Flight of the Sparrow by Amy Belding Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

questions, yet it is all she has to offer. “Hurry now. Make ready.”
    Musket balls rattle like hail against the house and men are shouting and slamming closed the shutters. What little light was inside is gone now, the rooms plunged into blackness. She searches her heart for hope, snatches at the fact that the Indians have not yet broken into the house. Perhaps Joseph, at this very moment, is close to Lancaster with the troops that will drive off the enemy.
    Elizabeth is suddenly at her elbow. “We must pray!” she whispers. Mary nods but she cannot bend her heart toward God before locating Joss.
    She pushes through the crowded room to the narrow stairs and climbs to the chamber where her son sleeps. She stares at his empty pallet and tossed blanket, and her heart thumps hard. She glances at the ladder that leads to the attic, and sees a shadow drifting between the rafters.
    For an instant she frowns, puzzled; then she smells smoke and hears the hiss of flame on wood.
    She nearly tumbles down the stairs. “The Indians have fired the house!” she shouts. “The roof is burning!” She runs to the bedstead and yanks Sarah to her feet, ignoring the girl’s bewildered protests. Marie is suddenly next to her, moving like a shadow. Mary drops her free arm over her daughter’s shoulder and hugs her tightly, briefly. Then—finally—she sees Joss carrying a water bucket, weaving purposefully between people. He disappears up the stairs and for one instant she admires his valor. In the next, she fears for his life.
    Ann Joslin, crouched now on the floor against the wall, begins a wild weeping. Mary kneels to calm her. “Fear not,” she says. “I am assured my husband will soon come with the soldiers. Even now, I warrant he’s but a few miles from Lancaster.” She wants to believe this— must believe it—for she sees how plainly her own fear is reflected in the other woman’s face. Ann lapses into whimpers, and then there is only the clout of close-fired Indian muskets and the thud of balls tunneling into the front door. It sounds to Mary like the Devil’s own knuckles, endlessly rapping. She knows she is doomed. They are all doomed.
    Joss runs down the stairs, trailing smoke. Water drips through the ceiling boards. He stands in front of Mary, coughing, eyes bright with excitement even as he confesses that he could not stanch the flames.
    “We must go out!” she cries. “The house has been fired!” In front of her, John Divoll staggers backward with his hand on his neck. Blood runs between his fingers and drips onto the floor.He sinks down on one knee.
    “John!” Hannah’s scream makes the infants wail louder. The dogs moan from the corner but, strangely, they do not bark.
    Mary turns to the knot of children huddled, coughing and weeping, in the middle of the room. She grabs Sarah’s arm and the hand of Elizabeth’s four-year-old daughter, Martha. “Hurry! If we stay here, we will burn alive.” She wonders if they can hear her over the cries inside and the pagan howls outside. Smoke pours into the room, threatening to smother everyone. She doubles over, coughing and coughing into her apron.
    As she straightens, the fire suddenly surges forward from the back of the house. Flames roar overhead. “Joss! Marie!” she screams, dragging Sarah and Martha toward the door. “Everyone! Make haste!” Elizabeth moans and falls back against the chimney wall.
    Sarah begins crying and jabbing her free hand in the direction of the east window. Mary looks to where she is pointing and sees the birdcage hanging on its peg. She cannot make out the bird. Likely it is already dead, killed by the smoke.
    “Mother!” screams Sarah. “Save Row!”
    Mary shouts to be heard over the din. “Nay, Sarah. Come now. We must save ourselves.”
    “No!” Sarah yanks her arm from Mary’s grasp and scuttles back through the huddled people behind them. Martha starts to make the gulping sounds that herald a wail, and Mary picks her up.