William Kutcher sat up slowly, unsteadily. He was disoriented, his brain swimming, his body wracked by pain. He was indoors ... a dark space, maybe a cabin. A fire crackled in the hearth to one side, and beyond an open door yet another fire roared, though this was quickly engulfing a structure in the distance, maybe a barn.

What the hell's going on...?

Billy searched his brain for his last memories...

The last he recalled, he'd been out in the middle of an open park field at the annual reenactment of the Siege of Boston, surrounded by tourists and history enthusiasts...

He'd been explaining how Boston had been a much different place in 1775 than it was today in 2017, a peninsular city with a narrow land access called the Boston Bottleneck which the rebel militia -- the soon to be called Continental Army -- had blockaded, prevented the British from moving men and badly needed supplies in and out of Boston by land...

After answering a dozen or so questions about the blockade or about 18th century Boston itself, Billy had moved onto what was his true interest and the subject of his doctoral thesis: the involvement and effectiveness of the Hessian Troops the British had hired to assist them in their war against the criminal element known as the American rebels...

Billy's head was clearing a bit, allowing him to remember the last moments before he'd passed out and ended up here ... where ever here was...

He'd been showing off the reenactment uniform he was wearing, explaining to the crowd that -- although being in the employ of the British Army -- the soldiers from Germany had worn their own uniforms, fought under their own flags, used their own weapons...

"Just to be clear, the Hessians didn't participate at the Siege of Boston," he told the crowd, explaining that the Hessians had actually arrived in mid-1776 -- after the British departed Boston by sea -- and that they'd actually arrived at and initially been used in New York. When some snotty young teen asked why he was here then, Billy answered with a laugh, "Because I'll take any opportunity to show off this!"

He'd unslung the heavy musket from his shoulder and held it out before him, explaining, that it was an actual 18th century Hessian musket that had been carried during the Revolutionary war. Just as had happened a dozen times already, cell phones rose and visitors tapped away taking pictures that would never be as good as those offered at the vendors booths but which, of course, were free. Some of the guests even turned their backs to Billy and lifted their phones up before them, intended to snap selfies of themselves with the Hessian. Billy hated the selfie phenomenon, so he casually lowered the weapon before most of them could get their shot, containing his desire to smirk with pleasure at their disappointment. He thought to himself, Go buy a fucking postcard!

He'd continued ... talking about this model of musket, about its differences with other weapons of the day, about the Hessian's techniques for more rapid loading and firing, and more. He'd demonstrated the features, showed off the powder and musket ball, and was about to show how to load it...

Billy's heart leapt in his chest, and suddenly -- here in this strange place -- he was afraid again. He was suddenly remembering those last, dramatic moments...

There had been gunfire, which you might expect at a war reenactment...

But the guns firing hadn't been muskets in the hands of reenactors, loaded only with powder and no shot, for safety, of course...

These guns were automatic assault rifles, firing more rounds in a second then even the most professional 18th century Hessian could have fired in an hour...

By the time Billy had realized that some sort of terror attack was underway, the people around him had either scattered or hit the ground. Looking down, Billy could see some of them writhing, bleeding; others were bleeding but not moving at all...

Billy himself ran, heading quickly for cover. He searched for the shooters, finding them: two men in regular street clothes, neither of them seeming ethnic ... just regular ol' white guys ... shooting at anyone near them...

Billy's fear had soon turned to anger...

He'd looked to his weapon ... to his 18th century musket ... his single shot weapon, with its smooth bore -- no rifling to spin the bullet for accuracy -- and its effective range of maybe 50 yards...

Then he looked to the nearest of the terrorists and realized ... He's closer than 50 yards. Billy didn't know what was going through his mind, but before he knew it he was finishing the loading procedure, standing up from behind his cover, leveling, aiming, and firing. A cloud of thick smoke filled the air before him as the weapon kicked, sending forth a .75 caliber ball, huge by modern standards...

As the smoke cleared and Billy searched, he found his target flat on his back, gun by his side ... blood pouring from his neck where the projectile had very nearly taken the man's head off...

And that was the last thing Billy remembered...

And now, it was all confusion ... and pain. Billy looked down to his uniform -- his Hessian uniform -- and realized he was covered in blood ... his blood. Someone had ripped it open and bandaged him up, but he was still a mess. Had he been shot? Obviously! But, by whom? He looked to the door again as movement caught his eye. Soldiers rushed by this way, then that. One stopped just a couple of dozen yards away, raised his weapon, and fired, just as Billy had ... only...

This wasn't 21st century Boston...

And the fighting taking place out side was no fucking reenactment!

Things were changing and she didn't know if it was for the better. Good men were fighting hard and their wives, mothers and daughters were giving as much support as they could but it seemed like no matter how hard they tried, the fighting was getting worse. Honestly, she couldn't believe that they were one of the last remaining Patriot families on the block, well several blocks actually. Which made it a bit dangerous now. The rest had up and left, fleeing to the countryside before they closed off Boston. She had wanted to flee as well but her brother refused, saying that his wife in her delicate condition (see: pregnancy) wouldn't be able to tolerate the journey. In the end she had stayed because they were the only family she had left.

They were currently crammed into her small home, waiting for the fighting outside to stop. Her sister-in-law was resting in her room while the strange man that her brother had drug in was in the second bedroom.

"Keziah?"

She looked up at the sound of her name and quickly finished washing her hands in the basin before wiping them on her apron. Her brother, Samuel, stood in the doorway. He was a fine man, ten years her senior with dark hair and eyes. He held out his waddedup shirt to her. He wanted to wear fresh clothes, not ones covered in a stranger's blood. The woman sighed and took he shirt from him, dumping it with the other linens that needed washing. Therw wasn't much that hey could do right now, other than hope and pray that everything calmed down soon enough.

Samuel watched his sister, feeling a pang of guilt that he had forced her into this. She shared the same hair as him, dark with slight curls, but her eyes were a light shade of green with a hint of brown in them. There were dark circles under her eyes, making her appear much older than her twenty one years. She looked like their mother greatly and even had the same spattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Her dark green dress was one that their mother has made and the apron tied around her waist had been their mother's. Samuel only knew because there was a small patch on the middle of the apron that their mother had sewn on after she'd accidentally burnt a hole through it.

"Go see if Elizabeth needs water." Keziah told him. Samuel might have been a doctor but he'd never dealt with pregnant women. Keziah was a midwife, although she had no formal training. She was also the reason why the young man in the second room was stitched up. Women usually tore with giving birth so learning to sew someone up was essential to her job. Samuel's hands had been shaking too badly to do it. He'd almost been caught in the crossfire...

"I will not leave you with that man!" Samuel kept his voice quiet. He doubted the man would wake so soon but Elizabeth didn't know about their uninvited guest.

Keziah sighed and listened to her brother. "Just because the man I was courting before all of this started turned out to be a Loyalist doesn't mean that every man is one." That had been a topic that was rather...sensitive. The man that she had been courting the past few years had been nice, pleasant to speak to and had pretty blue eyes, but once the tension rose and Keziah sided with the Patriots because that's who her brother had sided with, he'd shown a different side of himself that had frightened her. A few weeks later he had been killed in a small skirmish out beyond Boston.

"And he is our patient, brother. We cannot just leave him there." She pointed out.

