Chapter One

27 September 1771

The night seemed ordinary to James. He sat in the parlor pretending to read a book. His mind wasn't on the words before him, however. The twelve year old kept a close eye his mother who was sitting in Father's favorite armchair. In the past three weeks since he had been arrested, Mother had been quiet and withdrawn. She would often pause throughout the day to stare into space, her wide green eyes brimming with tears and a deep sadness that James could barely understand. What he did understand was that his mother was miserable and he couldn't help ease her heartache. He did what he could and tended his younger siblings so that Mother wouldn't have to worry. But she was always worried.

A curt knock on the door startled James and his mother. Their eyes met.

Mother rose slowly and walked to the door, her anxiety thinly veiled. James followed her silently, peering around her to see who the caller was. When she beheld the scarlet coated soldier standing on the doorstep, her face transformed from weary to furious. "What do you want?" she snarled. James stared at his mother's rigid back, frightened. He had never heard his mother so angry before. Cautiously, James moved closer so that he could stand beside her, hoping to somehow protect her.

The man smiled sadly and bowed at the waist. "Mistress Colleen," he said softly, eyeing her greedily. James didn't like the glint in his eyes. He unconsciously straightened his shoulders and glared at the man.

"I asked you what you want, Captain Williams."

"Lieutenant Colonel, actually."

"Congratulations," Mother said, her voice cold and void of genuine concern.

"Thank you. I merely wanted to inform you that your husband is to be executed and you are required by law to attend."

James's heart leapt into his ears and pounded furiously. Father? Executed? He felt his mother tense, sway. He placed his hand on her back to steady and comfort her.

"When?" she whispered quietly.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? But...that won't give me enough time to find someone to watch the children..."

"They are required to attend as well."

"What? You must...you must be joking."

"I'm not. But it isn't me that is making the laws. I merely enforce them. I'm very sorry that I must bear this news."

Mother scowled fiercely, her eyes glinting in the light of the street light. Her voice was low and menacing, causing her Irish lilt to become especially pronounced. "No, you are not, Lieutenant Colonel," she said his title like she was tasting foul milk, "You are the cause of my Martyn's death. And you enjoy seeing me and our children suffer."

"That isn't true, Colleen. I still..."

"Not in front of the children, sir."

It was then that the man looked at James. His eyes coldly calculated the boy before turning back to his mother. "Who is this?"

Mother fought to keep the tears from falling. "This is my son, James Turner."

"The product of your affair with your Welsh lover. The boy looks just like him."

Mother's hands shook and she closed her eyes to keep back her rage. "We are married, sir. He is our son. Now, you've given your message. Leave."

"Colleen...if you need anything..."

Mother slammed the door and turned, pressing her fist to her mouth. James stood back a few paces, wondering what he should do. Should he assist his mother or leave her alone? Perhaps he should have gotten father's gun and run that soldier off his property. But then maybe he would have been arrested and executed like father. After all, running that same man off their property was exactly what had gotten father arrested. James shuddered. His father was going to die, but he didn't feel anything. He was numb inside.

Mother suddenly jerked away from the wall and stumbled towards her bedroom, the only bedroom of the tiny house. "Go to sleep, dear," she mumbled as she passed him. James watched her stumbled through the kitchen and into her bedroom. The sound of the door slamming shut was followed by heart wrenching sobs. Each one cut James like a knife because he couldn't do anything to ease the pain that made his mother sob so.

Slowly, James stumbled up the ladder to the loft where his younger siblings were fast asleep on the mattress they shared, blissfully unaware of the nightmare James had just experienced. The twelve year old boy cast himself on the bed and buried his head under his pillow to try to block the sound of his mother's hear breaking.

28 September 1771

"Mama, I hate this suit! Why can't I wear my other waistcoat?" six year old Thomas asked, tugging uncomfortably at his wine colored waistcoat.

James hushed his young brother and softly said, "Because we are being respectful, Thomas. Remember what I said? Don't bother Mama. Just do as she says."

James took his brother's hand and followed their British soldier escorts down the street towards the Commons, where a crowd was beginning to gather. As they approached, the soldiers were preparing the gallows. James shivered. He knew what was going to happen to Father. They were going to hang him. He wanted to cry and to scream and to hurt the men who were going to kill his father for protecting his mother. It was so wrong. His chest burned at the injustice. But there was nothing he could do. He was completely helpless.

Anne followed him quietly, her straw hat shading her face and hiding the silent tears that coursed down her cheeks. At ten, she understood fairly well what was going on. As their shoes made hollow sounds on the cobblestones, Anne trotted to catch up to James. She slipped her hand in his and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I want to see my husband," Mother told their escort flatly.

The young soldier looked uncomfortable. "I-I don't think that's allowed, Madame." He looked at his companion and raised his eyebrows to question wether or not he had made the right call. His companion, who appeared to be but two years older, shrugged.

"We can see what we can do, Madame," the other soldier said. "Stay here with Private Wellington, if you will. I'll be back shortly."

Mother squared her shoulders and said, "I'll follow you, sir. The...the execution is due to start soon and I want sufficient time to say goodbye. He is my husband."

Both of the guards sighed and led the family to a tent ten feet to the right of the gallows. "Wait here," the soldier named Wellington said. Mother squeezed James's hand and he noticed that she had tears in her eyes. The other soldier gazed sympathetically at them, his eyes sad.

"What is your name, young man?" the guard asked, looking at James.

"James Turner, sir. And may I ask what yours is?"

