Only Through Victory

Chapter Three

The Whitley House had seen more than its share of sadness through the years. Annabelle was only seven when it happened, but she could still remember the day that Mr. Whitley fell from his horse on his way into town and cracked his skull on a jagged stone. For years thereafter, she could still hear poor Mary's cries of disbelief and devastation when she received word of his death. Harold's grave injury brought about a similar sensation of remorse in Annabelle when she walked through those familiar corridors of the old farmhouse that evening.

To make matters even more difficult for Mary, she'd agreed to provide care for three more young men from Harold's troop. Their homes were much farther away and they could not remain out in the elements for much longer. Scarlett assisted Mary with this task while little Delilah remained nearby. It was not the most hospitable environment for a five-year-old; but she, too was no stranger to injury or death.

Annabelle, on the other hand, refused to leave Harold's side and didn't catch so much as a wink of sleep all night. He stirred occasionally and she sensed a pattern before too long. Her humming seemed to keep his mind off the pain and focused on remaining restful and still. Around the time the nearby clock chimed in the five o'clock hour, Harold sprung awake.

"Hummingbird." The muscular blonde boy gasped. "Where has my Hummingbird gone?"

She caressed his rough, tan hand. Harold had called out this strange demand in his sleep nearly every night when he while he was away. Nobody in his company knew what it meant, but Annabelle knew right away. "Hummingbird is here. My voice is just a little tired."

"I went away, too." He moved his head side to side, somewhat delirious. "I'm sorry that I went away."

She lifted his hand to her lips, planting the tiniest of kisses between his knuckles.

"What kind of a poem would you like to hear?"

He shifted about. "Hummingbird?" Was his only and final response.

Annabelle felt her chest swell in pain. She'd never seen him like this before, but witnessed a similar delirium in her mother before she was taken away by an unforgiving fever. "You want to hear a poem about a hummingbird?"

It was hard to see just how much his coloring had changed in the low lighting. His eyes, glassy and sightless desperately searched the space for any sort of contact in what would become his final moments.

"I'm here." Annabelle assured him, finally knowing what he must have meant.

Then in perfect unison with her realization, he found her and, without so much as a blink, turned to stone.

She knew when she saw the angry, red lacerations across Harold's neck and chest that he would not survive. But Annabelle possessed the amazing ability to trick herself into looking on the bright side of things. When he died that night in front of her, her seemingly unfailing idealism suffered its most painful defeat.

Every single one of her senses seemed to shut down. She could scarcely breathe, let alone think straight. As she stumbled towards the doorway, still fighting to process what she had just witnessed, a rude knock echoed through the silent farmhouse. The only thing that mattered to Annabelle was locating Mary and finding some way- some semblance of words that would sufficiently explain the death of her son.

Once it was apparent to whoever was outside that nobody was going to answer, the front door was kicked in with a mighty "crash" followed by the voices of several British soldiers.

"Lucas Thompson, you damned fool. Not James Thompson." Snarled the shadow of a man as he knocked over a nearby coatrack in the deep blueness of the dim morning light.

"I thought it was James Thompson who was the spy." Chimed a second shadow whose entrance was much more quiet in nature.

Annabelle wiped her eyes as she headed towards the balcony to get a better view of what was causing the commotion. Four redcoats became visible on the floor below. By the time the fifth stepped in, their argument over which of the Thompson brothers was a spy and which was not had reached new heights.

"Silence!" Their newest addition growled. "It doesn't matter. They're all going to die, anyway."

"And are you truly sure that they are here, Colonel?"

"Yes." Said the tallest as he moved to the front of what was already an orderly queue. "I never forget a horse. Let alone when it appears alongside another two horses that I've seen before. They are in this house. I'm sure of it."

She couldn't make out any of their physical attributes until they started to move towards the base of the staircase.

"Are you the one who is in charge here?" She asked, looking down. Although her eyes were tired and sore, they hardly needed any time to adjust. She knew it was him. "You, I assume?"

"Are you stupid, Girl?" He asked, looking on without even a the smallest suggestion of familiarity.

As Annabelle moved towards them, they almost seemed to ready themselves for combat. But she was unafraid. "A boy just died here." She whispered lowly to prevent Mary from finding out this way. "I am the only one awake. If you have any mercy, you will leave this house and come back at a better time."

The Colonel looked to his men and gestured for them to climb the stairs without him. Annabelle made to chase them, but he grabbed her hard by the wrist and cornered her against the railing.

"Now, I'll ask you one more time... are you stupid?"

She examined his face as closely as she could. Perhaps she was mistaken. The cogs in her mind were turning at a rampant pace- seeking some sort of cheerful justification amidst all of the confusion. She'd seen one set of twins before in her life. It was unlikely, of course, but the hope of it gave her comfort. The soldier she remembered from that day had kindness in him. It was hidden deep within, yes, but it was there. This man, on the other hand...

"That's what I thought." He said, pursing his lips. "You're just as stupid as I thought you to be." He released her from his grasp and turned to head upstairs.

"I am not stupid. But you- you are wicked and petty and-"

He stopped and turned, his handsome face had twisted itself into an even more menacing expression than before. "That was your cue to run. If you're here when I get back, I will kill you."

The town was a five-minute ride by horseback. Or rather, if the horse was ready and willing to sprint. Surely the redcoats would be finished inflicting whatever torments they had planned for the poor sleeping souls upstairs by the time that Annabelle was due to return with aid. But everything from the shocking death of her friend to the even more shocking appearance of the redcoats and threat that the Colonel had made on her life propelled her to try.

In the faint light of morning, Annabelle could see that the horses belonging to the soldiers who arrived with Harold earlier that day were indeed tied up lazily beside the corral. If only she had taken the time earlier to bring them into the available stalls! Maybe then they Colonel wouldn't have recognized that they belonged to a potential spy and the invasion would not be happening in the first place.

She untied the reins of the large gray horse who, due to hear earlier neglect, was still saddled and ready for riding. She tore into the bottom of her long nightgown to make the ride easier and her race against the clock began.

As Annabelle rode, she thought of Harold. She wondered to herself how many times they'd flown down this exact trail on horseback- and grieved the painful notion that they would never ride together again. The Whitleys were horse farmers. Since they were as good as family, the Casey girls learn to ride just as proficiently as any young soldier. So agility was of no concern to Annabelle even now as she straddled the horse in her bloomers and slapped her bare feet against the animal's sides.

After the first couple of doors were shut in her face, Annabelle sought the help of the young boys of the Abbott family whose father was away at war, too, but a knowledgeable dealer of arms. She could surely trust that they had quick and steady hands. Her two teenage boys and their rough and tumble mother who was like Mary in stature and spirit heartily agreed to provide their assistance. So, onward the four of them went to frighten off the dreadful Colonel and his men...