It was Samuel's turn to sigh. "Fine, but I will come to check on you and the door stays open." He grabbed a pewter cup of water and took it to his wife.

Keziah took the time to go check on their patient. His clothes had been a little funny, but that might have been because they didn't look well worn like a soldier's uniform should. She grabbed a cup of water and a rag dipped in cool water for him. "Oh. You're awake." It was more of a statement than a question. She really have ought to have been a bit more reserved and polite, like she'd been raised, but right now she didn't care. Her mother was probably rolling in her grave though. Her mother had always been a traditionalist.

She held cup of water out to him. His wounds weren't serious. He'd survive them and that meant thay he'd heal up quickly. And it was in her experience not only as a midwife but as a nurse that men didn't like being treated like glass.

"I will not leave you with that man!"

The voice of a man inside the cabin startled William. It shouldn't have, of course: after all, someone had carried him inside and taken care of his wounds. But at this moment, likely anything would have startled William: the situation was just all to confusing and incredible. Movement caught his eye, and the man who'd apparently spoken moved to and closed the door looking out upon what had to be an actual battle. He moved off out of William's view again, and staring at the closed door was suddenly disappointing to William. It separated him from what appeared to be a real war, which should have been comforting. But this was the Revolutionary War -- or, at least, it had to be, didn't it? -- and William wanted to see it with his own eyes.

Ever since he'd written a report in 5th grade on America's fight for independence, William had been obsessed with anything Revolutionary-related. Things had gotten even more involved when he'd learned that he had ancestors who'd originated in Hesse-Kassel -- the source of the term Hessians -- who'd fought as mercenaries for the British. William's twelve-times-great-grandfather had been an infantry man fighting in New York in 1776. Of course, that hadn't occurred until a few months after the end of the siege of British-held Boston by the rebels who would come to be the first real Americans. (Well, ignoring, of course, that the American continent had had native inhabitants already for thousands of years, something the part-Indian William had not!)

William's ancestor, Danilo -- who later changed his name to Daniel -- had surrendered with dozens of other reluctantly-fighting Hessians to none other than George Washington. George Washington! General George Frickin' Washington! General George was -- apparently! -- alive and well and fighting for the future of what was going to become the United States of America someday. [i]Two hundred and forty years from now! Two hundred and forty years from now, William would be reenacting the very battle that was taking place outside this very cabin! It was just mind boggling!

"Oh. You're awake."

William flinched at the female voice, then grimaced at the pain in his side. He looked to his wound again -- or at least to the bandage hiding it -- and imagined it as a massive hole in his side with his guts threatening to spill out onto the cabin's dusty plank floor. Of course, it was no such wound: the bullet, despite being half again larger than most of the bullets fired in modern warfare, had only grazed across his belly, ripping the outer layers of flesh without ever penetrating his body. But it sure as fuck didn't feel that minor!

"Thank you," William told the woman as she held out a cup of water out to him. He lifted it to his mouth, then hesitated. The 18th century was known for a lot of things, and -- at least in some places -- germ-free, pure water hadn't been one of them. Nevertheless, William raised the glass and sucked down the room temperature liquid. He'd just have to hope it came from a well and not one of the streams that fed into the massive bug-infested Boston-area wetlands that one day would be filled in to create the greater Boston Area in which William had been raised. He handed over the empty cup to the woman...

...then took a moment to look her over. She was beautiful under all that concern and exhaustion. William suspected that she was younger -- maybe far younger -- than his own 26 years, but it was hard to tell. The stress of pre-industrial era living could be hard on people sometimes, so this woman could have been anywhere between 16 and 36 and William probably wouldn't have guessed within half a dozen years if he tried.

He sat up on the wood plank table, grimacing as he did. Remembering that he wasn't exactly dressed for company, William tried to pull his torn, bloodied shirt to cover his exposed torso. In addition to being a history freak, William had been a fitness enthusiastic, too. As his hostess may have noticed -- presuming she'd been part of his first aid -- his chest and belly were impressively rock solid. William was the kind of guy the girls at the beach would have gawked at with hungry smiles if he'd ever spent time at the more public beaches rather than the more private exercise room of his apartment.

William had had a girlfriend once who told he had facial likeness of Keanu Reeves and the body of the younger Mark Wahlberg. He likely would have been flattered by this description had he known either of those two actors as more than just names he often heard in the Entertainment News. (The drawback to being a library loving book worm and of not having had an interest in movies unless they were documentaries.) At 5'10", William was 180 pound of solidness. His hazel-green eyes sparkled, particularly when he was happy. Other than that and the comparisons to Keanu and Mark, there wasn't really much to say about his looks. And few people had ever said much about those looks because William had never been the dating-every-weekend type, so not many women had ever had the occasion to comment one way or the other on his appearance.

"Thank you," he told the woman standing before him, asking if he could have another glass. He was parched, making him wonder how long he'd been laying here unconscious. His empty stomach rolled, and after she'd brought him a second glass, William asked politely if there was anything to eat before he ventured with the question that had been screaming out for asking. He cleared his throat and asked tentatively, "Could you, um ... would you mind, ma'am ... telling me what day this is...?"

He waited for her to answer, then -- unsure of whether she would answer, laugh, or cringe, thinking him a nut -- William continued with his question, "And ... the year...?"

"May 20th." Keziah said as she took the cup from him. His sudden question of the year made her pause and look at him with wide eyes. Surely he hadn't hit his head too? "It's 1775...you don't have any history of hitting your head, repeatedly, do you?" She asked. Keziah and Samuel had given him a once over, with her tending to his wound and him checking the man for any other injuries. Samuel had objected when she had opened the man's shirt. He claimed that her modesty was at stake and she'd leveled a glare at her brother in response. Keziah had seen a man's body before, knew what everything did and looked like. She was Samuel's nurse for crying out loud! She had tended to his sick and injured patients when he could not, and more often than she liked to admit, it meant wiping butts and cleaning soiled linens.

The woman filled the cup for a third time, dipping it into a large bucket of water that was on the old oak table her parents had left to her. It technically was part of her dowry, hand carved and expensive. Her father, bless his heart, had thought she would have married the man she'd been courting. She thought so too until this war had started up. She left the cup on the oak table and grabbed what remained of the loaf of Bread Samuel had brought the other day. It was crunchy but at least it was food. With the fighting going on outside she couldn't go to the market or even out into her garden yet.

"Supper will be ready in a few hours. Eat this for now. It isn't much but it's all I have right now." She held the bread out to him, watching him closely. He looked no different than any man she'd pass on the street but she could tell there was something a little off about him. Perhaps her views were colored because she found that she couldn't trust many men nowadays.

She would have started supper now but with the man laying on the table that she usedto prepare meals. (Her father had forbid her from using the expensive table across the room to cut vegetables on. "No daughter of mine is having a tarnished table as part of her dowry!" He exclaimed.)

She busied herself with washing the vegetables that she took from her garden the other day. When Samuel finally came back into her small home, he gave the now awake man a hard look beofre turning to his sister. Samuel was a bit more traditional like their mother was, and by contrast Keziah was the opposite. This was a time of war, a time when the usual rules didn't apply because men fighting for their lives don't play by the rules. The fighting outside died down and it was a miracle that no Lobsterbacks came in and demanded that Samuel tebd to their wounded. They even would have likely asked for Keziah's help too.

