And she couldn’t blame her. That afternoon, when he’d come to her rescue, she’d forced herself to breathe after having been literally swept off her feet three days before into his strong arms.
In her dreams, she’d had a romantic relationship with the handsome captain. Maybe the dreams were some kind of psychic connection to Erin O’Connell’s spirit, and she’d been experiencing her relative’s life.
Hopefully, Doc could help her learn who she was supposed to be in this century, so she’d at least have a clue how to act. She could hardly tell anyone she’d come from the future. They’d lock her up in the insane asylum.
The savory smell of chicken stew wafted from the cast iron pot hanging above the fire pit by Doc’s tent. He leaned over and stirred the contents with a long-handled wooden spoon, straightening his long, thin frame when she approached. He wore a voluminous, long-sleeved cotton shirt covered with a gray wool vest and appeared overdressed for this humid, summer night.
Erin held out the pie. “I promised dessert.”
He nodded. “Apple?”
“No, peach.”
He raised his eyebrows in approval. “I’ve got a loaf of bread on the table. Just set that down there, while I dish out the stew.”
The table he indicated was small, covered with a blue checked tablecloth. Two wooden chairs sat on either side. He’d set places for two with metal pie tins, forks, spoons, knives, and mugs. A loaf of sourdough bread and small jar of strawberry preserves sat in the center. As Erin made a place for the pie, he approached with a ceramic bowl of stew. He divided it between the two pie tins, then set the bowl aside.
Doc pulled out one of the chairs for her. “I’ll be right back.” He brought a pitcher from his tent, then poured lemonade into her glass. When he poured his own drink, she lifted her glass and took a sip. Sour and a bit warm. She grimaced. He didn’t seem to notice.
She studied the man as she ate. Brigid had told her the young doctor was married and expecting his first child. She started with polite conversation about his wife, Josephine, and his home in Richmond before she steered the conversation to herself.
By the time she cut into the pie, she’d learned she was an Irish immigrant, had been widowed before the war started, had no children, and Sergeant Wagner had appointed her laundress as a favor to the family.
After swallowing a bite of the pie, she said, “You wouldn’t happen to know how Sergeant Wagner and I are related.”
“He’s a relative of your late husband’s family.”
“Oh.” After reading the journal entries about Jake, she had to suppress a shudder. She didn’t believe he was related to Erin O’Connell at all. And she knew exactly what he wanted from her.
If she inhabited Erin O’Connell’s body, she was in a precarious position. The woman had been a Yankee spy, and she was in a Confederate camp. Jake was somehow involved in the espionage.
That snake had a hold on her.
****
After the meal, Doc escorted Erin to her tent. She genuinely liked the pleasant, gangly man. Although they’d just met, she felt comfortable with him, as if they were old friends. He’d even admitted that his Christian name was Jeremy, though everyone here called him Doc.
When she’d asked him to call her Erin, he’d seemed embarrassed but agreed to call her that when no one else was around. He’d beamed when he talked about his wife and the baby he looked forward to seeing.
After he left, she pulled back her tent flap but stopped when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to glance behind her. Men milled about, talking and laughing. Then she saw Jake headed straight for her. She groaned inwardly.
Just what I need. Another confrontation with him. She had the urge to hide in the tent but knew he’d follow her. Not a good idea.
“Miss Erin.” He removed his broad-brimmed hat. “I’ve been wanting to apologize for my behavior two nights ago.”
She studied him. Just what was going on here?
“Go on,” she prodded.
He smiled. She guessed the man was used to charming his way out of any situation. “Well, I thought we needed to speak...in private,” he added.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “About what?”
His eyes widened. “Not out here. Someone might hear.”
“And they won’t in there?” She gestured toward the tent.
“Why are you being so damned ornery?”
“Because of what you tried to do two nights ago.”
“Well, how was I to know you’d lost all recollection of me,” he explained.
