Fields of Fire

by Carol Caldwell

  A governess with a small child approached them along the walk. The woman looked in obvious disgust at Jalene in her grass-and-mud-stained gown, and next at Taylor, whose cravat had come undone. His once-crisp white shirt was now soiled and untucked from his breeches. One of his silk stockings had a tear in it.

  Nonetheless, Jalene greeted her. “Good day.”

  Taylor grunted something unintelligible.

  The governess said nothing, but she glowered at them while she pushed the child more quickly along. Jalene grinned when she heard the little one ask if they had been swimming.

  Taylor’s attention remained on Jalene. “So you think this is amusing, do you?” His eyes narrowed in anger. “We’ll see how amusing you’ll find this.” He lunged at her, but he slipped in the flattened grass on the sloped bank and fell.

  She gasped. Her hands touched her cheeks in surprise. Then she started to giggle.

  “Damn it!” He rubbed his ankle. “I’ve twisted my foot,” he snarled at Jalene as if it were her fault.

  She backed away, unsure how disabled he was. She decided that this just might be her best chance to escape him. “You’re right. It’s time to leave.”

  He rose to his feet and limped toward her, trying not to put any pressure on his foot. “I’ll need your shoulder.”

  “A shoulder, but not mine. I’m going home.” She raised her skirts to run when a second thought occurred to her. “I’ll leave word at your home for someone to come to your aid.” He gave her a look that would have frightened a banshee. She turned and fled.

  He yelled after her, “I’ll find you, Jalene, and when I do, you’ll not get away from me again.”

  She never looked back. “I know-—God help me—but not before I have a chance to talk with James.”

  Chapter 5

  Jalene lay on her bed, eyes closed and face swollen, praying for sleep that failed to come. Fortune had been on her side until Fate had intervened and dealt her an unexpected blow. After escaping Taylor and hiring a carriage, she had arrived at Sorrel House in record time. Her elation turned to dread, however, when she stepped outside the vehicle to a foreboding silence. The distillery had ceased operations. Not a soul was around. Inside, she learned the terrible truth. James was dead.

  That had been four days ago. Now, she forced her thoughts away from the nightmare of James’s death only to worry about Wil. What had become of him, and why hadn’t he attended James’s funeral? Had he not received her message, or had Donnegan got to him first? Dear Lord, she hoped not. She’d make an effort to find out— maybe even make the trip to Dublin and call on him at his town house.

  A tap on the door broke into her musings. She rolled from her back to her side, away from the intrusion—away from her sister-in-law, Margaret.

  The dark-haired woman seated herself on the bed next to Jalene. “For three days you’ve imprisoned yourself in this room. James was my husband—the father of my children.” Margaret’s voice faltered. “I loved him, too.” She affectionately squeezed Jalene’s shoulder. “We must face reality.”

  At Margaret’s words, she turned on her sister-in-law. “Reality? This is reality. We live. We die—some unjustly before their time.” She lashed out at Margaret, releasing both her anger and her anguish. “I don’t understand it. James was always so careful. His workers knew the importance of stacking every oak cask correctly. How could one of those casks have fallen on him?”

  She wanted answers that, thus far, she hadn’t been able to obtain. She waited for Margaret’s reply.

  Margaret sighed. “I don’t know. I wish I did. It is a sad ending for my dear, sweet, James, and so horrible.”

  Jalene watched her struggle to control the tears. Margaret, who was now left to care for twin babies by herself, had been stronger than she. Wrapped up as she was in her own sorrow, Jalene had neglected the fact that Margaret had lost someone, too.

  “Oh, Margaret, I am so sorry.” Jalene sat up and hugged the woman to her.

  “I know, I know,” Margaret said, in between sobs. “We all grieve in our own way.”

  Jalene hugged Margaret closer. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks. She gently patted Margaret’s back until the woman’s weeping subsided.

  When they moved apart, she studied Margaret’s red eyes and weary face. She touched her own swollen face and smiled. “Do I look as haggard as you do?”