He pulled his sister aside and kept his voice low as he spoke to her. "Peter is dead."

Peter had been one of Samuel's good friends for as long as Keziah could remember. He had often taunted Samuel that they would become brothers because he planned to marry Keziah. It had been a joke of course but sometimes the look that Peter got in his eye when looking at Keziah made her stomach turn. Keziah was rather plan, mousy almost, and that was fine with her. It wasn't until she'd woken with sharp pain in her belly and blood on her thighs that she'd actually started to look like a woman. That was when Peter started to look at her differently. She just looked at her brother with a shocked expression, unable to say anything. They'd already lost so many people they had known.

"He was killed less than an hour ago." Peter had, like many they knew, sided with the Patriots. He firmly believed that they could rule themselves. "I will see if they need any help patching up their wounded." Samuel told her. "Please keep an eye on my wife," he looked at the other man again, "and you know what to do if he behaves inappropriately."

Samuel left again, cramming his hat onto his head and straightening his jacket as he closed the door behind him. Keziah released the breath she'd been holding. Seeing her brother go out there, to where men had died and were dying, made her nervous. With their father living so close to Lexington, where a battle had taken place not so long ago, she didn't want to lose Sam too. Elizabeth and her baby would need him as well. She wiped her sweaty hands on her apron and returned to preparing the vegetables. Her brow furrowed as she weighed her options of letting the man rest on the hard table or giving him a chair so she could use that same table. In the end Keziah decided that a few cuts in the oak table wouldn't diminish it's price.

"What is your name?" She asked, looking back at the man as she put a few clean potatoes on the oak table.

"May 20th ... It's 1775...you don't have any history of hitting your head, repeatedly, do you?"

The woman's gentle questioning of his sanity barely registered as William thought only about her confirmation of where he was ... or, more specifically, when he was. May 20th ... 1775. How could this be?

William nibbled at the offered bread and contemplated his situation while his hostess and host talked quietly about a man named Peter. He didn't hear all the words, but it was obvious that this man had met with tragedy, likely in the very fighting in which William himself had incurred his injuries. William snapped out of his deep thought in time to hear his host say, "Please keep an eye on my wife..."

William had misunderstood, not realizing there was yet another woman in the house and thinking his host was referring to the woman standing here in the room. He was about to make a comical quip in return when the man said to his wife, "and you know what to do if he behaves inappropriately."

The man left, and his hostess returned to preparing their dinner, asking him "What is your name?"

"Bill," he said out of habit. He chuckled quietly, then corrected, "William. William Kutcher. And your name?"

After she'd answered, he asked his misguided question, "And your husband. His name?"

"Keziah Wilkinson." She told him simply when asked for his name. Keziah nearly cut her fingers when he asked for her husband's name. Oh dear. She didn't look like a spitting image of her brother but they did have the same shape of eyes and when they both smiled each had dimpled cheeks. She began to laugh when she recovered from her shock. Her knife lay forgotten on the oak table and the half peeled potato along side it. The woman wiped her eyes free of the tears that came from laughing so hard.

"That was my brother Samuel. Samuel Black." Their differences in surnames was due to the fact that Keziah was a widow. She had married dreadfully young and her husband had died of illness just months into their marriage. That was why she had moved to Boston with her brother and his wife. She needed that fresh start and in Boston no one knew she'd married at sixteen. It wasn't like many men would care, so long as she could still do her duties as a wife and maintain a home. The man she had been courting was rather excited that he wouldn't have to teachher anything.

She sighed quietly and rinsed her hands free of the starches from the potato. "He's older, mind you." She added, meaning to be friendly. Keziah was aware of how tired she looked. This war was draining everyone and she spent many nights wishing that things were different. Keziah resumed peeling and cutting tye vegetables before loading them into a kettle with diced up beef and what little spices she had. "I will need to go check on my sister. Stay on the table if you know what's good for you." It was an empty threat punctuated with a dimpked smile. She was joking but only slightly. She didn't want him up and about, even if his wound wasn't serious. He'd been through a lot over the past few hours.

Clean up was easy. She dumped the scraps into a sack to take outside later and put into her garden. Dishes could wait until she could get a bit more water. After finishing with wiping the oak table with a dry scrap of cloth, she excused herself to go check on Elizabeth. Her sister-in-law was beautiful. Pale skinned with delicate features, wide dark blue eyes and almost silvery blonde hair. Her brother was certainly a lucky man. Elizabeth was happy to see Keziah. The two were quite close in age and often times it really felt like they were sisters. Elizabeth wasn't surprised to hear that Samuel was gone. He was a good man with a good heart. However, she was surprised to learn about the man o he table.

"Are you sure that this is a good idea?" Elizabeth asked. She was of the upper class, until she married simple Samuel Black anyways. She'd been taught that strange men were ones that a woman of her upbringing shouldn't associate with. Keziah had no such upbringing. Her father had been a sailor, retired now, and he dabbled in all sorts of trades. There had never been any time for the finer things in life she he was too busy teaching Samuel the proper way to tie a knot or telling his daughter stories of his travels, much to her mother's displeasure.

"Samuel will be back soon." Keziah promised.

"Keziah Wilkinson ... That was my brother Samuel. Samuel Black."

William's first thought -- a very man thought -- was Brother...? Great, that means you're available, yeehaw for me. Then he caught the fact of the different surnames, and William was disappointed to know -- incorrectly, of course -- that Keziah's husband would likely be returning soon enough.

Keziah finished with her cooking preps and clean up, then headed out of the room to check on the sister of whom William was only now becoming aware. Despite his hostess's order to stay put, though, William was up on his feet and heading for the door even as she was still heading down the short hallway. No sooner had she ducked inside the other bedroom then he was heading for the door through which he'd earlier seen evidence of the Revolutionary War.

William hadn't been sure of what to expect from the aftermath of the fight outside the cabin. On Normandy Beach in 1944, the Allied Forces had suffered almost 75,000 dead with twice that number injured. Eighty years before that, the Army of the Potomac had suffered more than 23,000 dead at the Battle of Gettysburg, with the Army of Northern Virginia incurring similar losses. But the population of the British Colonies in America had been small in 1775 relative to the US in 1863 or 1944: there had been only 2.5 million people in the 13 colonies at the beginning of the American Revolution, and today the Greater Boston Area alone had twice that many people inside its borders.

When he got outside, William was grateful not to find a sea of dead or writhing bodies. From the door step, he could see only three soldiers at all: one standing nearby, another seated on a stump being tended to by Samuel, and a third laying toes up near a burning wagon, another man's coat laid over his stilled upper torso and face. One dead, William thought with a sigh. Then, walking toward Samuel to lend a hand if needed, he began to see the others. In every direction, soldiers -- some in British Red, others in Patriot blue, and still more in just ordinary farmer wear -- were either dead, dying, or hoping to avoid either. It wasn't like any of William's reenactments, of course. They had used real gun powder -- without shot, of course -- to fill the air realistically with smoke. And sometimes they had used powerful, buried high pressure air devices to blow loosened dirt high into the air, simulating cannon balls exploding on the earth. But because children were often at these events and -- with the recent 21st century wars -- people could see enough blood and guts on the nightly news, no fake blood or lost limbs or other graphic injuries or deaths were exhibited as part of the reenactments.

