11

Williamsburg, Virginia – 1752

achary!” Alexander called out.
A glowing mother and a proud father stood in the foyer of a young house. They waited patiently for their only son as they began their evening.
Abigail Archer Ingram, a lady of beauty, charm, and poise, would enter a room, quiet and meek. But to those who knew her best, saw a strong, confident woman.
Alexander Ingram, a man of self-assurance, credence, and gentry, was seen by others as a man of great strength and wealth. But to Abigail, she saw vulnerability, a trait she took as admirable. He allowed her to see this side of him without reservation.
Glancing at his wife, Alex couldn’t help but smile. Her beauty went beyond her rich dark hair and fine attire. There was a light within her that shone brighter when he was around. And Abigail felt the same.
The house was completed a year before under the guide of Alexander’s father, Edric Ingram, in hopes that they would fill it with his grandchildren. After the house was finished, Edric returned to his estate in England.
An Irish woman, one of the indentured servants Edric brought over from England, stepped into the foyer. She kept her head obediently low as she addressed Alexander. “I will see what keeps him,” she offered. The woman scurried up the stairs, searching for the governess.
“You need not raise your voice,” Abigail coyly said.
Alexander adjusted his coat in the midst of his wife’s correction. “I am sorry. However, he must learn the importance of promptness.”
“And he will.”
The light pounding of footsteps moved down the stairs. A boy, nine years of age, ran up to his parents and stopped.
“Sorry, father,” he said.
Rushing after the boy, the governess, Mary, finally caught up with him.
“He insisted on wearing the blue,” she began, “rather than the red as you instructed.”
Alexander looked at his son. The disapproval in his eyes easily turned to understanding.
“The blue will be fine,” he accepted, “but do not run inside of the house.”
Abigail placed the tip of her fan to her nose and tried to hide her smile. “Stubborn as always, just like his father.”
“Was it not my stubbornness that won you over?” he playfully asked. “Where would we be without it?”
Abigail responded with her quick wit. “I would like to raise a gentleman. This world needs only one Alexander Ingram.”
“The carriage has waited long enough,” Alexander said as he turned the conversation.
A servant near the foyer opened the door, ushering them toward the awaiting carriage. Alexander bid the governess to remain home on this night. Their trip into the busy town would be a short one, and Abigail was certain she could handle her son for one evening.
The carriage carried the small family of three toward the newly constructed house belonging to John Mercer. A gathering was set up to celebrate the completion of Mercer’s new home and all of the upper class were welcome. The town of Williamsburg was becoming a great city in the new world, delivering promise in between uncertain times.
The evening was a nice distraction to the Ingram family. But their enjoyment was short lived. Upon exiting the Mercer House, Alexander noticed their carriage was missing. He became angered at the insult. The driver knew to wait. As angry as he was, Alexander knew better than to let it show. It wasn’t the proper thing to do.
Ordering his wife and son to follow, Alex knew the walk back to the house would be a long one. Asking for help was something that threated his pride. Abigail and Zachary didn’t protest.
The streets, still busy even after the sun had set, carried people as they went on with their evening plans. Carriages and saddled horses hurried by Alexander and his family. The anger rose up in him once more. He was going to have a long talk with his driver upon returning to the house.
Zachary tore himself away from his mother’s side as he spotted a gold chain on the ground. Proud at what he found, he headed for his father to show him the unique object. Alexander stopped walking to indulge in his son’s findings. He then urged his son to continue walking. He gave a quick glance to his side as he tried to reach for his wife’s arm but she wasn’t there. He searched through the people for any sign of Abigail. How could she have disappeared in a matter of seconds? In this brief moment of panic, his mind played over many scenarios as to where she could be.
At the corner of one building he saw a folded, ivory handle fan laying on the ground. Grabbing his son’s hand, he hurried over to the build and retrieved the fan. It was Abigail’s.
“Where’s mother?” asked Zachary, still clutching the gold chain in his small hand.
His father didn’t answer. Instead, Alexander headed behind the building with Zachary. The hustle and bustle from the main street faded away.
Alexander looked from side to side. He saw Abigail standing twenty yards away. Taking a step forward, he noticed something odd. His wife wasn’t alone. A man stood beside his wife, his arms wrapped around her. This man wasn’t dressed the attire that Alexander was accustomed to. He wore no wig or stockings, only a dark, simple coat, with full trousers and boots that went up to his knees. His long, black hair wasn’t even tied back. And this uncouth man had a hold of Abigail.
“Let her go,” demanded Alexander. He stood his ground while shielding his son.
The man took no notice of him.
Alexander repeated, “Let her go.”
Finally, the man slowly turned to face him, turning Abigail as he did.
Terror filled Alexander. The man’s mouth was fixed on the side of Abigail’s neck, her delicate brooch and choker carelessly tossed away. A small trickle of blood moved down her shoulder and onto her dress. The man’s eyes opened to stare at the Alexander. And in an unspoken insult, he closed his eyes, blatantly ignoring him.
Alexander spoke once more, his voice nearing a yell. “I said, let her go!”
This man—this monster—opened his eyes again and lifted his head. Blood fell from his lips and onto Abigail’s skin. The emotionless stare became a look of judging. The man turned Abigail around to face her husband. Struggling to keep her eyes from fluttering shut, she searched for Alexander.
“Mother?” Zachary asked, not sure what he was seeing.
Alexander extended his hand toward his wife. “Give-give her to me.”
The monster spoke. “This is where you beg me to spare her life.”
“I am not begging you, I am telling you,” he desperately said.
The man continued to read Alexander’s composure. “The pride in you is a death mark on those you care for.”
“I will not tell you again!”
“We are caught in a curious situation,” the man said, his voice listless. “Since you have seen fit to deprive me of my nightly meal, I will offer you a trade. I will freely give her to you, but I shall have your son in return. Do not worry. His death will be quick.”
Alexander gave no thought to the man’s offer. “You cannot have him!”
“If that is your wish…” He ran his nails over Abigail’s lower neck and chest, cutting her deep. His hand threatened to remove to top of her dress. Then, in a quick movement, he repositioned his hand around the base of her head and twisted. A muffled snap filled the cool air. The man stepped back, allowing Abigail’s body to collapse to the ground.
Alexander couldn’t breathe. His eyes dared not to close. He wasn’t seeing this. None of this was happening.
Abigail didn’t move.
Abandoning his own safety, Alexander ran for his wife’s side and gathered her in his arms.
The man moved away from the grief stricken husband and turned his attention to the helpless boy. He walked toward the child and stopped, his eyes fixating on him.
Feeling utterly frightened and confused, Zachary looked up at the man. He forced himself to show no fear. The man watched the boy for a moment longer then continued on his way. The monster was in no mood for any games this night.
Alexander left his wife’s side and headed after the man, the rage within him strengthening with each breath. Frantic, he ran for the street, his eyes searching through the people. The man was gone.
Zachary stared at his mother. He willed his body to move and approached her lifeless form. He dropped to his knees. To him, she appeared asleep, perhaps blissfully dreaming. He stretched out a curious hand and placed it against the bite on her neck. He then removed his hand, eyes transfixed on the blood in his palm.