John did not return before the tavern closed for the night. Nathaniel and Henri explained the message to Marie, who was visibly concerned about John's sudden disappearance upon reading it. Nathaniel was concerned himself, but he tried to think of anything else as he and Henri cleaned the tavern room.

Henri took his arm when they had at last finished the cleaning. "Come. Distraction is in order. Perhaps we should go commit the horrible sin we were arrested for."

Nathaniel laughed. "Very well. I have made my peace with God, after all. Perhaps He will forgive me for living the way He created me."

Henri pulled him closer. "One day we will discuss religion, as I am always intrigued by your contradictory faith."

"As I am intrigued by your shunning of it completely," Nathaniel replied.

"But not this moment," Henri told him. "This moment is for going upstairs and enjoying each other's company."

They had barely closed the door to Nathaniel's room, barely reached for each other again, when the sound Nathaniel had been dreading for months came from the kitchen door.

Three hard knocks, then two quieter, faster ones.

Nathaniel stared at Henri for a moment, hardly daring to believe what they had heard. Then it started again.

"I'll go for Marie," Henri declared.

Nathaniel nodded and flung the door open. He hurried down the stairs while Henri went quickly to Marie's room. When he unbolted and opened the kitchen door he saw John with his hand raised to knock again. Nathaniel opened the door wide enough for him to slip inside.

"Where are the others?" John asked.

Henri rushed down the stairs then with Marie close behind. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and had hastily thrown her skirts on.

"Very well," John said. "I will say that you are only one of several places where we received the same information tonight. The soldiers are currently moving out to Concord. Though it has been far from a secret, we still think it best for you to leave the city. This is not going to be a peaceful night. There will be violence and bloodshed. Whatever the result of this, Boston will likely not be a safe city for anyone who has already had difficulties with any British officer. Until it is safe again, we believe you should leave. We can't know for how long."

He handed Nathaniel a folded sheet of paper. "This is a letter from your ill cousin's wife." 

Nathaniel took it and secured it in his coat pocket.

John then unfolded a map, pointing to a place in the bend of a creek or small river. Nathaniel had not left Boston very frequently and was only familiar with some of the towns by name, not by their locations on a map, nor had he visited any for any length of time. He was unsure of the precise location John was pointing to. 

"This is where they live, on a lovely farm with a broken wagon wheel leaning against a great tree in the yard. Are you familiar with the area?"

"No," Nathaniel admitted. "I have only been here a few years and never had reason to venture from the city often."

John nodded. "I will leave you the map, but do not mark it in any way."

Nathaniel made certain Henri and Marie could see where John was pointing to before taking the map and placing it with the letter.

"The Neck is closed to traffic," John continued. "Two of the guards have been paid to allow a family visiting a cousin's deathbed to pass through. We can do nothing about the patrols that are outside the city. Take care. That letter may help, but we cannot promise anything. It is best for you to avoid the patrols completely. Go as quickly as you can. Your cousin's name is Jacob and his wife is Isabella. Tell them you heard Jacob was dying. They know you are coming."

Nathaniel nodded. "Thank you."

John nodded in return. "May you reach safety swiftly."

With that, he left.

Nathaniel drew a deep breath and turned to Henri and Marie. "Get what you need and can easily travel with. Meet me here."

They both nodded and turned to leave the kitchen. Henri paused to touch his arm, then put an arm around Marie as they climbed the stairs.

Nathaniel took an empty coffee bag and used it to pack some clothing and some coin. What he didn't dare carry with him he tucked into the hidden compartment under a floorboard that was covered by his bed. He stuffed one blanket into the bag and was forced to admit he had all he could carry. He went back to the bar and removed the musket still hidden beneath it. This time he was certain to take the cartridges when he removed the gun. They were already in a pouch he could fasten about his waist.

Henri and Marie returned from upstairs, both dressed to travel. John hadn't said how long it would take them to reach the house where they would be safe and Nathaniel hoped it wouldn't be all night. It was after midnight by the time they left the house and moved quickly through the streets of Boston. There seemed to be a tension in the city, even if they saw few people in the streets. All was far too quiet but lit too brightly. Perhaps it was all Nathaniel's mind and his own unease causing his fear. Perhaps the city was perfectly content.