But now, William found himself looking at bloodied bodies, some with limbs blown off, one even with its head missing. He got dizzy with his spinning about looking at the mayhem, and he leaned over to puke out the break and water his hostess had just recently given him. He recovered, but when he did and rose tall once again, William found himself staring down the barrel of a long rifle as the man eying him through the simple sights was saying to others nearby, "Come take a look at this bloody Englishman, boys! What the hell is this? This ain't no redcoat uni'. Whatcha wearing, boy? It sure ain't our uniform."

Another male nearby called out, "Kill'em, Phillip!"

Another screamed, "Kill him dead, Elijah! He's an enemy soldier"

Samuel had been sewing a man's arm closed. He was a tough one, that was for sure, or he was in shock. At this point Samuel was seeing more and more men with blank eyes these days. Sometimes gossip would go around that the men tried to strangle their wivesat night after a nightmare, or they'd start screaming and crying. Sometimes they just didn't respond at all. He snipped the thread and gave the man a weary smile. "Remember to keep it clean and you'll get to keep your arm." He warned. He was about to move onto his next patient, a man with a severely swollen arm that looked like it possibly might end in amputation but yelling caught his attention.

"Damn!" He muttered, leaving the injured men to go save whoever that was that hehad saved earlier. Keziah would kill him if he let this man get shot (again.) Samuel jogged over, putting his hand on the man with the gun. "Easy there. He's a friend from up north. Stole some dead man's clothes." He hoped the lie was convincing enough. If not then the usually gentle and mild manner doctor could be rather.,.persuasive. Or he could let his sister deal with them. They wouldn't know what to think of the five foot nothing Keziah as she berated them.

"There you are!" Speak of the devil...

Keziah came walking quickly towards them, skirts bunched up slightly in her hands so she wouldn't trip over them. She could ignore the blood and groans of the dying. The sight was horrific but so was watching a young mother bleed to death while she cried for her baby. Her green eyes were narrowed and focused on the man. "I told you to stay put!" Samuel was amazed that the gun didn't phase his sister nor the looks some men were giving her. Her little frilly white cap was gone and her braid hung freely down her back. Clearly she had taken it off and tossed it the moment she found the man missing.

"Get back inside, sister." Samuel said, using a harsh tone. No doubt these men would either laugh or ignore her but they couldn't ignore Samuel. He was tall foe the times, standing around 6'2".

Keziah ignored him and looked towards the gun aimed at William. "Sir, if you would be so kind as to stop aiming the gun at our dear friend William, I will help patch your men and provide supper. We have more than enough stew to go around..." The promise of food was usually what she used when these skirmishes got too close to her home, and it was the least she could do to aid the cause. Some women knitted socks for soldiers, some became spies oreven dressed as soldiers themselves (or so the rumors went), but she cooked for them.

Her brother was confused. When did she catch the man's name? Samuel sighed softly at her proposition. He didn't want the soldiers getting the wrong impression here. Keziah might have been on the plain side but she was still a woman, and some of these men could try to force themselves on her.

William had often had a revolutionary war era long gun pointed at him. He'd participated in more than a hundred Revolutionary War reenactments, after all. But those muskets had been reproductions, and while they could be loaded with powder and fired, sending forth a cloud of thick smoke to create a realistic battle, they couldn't actually send forth a lead ball that could, potentially, take a man's head right off. William's rifle had been an genuine 18th century weapon, cared for over the years and maintained such that it was safe to use in its original manner. Of course, until he'd put a ball through that terrorist, he'd never actually shot anyone with it. And now, seeing the weapons pointed at him, William certainly didn't want any of them shot at him!

Samuel's sudden appearance and story telling -- about how William was a friend from up north -- seemed to be holding the men, but the dangerous weapons were still very much pointed at William's head and torso. At least, until Keziah showed.

"There you are!" she called out as she headed toward the scene taking place in the packed dirt street outside her home. She continued chastising William with, "Speak of the devil ... I told you to stay put!"

William wasn't sure how to react. He was standing in the streets of 18th century Boston in a Hessian uniform covered in blood with guns pointed at his head while a fiery little woman a full head shorter than him ripped him a new ass hole for being a bad boy. Not confusing at all. William only heard some of what Keziah said to him and, next, to the soldiers who so badly wanted to either shoot him or arrest him, but whatever it was, it worked: the men slowly lowered their rifles, and after a bit more conversation with his host and hostess, they began to disperse and aid their comrades with Samuel's medical help.

For his part, William simply followed the fire ball back to the cabin. Before he closed the door behind him, he took one last look about the neighborhood. It was what William might have called the suburbs of 18th century Boston. The homes lined a wide, packed dirt road flanked by wandering ditches trenched by the runoff of the Northeast's sometimes harsh rains. The size of the individual properties seemed to vary a bit, from a part of an acre to a couple of them. Fences and corrals could be seen separating properties. William knew that at any other time the fields beyond those barriers would be filled with cattle, sheep, goats, and more. Yet now, the fields were mostly empty, likely a result of the British troops -- or maybe even the Patriot rebels -- stealing anything and everything that could be used to feed the war effort. William had heard that in times like these, the populace often brought their stock animals inside to live with them, to protect them. He closed the door and looked about himself for piles of pig dung or breeze blown collections of chicken feather but saw none, then laughed. He'd spent years -- decades, actually, having begun his quest for history at age 11 -- learning about this time, and now he was here living in it. What would he learn in the days to...

Days...? he wondered.

Just how long was he going to be here? Just how long was he going to be stuck here? In 1775? William still didn't know why he was here or how he'd gotten here. As he thought once again about his last moments in the 21st century, it was obvious that the firing of his ancestor's musket had caused this somehow. But, William had fired it often, at Revolutionary War and German Culture-related exhibitions. Why was this time different? It didn't take a genius to figure that one out: William had killed a man with the weapon. He'd put a ball in the weapon and sent it forth as he had so often, but this time he'd shot that shot at another man. Killed that other man. Then ... he was here. What the fuck?

"Where's my weapon?" he asked Keziah softly. She was involved in her duties once again and either didn't hear him or simply didn't respond. William stood again and began a casual search for the weapon, not realizing that neither his host or hostess had seen the weapon. It wasn't here William would soon enough learn, but he was becoming panicked as he asked, "Where's my rifle? I had it when I was shot. Did you see it when you found me? Samuel ... could he have put it away. I need that rifle."

It was safe to say that when Keziah was angry she'd give the cold shoulder and silent treatment. It'd been her fiery personality that had drawn her husband in, and it wasthat same personality that comforted some women during childbirth when their husbands got upset. She wasn't afraid to tell them to leave the room. Once back inside she was stirring the stew, knowing that she'd have to make a little something extra to help fill more bellies. That was fine though, she liked to cook and it had been some time since she'd made anything sweet.

Keziah often kept jars of preserved plumbs within arms reach. She loved them. She took a few jars and placed them on the oak table before rifling around for a big bowl. Need to get more plumbs, she thought. William's question made her stop what she was doing. Why did he need a gun so badly? Didn't he see what they had done to the men outside? Her heart picked up its pace a little and her brows furrowed. "Samuel just brought you. No gun. Didn't even speak of one but that was because my brother was trying to get to safety." He could get mad. He could rant and rave but honestly she wouldn't care. Her brother's life was worth more than a rifle.

