Fic: Jericho - Manifest Destiny - Teen - Part 4 of 4

[tanaquiljall]

Title: Manifest Destiny
Fandom: Jericho
Rating: Teen
Contains: some period-appropriate attitudes and language; canonical character death
Words: 29,200 words
Summary: Written for history_bigbang. Kansas, 1855. At a time of turmoil in the Kansas Territory, with pro-slavery and free-state settlers clashing violently, Jake Green unexpectedly arrives back at the home of his estranged family in the frontier town of Jericho. On the run from trouble further West, he is planning to pay only a brief visit to claim the inheritance left to him by his grandfather, but finds himself drawn in to staying to defend the town from the escalating violence. Amid the fighting, and as the danger increases, he finds himself growing closer to one of the new settlers, a schoolteacher called Heather Lisinski. Meanwhile, he crosses paths with Robert Hawkins, who claims to be a trading agent for an Ohio factory owner, but who seems to have an agenda of his own….
Disclaimer: This story is based on the Junction Entertainment/Fixed Mark Productions/CBS Paramount Television series Jericho. It was written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from it nor was any infringement of copyright intended.
Author's Note: Author's Notes: This story only covers events in Season 1 and greatly simplifies the multiple storylines found in canon, as well as makes changes necessary for the technology of the time period. I have also needed to take some liberties with the real history of the Kansas Territory and the struggle for statehood, but hope these have not been excessive. More details about the historical setting and my research sources can be found in the notes at the end of the story. A huge thank you to: my usual cheerleader and beta, scribblesinink, for all her help; sgafan for the 'horse-beta'; and queenmidalah for volunteering to create some lovely art to accompany the story.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Part Four

Someone pounding on the door woke Jake from the uneasy doze in which he’d passed the night and he started up from the settle in his parents’ kitchen, his hand automatically tightening around the rifle propped next to him. The first light of dawn was making its way through the cracks between the shutters, but the room was still mostly lit by the glow from the fire. From the other end of the settle, Eric blinked owlishly at him, apparently even less sure than Jake where he was. On the far side of the fireplace, their father pushed himself up from the chair where he’d whiled away the hours of darkness. Like his sons, he was dressed and armed, ready to respond as soon as news of the next attack came.

Whoever was outside beat on the door again. By the time Jake had also gotten up and lit the lamp, his father had opened up and a half dozen men had swarmed into the room. Fred Drummond was at their head, gabbling breathlessly.

“—more than a hundred men. A hundred. From New Bern and roundabouts. Them ruffians that attacked before, they’ve been and riled ‘em up and now they’re marching on us. They’ve got a cannon and rifles and they’re mad as hell and—.”

“Now, Fred,” his father pushed the farmer into the high-backed chair he’d just vacated. “Slow down. Which way did you say they were coming?”

As Jake listened to his father carefully and patiently drawing the facts from Drummond, he noted that Hawkins was among the group that had accompanied Drummond inside. Jake had seen him around the day before, helping out here and there, but their paths hadn’t crossed close enough to speak to. True, the man had proved himself a good enough ally at Stanley’s farm— but Jake’s suspicions that he was not what he seemed hadn’t been entirely laid to rest. Now, watching, Jake saw Hawkins was keeping to one side and was paying as much attention to the group as a whole as he was to Drummond.

Perhaps sensing he was being observed himself, Hawkins’ turned his gaze in Jake’s direction. Their eyes met across the crowd and Hawkins’ face grew tense for a second, before he gave Jake a brief nod of acknowledgment. His gaze passed on, back to Drummond, as if he was unconcerned by Jake’s scrutiny, but Jake went on watching him, only half following what Drummond was saying. He supposed Hawkins could be trusted if his interests aligned with those of Jericho. The question that still lingered in Jake’s mind was where Hawkins’ real interests lay.

“Jake?” His mother’s whisper behind him made him turn. She’d appeared at the bottom of the stairs, her cap a little awry, showing she’d been woken by the noise from below.

“There’s men coming from New Bern,” Jake told her quietly, knowing there was no need to protect her from the news. Knowing he’d get no thanks if he did.

She nodded and, as he’d expected, murmured calmly, “I’ll set the coffee brewing,” and slipped past him and toward the well to draw water.

By the time she returned, to busy herself around the range, the men had regrouped around the kitchen table, where his father was unrolling a crudely drawn map.

