worked her hands together, one with the other, struggling to keep control of her fears. They will come back. God hears the prayers of those who love him, and he answers. He will not let harm come to them. He will not. He will not.

She raised her eyes to again peer out the front window, and there were more buggies and wagons in the streets than before, working their way south, leaving the city in fear of what was to come.

Suddenly Margaret’s hands stopped and she straightened in her chair, and then she bolted to her feet and her chair skittered backwards, scraping on the hardwood floor. For a fleeting moment she saw it in her mind—John in a field, on his hands and knees, unable to rise—and then it was gone. Her face turned white, and for a time she could not breathe as the image burned into her heart.

He’s hurt!

The knowledge was certain.

In the bedroom Brigitte paused in her reading at the sound of the chair skidding.

“Caleb, keep the children here.” A moment later she stopped in the archway to the parlor, struck by the image of her mother standing rigid, white-faced, staring out the front window in the twilight of the room.

“Mother?” she said quietly.

Margaret did not turn as she spoke. “He’s hurt.”

A look of puzzlement crossed Brigitte’s face. “Father? How do you know?”

“I saw it.”

For a moment Brigitte did not understand, and then realization struck and she stood rooted. For a time it seemed the room was charged, and then Brigitte sat down at the table and Margaret sat down beside her, and neither woman spoke. Finally Brigitte stood and lighted the lamps and drew the shades, and silently walked back to be with the children.

Margaret sat in the silence, face drawn, until she was startled by the sound of footsteps in the hallway and Brigitte appeared with the children.

“Shall I get them ready for prayer and bed?”

Margaret stood and said, “Yes, I’m coming,” when the sounds of a running horse came from the street, and then they heard the front gate slam open and a moment later the fearful pounding at the front door.

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