"What's with all the panic?" A soft feminine voice made Keziah whip around. Elizabeth came hobbling out of the room , mostly because she was tired of laying in bed. Elizabeth paused when she seen the man. Why was he dressed that way? Elizabeth's family was a well off German-American one. She'd seen similar uniforms, like the one her grandfather had worn during his time as a soldier. Her father still had it actually.

"It's okay, Lizzie." Keziah smiled, she was trying to make this situation better, "This was the man I told you about. He was just going to lay down again." She stressed that he needed to lay down. Elizabeth didn't need to be worried. She was nine months along and the baby would come any day now. Elizabeth put her hand on her belly and hobbled to the chair, a little self conscious that a strange man was seeing her with her hair unbound. She watched as Keziah went back to making dessert, and she didn't miss the way her sister-in-law ignored the man. Oh...he had made her mad. It was quite comical when she did that to Samuel, as she could often go for days ignoring her brother.

Speaking of which...Samuel wasn't going to be happy that Elizabeth was up. After a little while longer, Keziah introduced the pale haired woman. "And this beautiful creature is my sister, Elizabeth. Sam's wife." Elizabeth was a beautiful woman and when they went to the market together here was no shortage of men who stared at her as they passed.

Whem0n Samuel did come back it was for his bag of surgical equipment in the bedroom. "Amputation. Hand me that chunk ofleather would you?" He was pissed off the his wife was up and about when she should be resting but right now he had more pressing matters to attend to. "They'll be bringing him here. Giving him his last rites first." He casually asked William to stand aside and Keziah to come and help prepare the table. A white sheet was placed over it and she placed the leather strip onto the edge of the table.

The leather had well worn indents from various people biting onto it over the years. The man was brought in, pale and confused. Samuel took out the proper knives and bone saws and got to work, cutting the man's arm just above the elbow. Even with the leather strip in his mouth he still screamed. Elizabeth had sincegone into the bedroom and Keziah was helping her brother.

William was devastated to hear that his weapon was missing. He still didn't know exactly what had happened, but he was certain it had something to do with his using that weapon the way he did ... to kill another man. He had to get it back. It was outside the cabin, he was sure. But his hostess wasn't going to let him go out to search for it without a fight.

And besides, the rifle would be long gone by now. From his research about this period, William knew that a working rifle didn't lay unused on the ground for long. As conflict in the Colonies approached, the British had confiscated as many firearms as they could. That meant that even before the smoke of a fight had cleared, the rifles, pistols, and swords dropped by the dead and seriously injured were already being scavenged by the battle's survivors, from both sides. William's ancestor's rifle was gone. Forever.

"What's with all the panic?"

A very pregnant woman appeared, leading to Keziah explaining her guest's presence and again chastising William about needing his rest. He found his chair again, realizing that he was trembling a bit. Why? Oh, that was obvious! William had never been comfortable around pregnant women. He'd never quite understood why. Maybe it was because he found conception, pregnancy, and birth such marvels; or maybe it was because as a man who liked sex and being single both, he'd always been afraid that some woman looking like Elizabeth did now was going to knock on his door and announce Surprise!

"Amputation," Samuel announced as he reentered the home.

William's eyes widened: if having a baby pop out of a woman made him nervous, you could imagine how seeing a man's arm get hacked off affected him. He quietly stood and began to head for the door, shaking his head to Samuel as the man looked his way. But outside the door, William could see the mayhem behind him: Samuel and Keziah had the help of two other soldiers, and yet the injured man was still thrashing around in such a way that the operation simply could not proceed safely. William stared out across the battle field, at the dead and injured, at the still fiery barn just a hundred yards away, at the limping horse that had been hit in a cross fire.

This was his new life, possibly for a very long time. He couldn't run away from it. He was part of it -- for now at least -- and it was going to have to be a part of him, too. He drew and released a deep breath, turned, and returned to the cabin's interior where he grabbed the flailing man's legs, looked up to Samuel, and nodded that he was ready.

Samuel should have been doing this operation in a chair rather than a table but with the man in his current state, screaming and kicking his legs, sitting in a chair would be impossible. Keziah handed him the amputation knife once a large strip of cloth was tied around his arm just below a tightly wrapped leather belt. The leather belt was acting as a tourniquet, cutting as much blood suppky off as possible, and the strip of cloth was a guide for Samuel's knife. The amputation knife was quite beautiful if one could look past it's use; thirteen inches long with a slihtly backwards curving blade that could flow with the shapes of the body easier than a straight bladed knife.

He made the initial cut an inch or two above the elbow and once he'd cut through enough muscle and skin, he forced the knife between the skin and muscle, essentially skinning the man. This flap of skin was then rolled back out of the way. Keziah had grabbed a few little instruments that looked like a small hook, some thread and a few large needles. They were within arms reach and once Samuel had cut through the muscle she helped steady the wounded man's arm as her brother began sawing through the bone with an equally beautiful bone saw.

Once the arm was discarded onto the floor beneath the table, Keziah grabbed the needle and thread as her brother loosened the tourniquet and blood started to come from the severed artierues and veins. She quickly worked at sewing the vessels closed, using the small hook to push bits of his meat away so she could see clearly. Samuel didn't object to his sister helping in this manner. Her eyes were better than his and years orpf learning to sew had given her an edge that he didn't have. Once the vessels were tied off and the skin was moved back into place and sewn closed by Keziah (in a manner that should the man bleed again they could easily take the stitches out). A pledget was applied and the stump dressed. They left the man on the table, hoping he'd make it to the morning. If he did they could move him then.

Samuel said nothing as he asked his hands in the basin. His sister was staring at the bandaged stump with a worried look. The other men just looked tired. "Supper should be ready soon. You gentlemen are welcome to stay." She offered. Keziah washed her hands after her brother, trying to get his blood from under her nails.

"Thank you for your help." Samuel said to William. The man didn't have to help them. "You are welcome to stay with my wife and I tonight. Our home is a short journey away." They'd only been visiting Keziah when the skirmish had happened. He really didn't want a strange man staying here with his sister. His wife slept next to him so he'd know this man wouldn't do anything to her.

Keziah listened quietly to her brother speak to William, but her attention was on the man who was now missing an arm. The other men had since left in orderto deliver the good news.

William had seen some horrific things in his life, and had been involved in some as well. But he'd never seen anything so horrible, so close at hand as seeing a man's arm removed from his body with a frickin' saw! His gaze shifted away from, back to, and again away from the work being done at the soldier's arm, until finally it had been removed and tossed away and the stump sewn closed in the hopes that the man wouldn't bleed to death after all that work and pain.

When it was all over and the others began cleaning up -- themselves and the scene both -- William excused himself, stepped outside for some fresh air, and -- after fighting it for a good two minutes or so -- ultimately puked up the simple dinner Keziah had provided him earlier in the afternoon. He looked at his hands to find a bit of blood, then -- remembering a spray at one point -- reached up to find more of the drying, thick fluid on his cheek and in his hair. He found a trough of water and doused himself well as he contemplated his situation before returning to the home's interior.

"Thank you for your help," Samuel said to William. After the man from the future only nodded his acknowledgment, the doctor from the past -- or is it the present? -- continued, "You are welcome to stay with my wife and I tonight. Our home is a short journey away."

At the offer, William looked Keziah's way for a flash before looking to the young woman's brother and telling him with a hint of both confusion and disappointment, "Oh, I, um ... I thought this was your place. That you lived here."