“We’ll make our stand here.” His father tapped a spot between two areas of rough hatching. “Where we ambushed them before. Sheriff,” he nodded at Jimmy, who’d arrived just as they were unrolling the map, “you get the First and Second Militia roused and ready to leave. Simmonds, you and the Third Militia are to hold the town. Put a third of your men on each of those barricades either end of Main Street and keep the other third by Town Hall to reinforce where necessary. Mr Anderson—.”

“They’ll be expecting an ambush.” Hawkins’ quiet words made the room still. “After what happened the other day. You need to send men to the end of the hills either side, make sure they can’t outflank you.”

Jake saw his father give Hawkins a hard stare. “That was my intention. Also to send a scout or two up the hill. Signal what they can see to the men below.”

Hawkins dipped his head and wordlessly took a half-pace backward, apparently acknowledging he’d overstepped the mark. Jake noted, however, that he continued to follow the conversation closely and didn’t appear much chastened. Nor had the way he’d spoken up in the first place, as if used to offering his opinion on military matters and having it heard, done anything to lessen Jake’s unease about who Hawkins was and what he he was doing in Jericho.

“Mr Anderson?” His father turned back to the leader of the New Englanders. “Mr Drummond says they have a cannon. I’d like your help seeing if we can make something of an old hand mortar I have hereabouts….”

oOo

By the time Jake had been out to the stables to saddle the horses, returned to the house to wolf down some breakfast and suck down a cup of his mother’s coffee, and made it out onto Main Street, the place was buzzing. Jimmy was bellowing orders, trying to create some kind of order out of the melée, while men called to each other and women stood silently on either side of the street, crying children clinging to their skirts. Outside the bank, Emily was bidding a tearful goodbye to a tall, square-set man with a rather stolid face whom Jake supposed must be her fiancé returned from Lawrence.

As Jake led the horses along the front of the store, he saw his father was saying farewell to his mother on the stoop, drawing her close and dropping a kiss on her forehead. She reached up and grasped his shoulder for a moment, as if to keep him close. It suddenly occurred to Jake how many times his mother must have watched his father ride away like this when he was in the Army, not knowing if he would return, and what strength there was in her to bear it silently and without complaint. That he would be lucky if he could one day find himself a wife who was her equal.

“Mr Green? Jake?”

The sound of his name made Jake turn from handing the reins of his father’s and brother’s horses to Eric, who had been waiting at the bottom of the steps. He saw Miss Lisinski weaving her way through the crowd toward him. She was a little breathless by the time she reached him.

“Miss Lisinski.” He smiled down at her, his somber mood lifting at the sight of her, though he was troubled to see she looked scarcely more rested than when they’d parted last night, after he’d walked her back to lodgings at Mrs Leigh’s. She’d been a lively enough companion over dinner, though and he’d been rather pleased when, on his return, his mother had remarked that she was glad to have had the chance to know Miss Lisinski better and she seemed a very sweet girl. Apparently his parents liked her as much as he did. Which was, he’d acknowledged to himself as he’d settled down for the night, very much indeed.

She returned his smile, a blush coloring her cheeks. “So I gave the rest to the Sheriff, but I didn’t know if you’d taken any for yourself last night and I couldn’t catch sleep, so I thought it was better to be busy and I, umm, I thought….”

As her rapid babble trailed off, he realized she was holding out a small package wrapped in white cloth. He took it, finding it heavier than expected, though the reason became clear when he unwrapped one end peered inside at the contents: an array of tightly packed cartridges, each one neatly glued and twisted.

He carefully folded the linen closed again, noticing as he did so that the edge was trimmed with a little fine lace: she’d wrapped her gift in one of her handkerchiefs.

“Thank you.” His voice sounded hoarse in his own ears. She must have surely known he would not ride out any less well-provisioned than the other men, but the hour or more of labor to be sure he would not lack for the means to defend himself, the gift brought to him directly—. He looked up and met her anxious expression. “Thank you,” he repeatedly softly.

She blushed more deeply. Impulsively he caught her hand and bent over it. He felt her trembling as he pressed his lips to her glove for a moment, wordlessly impressing his gratitude on her. Yet as he let her hand fall, she slipped her fingers from his grasp and cupped his cheek, meeting his gaze as he raised his head.

“Come back in one piece?” she whispered, her voice catching.

He let out a half-laugh. “I will,” he promised, his own voice raw, reveling in her caress, wanting to cover her hand with his and hold it there.

“Jake! Time to go!”

