Authors: Kerry Newcomb

Paxton's War (50 page)

BOOK: Paxton's War

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Miranda Somerset, coughing from the smoke of battle, pulled her horse next to Pat Ferguson.

“The day is theirs, Captain,” she said. “As I expected, it's a rout. Surrender and cut our losses. If not, they'll slaughter us like cattle. These are angry men. The Brown Bess is no match for their rifles. You've eaten too much meat, you've lost your perspective, you've â¦”

“Quiet, woman, or I'll have you shot for treason! Away!” Ferguson barked as he rode off, still trying to rally his troops and deny the deteriorating situation the madwoman had analyzed with such accuracy.

Near the top of the ridge, Joy's heart stopped beatingâat least for an instant. She saw Peterâalive! It was Peter! He was positioned behind a small boulder just thirty feet ahead of her. She cried out his name.

Peter immediately recognized her voice. He turned and stood, forgetting about the battle for a split-second. There she was! A miracle! She wasn't dead!

She ran from the bush, leaving Rianne and Piero. Her love! Her life! Her Peter!

“Down! down!” he cried, his heart pounding inside his chest.

She couldn't contain herself, and as Peter caught her in his arms and tried to throw her down to the ground, a Tory charged from out of nowhere, his bayonet aimed at the Englishman's chest. Joy screamed as Peter's pistol shot the greencoat at the very last second. Lifelessly, the Tory fell to the ground. His horse bolted and ran wild.

More shots were fired. Gunfire flew from every direction. Peter grabbed Joy just out of harm's way, leading her to the safety of a grove of small trees. There the jubilant lovers embraced, but only for seconds, for the battle was not yet over. The fighting flared, fiercer than ever.

Up the final few feet to the top of the ridge, the battlefield an arena of slaughter, screams of exaltationâ“the sword of the Lord!â¦ the sword of Gideon!”âhand-to-hand combat, the rebels having trapped the now frightened Tories, who saw their ground disappearing from beneath them. A valiant Jason breathed deeply, fighting alone, having lost Peter somewhere along the way.

Inches from the top of King's Mountain Ridge, crawling on his belly, the taste of dirt and blood in his mouth, Jason looked up and saw the feet of Somerset's horse. He stretched his neck. There was Colleen, in a red robe, exposed to the rifle fire of a thousand men, with Buckley behind her.

At first Jason didn't believe it was her. It seemed incredible. It seemed impossible. But there was no mistake. His Colleen! His love? Alive! The woman was alive! All his prayers, all his hopes, all his faith had led him here! But there was no time to waste. She was a target. She could be struck at any second.

Crawling quickly, silently, maneuvering himself behind the horse, Jason sprang like a cat, leaving his rifle on the groundânot willing to risk a shot that might hit Colleenâand landed on the animal directly behind the saddle. Buckley instinctively leaped from his horse, out of Jason's grasp. With both feet on the ground, Somerset held in his right hand a pistol aimed at Jason's forehead; in his left hand, his saber was pointed at Jason's heart.

An astonished Colleen turned and witnessed the combat, but she was not completely surprised that Jason was here, no more surprised than she had been on that day back in May when he had returned from England. She had felt his presence all along. She had never lost faith. She watched as an unarmed Jason jumped from the horse and, in one sweeping motion, kicked the pistol from Buckley's hand. Somerset tried running his saber through Jason's heart, but Jason was too quick. The blade caught only Jason's right hand, which began bleeding profusely. Colleen cried out, and the distraction was enough for Buckley to lose his advantage. With his good hand, Jason knocked Somerset's saber to the ground. The two men faced one another, moving cautiously in a small circle, Jason's hand still bleeding.

Buckley made the first move, his clenched right hand grazing Jason's cheek. Jason's full-fisted left-handed blow to Somerset's stomach, though, took the aristocrat's breath away. Spitting in Jason's face didn't deter the musician, who countered with a straight jab, smashing Buckley's teeth, knocking him to the ground. Out of control, filled with fury, mad with his own strength, blood still dripping from his right hand, Jason found an extra measure of power, beating Buckley to the ground, encircling his fingers around his neck, and squeezing, squeezing, choking the man until the distorted sound of Somerset's final gaspsâ“she was right â¦ Mother was right â¦”âdissipated into the air along with the other dying noises as the day's brutal battle came to a conclusion. The mountain men had taken the ridge.

