by Tamara Gill
A tree hit the ground with a mighty wallop amid the flutter of flower petals and the snap of smaller branches breaking. Jacqui’s breath caught as her throat closed.
They cut down the tree. In her mind the words repeated over and over again like a mantra. They cut down the tree. Why did it matter? Trees were cut down all the time. So what?
She took a deep, slow breath as she stared at the downed tree. She noticed the Fenians were already at work on a nearby one, chopping at the roots to bring down the trunk without leaving a stump.
The Fenians had pulled down all the trees in Thomas Newbigging’s orchard when they camped on his farm. No re-enactor, no matter how dedicated, would be allowed to cut down mature trees for the sake of a single pageant. Trees like these took far too long to grow and were far too expensive to replace. The outcry from environmental groups would be vocal and very loud, too loud for a re-enactment to risk.
“Jack.”
Slowly Jaclyn refocused. Sean looked real. If she reached out and touched him, his skin would be warm and she would feel a pulse at his throat. But he couldn’t be a Fenian. If he was, he’d been dead for decades by the time she’d been born. Or perhaps she hadn’t been born yet at all.
No, that didn’t fit. She was alive and so was Sean. If he truly was a Fenian could it be that she had actually crossed the barrier of time and was back in 1866?
She’d come to the Niagara to find out if the voices in Hugh MacLeod’s picture and the vivid emotions that had washed over her when she touched the newspaper were real.
Now she knew. Somehow she had traveled back into the past.
So here she was, in the early morning of June 1, 1866, with one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen interrogating her on a subject she knew far too much about.
Uh-oh.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Whose land are we camped on?” Sean’s tone hardened a notch.
Jaclyn eyed him warily. If she answered would she change the past? But the Fenians found out anyway.
“You’re on Thomas Newbigging’s land,” she said at last. “This is his orchard. He’s not going to be happy that you are cutting down all his trees, you know.”
“That can’t be helped. We need to fortify our position.”
Jaclyn tossed her head, a very feminine movement, despite her short-cropped hair. Sean’s eyes narrowed. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized what she’d done. To keep his thoughts from roaming where she didn’t want them to go, she shoved her hands in her pockets, hunching her shoulders as a sulky teenager would. “A fellow might think you guys were digging in for the long term.”
“We plan to stay.”
“Thomas Newbigging might prefer you to stay somewhere else.”
Sean shrugged. “This location suits our purposes.”
“Thomas is a justice of the peace. He expects people to pay attention to him.”
Sean considered her thoughtfully. “The local gentry, is he?”
Jaclyn snorted. She couldn’t help it. “Hardly. We don’t cotton to that sort of stuff here. I suppose he’s pretty well off though.”
“So we can expect a visit from Mr. Newbigging, can we?”
At that, Jaclyn laughed outright. “Oh, absolutely! He’ll be mad as a bee whose hive has been disturbed.”
Sean grinned too. “I see. I’ll make sure Mr. Newbigging is greeted properly then.”
Jaclyn’s eyes widened with dismay. “What do you mean by that?”
Sean’s smile twisted into a cynical quirk. “You can be sure Mr. Newbigging will be treated with the courtesy due his rank.”
That sounded ominous. Even though she knew the Fenians had acted respectfully toward Newbigging in all of their meetings with the man, Jaclyn frowned.
“How far is it from here to the local town?”
Off balance by the change in topic, Jaclyn stalled while she tried to decide what information she could safely give this Fenian. “Fort Erie?”
He nodded.
“You landed at a place called Frenchman’s Creek. Fort Erie is a ways down the road from here.” A ways had the dual benefit of sounding authentically rural and being satisfyingly unspecific. She’d answered the major’s question, but not answered it. So far she was holding her own.
There was a crash as another tree went down. She cringed. If she truly, honestly, really was in the Fenian camp, she didn’t like it. Most of the trees were still in blossom, but some had already set fruit. There was something immoral about cutting down healthy, producing trees. At that moment she had a great deal of sympathy for the outrage Thomas Newbigging would soon be feeling.
“Who is the Mayor of Fort Erie?” Sean was asking.
“It isn’t big enough to have a mayor,” Jaclyn replied, still distressed by the tree cutting. “There’s a reeve. His name is Dr. Kempson.”
“Do you think you could draw a map of the area, boy?”
Of course! The maps! She opened her eyes wide and laughed at Sean O’Dell. “Don’t look to me to make this invasion easy for you!”
His mouth tightened. “I think it’s time you met my commander. Follow me.”
He turned on one booted heel. The boot was thick black leather that had seen much wear. Into it was tucked the leg of his dark blue trousers. A thin yellow stripe ran down the outside of the leg and his sword in its black leather sheath thumped against that yellow piping as O’Dell set off without even checking to find out if she was following.
Jacqui considered trying to escape, but where would she go? The place was already swarming with Fenians. With a sigh she trotted after his straight, elegantly tapered back.
***
Colonel John O’Neill had set up his command post in an open area where he could keep an eye on what his men were doing. He was sitting on a camp chair, a folding desk in front of him, when Jaclyn first caught sight of him. A simple two-man tent of heavy canvas had been pitched behind him. Like Sean O’Dell he was dressed in Union blue and sported the same kind of bushy mustache. Three men stood near O’Neill and appeared to be looking at something on the desk. As Sean halted in front of the table and saluted smartly, the group shifted and refocused on him.