His father’s call drew him back to the hubbub and bustle around him. He turned his head to see his father and brother were already mounted. His father jerked his head impatiently, though an amused smile was playing around his lips.

By the time he turned back to Miss Lisinski, she’d dropped her hand and taken a pace back. Unsure what to say to her, he nodded and swung away to mount his horse. Yet he was unable to resist a glance backward as they clattered off. He saw she was still standing there, her hands clasped in front of her, watching them depart: the same posture and the same anxious expression on her face as his mother standing on the stoop nearby. Facing forward again, Jake could only marvel at how different his feelings were from three days before, when he’d ridden from Jericho thinking he had nothing worth coming back for.

oOo

An hour later, Jake was lying flat on the top of the hill near Stanley’s farm—the highest point in the area—and squinting into the distance, looking for any signs of the army that was supposed to be advancing from New Bern.

Hawkins was stretched out next to him. When his father had given Jake the commission to scout the enemy and send back news, Jake had jerked his head in Hawkins’ direction. “You’re with me.” Hawkins had raised his eyebrows in surprise, but had fallen in next to Jake without a word. They’d remained silent the whole time it had taken them to ride to the Richmond place, tether their horses and make their way along the ridge beneath the crest, keeping out of sight of any enemy below. Jake wondered if Hawkins knew why he’d brought him along—and what he’d do when he found out. Which was why Jake was determined to send back his first report before confronting him.

There was no sign of the enemy in any direction. Jake glanced across at Hawkins. “You see anything?” When the other man shook his head, Jake shrugged. “We should signal back anyway.”

He wriggled back on his stomach until he was out of sight of anyone on the New Bern side of the ridge and pulled the signal flag from the case slung over his back. “You still know how to use one of these?” his father had asked gruffly as he’d handed over the case. When Jake had nodded—Grandpa had made sure of that, dinned it into him—his father had given a curt nod. “Good. Eric’ll be with the flanking party to watch for your signal and relay it on.”

Jake squinted down at where he could see a group of Jericho men were now hunkered down at the end of the low ridge on the far side of the valley. He waved the flag to show he was ready. After a minute, he saw a familiar figure, made small by distance, detach itself a little from the group and begin waving a flag that was the companion to his own: I am ready.

Jake signaled a Q for Quiet, casting a glance at his companion as he did so. Hawkins had his hand up to shade his eyes as he peered down toward Eric, apparently intent on seeing what reply he made. Still looking at Hawkins, Jake signaled End of Message, even as he drew the revolver at his hip with his spare hand and pointed it at Hawkins.

As Jake had expected, Hawkins hadn’t been quite so oblivious to Jake as he’d made out. His head snapped round, his gaze focusing on the gun now leveled at his head. One of his hands shifted a little in the direction of his own revolver, before he realized he’d likely be dead before he touched it. Instead, he held up both hands and turned to face Jake. “What do you want, Jake?”

For a second, Jake was taken aback by the coolness with which Hawkins asked the question. Then he gathered his own wits. “Who are you?”

Hawkins huffed a laugh. “Robert Hawkins. But you know that.”

“That your real name?” Holding Hawkins’ gaze, Jake let his aim drop a little, down from Hawkins’ head to his chest, hoping to rattle the other man. No such luck. Hawkins merely nodded, meeting Jake’s gaze with no sign of fear. Jake swallowed, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into here, but needing to know. “Why are you in Jericho?”

“To trade.” Hawkins snorted. “Come on, Jake. I've told you this already.”

He began to turn away, but Jake cocked the gun, the sound loud in the near silence of the hilltop. “Don’t move.”

Hawkins froze for an instant and then swung back to face Jake again. “Or what? You’re going to shoot me?”

Jake ignored the question. “You an agent for those borderers stirring up trouble in New Bern?”

Hawkins laughed again, shaking his head. “Those pro-slavery ruffians? You think I’m working for them? Just look at me.” He waggled his hands, emphasizing their color.

Jake pressed his lips together for a moment. Every one of his senses was telling him Hawkins was too calm, too unruffled. He had to by lying. “There’s plenty of slaves in Missouri turn down their chance to be free, from what I’ve heard. And you fetch up in Jericho out of nowhere the day before we’re attacked….”

Hawkins’ gaze had narrowed and he’d gone very still. “Could say much the same thing about you, Jake.”

Now it was Jake’s turn to snort. “I just came home to see my family. What’s your excuse?”

