The discussion of where William was to lay his head down each night had bounced all about over the past months. He had slept on the floor for a while, then on a pad on the floor, then -- after still unidentified thieves raided the chicken coop one evening -- in the loft of the barn for a while. But it was October, and the weather had taken a sudden turn for the worse, and now William was back in the house, this time sleeping on a bed behind a sliding curtain, built into one corner where a pantry had once been located.
After he'd taken to providing some night time security for the farmstead -- sometimes not finally laying down until midway between dusk and dawn -- William was typically the last of the three to wake each morning. William would rise at the sound of the other two talking or at the unbelievable smell of the breakfast Keziah was cooking. He would dressed and make his bed -- a task Keziah had forced upon the yet-still-a-bachelor man -- then pull the curtain back to open the room up a bit. Occasionally, though not often, when the pair of them rose they would find the curtain already pulled back, indicating that William had uncharacteristically beat them up and was already outside doing this chore or that.
This morning, William's curtain was pulled back only enough to show most of his empty and made bed, but he was sitting on a stool just barely out of sight tying his shoes so the pair of them must have thought he was out and about when they began their conversation. It didn't occur to William to announce his presence, because he honestly thought they knew he was there.
"Keziah…" Edward began, adding after a moment, "Something happened, didn't it?"
William lifted his head, wondering what happened ... and did I do it? Although it was an unconscious thought, William somehow knew that Edward was alluding to something that he'd done ... and for almost a month now, William had been waiting for the hammer on his head for what he'd done ... to Edward's little girl.
The sexual tension -- and, at least for William, the sexual frustration! -- had been building for weeks when finally his first night truly with Keziah arrived. He hadn't expected it to go as it had, and he didn't think Keziah had either. But once they'd kissed, then taken one another into each other's arms, their path was laid out before them.
It had truly and honestly been the most loving, passionate night of intimacy in all of William's decade of sexual activity. They had stood there clutching one another with lips and hands exploring for ... for ever ... then -- knowing what each wanted, finally began shedding clothes. When William finally pulled the string at Keziah's back and her shift fell from her, revealing her still firm, shapely body, he took her hands and stepped back a bit to marvel at her ... which had, unfortunately, embarrassed her beyond belief.
They were soon under the bedding as one -- kissing, caressing, clutching, pressing until it was difficult to determine where William's body ended and Keziah's began. Reflecting on how this century's extremely modest sexual behavior and courting procedures reflected his own century's new political correctness concerning sex -- a Frat boy and Sorority girl couldn't hardly even fuck anymore without a written contract and video verification -- as he finally reached a hand for the first time toward her womanhood, William even asked Keziah with a vague hint toward his desire, "May I...?"
William would never forget that night for as long as he lived. He'd yearned for Keziah since that first day when she placed her warm hands upon his body, treating the flesh wound upon his bare belly. And while he could have simply entered her to finally find his release, William had instead spent those first moments with a hand between her thighs, ensuring that she, too, partook of the euphoria that came from a night of fulfilling sex.
Although it had been on his mind during the entire encounter, William had shown no concern about possibly leaving Keziah with child ... with his child. He'd already long ago decided that he was going to remain here in 18th century Massachusetts ... remain here with her, with Rose Anne, with Edward. William had hoped that the next morning, Keziah would finally take him up on his desire to be wed to her. And yet, nothing even close to that occurred: Keziah had instead pushed him away, and -- despite the obvious joy they had each found in one another's arms -- they neither talked of it nor repeated it again.
And now, as he sat there on the stool, certain that Edward knew William had fucked Keziah -- maybe even forced himself on the man's little girl -- William's heart was pounding with fear.
"I just want to understand if those are genuine feelings or if you just want to be a wife again for the sake of it."
William sat and listened to the conversation, and as it went on, his lips widened in a delighted smile. Keziah fancied him. Fancied! And she got butterflies when she saw him. William wasn't sure whether it was her feelings or the words with which she expressed them, but by the time the pair had finished and both gone outside -- giving William the opportunity to slip out the back door and pretend he hadn't been eavesdropping -- he was flying as high as Ben Franklin's kite (which, he knew, had never actually been proven to have been an actually historic event, but hey, it was a great American story).
