Emmetsburg: Seventy-four

Blue-gray.

“Here they come!” someone cried. Above the heads of the citizens upraised bayonets gleamed brightly against storm clouds. Thunder spoke loudly, chasing lightening over the land. The storm awoke fully in sheets of rain.

Men contrive. Avery contrived to protect his own sins by sacrificing Myron, but he was as swept up in things that had grown much larger than himself and his self-serving schemes. They rejoined the crowd now surging into the road and forming a wall in the faces of the soldiers and police.

When men resolve to violence no amount of reason, no fellowship among country men and no love among brothers can steer them from that course. Both sides found that in one another. Both gambled that their spirit, that their violence would carry the day, and both swore by the righteousness of their cause. Reason and commiseration would only come long after the battle had ended, long after the physical wounds had healed and the dead buried, but only to a few.

Avery and Stan Pickett had a hold of Myron. They worked their way forward, angling towards the opposite side of the road. Avert wanted to keep out of the direct line of sight of the troops, and should it come to things, out of the direct line of fire. Near the center of the crowd he paused to survey the troops opposite. They had stopped, leveling their rifles and bayonets. It brought the citizens to an abrupt halt. Thunder roared again and fled across the fields, leaving the chorusing rain.

The soldiers were tense and frightened, Avery observed. A gunshot was likely to panic them into opening fire. He recalled Ernie’s reference to the Boston Massacre, and how the thuggery of a handful of youths and drunkards had provoked untested and frightened British lads into a stupid reprisal. Rebel leaders vaulted the moment to mythical proportions to inspire a revolution. Avery looked at Myron, looking every bit as terrified and apprehensive as the soldiers. The boy teetered at the edge of a precipice. Avery determined to push him over.

“All revolutions are started by a single brave and selfless act,” said Avery. He held Myron by the shoulder with one hand. The other hand covered the pistol Myron cradled to his gut. “be brave son. The rest of us will follow.”

Just them Ernie Vogel lunged for the pistol. Stan caught him by the color, but it was too late to keep him from getting to Myron.

“Can’t let this happen.” He and Avery and the boy struggled for the gun. “I’ll go to jail, I’ll go to the grave before I…”

Stan cut Ernie’s words short with a well placed slug to the side of Ernie’s face. He was out instantly, falling limp to the ground. Stan nodded once and watched as Myron and Avery disappeared through the crowd.