A Country Divided : Through Blood United

The Beginning: Pottawatomie Murders

A few hours after we set out for Oliver's dad's house, we finally arrived at the small secluded cabin outside of Pottawatomie Creek. A small candle was lit on the doorstep, and I knew that it was John Brown.

John welcomingly opened the front door of his house and smiled, a pistol in his hand. "Welcome, Evangeline and Oliver, meet me in the living room."

I entered the house, the warm air inside quickly enveloping me. I instantly felt relaxed. John stopped me right when I entered by tapping me on the shoulder.

"Evangeline," he said, "you'll need this rifle." Mr. Brown handed me a large rifle, which was the first I have ever handled.

I took the large rifle from him, it's weight pulling me down a bit. "What do I need this for, Mr. Brown?"

"The mission." His voice was low and husky, and it sounded like it grew weaker with his age.

I didn't question Oliver's father anymore and entered the living room, where two large couches sat on opposite sides of the room. Four other men, including Oliver, mingled and chatted on the two couches. I walked over to the couch on the farthest side of the room and sat next to Oliver, who wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

Finally, John Brown entered the small room, his feet dragging on the floor.

"Welcome, everyone," he began. "Rest up tonight we have to do a lot of work tonight, and we must conduct it with no mistakes. I hope you're all mentally prepared because this is going to be a blood show."

"A... blood show?" someone questioned in the room.

John nodded solemnly. "It's what has to be done. We're going to murder people in a pro-slavery settlement about a mile away from my house. I can't just let the pro-slavery ruffians keep killing innocent people who want to end slavery."

John's knuckles grew white as he clenched his fist in anger. "Like I said, this is what must be done."

I cleared my throat a bit, trying not to let my tears come. Please don't let it be another panic attack. Like John Brown said, the murders must be done to make our voice heard. To make the slaves' voices heard. To make Jewel's voice heard.

***

Oliver tapped me awake in the middle of the night. Before I was going to shout at him for waking me up, he placed a finger to his lips to signal for me to stay quiet. I nodded and rose out of bed, and I slipped my cardigan over my shoulders. I felt like I've been wearing the same outfit for months, but I have begun to grow used to it.

I grabbed the large rifle in the back of my room and hoisted it over my shoulder. I grunted from its weight, and Oliver chuckled.

"You wanna try holding this?" I said, my voice showing my sudden exhaustion from holding the heavy rifle.

"Okay, but I'm just saying that you're being a little weakling right now," Oliver laughed, his tone becoming less shaky.

I glared at him angrily before handing him my rifle.

Oliver swung the gun over his shoulder with ease, trying his best not to show any signs of weakness. "See? It's not too heavy. You're just overreacting, that's all."

"Oliver," I pouted and pursed my lips in irritation. "You're more than six feet tall and you're really muscular. You can pick me up with ease."

"Would you like to see me try?" Oliver smirked.

"No-"

I was interrupted by Oliver sweeping me off of my feet and over his shoulder like what he did with the rifle.