Only one mile. I can’t give up when I’m so close. Gabriel slowly pulled himself up. He grasped hold of the marker to pull himself to his feet, tugged at his drum and pack, and stumbled back onto the road. Through all this, the rain continued, but it didn’t matter to him. He could have been walking through the bottom of the ocean or the driest of deserts. He only had one thing in mind: making it one more mile.
With blurred vision, Gabriel walked on senselessly. He thought he heard something up ahead. It sounded like voices, but he was unsure of anything now. Then he saw the blurry rain-soaked vision of a building ahead. A house? He careened up to the door and knocked once with every last ounce of strength he could muster. He slid down alongside the door and waited. As he slid down, he prayed the person who answered the door would not be a loyalist. He shut his eyes and leaned against the door.
He felt his head begin to fall as the door opened. Helplessly, he fell across the doorstep. He looked up, only able to open his blurry eyes halfway, seeing what looked like a girl standing over him.
“Oh my!” she gasped. The girl dragged him into the house and shut the door to keep out the wind and the rain. Gabriel was barely conscious now. He tried to speak, but he could not form the words.
“Constance,” the girl shouted to a smaller girl, “Stoke the fire. We need to warm this boy up.” Out of the corner of his half-open eyes, Gabriel saw a small girl run over to the fire. A few years younger than Gabriel, she had dark black hair that came down to her shoulders. She threw some pieces of wood on the fire and poked it with an iron rod.
Flames soon began to jump up, and Constance declared, “Malinda, the fire’s going now.” Both girls pulled Gabriel up to a chair that was close to the hearth. Next, they pulled off his coat and took off his shoes. Although Gabriel was grateful, this kind attention did nothing to increase his strength. Malinda, the older of the two girls, placed her hand on his forehead. She, too, had dark black hair, but it flowed down longer than her sister’s. He was able to see her dark eyes and her skin, tanned by the sun. She wore a simple linen dress and appeared to be as tall as Gabriel. “By the grace of the good Lord, this boy is burning up with fever,” Malinda said. “Father won’t be back until dark, but this boy needs help now.”
“We could go fetch the druggist,” said Constance.
“Yes, Mr. Arnold. With Doctor Brown gone to Boston, he’ll have to do. He’ll be able to give the boy some medicine,” replied Malinda. “Constance, put your cloak on, and run to Mr. Arnold’s shop. I do hope he is there. You know how he travels about.”
“Yes. I will run as fast as I can.” Constance pulled on her woolen cloak and ran through the door at full speed.
Even though Gabriel was seated next to the fire, he was still shivering and too weak to speak. He gazed into the flames of the fire — orange, red, and then blue — then closed his eyes. The flames continued to dance in his mind as he began to dream. Bradford Grimm was now standing before him. Grimm, instead of Malinda and Constance, had opened the door for Gabriel. In place of his faded red jacket, he was now arrayed in the bright red colors of the king’s own soldiers. The fire glinted and gleamed off his uniform’s brass buttons and silver trimmings.
He picked Gabriel up, shook him, and threw him across the room. Gabriel lay curled on the floor when his parents suddenly appeared through the door. Grimm rushed at them. Gabriel tried to warn his parents, but he could not speak. Grimm knocked his parents down and drew some rope from his jacket. He tied their hands and feet and forced them to stand against a wall. He took his musket from his shoulder and raised it at his parents.
All Gabriel could see was Grimm’s bayonet, with its shiny glow of sharpened steel gleaming at the end of the musket. Grimm drew it closer and closer to his parents. Then, suddenly, a British ship came bursting through the door, blasting its cannons. The whole room was shaking.
“Boy, boy . . . BOY! Can you hear me?”
Gabriel looked up, expecting to see a room filled with cannon smoke but, instead, saw the face of the girl who had let him in. He was able to nod his head once.
“Constance has returned with Mr. Arnold. He has brought you some medicine.”
A finely dressed man stood beside Gabriel and looked him over. “Boy, I’m going to need you to drink something. I’ll tell you now, it will not taste good. If you spit it out, I will not give you more. Without this medicine you will remain very ill and may die. Do you understand me?”
Gabriel nodded slightly.
“Malinda, do you have any wine for me to mix with the quinine medicine?” asked Mr. Arnold. “I could mix it with water, but it has such a horribly bitter taste that masking it with some wine usually helps it go down.”
“Yes,” replied Malinda. “I will run to the cellar and fetch some.”
Malinda returned with a bottle of wine and a cup. Mr. Arnold took the bottle and poured some of the wine into the cup. Then, pulling a small paper envelope from his pocket, Mr. Arnold used his knife to cut a small slit and tapped the envelope three times on the edge of the cup. A fine white powder fell through the slit and into the cup. “A spoon to stir this, please,” Mr.