  “Worse.” Margaret smiled wanly. “I’m surprised the gentleman downstairs didn’t turn and run at the first sight of me. That’s what I came upstairs to tell you. He’s waiting to see you.” She rose from the bed.

  Jalene quickly did the same and eyed Margaret expectantly. “What gentleman? Please send him away. I don’t want to see anyone. I saw all the visitors I cared to see, at James’s funeral.”

  “Although he was quite courteous to me, he did say that if you didn’t come downstairs, he’d come up.” Margaret gave her a questioning look while she waited for her reaction.

  Jalene’s mouth dropped open in surprise at the audacity of this stranger. Who would be so bold as to barge into a person’s home, much less a lady’s bedchamber? Certainly no gentleman.

  “Margaret,” Jalene’s voice held a grave tone, “I’ll go get Tom from the malt house to send him away. I know he’ll be there. We’ve suspended operations, but he said he would continue turning over the barley just the same.”

  Margaret stopped her as she headed towards the door. “I really don’t think that’s necessary. The man said he wanted you to be surprised. He’s quite handsome in his military uniform. I wasn’t aware that you knew anyone commissioned.’’

  Jalene’s eyes grew wide as if a warning bell rang in her head. The man calling on her had to be Taylor. From the moment she first arrived at Sorrel House, she’d thought only of James. Instantly, she recalled with vivid clarity the threatening expression on Taylor’s face when he made his ominous promise to pursue her. She shuddered.

  Margaret gently touched her cheek. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve just seen a headless phantom. Maybe we better get Tom, after all.”

  “Nay.” Jalene spoke quickly, knowing it would take more than Tom to prevent the resolute and stalwart Taylor from doing as he wished. “I’ll see him. His name is Captain Taylor Traynor. I know why he’s here.” She patted Margaret’s wrist to give her the reassurance that she herself didn’t really feel.

  Margaret nodded, but gave her a puzzled look.

  “I’ll explain later. Don’t worry. Please tell the captain I’ll be down in a moment,” she touched her face and hair, and added, “while I try to look more presentable.”

  * * * *

  Jalene stoically made her way down the staircase. She held her head regally high, despite the grief that showed in her face.

  “Why Captain Traynor—what an unexpected pleasure!” she said much too sweetly. She unfolded an ivory-handled fan and briefly waved it in a demure fashion. She had brought the fan with the intention of hiding her face as much as possible, but upon first seeing Taylor again, she realized it would help cool her from the flush his mere presence aroused in her.

  He frowned and crossed the floor to shorten the distance between them. “Jalene ...”

  “Ah, I see your foot is healed. I’m glad it wasn’t as nasty a fall as we thought.” She waved the fan again. “But, that’s not why you’re here, is it?” She looked him straight in the eyes, daring him to challenge her, while showing him she was prepared for his onslaught. Before he could respond, she snarled at him. “My brother’s dead, Captain. Blackwater Distillery is closed. There’s nothing more to say. Put that in your report and leave us to mourn in peace.” Having vented her frustrations and anger towards him, she abruptly turned, to head back up the stairs.

  “The bloody hell I will.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her to a parlor off the entryway. He pointed to a wing chair near the fireplace. “Sit.”

  She considered defying him, but she caught the expression on his face and decided it might not be i
n her best interest right now. She obediently sat.

  “Your sister-in-law told me about James, though I knew several days ago when I arrived during the funeral. Out of respect, I waited until now.” He spoke in a quiet sincere manner, yet paced the floor before her. “I am sorry about James, for I know what it is like to lose someone you love. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that this distillery may have been operating illegally. You are my charge and are to remain with me until I say you can do otherwise. I’ll not have you running off again.”

  He stopped pacing and stood in front of her with one hand on his hip and the other resting easily on the arched guard of his saber. “Besides, what are you so afraid of? That I might find your brother guilty or that the books you’ve been keeping are inconsistent?”