No time passed before Colleen ran into Jason's arms, embraced him, kissed his mouth and his eyes, kissed his forehead and his chin, bathed him with tear-stained kisses, then tore a section of the battle dress Rianne had fashioned into a bandage that she tied around her lover's hand. Again they embraced, then stayed locked for a long while in one another's arms until a voiceâan old familiar voiceâcalled out his name.

“Jason,” the voice beckoned.

Jason turned and looked at his father. Ethan stood but a few feet away, his clothes torn, his face covered with mud and dust, his arms crisscrossed with bruises, his eyes filled with remorse.

What was there to do?

What was there to say?

Still embarrassed, still ashamed, the proud elder Paxton hesitated before he approached his son. He was at a loss for words.

Finally, two words fell from his mouth.

“Forgive me,” he said to Jason.

Jason, who had been clinging to Colleen, didn't hesitate before opening his arms to his father. Slowly, Ethan moved to form a circle, embracing Colleen, embracing his sonâoh, how good it felt to embrace his son!âwhispering the words one last time.

“Forgive me.”

Chapter 19

The mountain men were leaving. The battle was over. The tear-stained reunions had taken place. Standing atop King's Mountain Ridge, Jason and Colleen stayed back as the others began slowly to descend the hill. Peter, his arm around Joy's waist, turned to ask, “Aren't you coming down?”

“In a very short while,” Jason answered, waving to his friend and sister, who disappeared down the side of the ridge.

Facing one another, Jason placed his right hand gently upon Colleen's cheek and sighed, a sigh of enormous relief after a wild and fearful storm. Hanging low in the west, the golden rays of a softly setting sun were filtered through the clouds of smoke that hung low over the dusty battlefield. Below, the once-beautiful fields and woods were burned, darkened and scarred by the fires of battle.

“So much suffering,” said Colleen, “so much destruction.”

“Sometimes in this strange world,” Jason replied compassionately, “it's necessary to tear down before building up again. For the English, it's the begining of the end. For America, it's a brave new beginning.”

“And for us?” Colleen asked, looking into her lover's eyes.

His eyes answered her with a sweet, tender smile. Without saying a word, he took a medallion that hung on a gold chain around his neck and slipped it over his head. He held the Paxton family amulet in his hand, cleaning off the dirt with his fingers so that the image was clear: a tall, strong tree triumphantly rising from a thicket of brambles and bushes. Then, as the high-pitched chirping of a distant robin blended with the rustle of a fresh early evening breeze, Jason placed the sacred memento around Colleen's slender neck, kissing her soft lips and saying the words, “I love you, my darling. Now and forever.”

Atop King's Mountain, the Tories fellâ

'Twas a painful revelation

For the Crown to face the rifles of

A free and newborn nation.

Yet the blood we shed, the lives we lost,

The sacrifices young and old;

Oh, the agony of this tortuous war

Will always haunt our souls.â¦

âColleen McClagan Paxton

About the Authors

Kerry Newcomb was born in Milford, Connecticut, but had the good fortune to be raised in Texas. He has served in the Jesuit Volunteer Corps and taught at the St. Labre Mission School on the Northern Cheyenne Reservation in Montana, and holds a master's of fine arts degree in theater from Trinity University. Newcomb has written plays, film scripts, commercials, and liturgical dramas, and is the author of over thirty novels. He lives with his family in Fort Worth, Texas.

Frank Schaefer was reared in upstate New York but has lived in Texas for many years. He was a hospital corpsman in the navy and served in the Peace Corps in Costa Rica. He holds a master of fine arts degree in theater from Trinity University in San Antonio, Texas. Schaefer has written plays, film scripts, commercials, and some twenty novels. He lives in Austin, Texas.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Jason Gabbert

ISBN: 978-1-5040-0106-9

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10014

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