Hamilton shook his head, his shoulders slouched under sadness and despair. Esther clutched her reticule to her chest.
“Do what you must,” Hamilton said. “As for me, I leave this debate for another hour. Show respect for the dead.” He gave the captain his back, giving again his support to his aunt.
Captain Irwin shook his head and conversed with several other men.
Now, perhaps, she could speak with him.
A disembodied voice cried out, “I say fight!”
Captain Irwin and the men whirled around. Esther withdrew into the crowd as men flocked toward the militia leader.
Then a push from behind, and she stumbled forward. More shouting. More men gathering, muskets and pistols in hand, at the cemetery’s edge, where the heady stench of charred beams still rose from the death of the church.
Patriots and Loyalists faced off. Friend against friend. Riley Hough, among the patriots, stood against his brother, Eric, who was a Loyalist.
“No, no, this can’t be.” She spun around, trapped between the two sides.
“Miss Esther.” Mrs. Trenwith stood near the churchyard oak. “Move yourself from harm’s way.”
Suddenly she was on the stormy sea, hovering in the bows of the ship, crying out for Mother, who never came.
The hammering sound of horses rammed against her. Dust swirled up from the thirsty ground as British militia rode through the divided factions.
The snort of a gelding brushed her ear.
Covering her head, she wailed from her belly, “Hamilton!”
A hand yanked on her arm, tripping her sideways. When she looked up, Lieutenant Twimball stood over her.
“Does your father know you are here?” He walked her toward the oak tree. “You have placed yourself in danger. These rebels have no care for our kind.”
“Our kind? Do not lump me in with your deeds.Yourkind has no respect for them either. You killed Reverend Lightfoot.”
Lieutenant Twimball bent toward her. “He was not supposed to be at the church.”
Esther removed herself from his shadow. “You knew of the scheme? And let it go on?”
“I had orders from Captain Huck. Now, be a nice English girl and stand clear of this brawl.” Twimball spun, firing his pistol in the air. “You are gathered unlawfully. By order of Major Ferguson, you must disband immediately.”
“Have a care, man.” Captain Irwin came forward. “We are burying our friend and neighbor. ’Tis not unlawful to gather for a burying. His widow grieves not twenty yards away.”
“Yet I say disband.” Twimball kept a steady gaze on Irwin. “Now do as you’re bid.”
But the captain would not be dissuaded. He paced toward the waiting, braced patriots. “Do you see what he’s doing? Wielding authority he does not have. Today it is Mary Lightfoot’s husband, but tomorrow it may well be you and yours.” He assessed Twimball and the mounted militia. “Reverend? Doesn’t Scripture remind us there is a time for war and a time for peace? Well, suffice it to say, thanks to our king and oppressor, we find this to be a time of war.” His declaration gripped Esther, and she peered toward Hamilton. “Join the Ninety Six Militia,” Irwin said. “Stand up to this tyranny! Take courage, men.”
“Captain, are you recruiting in the town square while we observe? ’Tis all but an act of aggression.” Twimball slipped his pistol into his holster and retrieved his musket from his waiting horse. “I demand you remove yourselves from the square.”
Half the men remaining at the funeral gathered with the captain. The others remained behind, grumbling, hurling insults, casting a tense gaze toward the lieutenant.
They were Loyalists, scared, eager to save their own hides. It was a wonder the wolves had not detected their scent and gathered.
But what of Father? He was a Loyalist. Yet he was brave and kind, a man of honor. Decorated for his valor during the Seven Years’ War.
From the tree, she had a clear view of Hamilton. He tipped his hat toward her, his slow, deliberate action a balm to her heart. She understood his intent without words.
Thank you for being here.
“Men of Ninety Six.” Twimball mounted his horse, riding among those gathering with Captain Irwin. “If you do not join with the Crown, you will face a traitor’s death. Isn’t the death of your reverend enough of a warning? What more do you need?”
