Traitor to the Crown The Patriot Witch by C.C. Finlay Read Free Book Online

shoot. He felt like he carried a stain on him, as if they already knew.
    The youngest Merriam, outside without a hat, handed them cups of fresh water.
    “They shot Jonathon Harrington in front of his own home, with his wife and children begging the Redcoats to spare his life,” Michael Merriam told them. “He bled to death on his doorstep, and none of the regulars did a thing to help him.”
    “They'll do the same thing to you,” Proctor said, wiping water from his chin. “There's no way you can stand against them.”
    “We don't mean to,” Michael said. “We're just watching the road until they come. When we see their numbers, we'll fall back and join the militia in Concord.”
    “We'll see you there then,” Proctor said. “We have to muster and report what we saw.”
    They said their good-byes and continued on toward Concord. The last stretch of road ran beneath the shadow of Arrowhead Ridge. “We could pick them off from up there,” Arthur said, squinting up at it. “While they were marching below.”
    “Reckon we could,” Proctor replied, though he had reservations. Picking off a few of them wouldn't make any difference to Robert Munroe or Everett Simes, but it might make the Redcoats slower to shoot the next time. Or quicker. That Major Pitcairn meant business, and he had nothing to fear.
    Drums and fifes played in the distance. Several companies of militia were marching out of Concord. Proctor and Arthur stepped to the side of the road to let them pass. Heonly saw young faces in their ranks. It was the minutemen. His company from Lincoln brought up the rear.
    Proctor saluted Captain Smith, who was only a couple of years older than himself. “Brown,” Smith said as Proctor fell in beside them. “We marked you down absent at muster.”
    “I went into Lexington with Munroe and Everett Simes,” Proctor said. “Saw the shooting there.”
    “I'll correct the muster. Was it as bad as we heard?”
    Proctor swallowed hard, thinking again that it might all be his fault. “As bad, or worse, depending on what you heard. There must be close to a thousand Redcoats, and the major of the marines is fearless. He means to take our guns or kill us.”
    Smith nodded. “We're bound to see more fighting today now that they started it. You better find your place in line.”
    “Sir, can I keep Arthur Simes with me?”
    Smith glanced back at Arthur, trailing doggedly behind Proctor, and must have seen the intensity in his eyes. “You can. But Arthur?”
    “Yes, sir?” His voice trembled.
    “You're not to put yourself in the way of any exceptional danger. Your mother would have my hide.”
    “It's a bit late for that,” Arthur said. Proctor took his arm and let the column pass. They exchanged nods of greeting with the rest of the men as they went by until Proctor saw the face he was looking for: sandy hair framing ice-blue eyes above a sharp nose and cleft chin.
    “Amos Lathrop,” he said, falling in beside his friend. “It's good to see you.”
    “I understand you already heard the British guns,” Amos said, and when Proctor shrugged an affirmation, he said, “Do you have to be so impatient to do everything?”
    Proctor smiled from habit, though he didn't feel it inside. Being the only one to work their farm, and not having much family on either side, Proctor didn't have many close friends, but Amos was the closest.
    Proctor made a quick count of the line. There were only a hundred minutemen present. “Where's the rest of the militia?” he asked.
    “The militia captains voted to guard the town center,” Amos said, more than a little disgust tinting his voice. “The minutemen companies thought it better to meet the Redcoats on the road, so we voted to do that instead. Here we are.”
    He sympathized with the minutemen's sentiment, but he thought it madness to divide their forces. “Do the captains know how many Redcoats there are?”
    “We've heard there's a thousand,” Amos said. “But it wouldn't