Hawkins was silent, his gaze still fixed on Jake, calculating. The seconds dragged on, and then Hawkins’ face relaxed slightly and he opened his mouth. Here it comes, Jake thought.

Before Hawkins could speak, a horse squealed somewhere down in the valley. Jake instinctively looked sideways, toward the sound—and found himself a moment later flat on his back, his gun wrestled out of his hand and pointing at him. He looked up past the barrel to Hawkins’ face, cold and hard and calculating, and cursed silently. He should be grateful, he supposed, that at least the gun hadn’t gone off in the struggle.

Hawkins went on looking at him as he knelt over him, keeping him pinned. Then, to Jake’s surprise, he shifted the gun a little until it was pointing to the ground to one side of Jake’s head and carefully lowered the hammer. Jake lay still, aware that any movement on his part could easily get both their heads blown off. Given it seemed Hawkins didn’t want him dead, it would be something of a waste if that happened now.

With the gun made safe, Hawkins levered himself to his feet and slowly backed away, the gun again trained on Jake as he did so.

Jake sat up, breathing heavily and feeling his shirt clinging to his back with sweat. Hawkins took another step back, jerking the gun to indicate Jake should also get up. Watching him carefully, still unsure what he wanted, Jake stood, his hands spread to show he wasn’t a threat.

There was another long moment of silence, Hawkins still scrutinizing Jake closely. Then, to Jake’s surprise, he let the gun twist in his hand, showing he’d taken his finger off the trigger, and held it out sideways. “We don’t need this, all right?”

He bent and put the gun on the ground, his gaze not leaving Jake. Of course, Jake huffed to himself, Hawkins was still carrying his pistol.

“You really want to know who I work for?” Hawkins cocked his head, eyebrows raised.

Jake blinked in surprise. This wasn’t at all where he’d expected the conversation to go once Hawkins had disarmed him. He nodded. Hawkins’ answer, when it came, made him gape.

“I’m a government agent.” Hawkins’ lips twitched. “Of a kind. I’ve been employed by a group of senators and congressmen who are… concerned about the voting irregularities for the Territorial Elections last spring.”

“Hopping mad, you mean?” Jake gave a wry laugh, not just at Hawkins’ understatement but at his own situation. Seemed he’d run all the way from Utah to escape one set of Federal agents only to find himself tangled up with another. Daring to lower his hands a little, he added, “And that’s why you came to Jericho?”

Hawkins nodded. “Somewhere in your Town Hall are the ballots, poll lists and censuses for a half dozen districts. If I can get sight of them and compare the names, I’ll be able to give an account to my paymasters that will convince them, and others, there’s sufficient evidence to launch a full congressional investigation.”

Jake shook his head wonderingly, comprehension dawning at last. “That’s why you’re so keen to help protect Jericho?”

“That’s part of it, yes.” Hawkins chuckled, a surprising sound. “I also rather like your town, Jake. They’re good people, for the most part. They don’t deserve what’s coming.”

There were still some things Jake didn’t understand, though. “So why are you telling me all this? Why didn’t you just kill me when you had your chance?”

Again, Hawkins’ lips twitched. “Because I rather like you, too, Jake.” His face sobered. “And I think you’re a man who cares about justice and about what kind of state Kansas will become.”

“And if I go down there and tell them what you just told me?” Jake jerked his head toward the valley.

“Then I just might have to kill you.”

Although Jake had been half-expecting it, he was still surprised at the speed with which Hawkins pulled his gun and leveled it at him. For a moment, he was stunned into silence. Then he shook his head. “I won’t tell.”

“Good.” Hawkins holstered his gun and bent to pick up Jake’s. He took a step closer and held out the gun, but when Jake went to take it, he pulled his hand back. “And I’m telling you this because I need your help.”

“What?” Jake gaped at him.

“All this to-do going on, men standing guard on Main Street: it’s going to be a lot harder now to sneak into Town Hall and look at those records.” Hawkins gave a slight shrug. “You’ve got connections, Jake. People know you. They trust you. If you’re in Town Hall, they’re not going to question you. Or anyone with you.”

“No.” Jake shook his head. He couldn’t do this again. Not after last time. Not after what had happened to Freddy. He’d pushed those memories deep inside once he’d found himself back in Jericho, knowing it would do no good to dwell on them longer. But Hawkins’ revelations had brought all that back to the surface.

“You won’t help?” Hawkins’ expression was somewhere between disappointed and curious.

