Hello my lovely subjects this is my new story In The Shadow Of revolution. I would tell you more but I am a believer that seeing is believing so how about I let you start believing.
Love is like war: easy to begin but very hard to stop.
H. L. Mencken
The sounds of muskets still rang loud and clear in the ears of Jane. She could still feel the heat of the warm bodies marching by, marching not only toward their death, but also toward the waiting immortality that one can only achieve through battle. How she wished to join them, not in their death necessarily but in their glory of war.
She stood there in the tree line at the edge of the field whose population grew with each passing unit and only to be decrease with each volley of fire. She stood there and she watched with such unwavering rapture that she failed to notice the presence behind her. It was not until the person standing back in the shadows reached out and pressed a warm hand to her shoulder did she realize they were there. It was the familiar weight of the hand that calmed Jane's fear, thinking at first that it was some soldier sent to reprimand her for watching such a gruesome battle.
"Weshe" the man behind her spoke in hushed tones as though anything louder would alert to battling men to their presence, taking comfort in her birth name Jane turned to the man and offered him a small smile. She answered in the same hushed tone,
"Hello brother" her voice laced with admiration as she looked up at James, a man who had taken her in and treated her wounds after she had been forced out of her tribe.
He gave her a forced smile before quickly gesturing toward the way from which he came. It took Jane but a moment to realize what he wanted and with a quick nod, the two were off, traveling away from the sounds of battle, Jane's eyes trailing behind her straining for one last glimpse of the glory bound men.
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The journey from the battle field to James' home in Boston's poorest neighborhood , was one done in almost complete silence the only time either spoke was apologize to a passerby that they brushed against.
However, as soon as the fortified door closed behind Jane the silence was broken as an angry James spoke in a voice with a volume just below that of a scream.
"What is wrong with you? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" his rant continued for a while before he took a pause. The reason behind the pause Jane was unsure of was it due to the lack of air in his lungs, a depletion of anger, or perhaps he was just figuring out his next course of action. Whichever reason it was he seemed to quickly recover, because as he began to quickly stride over to where Jane had taken refuge, at the rough wooden table use for meals, it was obvious to even the least observant person in the world, let alone someone with the observation skills of Jane, that his quick strides carried a sense of purpose and the gleam of his eyes… a lesson.
"Jane" his voice softer as he stared her in the eyes, but still carrying an edge to it letting Jane know that his words are serious. "I have told you… repeatedly to stay away from the battle field, but yet you still feel the need to disobey me. You are like family to me Jane, but I am quickly growing sick of your recklessness, and I am not sure how much of it I can take, I am also not sure what I am going to do once I marry Priscilla. You do remember who her father is... right, Tobias Leventhorpe, one of the most influential men in not only Boston, if not all of the colonies. He is already on the fence about me due to the fact I am a small farmers son, if it was not for my merit as a blacksmith. If you managed to get into some kind of trouble and were arrested, do you not think he would find out?" His voice was steady but vicious.
"Why do you even care about that pompous ass and his self-righteous daughter?" Jane interrupted haughtily as she lifted her eyes to meet John's angry ones, trying to show that she would not back down.
"Silence!" John roared, the fire in his eyes growing as if given more fuel. "You will be quite!" his hand raised back and with great velocity that could rival the speed of the bullets had whizzed threw the air on the battle field. His large hand met Jane's young skin with a resounding smack, causing the young Indian's head to whip to the side from the force behind the strike.
At this Jane's, proud chin fell and she averted her eyes, choosing to stare at a random brick, instead of engaging in a battle of wills with the strong loyalist in front of her, knowing that if she didn't there would be no stopping the barrage of tears that were sure to follow. Upon seeing Jane's submission, he allowed his voice to lower, but retained his vicious edge.
"As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted. If you get into trouble, it will get back to him and I am sure that the fact you are staying here will also reach his ears and then my chances of becoming anything will be ruined." He paused a moment before continuing all traces of the John that Jane knew were gone, leaving in their place this new cold and ambitious man. His voice when he continued was as cold as the Bostonian air outside.
