Chapter 7: American Family’s Intimate Respite After Battle Road – Lexington, April 20, 1775

Fictional Exploration of Themes, Inspired by The Kent Family Chronicles by John Jakes

The Wheeler farmhouse stood quiet on the outskirts of Lexington, Massachusetts, its two stories of weathered timber creaking in the early morning breeze of April 20, 1775. The air carried the faint tang of black powder, mingling with the scent of damp earth and blooming apple blossoms, a reminder of spring’s persistence. Inside, the hearth glowed with a low fire, casting flickering shadows across the rough-hewn walls of the main room, where a narrow staircase led to the loft above. The handmade furnishings, well crafted, a trestle table, a few chairs and stools, a spinning wheel in the corner, spoke of a family’s simple yet prosperous farm life, now touched by the echoes of the previous day’s battles. Yesterday, a shot had been fired at the British Empire that was soon heard around the world.

Thomas Wheeler (Chris Hemsworth) stood by the hearth, his broad frame still taut with the ache of exertion, his dark hair matted with sweat, his hands calloused from hard labor. His homespun shirt and breeches lay in a pile by the door, stained with mud next to his knapsack and powder horn. His rifle, a well-used flintlock musket leaning against the wall along with the squirl gun carried by his son yesterday. His skin, bronzed from years in the fields, bore the marks of the day, a bruise on his ribs, a shallow cut on his forearm, yet his gray eyes burned with a fierce relief as he looked at his family, his scent of leather and earth sharp in the warm air.

Margaret Wheeler (Rachel McAdams), his wife, moved with a quiet grace beside him, her brown hair unbound, falling in waves over her shoulders, her hazel eyes soft with love and exhaustion. Her linen shift had been discarded, revealing her pale, freckled skin, her full breasts swaying slightly as she poured heated water into a wooden tub, her hips rounded from bearing children, her scent, hearth smoke and soap, a comfort, her voice a gentle murmur, “We’re glad you’re both home, Thomas. The ladies prayed.”

They both ate big portions of corn bread and porridge as the water heated. His wife listed the dead. Friends, seven at last count, more wounded. Thomas nodded, friends felled on the commons in Lexington and the running battle along the road back to Boston. On the marrow there would be time for morning along with the burying at the Parish Church.

Their children, Samuel and Hannah, their youthful bodies also bare after shedding their clothes. Samuel (Noah Jupe), a lean young teen at 14, had a boyish softness to his features, his cheeks smooth and flushed, his dark hair tousled like his father’s, his blue eyes wide with the weight of the day, a faint scattering of freckles across his shoulders, his body unmarked by the fullness of manhood, his scent of gunpowder and sweat lingering, his voice quiet, “I kept up, Father, just as you said.”

“Samuel, you did good. Made me proud. And you two helping the wounded, not a sight for anyone,” Thomas said. His boy had fired his squirl gun pointing at Redcoats over stone walls and split rail fences along with the men and other boys. Running messages and fetching water in between. Thousands of militiamen were now streaming towards Boston. He would have to again, The Sons of Liberty calling. No stranger to a fight. He was a veteran of the French and Indian War having served in the militia and had been with Thomas Gage as young man during that disaster.

Hannah (Halston Sage), a slender teen at 16, had auburn hair loose, cascading down her back in soft waves, her body lithe yet strong, her breasts small but firm, her nipples a soft pink against her pale skin, her waist narrow, her hips gently flared, her legs long and toned from years of farm work, a faint scattering of freckles across her chest, her green eyes shimmering with relief, her youthful glow radiant in the firelight, her scent of bread and sage a soft contrast to the harshness of the day, her voice soft as she ran a hand through her brothers wet hair, “I prayed for you both.”

The family worked together in the dim light, the fire’s warmth wrapping around them as they washed away the grime of the day. First Thomas then Samuel. Margaret dipped a cloth into the warm water, her hands steady as she wiped down Thomas’s shoulders, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, lingering on the bruise at his ribs, her touch a quiet intimacy that spoke of years of shared hardship. Thomas’s breath hitched, his hand resting on her hip, feeling the softness of her skin, his voice low, “I thought of you, Meg,” Margaret’s lips brushed his shoulder, her breath warm, her body pressing closer, the heat of the fire reflecting off her freckled skin, their connection a balm after the day’s trials.

Hannah took the cloth next, her hands gentle as she washed Samuel’s face, her fingers careful around the bruise on his cheek, her sisterly touch tender, her body close enough that her warmth mingled with his, her small breasts brushing against his arm. “You did good, Sam,” she murmured, her green eyes meeting his blue ones, Samuel’s cheeks flushed, his youthful body tensing under her touch, the water dripping down his chest, his voice a whisper, “I was scared, Hannah, but I didn’t run.” Hannah’s hand lingered on his shoulder, her fingers brushing down his arm, a subtle caress that pushed the boundaries of their sibling bond, her breath soft against his ear, the firelight casting their shadows on the wall, their closeness a quiet comfort.

The tired family moved upstairs to the loft, where a wide straw mattress lay beneath a quilt, the space small but warm, the slanted ceiling low overhead, the scent of dried herbs hanging from the rafters mingling with the scent of their soapy clean bodies. No nightclothes, it was late afternoon, they climbed into the bed together, their nude forms a tangle of limbs in the light that filtered in from windows below, the quilt pulled loosely over them, their warmth a shared sanctuary.