Jake shook his head again. “Find someone else.”

Hawkins raised his eyebrows. “You don’t care what happens to Kansas?”

Jake huffed. “I care. But I care about what happens to my family and friends as well.”

Hawkins went on looking at him, his expression a little disappointed. It was so very different to the way Marshal Hicks had threatened and blustered that Jake found the story tumbling out. “When I was in Utah, a few weeks back, some fellow turned up looking to get together a group of filibusters for an expedition down Mexico way. Promised easy money and lots of it. Friend of mine was too young and too stupid to know better. Got himself mixed up in it.”

Jake pressed his lips together, remembering how pleased Freddy had been when he’d told him. Real money, Jake. Enough for me to go home and ask Anna to marry me. He swallowed down the memory of Freddy’s excited face. “While he was trying to convince me to sign up, I was trying to figure out how to get him out of it without any more trouble.” He’d been close to managing it, too: a plan, an explanation, scraping together enough money to pay back what Freddy had already spent of his advance. And then—. “And then this US Marshal turned up, looking for someone to go along with the expedition long enough to snitch on them and get a conviction for the backers who were putting up the money. Freddy finally got the message he was in over his head, panicked and tried to run. Ended up dead.” He grimaced. “Would’ve been me next.”

Hawkins’ expression had softened. “I’m sorry about your friend.” He sounded like he meant it. Then his expression hardened again. “But I still need your help, Jake. What happens in Kansas could shape this country for years to come. Maybe the next hundred years. We have to expose the truth of what happened here.”

Jake hesitated. He’d seen enough on his travels to know that while slaves in Missouri might be treated pretty well, masters elsewhere weren’t so kindly. That once one election had been stolen, the next one would be easier to take, corruption spreading like a canker. And that no matter the color of a man’s skin, he was still a man, with hopes and dreams, and a mind as quick or slow as any other. Wasn’t Hawkins himself living proof of that?

Before he could give his answer—still not sure what his answer would be—he heard a rattle of gunfire from somewhere in the distance on the far side of the hill: the New Bern side.

“Dammit!” Forgetting Hawkins and his demand, Jake dropped to a crouch and scurried back up to the brow of the hill. Peering over, he saw groups of men swarming toward them, some on horseback, some on foot. They were still mercifully far off.

“They’re dividing.” Hawkins had joined him. He pointed one way and then another. “See? They’re sending groups round to flank us. And they’re bringing up the cannon in the middle to blast a way through.”

Jake nodded. He could see a gun carriage being drawn along by a pair of horses in the middle of a mass of men on foot. He turned his attention back to the groups of men who’d broken away from the main force, figuring out just where they were heading. “You know how to use the flag?” He jerked his head back toward where he’d dropped it during his struggle with Hawkins.

“Yes.” Hawkins’ tone was curt as he continued to peer out at the advancing militia.

“Good,” Jake was already scrambling back down the slope and pushing to his feet. “You stay here, start signaling Eric. Keep watching and signaling. I’ll head back to let my father know exactly what we’re facing. It’ll be faster than trying to signal.”

Hawkins nodded. “You’d better have this back.” He held out Jake’s revolver.

Jake took it with a nod of thanks. “Oh, and Hawkins?” He was busy slipping the gun back into its holster, not looking at the other man.“If we somehow manage to live through all this…. I’ll give you what help I can.” As soon as the words were out, he knew it was the right choice.

If they survived….

oOo

The ranks of their attackers were already visible from the site of the planned ambush, if still distant, by the time Jake slid off his lathered horse twenty minutes later. His father had hurried across at his approach and Jake was making his report even as he swung himself out of the saddle. “…sent a party across Mill Creek. Maybe twenty men. Should take another hour to get there.”

His father nodded at one of the men who’d gathered round them, a newcomer that Jake didn’t recognize. “Let Sheriff Taylor know.” The man scurried away to the horse lines.

Jake took the chance to grab his canteen and take a swig of water. For so late in the year, the day was surprisingly warm. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “There’s another group headed Eric’s way. The rest of them are coming straight on—and Drummond was right about the cannon. Looks like a howitzer. Maybe one of those twelve pounders. My guess is they’ll try to soften us up with a few shells.”

“Mr Green?” Both Jake and his father turned at the hail. It came from one of the men crouched half-hidden among the shrubs that straggled up the slopes on either side of the shallow gap in the ridge. Indicating Jake should follow, his father headed toward where the man knelt.