“So, sneaking into my tent is a regular thing with you?”
“You always appreciated my nightly visits before.” His boyish grin turned into a leer.
After reading Erin O’Connell’s journal, she doubted that. “I’m tired. I’ve been washing all day, and I need to get some rest.” She reached for her tent flap, planning to enter the tent and shut him out.
“I’ll rub your tired back...and anything else that needs rubbing.”
“I don’t think so.” She pushed past him into the tent. When she turned to fasten the ties, he pushed his chest against her and forced his way inside. She opened her mouth to scream, but his callused palm silenced her.
“You got this post because of me, and I want what’s due me.” His voice, though quiet, held an ominous tone.
Her heart pounded furiously, as she considered the best way to get out of this situation. Agitating him could be a big mistake. She couldn’t count on Captain Montgomery coming to the rescue again. He drew her to him, nuzzled her cheek, then kissed her throat. Fighting the urge to kick him in the groin, she stilled against him. Maybe she could pacify him, then steer him into a conversation that would reveal more about how they were involved.Hesitantly, he moved his hand from her mouth and stroked her cheek.
She forced herself to smile. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I still can’t remember much. You’ll have to clue me in.”
He took a step back and tilted his head as if trying to come to a decision. “That brogue you used to have was fake, wasn’t it?” When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Reckon you don’t recollect who your Yankee contact is.”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember having a Yankee contact. Don’t you know who he is?”
“No. I supply you with information. You’re the only one who knows the contact. This isn’t good.” He bit his thumbnail. “What’ll we do now?”
“Doc said my memory could come back in time,” she said.
He scowled. “I’m taking a big risk by helping you. If I’m found out, they’ll likely shoot me.”
“Then why are you doing it?” she demanded.
“Great God Almighty! For the money. Why else would I stick my neck out?”
“What money?”
“The money your Yankee contact gives you for the information I supply.” He threw up his hands.
She shrugged. “Oh, well, until I remember who this person is...”
“I’ve missed your company these past few nights, sweetheart.” His grin widened, and his arms encircled her waist.
“Please,” she said, “I’ve got a fearful headache. Can’t we do this another time?”
He pulled back and scowled. “Tarnation, woman. What’s wrong with you now?”
“Just give me a little time. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” She traced her finger along his collar.
“When?”
“When my head feels better.” Although she wanted to retch, she kept her tone light. “You know...the fall.”
“That’s another thing.” His gaze bore into her. “Just where were you sneaking off to that night?”
“I can’t remember.”
He frowned. “All right. I’ll give you time, but not too long, you hear?” He stroked her cheek.
She wanted to pull away, but nodded, relieved he bought her story. When he left, she wondered just how long she could hold him off.
Chapter Seve
n
Early the next day, Erin knelt over the washtub and arched her aching back. She glanced over at a well-dressed, dark-haired woman holding the hand of a little girl.
The child looked up at the woman. “Aunt Jenny, where’s Papa?”
“We’ll find him, Amanda,” the woman said.
The young girl, who appeared to be four or five, caught Erin’s attention. The child’s large blue eyes and auburn hair, styled in two long braids hanging like thick ropes from beneath her calico bonnet, made her look like a doll.
Erin rose stiffly and carried an armload of wet shirts to a clothesline strung between two, wide oaks. She started to hang the shirts. The child pulled from the woman’s grasp and raced toward Erin.
“Ma’am, could you help me find my papa?”
“Young lady, mind your manners!” the woman scolded.
Erin smiled. She wiped her hands on her brown, paisley apron, then crouched to meet the girl’s height. “Hello, my name’s Erin.”
The child frowned. Twisting one of her braids, she said, “I’m Miss Amanda Montgomery.”
“Montgomery?” Erin rose and scrutinized the well-dressed woman standing beside the girl. “Are you Captain Montgomery’s wife?”
“No, I’m his sister, Miss Jenny Montgomery. This is his daughter.”