He again glanced his hostess's direction. In his 21st century mind set, William had been hoping to stick around Keziah a bit longer, forgetting the fact that in this day and age a man not of the family -- particularly a stranger -- didn't just stick around a single female, or even a married one, without a herd of family members there to keep an eye on him. William looked back to Samuel again, testing, "Shouldn't someone stay with your sister...? To make sure she's safe, I mean?"

William got just about the answer he'd been expecting, reaffirmed his appreciation for the offer, then excused himself once more. He caught Keziah's reaction to him once again heading for the door, reassured her that he and his wounds were fine, and headed outside. He spent several minutes wandering around the property and up nearer the street and even beyond the ditch, hoping -- praying, despite not being a religious man -- that somehow his ancestor's rifle would simply be laying here for William to discover, safe and sound. But, nothing. The closest thing he found to a long rifle was the butt of one that had been broken, likely in a fight or by having a bullet go through it, splintering the wood. The locking mechanism and barrel -- the working portion -- was gone, and William knew that some handy man would be carving a new butt to put the weapon back into service for the next battle.

Disappointed, William returned to Keziah's home. It was aired out by now yet still smelled of the horrific surgery, and by now the only people left were the injured man -- now passed out -- and the first three people William had met upon his arrival in this time. He watched the others interact for a while, then turned his thoughts to the injured man. The surgery had been incredible, considering the times, but these people knew nothing of germs and infection. William mused about some of the thinking people of the mid-18th century had about how the human body worked. There were still in place at this time in some areas strong religious beliefs about how disease and ailments were the work of Satan or evil spirits. Did they believe any of that here, now? It had been just a bit more than 80 years ago that the Salem Witch Trials had occurred, just 25 miles from here. Well, it would be, once the Callahan Tunnel ran under the Boston Channel.

What the hell have I gotten myself into? William thought to himself as he watched the activity around him. His situation only got more incredible as time went on: he was in Boston in 1775 watching the American Revolution unfold all around him! Keziah offered him some food, which he ate down with enthusiasm, complementing her. But his attention kept going back to the injured man, and when a pair of soldiers stopped by to ask about whether they should take him to his family, William knew he had to do something he'd been trying to avoid for fear of exposing who he was and from where -- or when -- he'd come.

"No, you can't take him yet," he cut into the conversation taking place between Samuel, Keziah, and the men. He saw the reactions, and knew that he'd be getting more of them if he continued, but William needed to chance doing what needed to be done. He looked to Samuel, then Keziah, and claimed, "Where I come from, we've, um ... we've learned a new thing ... about medicine ... about injuries ... about how to prevent infection."

William looked to Keziah and said with a polite respectful tone, "If you would boil me a pot of hot water and provide me with some of your cleanest cloth, I will explain what we've learned."

He knew he was treading on thin ice when it came to discussing scientific learning in an age still dominated by religious thinking, but William wanted -- no, needed -- to contribute this knowledge less Samuel's patient die after such an excellent surgery from a common infection. "There are these things called germs. They are very small, so small that we can't see them with out eyes..."

As he went to work and tried to employ both Samuel and Keziah in it, William tried to keep his explanation simple for fear of being labeled a warlock, a blaspheme, or a simple nut. He soaked Keziah's cleanest rags in hot water, dabbed at the wound of the soldier -- who was in and out of consciousness and who writhed in pain when touched -- then dried the stub and wrapped it in bandages. He looked between the two medical workers often as he explained what he was doing, finishing with, "The bandages must be checked and changed if necessary at least twice a day, and if the wound begins to, um ... what's the word ... fester! If it gets nasty, it needs to be cleaned with boiling water again -- not just hot, but water that has been boiled, then cooled -- so that the infection is dealt with."

When he finished, William stood over the patient, studied him as he once again passed out, then looked to the others. He was feeling pretty proud of himself.

The disappointment didn't go unnoticed by Samuel. His brows furrowed and he frowned, glancing at his sister briefly. "No. This is my sister's home." As a widow she had a bit more freedom. She could live where she pleased, have a job to support herself and generally get by without a husband. That was why her family was angry when he man she had been courting had shown his true colors. She would have been a married woman again, and thus safe. When it was hinted that she needed someone to make sure she was safe, Samuel still had to object to William being the one to stay.

Keziah resented the idea entirely. She didn't need to be protected. She'd been doing fine on her own for five years, well three technically. She had moved back in to care for her sickly mother. After her husband's death she needed tp be kept close to family, people who could assure her that things would be alright, and that God was keeping him safe. Her eyes flickered to William and she frowned a bit whe he movedto the door. Honestly he should stay because....he was wounded, yes, that was why he needed to stay - not because she needed protecting. Oh who was she kidding? There was something about the man that had her curious. She just needed some time to figure out what it was.

Once their guest was gone, Samuel and Keziah began to argue. Their patient on the table was out cold, a screaming match wouldn't wakehim. Their arguing got loud enough that the heavily pregnant Elizabeth came waddling between them. Sam had over a foot of height on his sister but she stood up to him like a man woild. Elizabeth demanded that they stop and they did, if only to please her. Samuel went to check on the patient and Keziah busied herself with checking dinner and getting bowls out. They ignored each other until the soldiers came back. Keziah didn't want to move the man, he could stay for a few days because he'd need someone to tend to him, but Sam thouht it was best if he went home to his family. They needed to be close in case he didn't make it. The soldiers hgave quick thanks when she handed them bowls as well. She was a woman of her word after all.

They all turned to the strange man, the soldiers whispering that he was crazy. Keziah on the other hand wanted to know what he was getting at. It would surely be something new. She set a pot to boil over the open fire and she waited, going to check on Elizabeth in the mean time. Elizabeth had gone into the bedroom, furious at her husband and his sister.

"I do not know why you and Samuel had to argue. He is a stranger. We know nothing of him." Elizabeth said, trying to roll over to face Keziah. The other woman sighed softly and sat nextto her on the bed.

"He is injured. He can stay here." Keziah pointed out. Samuel had ignored this part of her argument. He knew that it was a valid reason, even if it was only a flesh wound. Keziah was a very good nurse, caring almost to the point of fault. She had once taken in a young boy who'd fallen ill when his family couldn't afford his treatments. He got better and moved back home a few months later. However, he died the following year in an accident. Keziah had grown quite fond of the boy, thinking of him as a brother of sorts. Samuel had gotten angry when she grieved for the boy like she had her husband.

They talked for a little while longer. It became apparent that Elizabeth held her husband's views but knew nothing was going to stop Keziah. The brunette returned to the main room and pulled the water off the fire and cooled it. She listened to William talk. They changed bandages once a day or every other day depending on the severity of the injury or their supplies. Sometimes they'd boil the bandages and reapply them but that was time consuming and it often meant that wounds were left uncovered for long stretches as the bandages were dried.
Keziah watched in interest, Samuel did too.

"See brother, he is useful...and I might need help changing in his bandages." Keziah said softly. She already argued that William was injured but Samuel didn't care.

The soliders left after another bowl of soup each. Things fell quite as Samuel weighed his options. Keziah had gone to help Elizabeth with her hair so she and Samuel could journey home. The sun was beginning to dip beyond the horizon and soon they'd need a lantern in order to find their way home. Samuel just watched William, studying him in detail. "My sister seems to think that you can be useful." He said. Samuel didn't mean to be rude but he couldn't allow this man to be left in a home with his sister, unsupervised. He'd feel bad if they took Keziah's bed (again).
"Why should you be allowed to stay here? We know nothing of your intentions oe who you are...where you came from."