The fellow pointed into the distance. “They’ve halted. Seem to be getting themselves in some kind of formation.”

Jake could see horses being led away and much coming and going around a shape that must be the gun carriage. “Even the Sharps won’t carry that far,” he pointed out quietly.

His father nodded, still squinting at the far-off activity. “They must reckon that twelve pounder’ll reach this far, though.” He, too, kept his voice low. Both of them knew there were enough excitable heads among them that they didn’t need to start a panic.

“What about the hand mortar?” Jake pressed down on the sense of frustration that welled up in him as he watched the small figures make their preparations unhindered.

His father let out a sharp breath that showed he was just as frustrated. “We’d need to get closer than we would with the Sharps. Maybe two hundred, three hundred yards. And the danged thing’s not exactly light. Nor the ammunition.”

Jake bit his lip, thinking. “Maybe that’s close enough.”

“What do you mean?” His father gave him a surprised look.

“Our rifles can’t reach them, but theirs can’t reach us, either.” Jake scanned the ground ahead. “If we use the hand mortar, we can set up a smoke screen a couple of hundred yards out. That’d give a man or two cover enough to make a dash for those trees.” He pointed to where he meant. “They’d be plenty close enough from there to pick off the men around the gun.”

His father huffed. “Plenty close enough to find themselves in a world of trouble.”

“You got a better—?” Jake’s words were cut short by a loud boom in the distance.

“Down!” his father roared. “Everyone down!”

Even as Jake hit the ground, throwing his hands over his head, he could hear the smack of dozens of small shot thumping into the ground. And, judging by a couple of pained cries, into some of Jericho’s defenders.

After a minute, he raised his head cautiously. There seemed to be no major damage to the defenses, though he could hear someone moaning in pain on the opposite hillside, where the brunt of the fusillade had fallen. He cautiously climbed to his feet, reckoning it would take the other side a while to reload the howitzer.

A few feet away, his father had gotten to his feet as well and was snapping out orders. “Get those men back behind the lines and get them some attention. The rest of you, fill in the gaps.” He turned back toward Jake and met his gaze.

“We need to take out that howitzer,” Jake said quietly. “Otherwise….”

There was a moment’s hesitation and then his father nodded, silently accepting both Jake’s plan and his unspoken offer to be the one to put it into action. “You got enough ammunition?”

“Uh-huh.” Jake had swung his rifle from his shoulder and was checking it over. Something about his father’s stance, the way he stood unmoving in the midst of the comings and goings around him, made Jake look up again.

“Take care, son.” His father gave him another nod that was more of a salute.

Jake licked his lips. “I will, Pa,” he promised.

Then his father was swinging away, striding toward the rear, bellowing, “Mr Anderson! It’s time!”

oOo

Ten minutes later, Jake was crouched among the small clump of scrub and trees. His heart was pounding from the dash across the two hundred yards of almost bare ground between where he now squatted and where the rest of Jericho’s men waited. His father had aimed the hand mortar a little to the left of the trees and when the grenade had landed, it had thrown up a surprisingly effective mess of soil and smoke that had seemingly screened Jake from view. At least, all he’d heard from the opposing lines was some faint jeering that he guessed was mocking the hand mortar’s lack of reach. He’d certainly drawn no fire in his direction, though he’d heard another boom from the howitzer and the whistle of the shot overhead when he was halfway to his destination.

Drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, he carefully worked his way forward to the far side of the trees and found a spot in which to settle himself, well sheltered by a sturdy trunk. The howitzer was clearly visible now, men busy around it, and comfortably within range of his Sharps, though he doubted many other rifles could reach so far. He would have to hope the New Bern men, being armed by Missouri money, carried lesser weapons.

Keeping half an eye on the distant activity, wary of being spotted before he was ready, Jake reached into his ammunition pouch and drew out the cloth-covered bundle Miss Lisinski had handed him. He carefully unwrapped it, spreading the fine linen out and separating the cartridges so they would come easy to his hand. His heart beat a little faster at the memory of her touch on his face and the catch in her voice as she told him to come back in one piece.

Satisfied with his arrangements, he lifted his head to once more survey the howitzer and the men surrounding it. Then, taking another deep breath, he raised his rifle and sighted along it, choosing the figure who appeared to be directing operations around the cannon. Sending up a silent prayer, he squeezed the trigger.