When they reached the Neck the guard there gave them a suspicious look. Nathaniel hoped he was one of the guards who had been paid by John or his associates.

"This way is closed," the guard announced. "State your business."

"I've had word my cousin is ill and won't live through the night," Nathaniel answered. "I must see him."

The guard gazed at Henri and Marie. "Your wife?" he asked.

Nathaniel nodded. "And her brother, who would not see her travel at night without him. She would not allow me to do the same myself."

The guard still gazed at him without a change in his expression. "The weapon?"

"I've never felt safe outside the city even in daylight," he replied. "I've heard rumor of a pack of feral dogs about."

Perhaps it was Nathaniel's imagination, but it seemed that the guard gave half a smile. "So I've heard, as well. Do take care. May you reach your cousin before he leaves this world."

At the guard's nod they were able to pass from the city and onto the strip of land that connected it to the body of the Massachusetts colony, then toward the direction they judged to be correct from the map. They walked quickly and Nathaniel never took one glance back at the city that had become his home in the last three years, whatever its faults.

They had gone some distance before Marie spoke. "I love you dearly, Nat, but I won't be having your children."

Nathaniel couldn't help a smile. "I mean you absolutely no offense in saying this, Marie, but I have no intention or desire to have children with you."

"I am happy to hear that," Henri commented.

"Though I would marry you if it helped you in any way," Marie went on. "I mean that truthfully."

Nathaniel was touched, though he hoped to never need her offer. "Thank you," he said, and reached over to touch her hand.

She smiled at him. "Let's find this house before we take any vows."

He simply shook his head.

As they walked they noticed that the countryside was gradually awaking. They heard distant hoofbeats at times. At other times they were passed by small groups of people moving in all directions. From them they learned that militias were being called to meet. Nathaniel was grateful for the dark and his long coat that allowed him to hide his musket without much trouble. He had no intention of being mistakenly pulled into a gathering of militia.

It was the approach of British soldiers that forced them from the road after an hour of walking. They settled for creeping through the brush for some time, until they were certain the soldiers had passed. It had only been a small group, likely one of the patrols John had warned them of. They still remained off the road, especially as they drew close to more populated areas. In the excitement of the evening no one noticed the small group of three in dark clothing moving through the fields and brush. It was how they chose to skirt the more populated areas they passed by to avoid any undue notice.

Bells began to toll in the distance before too long. Riders thundered past at times and men ran along the road. Another group of soldiers came upon them. This time one of the soldiers noticed them. He shouted and ran toward them, drawing the attention of his comrades.

"Run!" Nathaniel commanded, certain they would be killed whether they ran or not.

They did just that, continuing along the creek as the map had suggested. Marie ran with her skirts in her hands and Henri led them. There was shouting behind them, but no sound of pursuit or shooting. Nathaniel chanced a glance back and found that no one was pursuing them.

"They aren't following!" he called.

Marie slowed and turned back, breathless. Henri also paused and turned, looking surprised.

"Perhaps they know capturing three people will do no good," Marie suggested, still breathing heavily. "The entire countryside knows they're here."

"I hope that is the answer and not that they are planning to intercept ahead," Henri replied, pushing on through the mounds of dead grasses left from the season before.

But they found no soldiers waiting for them anywhere. The walk was becoming tiring, the awareness of danger growing heavier on them by the moment. More bells tolled and more people answered the calls. Drums were sounding, a true sign that armies were moving.

Finally, after hours of pressing through brush and sodden ground and climbing over fences when they needed to avoid people on the roads, Nathaniel saw the house John had described. It was a grand white house with brightly lit windows and a broken wagon wheel leaning against a large maple tree. As they entered the yard three young men with muskets appeared from seemingly nowhere.

"State your business here," one demanded.

"My cousin, Jacob, is dying here," Nathaniel answered, holding his gun aside.