  “You bastard!” The curse came out, surprising even herself. She leaped to her feet and poked him in the chest with the folded fan. “You know nothing of me or my family. You throw accusations at me without the least bit of proof.”

  He reached for both of her wrists and pulled her to him. “Then work with me instead of fighting me. Show me I’m wrong. If you’re as innocent as you claim to be, what do you have to lose?”

  His grey-blue eyes gazed into hers. For a fleeting moment she recognized a glimmer of promise, but he quickly masked it. He held her wrists firmly against his chest. Beneath his uniform his heart thumped wildly as hers did. His nearness hampered her thoughts. She squeezed her eyes closed and opened them again. Why should she be afraid? She hadn’t done anything dishonest. As for James, she never got the chance to talk to him; yet, she knew in her heart James wouldn’t have been operating illegally— not willingly at least.

  “You’re right.” She tugged her wrists from his grasp. “James’s honor as well as Blackwater Distillery is at stake here. He can’t defend himself, but I can.”

  “Then I can expect your cooperation?” When she didn’t answer immediately, he lightly touched her chin and turned her face so he could see into her eyes. “Your full cooperation?”

  She didn’t like the implication in his voice, nor the suggestive sparkle in his eyes, but she needed him on her side. “Aye,” she answered without so much as a blink. That is, if it doesn’t interfere with my plans to exonerate James.

  “If you’re up to it, I’d like you to show me around the distillery. I particularly want to see where the accident happened.”

  She hadn’t been to any part of the distillery since she returned home. Somehow, the whole operation had now become something evil that had stolen her brother away from her. Sooner or later, she would have to face it; otherwise, the tragedy would continue to haunt her. An odd sensation passed over her as if James was encouraging her to act on her instincts.

  “If it’s too painful for you, you don’t have to come with me. I can find my way.”

  “Nay, I’ll be fine.” She needed to be there, to see his reactions to everything—and to discourage his doubts and suspicions, and hopefully, stay one step ahead of him until she could answer some of her own questions.

  “Let me tell Margaret, and we’ll be off.” She scurried from the parlor towards the double doors beyond the staircase.

  He followed her back as far as the entryway. “I’ll wait for you outdoors.”

  * * * *

  Jalene started at the beginning. First, they visited the malt house where controlled germination and drying took place. She introduced Taylor to Tom, who continued working despite the shut-down, saying it made no sense to let good barley go to waste. They watched Tom on the malting floor as he turned over the barley with wooden implements, to prevent the bottom layers of grain from being smothered. Next, she took Taylor to the mash house where he could see how the ground malt was mixed with warm water in a large cylindrical container. She explained that the liquid, or wort, that was drained off here would be used in fermentation.

  Since both fermentation and distillation took place in the mash house as well, she simply led him along from one process to the next. She explained how, in the large circular fermentation tanks, the added yeast would convert the malt sugar to alcohol. The resulting wash would be heated in the stills to separate the alcohol from the water. The final clear liquid would be stored in oak casks for maturation.

  She studied Taylor, who was busy taking in his surroundings. She knew he must have understood all about the process of making whiskey, considering he worked for the Revenue Service investigating distilleries. Yet, he asked questions and politely listened to her at each stage of the tour. Unable to tell though, what his impressions were of the distillery so far, she finally asked him point blankly, “What do you think?”

  “Everything seems to be in order,” he replied, serious and businesslike. “Also, it’s one of the cleanest operations I’ve ever seen. But it’s odd to view a distillery that has been shut down. The quiet gives one an eerie feeling.”

  She flashed him a smile, beaming with pride at his comments. “I’m glad you find it so, and I understand what you mean about it being quiet. Usually the distillery is operating.” She sighed in despair. “Come, I’ll take you to the storehouse.”

  They crossed the yard to a white oblong building with a lean-to roof. Baskets of flowers lined the short walk up to the threshold, commemorating the place of James’s death. She turned from the sight and covered her mouth with one hand to smother a sob. She was touched that the workers had done this because they cared so much for James.