William fully understood Samuel's concerns. In fact, even if he hadn't been in the 18th century, William would have expected a brother to feel this very same way about his younger sister.

"There is nothing I can say to you, Samuel, that would convince you that I am safe to be allowed to stay here alone with your sister," William began with a sincere tone. "So, I won't try to convince you of such. However..."

He glanced the direction in which Keziah had disappeared, then back to Samuel. He was conflicted about how much to tell the man about the history he'd been recalling during the day. William couldn't be certain of the exact day in which the Bottleneck Massacre occurred, but he didn't want to chance that it wasn't coming for days to come anymore than he wanted to chance being called a lunatic for explaining how he knew it was coming.

"This neighborhood ... it isn't safe," he went on vaguely. "For Keziah ... for you and your wife. The Patriots may have rolled through here today, seemingly easy enough ... but they were pushed back. The British ... the Redcoats, they're closer than you imagine. And..."

How do I tell him this...? William struggled. He remembered the uniform he was wearing and -- despite his obvious lack of a German or Prussian accent -- lied, "I deserted my unit, a Hessian unit, because I do not support the British in their attempts to hold the Colonies. So ... I know a little about the British ... about the troops they have in Boston, and about their plans."

He stepped a bit closer to Samuel, saying in a lower but more serious tone, "Samuel ... the British will believe that the Colonists here in the Boston Bottleneck--"

He paused a moment, trying to remember whether the isthmus had been called that during this era. Then he remembered that the isthmus hardly existed anymore after 200 year of swamp and wetland reclamation; so the name had to have come from this period.

He continued, “The Redcoats are going to push through the Bottleneck. They’re going to burn every home … every barn, chicken coop, outhouse. They’ll do it, because they don’t know who they can trust here.”

Samuel had been about to tell William to get out when the man had changed the topic to something that apparently was going to happen. His brows furrowed and creases formed on his forehead, making him appear much older than his thirty one years. The thought that he could lose his forming family with Elizabeth and his only surviving sibling made his heart heavy. He'd only been married to Elizabeth for a handful of years but they'd known each other for much longer...and he'd basically helped raise Keziah. The lines between brother and father had been blurred. He'd been old enough to see her grow up and fully understand that the sweet little ten year old of yesterday had turned into a feisty twenty year old in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

When William gave an explanation as to hos he'd known this was going to happen, Samuel was skeptical. His father-in-law was from Germany, even had the thick accent despite having lived in the colonies for most of his life. Even Elizabeth had a slight accent that warped her w's into v's, ut it was certainly less pronounced than her father's. William had no such accent but he hadto give the man the benefit of the doubt. Any possibility of a threat against those he held dear was taken quite seriously by Samuel. That's why he'd brought his sister to Boston where he coukd keep an eye on her.

A man out in he countryside wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of a grieving widow because neighbors were scarce. But here in the city there was always someone out in the streets. Samuel sighed,crossing his arms ofer his chest. "If what you are saying is true...then we're doomed. There's no way out of Boston other than the harbor and I doubt the Redcoats would let us depart peacefully." They werein a real pickle here. Samuel bit the inside of his lip as he thouht of the possibilities. It seemed far fetched that he'd cook this up just to stay with a single woman.

"We have to stay here. My sister won't abandon her home so easily and my wife is heavily pregnant." Traveling in her condition wasn't the best course of action. Samuel didn't want to risk her or the baby if this threat proved to be unnecessary. After much internal deliberation he came to the conclusion that his sister was safer with a stranger than on her own.

"You may stay with my sister, but any foul actions to or against her will result in you being on your own." Samuel said. He didn't think the man was from around here and he couldn't really come to terms with how he'd seen the man appear from nowhere just as the skirmish was beginning. All Samuel knew was that he man hadn't been there one second then the next he was standing there. "I would much rather have someone here to protect her. Some of the soldiers have taken a liking to watching her when she's outside." Keziah either pretended that she didn't feel their gazes on her or she just really didn't know. Mousy or not, she was still a woman and some men felt thay was enough to hold some measure of authority over her.

Keziah finished helping Elizabeth with her hair and she followed after the pregnant woman, telling her a story of back when Samuel was an awkward teenager who liked to carry his little sister around. The story made Elizabeth laugh and Samuel smiled bashfully. He could tell Keziah here in a little while about the new arrangement.

“We will find a way out of here, Samuel,” William reassured his host, despite having no real idea of how to do so nor any real reason to believe he could find one. William had the advantage of knowing the history of the Siege of Boston on his side but the disadvantage of not being from this time. He reached out to pat Samuel on the shoulder, telling him, “Trust me. Between the two of us--”

He hesitated, remembering Samuel’s fireball of a sister, and corrected, “Between the three of us, we’ll find a way to keep us all safe … keep your sister, your wife … your child safe.”

They all went about their business for the time being: dealing with the one armed soldier, cleaning up the aftermath of the surgery, and more. William sat, stood, and paced about, hashing through his memory for important historical facts. He recalled that it hadn’t been just a rifle he’d brought with him from the 21st century. He retrieved his ink pen and a flyer of The Siege of Boston Reenactment, then -- not wanting the others to see it -- excused himself for some fresh air. William made his way inconspicuously to a small shed, found a shaft of light, and began piecing together the recalled events to come in more detail, scribbling them on both sides of the sheet of paper.

No matter what plan he began to formulate, they always seemed to hit a roadblock. Despite the Patriot incursion up the Bottleneck this morning, the British had firm control of the area, so flight by land was out. And to escape by water meant moving through difficult to navigate wetlands and swamps -- with a pregnant woman in tow -- or getting to more open waters which were heavily patrolled by small British boats filled with musket wielding soldiers. So, water was out, too. Helicopter extraction, William mused. All we have to do is call in a chopper … in two hundred years.

William sat back against the shed’s wall, peeking out through a gap in the rough cut planks. He caught side of a British patrol jogging his direction. He panicked, then calmed as they curved with the dirt road and continued south toward the Rebel lines.

I’ll think of something, he thought to himself. Between us … we’ll come up with something.

Of course, William couldn’t have known that someone else was already working on a plan to get him -- William alone -- out of British held territory. A pair of Patriot militiamen -- out of uniform to hide their rebellious leanings -- had snuck to the cabin to check on their injured man, a Private in the Massachusetts Militia. While one man spoke to Samuel and Keziah as to his prognosis and the chances of surviving extraction back to his family living to the south, the other went to kneel next to his comrade, since moved from the table to a more comfortable chair in the corner.

“He’s a British deserter,” the Private whispered to the soldier who happened to be his Sergeant. When the Sergeant showed his confusion, thinking the good doctor was the topic of conversation, the Private clarified, “The man in the strange uniform. I heard them talking. He’s one of them Hessians … come to fight King George’s battle ‘cause the English are to wimpy to do it themselves.” He looked to ensure Samuel was still engaged with the other militiaman, then continued, “He knows things … things ‘bout the British … troop movements … locations … somethin’ ‘bout a massacre.”