"Jane I don't know if you can continue to live in my home anymore. I am also beginning to regret saving you all those years ago… I think its best you leave." And with an air of finality John turned on his heel and heeded to the small loft where Jane kept her few things. Grabbing her belongings, he placed them in a knapsack and handed it to the young Native American who had not moved an inch during this whole process. As soon as John placed the leather bag into her hands, he once again turned on his heel, this time heading off to his workshop behind the humble home.
Jane continued to stand there, waiting for the man she had grown to call her brother to come back and say it was all just an elaborate joke meant to ensure that Jane would heed his advice from now on, but he never came. She wanted to go to him, to beg for forgiveness but something in side of her wasn't sure if she wanted it. She wasn't sure if she could remain here with the man she though she knew. It took her a few more minutes to decide that no… she could not stay here with that man, she refused to even in her head refer to him as john, because that man outside whose hammer strike could be heard even through the loud racket of a lower Boston's morning traffic.
With that, decision she decided to for one last time listen to the man she once called brother, and slipped out into the cold Boston morning with nothing but a thin shirt covering her just as thin frame from the harsh elements.
A few hours later Jane found that, she was hungry and decided to head to the market. Once she reached the merchants market, she made a beeline to a specific stall, the one closest to Woodman's Wharf. She sought out the stall and that was because it was run by one of the only people she could call friend, Gunther Mitchelsons, an old man who still had his thick German accent from when he was a young boy. also because she knew that even though she could only afford half the price of whatever delicious meat cleverly placed between two piece of delicious bread he had, he would still let her have it, making up some cock and bull story about how it had been ruined and wasn't proper for any civilized consumption.
She made her way to the stall and as quickly as she could without being rude, bought the "ruined' treat, this time one made out of rye bread and a meat called corned beef, and left. Jane knew if she stayed there for very long the perceptive old man would notice the sadness that had begun to seep from Jane's soul and start to question. Gunther had enough on his plate right now and did not need the young Shawnees problems on top of his own. Therefore, with a quick hello she completed the transaction and was on her way, waving off any concerns over the stinging wound on her face as wound that was a result of some work related accident and then citing some important task as her excuse for not being able to stay and converse like usual.
As she made her way through the stalls, she let her thoughts wander to the man she once called brother. How did she not see the changes in the once warm man? Of course, in hindsight Jane could see the changes. They had started soon after he had met Tobias Leventhorpe, while at some gala he had been invited to as a guest of some British General for whom he created a beautiful pistol. While chatting with the bastard of a man, John had been introduced to the horrible woman. Priscilla seemed to take a favor of the hard working blacksmith and next thing Jane knew the two were contemplating marriage.
Jane's thoughts were interrupted as she suddenly came to a stop as she ran into a small body. Looking down she felt a small shiver of fear as she realized the body she ran into was that of a woman, maybe eight summers older then her own sixteen, who was clad in an elegant yet simple dress that Jane was sure she would never even be able to afford even a sleeve worth of the fabric that it was created from.
Reaching down Jane attempted to relieve her fear but found it only to magnify as she felt the contrast of the woman's soft hand in her own, rough from years of labor. What if she had her arrested for assault? What if she had her thrown in jail simply because she was a lowly Indian who had the audacity to touch her even if it was to help her from the ground?
All of those fears seemingly washed away once she had lifted the woman from the ground, set her upright, and saw the woman's beautiful face. The woman after recovering from the fall quickly took stock of her clothes and with little difficulty discovered that the dress was surely ruined. All thoughts of dis appointment flew from her mind as she met the eyes of the tall tanned woman in front of her. She was momentarily stunned by the wild strength the beautiful woman emitted. It was only moments before her manners came back to her and with an easy elegance only she could achieve, raised her hand in greeting before confidently saying, "Hello, I am Maura Isles. You seem to have a laceration on your cheek bone and I am worried that there is a heightened chance for infection because you have failed to bandage it."