Turning back to the child, Erin said, “Amanda’s such a pretty name.”
Amanda scrunched up her face. “What kind of name is Erin?”
“Amanda!” Jenny reprimanded.
“It’s all right,” Erin said. She crouched again to the girl’s eye level. “It’s an Irish name. It means from Ireland. I’m named after my great-great-great aunt.” Rising, she glanced around. “Your mother didn’t come with you?”
“My momma went to heaven,” Amanda said.
Jenny shook her head.
“Papa!” Amanda called.
Looking up, Erin watched Captain Montgomery approach. His stern expression lightened into a broad smile when he caught sight of his daughter.
“Go see your papa,” Jenny prompted the child.
When Amanda ran to her father, Jenny said her goodbyes to Erin and headed toward the row of tents where a group of young privates and corporals gathered around a man playing the harmonica. A lean, clean-shaven, dark-haired soldier engaged in a lively conversation with another private turned toward her.
As Jenny smiled and waved at the soldier, she boldly approached the knot of men and boys. The dark-haired private pushed his way through them to meet her and take her hand. As he led her away from the group, the other men snickered. Did the captain know about the young soldier and his sister?
Erin glanced toward Will. With animation, Amanda bounced in his arms. The sight of the child’s exuberance and the tenderness the captain displayed toward her brought a smile to Erin’s face.
****
By evening, Erin’s arms ached, and her shoulders weren’t much better. Hell, her entire body hurt in places she’d never felt before.
What I wouldn’t give for a hot shower. All she had to look forward to was a sponge bath with the pot of water she’d set over the fire to heat and after that, sleep on a hard canvas cot.
She examined her hands, dismayed at how rough and red they were, her nails worn and ragged. But if her theory was correct, these weren’t her hands. This wasn’t her body.
Where was her body? Maybe she’d died in the crash and had already been buried. If that were true, she had no way to go back to her old life. And Mom had just lost her own mother. How was she dealing with this? If only she could let her mother know what had happened.
Maybe this was some form of Hell.
Despite what she’d already learned, she needed more information on Erin O’Connell. But she was in a Confederate camp. Finding information about a woman employed by the Federal government might be difficult. Those she’d asked in camp didn’t seem to know the whole story. Even Jake hadn’t revealed enough to help.
Damn. Why had this happened? She was a journalist. Now, she was reduced to doing laundry in a washtub. This wasn’t fair. If this were a dream, at least she’d have the hope of waking up. But this wasn’t a dream. For some unknown reason, she was stuck here.
Once the water had fully heated, she lifted the pot from the grate and entered her tent, where she had a pan, linen towel, and a bar of castile soap laid out.
After removing her dress, petticoats, and stockings, she pulled the chemise over her head. She loosened and dropped her drawers, then sponged herself off, allowing the warm, soapy water to refresh and soothe her. Gratefully, she inhaled the relaxing warmth, trying to ease her discomfort. But this was no substitute for the hot shower she craved. She didn’t even like to go camping. And here she was trapped in a century that didn’t have electricity or running water. Even a modern toilet would be welcome.
Instead of relaxing her, the sponge bath caused more agitation. She worked the linen washrag over her legs and grimaced at the hair covering her calves. Women didn’t shave in this time period, yet when she’d undressed her first day here, she’d found the amount of hair on her underarms and legs alarming. Even knowing her clothing would hide the hair didn’t content her. She knew it existed.
But she’d decided to resign herself since the only razor existing in this time period was the straight edge. She hated to think of what that would do to her skin. Plus, her leg hair wasn’t coarse, it was fine and silky.
While she washed, she recalled her meeting with Captain Montgomery’s sister. She’d known from her prior research he’d been a widower since just after the war started and he had a daughter, but the sight of the auburn-haired child had startled her. His stern expression had evaporated when he’d seen Amanda—definitely a doting father.
