“Yes, yours, your kind, your militia.”
“’Tis nothing compared to the blood on your hands.” Hamilton inched closer. Could he fire upon this man? Or lower his weapon and lay down his life?
“Fire if you have the courage,” Twimball said, a strange light in his eyes, his words slurred and slow. The left shoulder of his red coat was deepening to a dark crimson. “Go on. End it.”
Hamilton took aim, his finger pressing on the trigger, the blood in his veins roaring. Should he finish what he had started? Finish Twimball?
The light filtering through the trees shifted. And in an instant, Hamilton saw the man in a new light. Scared. Weak. Seeking honor on the battlefield that he did not have at home. The strange glint in his eyes was one of a man longing for love.
Hamilton stepped back, lowering his pistol.
“What, my man? Are you changing your tune now? On the battlefield, no less?” Twimball stumbled forward, closing in, swinging his pistol from side to side.
“I cannot fire.”
Twimball seethed, raising his weapon. “Then the honor will be mine.”
Hamilton raised his arms out to his side, waiting. “I’m sorry, Esther.”
A gunshot rang out, and Hamilton jerked at the blast. But it was Twimball who buckled with a moan and collapsed to the ground.
Ralphie jumped from around a tree. “Run!”
He did not hesitate, chasing Ralphie toward the Continentals, his pulse pounding, his left arm limp by his side. He’d not fired upon Twimball. He’d fought with honor...
As he cleared the muddy maple swamp, a blinding, searing pain sliced through his leg, steel severing muscle from muscle, bone from bone. He plunged forward, falling face-first into the frozen mud. He tried to shove up, but a boot slammed down on his leg and he wailed in agony.
“If you’re going to kill me, do so.” Twimball’s hot breath slithered into Hamilton’s ear. He shoved Hamilton’s face into the mud, pressing harder, deeper.
Hamilton struggled, pushing up, aching for a breath.
In the distance, theclick-slapof musket fire and shouts reverberated in the air. He couldn’t breathe... he couldn’t...
Then suddenly he was free.
Someone had his hands, dragging him away from the mud and conflict. Voices bandied above his hearing. His leg... he could not feel his leg.
A blanket floated above him, covering him. Esther bent over him, crying. The shouting stopped. The gunfire ceased. The perfume of gunpowder faded to the scent of a peaceful snow. Then a brilliant light burst through the trees. Someone called to him, “Hamilton... Hamilton...”
Pa? Hamilton sat up, squinting. There, running toward him. Pa! With Ma at his side, her arms outstretched, her face beautiful and radiant. “Hamilton... Hamilton.”
He was on his feet. “Pa! Ma!” Tears slipped freely on his muddy cheeks. But when his parents reached him, their arms were vapor, their embrace a wisp of wind.
“Pa! Ma! Wait! Wait!”
Hamilton twisted about, searching, desperate. But all anxiety died when his attention landed on a greater, exceedingly bolder light, one the sun’s brilliance could not rival. He vibrated with a sensation he could not control or describe.
A form emerged from the rays, moving as a man, yet one who had no beginning and no end. He bent near to Hamilton and pressed a hand over his heart, bowing his head as if in prayer.
“Come, follow me.”
Then Hamilton drifted away.
ESTHER
Two weeks had passed since the news of General Morgan and the patriots’ victory at Hannah’s Cowpens reached Slathersby Hill.
While her relationship with Hamilton seemed rather unsteady, she could not forget the feel of his soapy hair under her hands or the strength of his chest as she pressed her head against him. Nor the force of his kiss.