The first bullet passed close enough to the man that he jerked back. A cry from somewhere behind him suggested the bullet had still found a target. Jake was too busy loading another cartridge into the breech and sighting again to care overmuch. His second shot took the leader even as he and his men were still looking around in confusion. By the third round, some of them were pointing in his general direction, and they had scuttled into a crouch around the gun. Three or four of them returned fire but, as Jake had hoped, their bullets fell short, splattering up dirt a dozen yards away.

He kept up a steady rate of fire after that, speedy but not reckless. He concentrated most of his aim, now he’d dispatched the leader, on the gun itself, and on the boxes and crates heaped around it, using only every fourth shot to target a man. He was looking for a powder store—and hoping he’d find it before Miss Lisinski's cartridges ran out. At least he was keeping the New Bern men from firing the howitzer, and perhaps his father could find a way to get more of their men closer.

Seemed the other side had the same idea: a bullet from somewhere to his right smacked into a nearby tree. He was running out of time—.

And then, on the nineteenth or maybe twentieth shot, he hit gold. Or, rather, black: there was a deafening bang and the earth shook; amid splintering wood and earth, he saw the howitzer carriage lift into the air and twist over. From behind him, he could hear a ragged cheer.

Mindful of the bullet that had passed close, Jake didn’t take the time to savor his victory. Instead, he hastily gathered up the remaining cartridges in their wrapping and stuffed them in his coat pocket. With a final shot aimed in the general direction of whoever had fired at him, he scrambled into a low crouch and zigzagged his way back to his own lines, trying to keep the clump of trees between him and the enemy’s weapons as long as possible. Though he heard a few more bullets peppering the trunks, he was quickly out of range.

Scurrying into the shelter of the scrub that grew around the gap in the ridge, he was a little surprised to receive a slap on the shoulder from Fred Drummond that also steered him on, sending him further toward the lee of the hill. The reason for the anxious look on Drummond’s face became clear as Jake caught sight of the scene on the other side of the ridge.

“No!” Jake flung himself forward, dropping his rifle to the ground as he knelt next to his father, who lay propped against Mr Anderson’s shoulder. An ominous dark patch was spreading from underneath the cloth Mr Anderson held pressed against his father’s stomach. “How—?”

“That last shell.” Mr Anderson sounded a little stunned. “Didn’t realize for a minute or so—.”

Even as Mr Anderson answered, his father’s eyes fluttered open. “Jake?” he murmured weakly.

“I’m here, Pa.” Jake caught his hand and squeezed it. He glanced over his shoulder for a moment, not really looking for anyone in particular or even picking out faces among the crowd gathered around. “Get Eric. Now.”

“Will do, Jake,” someone answered. Jake sensed movement in the crowd as they left and, a moment later, heard departing hoofbeats, but his attention was focused back on his father.

“Pa?” Jake squeezed his father’s hand again, willing him to stay conscious. He knew from the speed the blood was flowing that the cause was probably hopeless. All he could ask for now, he knew, was for his father to stay conscious until Eric arrived.

His father tried to return the pressure of Jake’s hand. “Guess I didn’t keep my head low enough,” he whispered hoarsely. He gave a choked laugh.

“Shhhh.” Jake’s throat was tight. He swallowed, trying to blink away the tears that threatened to fall.

Someone else joined them, a man in a dark coat with a doctor’s bag. Jake shot him a grateful glance as he lifted the bloodstained cloth for a moment to examine the wound, before turning to his bag and pulling out various packages and bandages.

“You keep ‘em safe, Jake.” His father coughed, a trickle of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth. “We talked—.”

“I know, Pa.” Jake nodded, strengthening his grip on his father’s hand. “I will. I know what to do.”

His father was silent for a moment, only wincing slightly as the doctor pulled away the reddened cloth and began to cut away at his vest and shirt. “Is Eric…?”

“He’s coming.” Jake nodded fiercely, willing his brother’s arrival, though he knew it wouldn’t be for many more minutes.

“Tell him…. Tell him he’s a fine man. A good son. And your mother.” His father gave a little dip of his head. “Tell your mother I love her.”

Jake nodded, beyond words. They sat in silence while the doctor worked, pressing clean gauze on the wound and nodding at Mr Anderson to shift so that he could wrap a bandage in place to secure it.

At last Jake pulled in a deep breath, remembering where they were and what his father had asked him to do. He turned his head a little. “New Bern? Are they coming?”

