Page 62 - Fever 1793

Grandfather had won that chess set in a card game with a ships captain from Siam. He taught me to play chess before I learned how to read. I simmered as the thief rubbed the queen with his dirty fingers.
“It’s not worth nothing hereabouts,” he said, “but I bet it would fetch a handsome sum in New York.” He opened a sack tied to his belt and put the chess piece in.
My hands balled into fists as he collected the rest of the chess pieces. King, bishop, knight, pawn, all smudged with his fingers, polluted by his breath. How dare he! My jaw tightened. Why were they here, standing in my front room, stealing the hard work of my family? I wanted to drop him into a sack and boot it out the door.
The tall thief lifted Grandfather’s sword from the mantle. “Go to New York if you wish, but I know a gentleman in Wilmington who will pay a pretty price for this.”
“That’s not worth a Continental,” the short one laughed. “I could get a better price for my old stockings. Every old man in America drags his rusty sword around and claims he ran it through a hundred British. It’s a piece of junk.”
I glared at him from my hiding place. Grandfather did kill British soldiers with that sword. He told me so himself. Steady on, Mattie. Crawl out the window as soon as he looks away.
The tall one pulled the sword from the scabbard and slashed it through the air.
“Maybe I won’t sell it, then. It could be a handy weapon.” He tested the blade with his thumb. “Still sharp, and I don’t see a bit of rust. I could become a highwayman.” He advanced across the floor toward his partner, waving the sword. “What ho, there, my good man? I have come to relieve you of your purse.”
“Give over. Let’s fill our bags and leave. You can play at the tavern.”
The tall one would not relent. He pressed ahead, continuing to brandish the sword back and forth wildly. The tip of the blade swept by my face. He shuffled forward another foot and waved his arm again, the sword level with my neck.
“No!” I screamed as I ducked. As soon as the sword passed over me, I ran for the kitchen, colliding with the tall man and knocking him down.
“It’s a ghost!” the short man cried.
“It’s a girl, you fool,” the tall one growled as he jumped to his feet. “Get her!”
I ran through the kitchen to the back door and fumbled with the bolt. The thieves’ footsteps thudded on
the oak floor. Open, open, open!
The bolt slid back. I pushed down the latch and opened the door. I crossed the porch in two steps and
ran across the warm earth toward the gate. My foot came down hard on a sharp rock. I cried out, but kept running. The gate was only a few more steps. Faster! Faster!
Two bony hands curled around my shoulders like the claws of a panther and yanked me backward. I hit the ground so hard it knocked the breath out of me. The tall man picked me up and carried me back into the house, where the short man was finishing his search through the chest of drawers.
“You should have let her go,” the short one said. “What good is she to us?”
“This haint here will tell us where they’ve hidden all their silver. I’m sure they have a strongbox as well,” the tall man said as he tied my wrists together in front of me.
I spat at him.
Smack! The tall man slapped me across the face, jerking my head backward.
“Don’t hit her,” the short man protested.
“I’ll do what I please,” the tall man said as he wiped his face on his sleeve. “Now, missy, the silver
and the strongbox. Where are they?”
“We’ve already been robbed. They took everything. You’re too late,” I said.
“See? We’re too late. Let’s go.” The short man pulled on his partner’s sleeve.
“Shove off,” the tall man shouted. “What if she’s lying? You think she’s going to hand over all her
money because we ask her nicely? She needs to be convinced.” He drew back his arm to hit me again.