  He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Sorry. Had I known they ... Why don’t you go back to the house? I’ll go inside alone.”

  “It’s all right. Truly.” She smeared the tears on her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I have to accept it. I can’t hide from this forever.”

  Poised and ready now, she walked to the door and unlatched it. It creaked as it swung wide, allowing the daylight to illuminate the casks stacked along the opposite wall. The familiar smell of damp earth and whiskey assailed her. She stepped inside and reached for a lantern that sat on a wooden table located by the door. After she lit the lamp and adjusted the wick, she moved further inside and raised the lantern so Taylor could see more of the storehouse. She watched him study the neat rows of oak barrels stacked almost to the ceiling and down the length of the room. When she turned to lead the way, he stopped her.

  “Wait,” he said, taking command. “Before we continue, let me check that the remaining casks are secure.” He took the lantern from her and raised it above and below the end brace that supported the stack of barrels in the first row nearest the ceiling. Satisfied, he motioned to her to move further along until they reached the end of the row.

  She stared for a moment at the straw-covered ground. There was no evidence of the tragedy. She stared up at the empty space on the end where an oak cask obviously had rested, and said, “Of course, I didn’t actually see what happened—no one did—but from what I understand, this is where one of the casks slipped and landed on James. It broke his neck.” She folded her arms across her chest, her mouth now set in a grim line.

  “Here, hold this.” He handed her the lantern, and carefully climbed his way to the top row of barrels, testing his footing on each cask before he allowed his full weight to come down.

  At the top, where the cask had broken loose, he ran his hands along what remained of the wood bracket support, and then felt in and around the barrels. Apparently dissatisfied, he made his way back down to a point where he could jump the rest of the way. He kneeled down near the bottom cask and raked the straw with his fingers.

  “What are you looking for?” she finally asked. He stood up and extended the palm of his hand. “This.”

  “What is that?” From his palm she picked up what looked like a three-inch stick, and inspected it.

  “It’s a wooden peg used to hold in place the cross support bracket which keeps the end barrels from rolling should they move during unloading.”

  She twirled the peg between her thumb and fingers. “And ...?”

&nbs
p; He tugged at the brackets along the front of the lower casks. “This explains how the cask moved.”

  “You’re saying—this plug accidentally popped out causing the support to become loose. When the cask moved, it easily broke through the wood.”

  “Aye, but it wasn’t an accident,” he stated, taking the peg from her.

  “You think someone intentionally removed the peg?” She shook her head sideways refusing to believe the suggestion. The men liked and respected James.

  “Exactly. These pegs don’t work themselves loose. Someone had to pop it out far enough so when the barrel was pushed ...”

  “Pushed?” she interrupted. “You think someone pushed the cask on him as well? Nay. I can’t believe that.”

  She massaged her temples in an attempt to alleviate the sudden pounding.

  “There’s no way this cask moved by itself, Jalene. One hard shove and it could easily break through the support.” He undid the first few buttons of his uniform and tucked the peg into a pocket. “Whoever did this went to a lot of trouble to work the peg loose. The cask must have been pushed.”

  Her stomach turned and her heartbeat quickened at his implication. “Who? Why?”

  “I might ask you the same. Who would want James dead and why? Someone must have been afraid of something he might say or do—someone who had something to hide, or smuggle perhaps.” He raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

  Dumbfounded, she digested the idea. It made more sense. Hadn’t she herself questioned how such an accident could have happened?

  “Then this proves James is innocent,” she said hopefully.

  He lightly placed his hand on her back to guide her towards the door. “I know you’d like to believe that, but it’s not necessarily the case.”

  “Damn you.” She stopped and stamped her foot, unsure which burned her more, his touch or his words. “Why are you always so quick to think the worst?”

  “I’ve seen this all before. Half the time the woman is behind the man, encouraging the crime.”

  “So after all this, you still think the worst of my brother, and consider me suspect.” Remembering Wil’s accusations concerning James’s smuggling, she prayed her own doubts didn’t show on her face.