The Immortal American (The Immortal American Series) by L. B. Joramo Page A

think of such frivolous things when life was pressing on me?
    Would I spend the rest of my nights in bed with Mathew while running away in the day to the forest in the hopes of another talk with Jacque?
    The sun’s rays extended down on a large rock close to where Jacque and I were to meet, and I reclined on it, letting the warmth of the rock sink into my skin. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the peace in the yellow solitude.
    While in the woods on this rock, mayhap I could indulge in a different kind of destiny—in my imagination I could have a life where I had freedom to love Jacque, to imagine Jacque surround me with his arms. My hands fluttered to my chest and I smiled. My chest rose and fell at a fast pace when I thought of Jacque’s eyes, his eyes scanning my neck then his lids would droop slightly as he would peek at my chest. My next inhale was shaky which made me giggle. Then, I allowed myself the thought of what his hands would feel like instead of his eyes on me.
    I placed my fingertips along my neck simulating what his fingers might do if he gently touched and caressed me. I bit my lips for the much needed touch—a kiss. Turning to my side, I laid still, one hand on my neck the other on my lips. I kept my eyes closed as I pretended he lay next to me, looking at me while his hands feathered me.
    “Violet?”
    I jumped, immediately landing on my feet but stumbling forward—forward momentum—toward Jacque.
    Newton’s second law of motion: force can be measured by mass and acceleration. What was the mass of my heart? How fast had my heart fallen for him? I staggered into his arms, Jacque’s capable arms.
    My own chest was flat against his, my stomach and hips curled into his too. My heart slammed into his ribcage where I felt his do the same.
    I looked up at him, my face under his chin. He looked down; his breath on me was warm and quick.
    “You’re early too.” His lips moved close my own.
    I nodded as I possessed no real words to communicate. Odd shreds of philosophy and science whirled in my brain. If men were born with rights and certain liberties, what was I? If I was born into submission why did my heart–nay, my soul—wish to be free? Why, oh, why did I want to kiss him?
    My arms were pressed into his chest, and my hands rested on either side of his neck. One of his arms wrapped around the back of my waist, the other held me higher, pressing me even further into him.
    “Why did you come early?” Jacque’s voice was low and tremulous. His eyes suddenly adjusted to the deeper, more lucid color I loved. And just as his eyes made the adjustment, he pushed me away.
    He held me at his arm’s length. I noticed his chest heaving, his eyebrows cast down, and his nose flared.
    I shook my head, wondering if he was angry with me. “I . . . I wanted to see you. I couldn’t just wait—” 
    “Why did you want to see me?”
    I kept shaking my head. “I enjoy our time together, as friends often do.”
    He slumped his shoulders. “Of course . . . mon ami .”
    “Is something the matter? Are you not well?”
    “I am leaving, leaving Massachusetts, perhaps leaving America.”
    He said it so quickly I didn’t know what exactly he had said, then I wondered if I had heard him correctly.
    “No,” I whispered.
    He looked surprised with a tiny smile. “No?”
    I blinked, completely shocked with myself too. I thought I would ask him to forgive my impertinence, but instead out of my mouth came, “That’s right, I said no. You cannot leave.”
    He drily chuckled then shook his head. “Am I to understand this correctly? That you are commanding me to stay?”
    I nodded, swallowed, and nodded again. “Yes. Since the Regulars had that stand-off with Salem, all the militias in Massachusetts have been drilling for another stand-off. They need your help and would not ask you to leave. I seriously doubt your country would ask you to leave either with all the tension building. Therefore, I can only deduce that you