The soldier smiled softly. "Peter Miller. But that's Private Miller, to you," he said and winked at James.

James tried to smile, he really did. But he couldn't. Not when Father was about to die.

Private Miller seemed to understand. He met James's eye and nodded. He was about to open his mouth to say something when the tent flap behind him snapped open. Private Miller whipped to attention and saluted as Private Wellington was followed out by Lieutenant Colonel Josiah. Mother flinched when she saw him. James nearly lunged at the man to hit him hard in a place he would not soon forget, but Mother tightened her hand on his shoulder and whispered, "No, darling. It won't fix anything."

James nodded, but glared daggers at the man anyway. Who was he that he could arrest Father for trying to protect his mother? It was cruel.

The man bowed slightly at his waist. Mother didn't curtsey as she was supposed to do when someone bowed to her. Instead, she lifted her chin and stared at him with cold, unfeeling eyes.

"Your escorts informed me of your wish to see your husband."

"Yes. I'm sure they did."

"As the senior officer overseeing this execution, I will allow you and the children three minutes with the condemned."

"And may I not have time alone with him?"

"You get three minutes. Divide the time as you will."

Mother's face blanched and she struggled to control her tears. "All right. I'll have...two minutes and then my children will have one. Will you alert me when...when my time is through?"

"Gladly," Lt. Col. Williams said. James watched his mother's stiff form enter the tent. Three armed guards exited soon after Mother entered. James heard a sob and his father's voice comforting his mother. He didn't hear all that they said, only the whispered cadence of the voices he loved so much.

In what felt like seconds, Josiah stepped inside and said, "Two minutes, Mrs. Turner. Your children are coming in."

James saw that his father was tied to a chair. But his father! He looked terrible. His thin face was discolored and swollen. His beard was shaggy and tears had left clean streaks down his cheeks. What had they done to him?

"Papa!" Anne cried, breaking the heavy silence in the family as she raced to her father. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into his neck. "I love you, Papa. I love you so much."

Father's swollen eyes misted as leaned his head on his daughter's curls and whispered. "There now, dear. I love you too. Don't cry. You'll see me again."

"But when?"

Father's voice broke when he spoke next. "When God wills it, my bonnie lass."

By now, Thomas had begun sobbing as well. He raced to Father and clambered up into hsi lap. "I love you, Papa," he whispered between sobs.

James also approached his father and stood in front of him, gazing into his hero's eyes. "Father," he said, struggling to keep the emotion from his voice. "Father, I want you to know...I'll take care of them."

Father nodded. "Thank you. I know you will do a grand job, son. Stay strong, lad. Listen to your mother, all of you. And..." he took a deep, shuddering breath. "And know that I'm always with you and I'll always love you. Whatever happens, rely on your heavenly Father."

Mother came to stand with her hands on Father's shoulders as the family sat in silence, enjoying what time they had left.

"Time's up," the frigid voice of Josiah penetrated the final moments they had together.

"No!" Mother said suddenly. "You...you can't...we need more time..."

"I'm sorry. Three minutes have passed. My men will escort you out."

Mother herded the children out of the tent, casting one last, lingering look to the man she loved and couldn't live without. "I'll love you to my dying breath, Martyn Turner!" she called.

"And I shall love you for all eternity, my Irish love!" he called back.

The moment was severed when Josiah closed the tent flap. The family stood at the front of the crowd, gazing up at the imposing gallows. Mother stood with her hands on James's shoulders. Anne was nestled in his arms, her arms wrapped around his waist. Thomas clung to his mother's leg, subdued by the mood of the rest of the family. The crowd fell silent as the drummers beat out a solemn, slow beat.

Rat-tat-tatatatat. Rat-tat-tatatatat.

The tent flap to their right opened and two armed guards marched out. Between them, hands bound in iron manacles, was Father.

Rat-tat-tatatat. Rat-tat-tatatat.

"Papa!" Thomas cried. Mother hushed him. James watched his father's blue eyes rove the crowd, searching for the faces he loved. When his eyes landed on his family, a spark of life returned to the tear washed, void depths.

Rat-tat-tatatat. Rat-tat-tatatatat.

James wanted to scream, wanted to stop time. But it marched slowly on. In a nearly dreamlike daze, James watched as the scratchy rope was placed around his father's neck. Met eyes with his father. In that moment, with the preacher's voice droning on in the background, James knew that his father's responsibility to protect and provide for the family had been placed squarely on his young shoulders. His heart throbbed under the weight of the responsibility. James clenched his jaw. His father's eyes were on the sky. There was no fear there, only sadness, deep, eternal sadness.

Rat! Thud.

The lever was pulled. James watched as his father struggled and twitched as he hung, suspended from the rope in the gallows. Then, when his father's efforts at survival began to lose strength, the rope was cut. His father crashed to the ground and fell through the hole. James heard his mother gasp.

But hope was shot down moments after it took flight. Guards dragged the half-conscious man up the steps again and tied his arms and legs to two vertical poles, so he was standing with arms and legs spread.

"Oh God, no, no please no..." Colleen whispered, her grip on her son's shoulder tightening.

Josiah brandished his sword. James watched, almost in a trance, as his father's torso was cut, first vertically, then horizontally and was disemboweled. Heard his mother sob. Heard his father's shrieks of pain. Saw Thomas crouch to the ground, screaming and crying in terror. Felt Anne lean against him, not fortunate enough to faint. Slowly, amidst his own hellish screams of pain, Martyn Turner died.