A Country Divided : Through Blood United

The Beginning: Meeting John Brown

I slept soundly in my room at Oliver's house a few days after the murder of the officer. I knew that I avenged Jewel and that the deed was done. I couldn't reverse the murder, I simply had to live with the fact that I'm responsible for one's death.

I washed away any more thoughts of the officer's murder before I could start denying my choice to kill the guy in the first place; I didn't want the anxiety to seep into my brain. I feared that by thinking about taking away another person's life, I knew that I would probably break down into a wave of tears.

Somehow, I didn't manage to stuff all of my thoughts into the back of my mind. I clearly remember that even though the police officer had the confidence and bravery to confront that poor innocent woman, his eyes showed pure fear when I held my knife to his head.

I suddenly let out a large sob and ran over to one of the walls of the room. I slid down the wall on my back until I was fully sitting down, and tears streamed down my face. I held the sides of my head in confusion as I felt like I was crying for someone who didn't deserve my tears.

Oliver rushed into the room and kneeled in front of me. I was embarrassed a bit; I was a complete mess. I usually had panic attacks a few times a month, so Oliver always came in to comfort me. Even though he's seen me much worse, I still feel embarrassed every time I break down.

My cheeks couldn't be redder from my crying or embarrassment, and my eyes swelled with large quantities of tears. Every time I blinked, few droplets would stream down my face. I couldn't control it.

Suddenly, Oliver gripped my cheeks and our gazes met.

"Evvie," he said calmly. He knew that saying the "nickname of my nickname" would help me calm down because somehow his gentle voice would make the name sound more comforting,

"Please," he continued. "Take deep breaths."

I tried to take deep breaths as Oliver said, but I just couldn't do it. My breaths were short and shallow, and it was not helping me calm down. If anything, my short breaths made it harder for me to breathe.

"Breathe with me," Oliver finally said. "One, two, three."

He counted each breath he took, and I tried my best to be in sync with him. My breaths eventually became steady, and the tears finally stopped flowing. I finally wrapped my arms around Oliver, and he tightly hugged me back to let me know that everything was going to be okay.

He didn't even try to ask me about the reason why I broke down, and I was glad about it because I feared that talking about why I was crying would probably send me into another panic attack.

After several moments of silence, Oliver and I finally broke away from each other, and I wiped the excess tears from my cheeks, the sleeve on my cardigan growing damp.

"Better?" Oliver asked with a slight giggle.

"Mhm," I nodded slowly, but I smiled so he'd know that I'm feeling better after my panic attack.

Oliver took my hand in his and helped me stand back up, and he led me down the hallway and to the top of the staircase.

Oliver turned to me. "Evvie, there's someone I'd like you to meet. I think you two would get along nicely."

He then comfortingly interlaced his fingers with mine and led me downstairs and into the kitchen.

Leaning against the island stood a burly man with a square, powerful jaw. His brown hair was swooped up over his head into a neat, sort of unkempt manner that suited him. He looked so much like Oliver that I could conclude that the stranger in the kitchen was Oliver's father.

Just like his son, the stranger was gifted with icy blue eyes that seemingly had the power to pierce into someone's soul. However, this man's eyes weren't gentle like Oliver's-they were wild. Filled with insanity and determination. Not determination to achieve any ordinary life goal-a determination to achieve a life goal built on insane thoughts and choices.

The stranger smiled, one side of his lips curling higher than the other. He held out his hand.

"John. John Brown," he finally said, his voice raspy.

"Nice to meet you," I replied, my voice being almost as shaky as Oliver's.

I shook his hand firmly. "Evangeline. Evangeline Freebourne."

Mr. Brown turned to his son and stroked his chin in thought. "So, Ol, this is the little lady is the one you were writing about in your letters."

My face flushed a bright pink, and so did Oliver since he didn't tell me about any of this.

Oliver cleared his throat and tried not to appear embarrassed. "Y-yeah. Watch out for her-she may be small, but she's dangerous."

"How so?" Skepticism flowed in John's voice.

"She was the one that killed the officer, sir," Oliver replied confidently.

"She?" John Brown repeated. "That's impressive. She'd make a fine addition to my team for the mission."

I furrowed my brow in confusion, but Oliver snapped me a look that told me that I'll get the answer to my question: what mission?

"The mission where we have to murder the proslavery men at Pottawatomie?" Oliver winked in my direction, and I managed to hold in a chuckle. I feel like I'm getting better at that.

John nodded and took out a notebook from his pocket. He scribbled a bit in it with a piece of coal. Strange. I won't judge him. Anyway, once he was done, Mr. Brown slipped his notebook back into his pocket and then clasped his hands together.

"May 24th," John said to me. "That's when you and Oliver will come to my place, and we'll do a little bit of clean up. Pottawatomie Creek is the place. I'll see you there."

With his final statement hanging in the room, John Brown exited the kitchen and finally left the house, the only trace of him being remnants of his scent. While he was in the kitchen, John Brown strongly smelled of lumber and fish.

I turned to Oliver. "So.... that's why you wanted me to met your dad? All because you thought that I was going to be good at murdering people?"

Oliver raised his hands in defense. "N-no, that's not why. I just wanted you to meet him, but he always talked about his stupid mission. Ever since he finally came up with the Pottawatomie mission a few months ago, he'd never take his mind off of it. Sorry that your first impression wasn't as good as it should be."

"No, no," I replied. "It's fine. He's just really confident about... what's his mission?"

"Can't say," Oliver's voice was solemn and distant. "Dad wants it to be private, but when we finally get to his house, we'll find out what our mission is. I don't even know what dad's planning for us."

I tucked my hands into the pockets of my cardigan. "Okay. When do we leave?"

"Well," Oliver stroked his chin in thought, just like his father. "May 24th is tomorrow, so we should get packing."