5
The memory returned that night, as it did so often. He was ten years old, a helpless child with a brawny red-coated soldier holding him secure as others tortured his brother.
Drawing their seventeen-inch long bayonets, the soldiers circled Ewan, stabbing at him. When one pinioned Ewan’s hand to the ground, another kicked away his dirk, laughing. Hughie could only watch as three soldiers surrounded Ewan and began to kick at his shattered leg. Ewan screamed, writhing.
“Leave him,” Hughie pleaded. “Please leave him alone! He’s hurt.”
“Leave who?” A New Hampshire voice sounded through the memory, and MacKim jerked himself back to the present. He was lying on his bed in Martha with Kennedy looming over him in the stuffy dark.
“What?” MacKim struggled to sit up.
“Leave who?” Kennedy repe