The men all lowered their guns and the one who had spoken led them to the door of the house. When he entered, Nathaniel was surprised by what he saw inside. The lower level of the house was brightly lit by hearths and lanterns, making it easy to see the people gathered inside. Most were women and children, though two armed middle-aged men stood just inside the door. One held up a hand to stop them from entered the house completely.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"I was told my cousin, Jacob, is dying," Nathaniel explained again.

The man nodded and allowed them to enter, closing the door behind them. He then bolted the lock. "You're the last we were expecting."

An older man came forward, leaving his place beside the hearth. He was a well-dressed gentleman with a nearly perfect wig and a suit of deep blue. "I am Jacob. My name is, Anthony Jacob Weatherton, to be precise, though you may continue to call me Jacob. Welcome to my home. I know the man you call John sent you here for safety, but he did not give me your names beforehand."

"I am Nathaniel Hill." He motioned first to Marie, then Henri. "These are my employees, Marie Theriot and her brother, Henri Theriot."

Jacob smiled. "Bonjour," he said to them, a greeting they each returned. "I recall you are the one Lieutenant-Colonel Weston took a certain disliking to," he added, looking curiously at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel nodded. "I have that misfortune, yes."

"A misfortune that brought you here," Jacob replied. "You are quite welcome. I see you have your gun, however. Were you considering joining up with the militias now that the war seems at last to be starting?"

Nathaniel felt Marie touch his arm. He glanced at her and heard her murmur, "Please don't."

He was touched by her concern but he already knew there was no choice for him. "I don't have the training to fight in a militia," he answered. "I don't see myself capable of marching to battle with the intention of killing others. I can fight for defense, but not in battle. I could see myself helping to defend this house if it was necessary."

Jacob nodded. "Of course. I certainly don't have the stomach for battle myself. And you?" he asked, turning to Henri.

"I would need to learn how to use the musket, first," he answered. "Even then, I feel much the same as Mr. Hill. I could never march myself to battle. I am often one to avoid confrontation completely."

"Also a noble way to live," Jacob said with another nod. "All of you may stay until it is safe to return to Boston. Come, sit with us. The two gentlemen there by the door are my eldest sons. The three outside are my younger ones. Here is my wife, Abigail, and the wives of my three sons who are married. Most of the children are my grandchildren. Here are Anna and Elizabeth, whose husbands are unknown associates of yours in the gathering of information. They have gone to join the militias. A few of the children belong to them, as well."

Nathaniel counted nearly twenty children, all combined. It was a very full house indeed.

"Do you mind if we sit by the fire?" Marie asked. "We were forced nearly into the river to avoid many people on the roads."

"Of course," Jacob answered.

Some of the children moved to make room for them, and they settled with feet toward the fire to dry their feet and legs. Nathaniel leaned his musket against the wall, within easy reach.

"Tell us," Jacob asked, "what did you see on the way from Boston?"

"The countryside became more and more awake the longer we traveled," Nathaniel replied. "There are patrols of soldiers about, though we avoided them. There are also militiamen from all over coming together. We passed many of them, some in full groups. Others who were not militiamen seemed to be fleeing closer to Boston. We began to hear bells and drums."

"No firing?" one of the women asked.

Nathaniel shook his head. "Not that we were able to hear."

"We are not overly close to where the soldiers were predicted to travel," Jacob explained. "We are a bit between Roxbury and Watertown, though not in any path of either. I have always preferred to live away from any cities. Far too many people for my taste. We hope to be safe here, so rest easy."

"What is it that's happening?" Marie asked.

Jacob settled back in the chair he had vacated when they had arrived. "We can only assume it is the beginning of something tremendous, a true defense against the cruel usage we have endured. We may be a sea away, but we are British subjects and will be respected as such. What happens this night is what must take place to remind Parliament of this. It will either be a war that will show Parliament and the king that we mean to defend our rights as Englishmen, or it will cause us all to bend under the increased burdens we will be forced to endure as punishment. I, for one, am gambling upon the first choice."