After drying herself, she slipped a clean cotton chemise over her head. She reached for the paisley, robe-like garment she’d found hanging in her tent, the one Brigid had called a wrapper. Before she could slide her arm into the sleeve, a shadow against the canvas startled her. She froze and stared at a man’s silhouette. Too late, she realized she’d forgotten to tie up the flap.
Frantically, she scanned the interior for a weapon. She reached for the candleholder, but before she could grasp it, Jake pushed his way inside.
His face was flushed. She smelled whiskey on his breath. He waved a half-empty bottle in front of her. “Bring out your mugs,” he slurred. He set the bottle on her table, tipping it so it fell and dripped amber liquid onto her rug.
Alarmed he’d appeared here again in this condition, she lifted her wrapper to shield herself when he retrieved the bottle. “I apologize, Miss Erin, for my clumsiness.” He swayed before her, grinning.
Her heart thudded, and she tried to reason out what to do. She wouldn’t put it past this bastard to force himself on her in his inebriated state. No matter what it took, she had to get him out of here now.
His eyes widened when he took in her state of undress. “I see you’re all ready for me.”
“No,” she stated. “I’m going to sleep now.”
“You promised me,” he said harshly. “You’ll give me what I want, woman.” Grabbing her forearm, he tried to wrench the wrapper from her.
She pushed and knocked him off balance. She wasn’t about to be pinned down by him, again. Rushing past him, she slid through the tent opening. He grabbed her by the wrist and tightened his grip when she tried to wrench free.
“What’s going on here?”
Erin glanced up into Captain Montgomery’s eyes as he sprinted to her side.
Straining, she tried to loosen Jake’s grip. His arm was half-way out of the flap, hand still circled around her wrist. Montgomery grabbed Jake’s hand and pried it from her arm. She moved aside, and he yanked the sergeant out.
Jake’s mouth flew open when he saw who had hold of him.
“I told you to stay away from her, Wagner.”
“But sir...she owes me.”
“I don’t care what she owes you. I don’t want t
o catch you laying your filthy hands on the lady again. The next time I see you anywhere near her, I’ll put you on report.”
“Yes, sir.” When the captain released his grip on Jake, he scurried off as fast as he could move without looking back.
Erin watched him go, then met the gaze of her rescuer. Only then did she realize she still wore her chemise and nothing else. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Ma’am, I suggest you go inside. And I would advise you not to be inviting drunken men into your tent.”
“I didn’t invite him.” Her face flushed at his accusation. “He forced his way in.”
The captain looked her over, but said nothing.
Erin flung back her tent flap and slipped inside. She watched Will Montgomery’s broad back as he strode away in the early twilight, wondering what kind of woman he thought she was.
Chapter Eight
The next morning after Erin dressed and prepared for another grueling day of washing laundry, Captain Montgomery surprised her with a visit.
Great. She noted the bundle in his arms. He’s bringing more dirty clothes for me to wash. The sight of him dressed in a gray jacket that fell just below his lean hips, over tan trousers and a gray cap perched on his chocolate brown hair, made her breath catch. Her pulse raced as the reality before her converged with the dreams she’d had.
Had her subconscious mind known him? She’d never seen his photo until Grandma Rose had shown it to her. But she’d known him in her dreams. In the months before her impending wedding, the dreams had become more vivid and intimate. Even though this man was a stranger, she felt she’d known him all her life.
He removed his cap and stopped just outside the edge of the tarp she sat under. “Ma’am.”
She nodded, for her vocal chords were too taut to speak.
“I wanted to apologize for invading your privacy last night.” A blush crept up his lightly tanned cheeks. “I can’t abide any man harming a woman, even if the two are related or even wed.”
She gazed up into his dark eyes. Up close they were a deep, chocolate brown. He was so damned attractive in that uniform. Clearing her throat, she found her voice. “I appreciate what you did, Captain. That man’s been harassing me.”
Erin's Rebel Page 4
