Sheila Connolly - Relatively Dead 02 - Seeing the Dead Read Free

electric shock, that mental current that was almost physical. If she’d been holding a plate she would surely have dropped it. Ned was watching her face, and she smiled.
    “Yes.”
    Dessert could wait.
     
    • • •
     
    At the end of the evening Abby and Ned found themselves sprawled on a broad couch in front of the television downstairs, watching the late news. They maintained a discreet distance of six inches between them.
    “You know, the practice part for Patriots’ Day has already started. You might enjoy watching the guys prepare.”
    “Guys? They were the only ones who carried guns?”
    “Just about. There weren’t that many weapons in the colonies, you know, and few people could afford to waste shot on practicing.”
    “So what do these guys do to train?” Abby spooned up some melting ice cream.
    “First of all, they have to learn how to handle an eighteenth-century rifle. Have you ever hefted one?”
    “No, although I know there are a couple in the museum’s collection. Why?”
    “Well, let me back up. The main military weapon—for both sides—was the flintlock musket or long rifle, although most people in the militia used whatever they had—it wasn’t like somebody supplied weapons to everyone who fought, at least in the beginning. Anyway, those things are long—around five feet—and weighed about nine pounds. And loading them is no simple matter. We’re all far too accustomed to popping in a magazine, all neatly preloaded—”
    “Speak for yourself,” Abby interjected. “I’ve never loaded or shot a gun.”
    “All right, let me correct that statement. Most owners of modern weapons are accustomed to easy loading. With a colonial weapon, there were a lot of steps involved, assuming you’ve already got the bullets handy, which you had to mold yourself. So there you are, on the front line. You fire at your enemy. You may or may not hit anything, because a lot of early weapons were notoriously inaccurate. Either way, you have to set down your weapon, find powder and wadding and the projectile, insert it into your barrel and tamp it down before you can even think about firing it again. And you have to hope that your flint is in good shape and provides a spark. Oh, and you also have to worry about whether the whole thing will blow up in your face.”
    “Wow,” Abby said. “I never knew all that. It’s a wonder anybody could manage to carry on in a battle.”
    “It is indeed. That’s why soldiers lined up in rows. The front row took their shot, then swapped places with the back row while they reloaded and the second row took their shot. Repeat as long as your supplies hold out or until you’re overrun by the enemy.”
    “Have you done this? I mean, shot one of these things?” Abby asked. She realized she’d never thought to ask if he’d fought in an actual war, but that seemed unlikely to her. Surely something that important would have come up in conversation at some point?
    “I have, once or twice. Just to satisfy my own curiosity. I have no plans to become a reenactor. But I know some people really get into it, especially if they had an ancestor in the battle, and there are quite of few of those people around.”
    “Do you know when and where they practice? I think I’d like to see this.”
    “I can make some calls. And this way you’d see a lot more than if you wait for the parades. That’s a real mob scene.”
    “They practice on weekends?”
    “Sure. Most of them are ordinary working people who like to dress up and shoot blanks at each other a couple of times a year.”
    Men . Abby shook her head. “It’s getting late. You ready to call it a night?”
    “Sure. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
    Abby reflected that he didn’t keep a change of clothes at her house, and then had to wonder how they could be talking about living together when they couldn’t even commit to clean underwear. She didn’t recall things being this complicated with Brad—but then, there