For weeks, William had wondered whether or not he and Keziah would ever find themselves in one another's arms again; and for weeks, he'd wondered whether or not they would ever find themselves standing before her father and the preacher in the little church in Lexington; and now, after William's eavesdropping had left him full of knowing smirks and lustful glances, Keziah was standing before him in her very typically shy way, trying -- William was sure -- to say that she was finally ready to commit to him, to marry him, to become his wife...?
Wasn't she?
William was on the edge, ready to drop to his knees and finish the words he desperately hoped Keziah was trying to speak, when...
"William! Keziah!"
William had come to learn Edward's many tones over his months here, and just as did Keziah, he hurried out of the barn to find him standing with a very familiar -- and yet dreaded -- Sergeant from the Massachusetts Second Regiment. The man was bearing bad news: William knew that immediately, though he wasn't certain whether it was bad news for America or for him specifically.
"She's getting big," he said approaching to get a better look at Rose Anne. The Sergeant looked to Keziah and then to William, saying what William himself had been hoping since his arrival in Lexington, "I thought your wife would be swollen with child right now. Or ya can't perform right?"
William smiled at the teasing, then turned his head away from Edward. He wanted to return the joke about having no problems performing ... but that didn't quite seem appropriate for the audience at hand. Instead he looked to the Sergeant and -- more of a statement than a question -- said, "You bring us news ... news of the fight against the British."
The Militiaman rose a bit taller, trying to gain an air of professionalism. But, as Keziah had also noticed, he'd been crying recently, which William had never thought he'd see from the rough and tough man who had personally killed six men in the attack on the Tyler Farm half a year earlier. "General Washington is dead."
The bluntness of the statement hit William almost as hard as the words themselves. With his eyes and mouth open in shock, William asked, "How...? Where?"
"Three days ago," the Sergeant began, adding, "in New York."
"No ... no, that's not what's supposed to--" William began, then realizing that he was talking aloud, he went silent and asked, "Tell me how it happened ... details!"
William engaged his brain -- now with his mouth silent -- trying to recall his memory of this time period in real history. October 1775, October 1775 ... where the hell was Washington in October 1775? He'd been in charge of the Continental Army; and he'd ordered heavy guns to Dorchester Heights to bombard the British supplies lines serving Boston Proper. But those guns wouldn't arrive until Spring of next--
No, no! Fuck the guns! Where was Washington? William couldn't recall specifically where Washington himself had been. And this was important, because -- obviously! -- Washington wasn't supposed to be dead! Not yet! Washington wasn't supposed to die for almost another quarter century, in 1799.
William's concern over this change of history should have been because it would likely change the course of history of the United States of America and -- because of the US's role as a superpower -- the course of the history of the World itself. But William's immediate thoughts were Did I do this...? Did I cause this...? Did I kill George Washington?
"Sir...?"
When he realized that he Sergeant was addressing him, William turned back to him. Suddenly, the words of the man to which William hadn't consciously been listening flooded his brain: Washington had been monitoring the aftermath of the Patriot's reclaiming of Boston; rumors of the British Navy moving troops south had caused Washington to head for New York; and along the way a sniper had put a lead ball through the General's throat, killing the Father of the Nation before he'd even fallen to the ground.
"I asked, what are your orders, sir?" the Sergeant said, apparently repeating a question he'd already asked.
The man pulled a wadded up bundle from under his arm and presented it. William knew from his reenactments what it was from the color, piping, and lapel pins: a Lieutenant's uniform in the Continental Army. A shiver clawed its way up William's spine and his skin exploded in goose flesh as he asked, "What's that for...? Who's that for?"
The Sergeant looked confused, for as William's mind had been overwhelmed with questions of guilt over possibly having been responsible for the assassination of the man who now would not be on the dollar bill, the quarter, Mount Rushmore, and even on the future flag of the now-less-likely State of Washington, the Sergeant had been explaining that Colonel Harding had ordered a Field Commission to First Lieutenant for the Hessian deserter-turned-hero-of-Boston, William Kutcher.
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