“Not yet.” He thought it was Mr Frederickson who answered. “They’re still regrouping.”

“Let me know—.” Jake broke off what he was saying. His father had opened his eyes again after the doctor had laid him back down.

“Jake? Son?” His father’s voice was so faint that Jake had to lean forward to hear.

“I’m here, Pa.” He was gripping his father’s hand so tightly—urging him to hold on, hold on—that his knuckles had gone white. He wondered how close Eric was and tried not to think that it probably wasn’t close enough.

“I was hard on you.” His father’s breathing was becoming more labored. “I pushed you away.” He took in another deep, rattling breath, his gaze slipping away from Jake as he fought for air. After a moment, his gaze found Jake again. “I’m glad you came home.” His hand tightened on Jake’s briefly, with the old strength Jake remembered from childhood: his small hand secure in his father’s large one, feeling safe and protected. “I’m glad I got to see…. Always knew…. Always. One day. You’d become the man you were born to be.” He sucked in another breath and added in a surprisingly strong voice, “I’m proud of you, son.” Then he closed his eyes, as if weariness had overcome him at last, his grip going slack and a final rasping breath escaping him.

Jake went on holding his hand, kneeling next to him, feeling his face wet with tears, not knowing what to do now, next….

“Jake.” The doctor put his hand on his shoulder.

Jake nodded, scrubbing away the tears with the back of his wrist. Gently, he laid his father’s hand down on his chest and pushed himself to his feet, while Mr Anderson lowered his father to the ground. The sound of hoofbeats made him turn and he saw Eric and another man—Hawkins, he realized, as they drew closer—galloping toward them.

He strode forward to meet them, not wanting Eric to see before he knew. His brother pulled his horse to a halt and slithered to the ground. “Pa?” He peered past Jake.

“He’s gone.” Jake’s voice was rough in his ears. “We tried, but—.”

Eric nodded, his face tightening with misery as he accepted the news.

Abruptly, Jake reached forward and pulled his brother into an embrace. He felt Eric’s frame begin to shake with silent sobs as his brother returned the hug. “Said you were a fine man,” he managed to choke out. “A good son.”

They held each other close, closer than they’d been in years, united in grief. Then Eric heaved a deep breath and began to pull away. Jake caught his face between his hands as he stepped back. “We’ll be all right.” He found and held Eric’s gaze until his brother managed a weak smile and a nod. “We’ll be all right.”

“Jake?”

He was suddenly aware of Hawkins at his shoulder. Letting go of Eric, he turned. Beyond Hawkins, he saw most of the rest of the men were standing around where his father’s body lay, turned to watch the three of them, uncertainty in their expressions. Someone had covered his father’s face with a cloth.

Jake brought his attention back to Hawkins.

“They’re getting ready.” Hawkins jerked his head toward the gap in the ridge and the enemy lines. “Everyone’s going to be looking to you now, Jake.”

Jake drew in a deep breath. “I know.” He looked again at the men waiting for him. Waiting for him to step into his father’s shoes. Waiting for him to become the man he was born to be.

Straightening his shoulders, he marched toward the men who trusted him to lead them to victory, ready to make his father, who was no doubt already looking down from Heaven, proud of him again. “Mr Frederickson, I need a report from Sheriff Taylor on the situation with the left flank. Mr Hawkins, I’d like your report on the situation on the right when you left. The rest of you, I need you back in position.” He gave a brisk nod of the head to confirm his orders. “Let’s give these ruffians the reception they deserve!”

oOo

End notes

The story is set around the same time as the relatively bloodless Wakarusa War of 1855, when pro-slavery men from Missouri marched on the free-state town of Lawrence.

Jericho has been placed much further East than in canon and given a size and history that at that time would have applied to only a few places (which would have been located even further east in Kansas).

The election that Hawkins is investigating is meant to be the election of March 30, 1855 for the Territorial Legislature. The extensive fraud in that election (and others) is detailed in the Report of the Special Committee Appointed to Investigate the Troubles in Kansas; With the Views of the Minority of Said Committee. Report No. 200, 34th Congress, 1st Session, 1856 (aka the Howard Report).

I am indebted to two books in particular for the historical background when writing this story. Nicole Etcheson’s Bleeding Kansas: Contested Liberty in the Civil War Era provided a clear account of the complex politics of this period, while Thomas Goodrich’s War to the Knife: Bleeding Kansas 1854-1861 gave me a wealth of detail about the social history and conditions in Kansas at this period.