The Sergeant asked where the Hessian was currently, and after the Private shrugged, the Sergeant ordered in whisper, “You are to stay here … stay close, and keep your eyes on this man. I will have troops nearby in case he tries to run.”

“He won’t,” the Private said, reminding, “He claimed to be a deserter.”

They talked details for a moment, then as the Sergeant prepared to leave, the Private asked, “What are going to do ‘bout him?”

“I’ll pass word on to command, to the Colonel,” the Sergeant said, adding with a pleased smile, “And they’ll get word to General Washington. You’re gonna be looking at a medal for this, Private. Good work.”

By sundown things had settled slightly. There was still the occasional soldier who was comin to check on their brother in arms, but Keziah knew it had more to do with them scoping out her modest house for supplies. They might have been on the same side but they still took as much as the British. Of course many were happy to hand over their belongings if it meant they could be free. She had finished with he dishes a little while ago and was working on a small square cloth that she was embroidering. The Private was awake and talking with Samuel.

"You seem nervous." Elizabeth caught Keziah off guard and she looked up sharply at the pregnant woman. The spitfire woman was alsoone ofthe bbiggest worry wartsthat Elizabeth knew.

"A little. William..." she glanced around to check if either men were listening, "there's something about him that feels...wrong. I don't think he's a bad person but..." Keziah didn't know what it was but it was bothering her as to why the man was so strange. Samuel had told her that apparently William was a Hessian soldier, a deserter. He never told her of the upcoming massacre nor did he tell her ofhow he had actually met the man.

The blonde woman listened quietly, reaching out and grabbing one of Keziah's hands tightly. The young widow was going to worry herself sick. "You need to stop worrying so much." Elizabeth couldn't trust the man as far as she could throw him but she had to admit that Keziah's worries were shared. Samuel seemed worried too, even more han his sister. After talking for a little while Keziah got up and put her embroidery on the oak table before she approached William. She wanted answers, anything that could help her with this situation.

Just as she'd been about to oull the man aside, her brother spoke up. "There is the issue of where he will sleep." He gave William a pointed look.

Keziah sighed and brushed some of her hair back. "He can sleep out here. I need someone to keep an eye on him." She gestured to the sleeping man - John, as he'd told them. She knew that Samuel was hinting that they shouldn't sleep in the same room. She was a bit fed up that her brother was treating them this way. William was a stranger in need of help, Keziah was a helpful woman. Yes, he was handsome but she liked to get to know men first.
With hat settled, she grabbed William's wrist and pulled to get him to followher outside. SSamuel was yelling for her to get back inside but she ignored him.

"I want answers." She demanded. "There's something that you aren't telling me." It was dark but that didn't stop her from glaring. The window to her home provided dim light but Sam's shadow took up most of the window itself. No doubt he was going to rant when they go back inside.

"If you are to stay under my roof I need to know what you told my brother. Sam doesn't get that worried over nothing."

Again, William found himself wondering just how much information he could give and just how much he could hold back, without appearing as though he was doing to much of the latter. Kezia was no young, dumb country girl: she was sharp, well informed, and deductive. William was going to have a hard time keeping his true nature from her; and any lies that he told her could not be too far from the truth or she would simply never believe them. And he needed Keziah and, in turn, Samuel to believe that he could be trusted or he just might as well step out in front of a Redcoat bayonet and get this madness over with now.

Still, he couldn't simply tell her Hey, I'm from the future, two hundred years from now. By the way, you won the war, the UK lost most of its Empire, and America is now one of the most powerful countries in the world. Oh, and did you hear about The Bomb?

Still, he had to tell her something, so he began with, “I was telling you the truth, I am a Hessian deserter, but ... I told Samuel more than I told you. Before I left my unit, before you found me and fix me up … which, by the way, I still don't think I've said thank you for.”

He gave her a bit of a bow as he thought might be appropriate for the era, smiled, and said, “Thank you, Keziah.”

He let her respond and then returned to his tale. “Before I left the unit we got orders.” His expression hardened with worry and it was obvious in his face that he was hesitant to tell his hostess what lay ahead. “The British suspect everyone. Even those who claim to be loyal. Even those who have fought with them against the rebels, what you think of as the Patriots. They can't afford to have a spy amongst them, so the British -- with my unit helping them -- are going to clear out the Boston Bottleneck.”

He stepped just a bit closer to her, which probably did not go unnoticed by Samuel, who William new was standing in the window watching them. He told her, “Keziah, the British are going to raze all of the buildings in the Bottleneck. When they get done there will be nothing left. Anyone living here will be taken into custody and their loyalty judged. I did not discuss this with your brother, but I think I have a plan. You and Samuel are known a doctor and a nurse. You will be of great benefit to the British during The Siege, during the occupation of Boston. You must work with them. You must make it clear to them that you are loyalists.”

Her blood ran cold when he told her there was going to be a massacre. There were good people here, even if they supported the wrong side. It was a lot to take in. She had grown a little pale as he explained his plan. She disagreed with it. "And do what? Sit and let them boss us around because they have a crown on their side?" Keziah would rather take her chances than do what he proposed. She knew that the soldiers were fighting for what they thought was right...but it felt so wrong to her.

This made her wonder if he did support the British. Her hands shook a little and she took a step back from him. She leaned against the side of her home and took a deep breath. "They will take my brother to work as a field doctor and I will stay to tend to heir wounded from these skirmishes. I am a midwife. I'm not equipped to handle much other cases." Her lack of a formal education had more to do with he fact that a woman being in a traditionally male job was...well it wasn't good. She couldn't go to college or anything. She only had what she learned from the job. Keziah felt like crying. The idea that her big brother could be sent to the front lines to help the soldiers was frightening.

She didn't want Samuel to leave her too. Their mother had died some years ago, before Keziah had ever married. Her mother had been giving birth but her bleeding never stopped. Keziah could remember quite vividly that the sheets around and under her mother had been turned red, even the sheet used to cover her modesty. The baby hadn't made it. Poor thing had been blue and cold by the time they had been allowed to grieve over the bodies. It had been a little boy and that hurt Keziah deeply. He would have been a perfect little brother.

"This...I need to talk to my brother about this." She said quietly as she stood up, "we better get inside before he thinks something is going on." She just needed time to process this knowledge. Before turning to go inside, Keziah took a long glance around as if she wanted to capture how the houses were. She could picture them burning, people screaming and crying...Before she could think too much more, the woman headed inside.

Samuel was waiting, arms crossed and ready to tear William a new one, but his soter rushed forward and wrapped her arms arou d him and buried her face into his clothes. Samuel looked down at her with a slight frown but he returned the tight grip and he smoothed a hand over her hair. They stayed like that for quite some time.

He pulled away first and looked at his wife. Elizabeth was sitting across the room with a concerned look plastered across her face. He just gave her a shrug, a small promise that he'd tell her what was going on. Samuel looked back at William. "You keep Keziah safe, you hear me?" He was doing something that many would fi d wrong - putting the life of his sister in somebody else's hands. Keziah would be safe, hopefully. Samuel pressed a kiss to the top of Keziah's head and promised that he'd be by tomorrow. He wanted to formulate an escape plan. Keziah would have brought it up now had she not been so worried.

She stood in the doorway, waving goodbye to her brother and his wife as they walked arm in arm with a lantern held out in front of them. She stayed in the door u til she couldn't see them or their lantern anymore.