O’Neill put his elbows on the desk, then leaned forward. “Major O’Dell, did you have any success in gathering information from the lad?”
Sean shot Jaclyn a bland look then said, “Some, sir. He is reluctant to assist us.”
With the eyes of the men on her, Jacqui found herself going hot. Assuming her cheeks were probably quite red, she lifted her chin and said defiantly, “You’re invading my country. What do you expect me to do? Welcome you?”
“That is exactly what they do expect,” one of the men said. He had a mellow baritone voice with only the hint of an Irish accent. “O’Neill, this is exactly the sort of reaction I’ve been telling you about. The people of this region are prosperous and well-satisfied with their government. They do not want to be liberated from British rule. They are doing it themselves!”
“I wouldn’t call Confederation liberation from Britain exactly,” Jacqui said. The man stared at her. She blushed again and called herself all kinds of a fool. Fifteen-year-old boys don’t give a damn about politics, then or now. Doing a quick recovery, she hunched her shoulders, looked at her feet and muttered, “At least, that’s what my dad says.”
“And who is your dad?” Sean asked.
Jaclyn shut her eyes. She was plowing deeper and deeper into the hole she’d dug for herself. If she wasn’t careful the Fenians would discover they’d snared a very useful prisoner indeed.
She scraped her foot along the grass. “I’m not telling you that.”
Sean sighed. She shot him a look from beneath her lashes and grinned. Then she noticed the man at the table staring at her through narrowed eyes and she hastily stared down at her feet once more.
“So our young patriot refuses to divulge information, does he?” O’Neill didn’t sound particularly disturbed by the fact. “I believe we will not have as m
uch need of him as I first thought.” He indicated the man who had just spoken. “Major Canty is showing us the set of maps he has acquired. I am sure you will be interested in seeing them Major O’Dell.”
“What about the boy?”
“The boy can stay. By-the-bye, does he have a name?”
“Jack,” Sean said.
Jaclyn shoved her hands in her pockets and contrived to look sulky. In fact she was very interested in the whole interview. She’d read about O’Neill, of course. She’d gained the impression of a very earnest man who believed passionately in the cause of liberating British North America even though he was leading a renegade army for whom the promise of free land was as important or perhaps more important than the pursuit of an ideal. The Fort Erie area with its prosperous farms and populace loyal to Britain must have been a shock for O’Neill and for the men he led. The Niagara area had been settled since the 1790s. This was no frontier region welcoming settlers from anywhere just to tame the wilderness. It was an established, conservative farming community unimpressed by the arrival of their ‘liberators’.
So here was O’Neill with an army of volunteers who would melt away at the least provocation. He was forced to lead by request and suggestion rather than traditional order and obey. To a large extent he’d done it.
During her researching, Jaclyn hadn’t questioned why. Now, though, she thought she understood. O’Neill’s voice had the same charming lilt to it that Sean’s did and his brown eyes were warm and friendly as he looked at her. He didn’t seem at all threatening. Indeed, he looked like a nice man, one you could trust to do the right thing.
Canty, on the other hand, was in the records as a Fenian spy who had infiltrated the Niagara area about six months prior to the actual invasion. His eyes were as dark as O’Neill’s but they lacked the warmth she saw in his commander’s. He watched her with an icy detachment that made her cringe and want to cross her arms over her breasts, just to make sure he didn’t guess who she really was. He reminded her of a political aide, the kind who spin doctored disasters into sweet-smelling successes. If it was necessary Canty would be anybody’s friend, but heaven help you if he considered you one of the enemy.
“Well, Jack,” John O’Neill said, “take a look at Major Canty’s maps and tell me your opinion of them.”
Canty stiffened. “I don’t think that is wise, Colonel.”
“I relish your advice, Major. However, in this case I must ignore it. Come along boy, be quick.”
Jaclyn glanced at Sean. He was staring at O’Neill. He must have felt her gaze on him, for he flicked a glance in her direction, then looked toward Canty. Jaclyn looked at Canty too. He glared at her, sending a shiver down her spine, so she checked out O’Neill. The Colonel smiled warmly and gestured toward the little table where the maps were set out.
Well, why not? Jaclyn cautiously approached the table. From what she remembered from her research they looked pretty accurate. There was the little town of Ridgeway and the rise of land known as the Lime Ridge, where a battle between the Fenians and the Canadian Volunteers would take place the next day. Her eyes skimmed along Garrison Road, one of the main roads out of Fort Erie, which would be used by O’Neill after he won the battle, but lost the war and had to retreat to Fort Erie and the shore of the Niagara River. Idly, she traced the twisting length of the Stevensville Road, which the British troops under Colonel Peacocke would use in a vain attempt to meet up with the volunteer force before the battle at Ridgeway.
She looked up and caught O’Neill watching her intently. She straightened. He smiled pleasantly.
“Major Canty has brought us very good maps, has he not, young Jack?”
Jaclyn bit her lip. “I’m not saying nothin’.”
O’Neill smiled again. “Major Canty, thank you for supplying us with these excellent maps. Perhaps you would brief me about the populace while Major O’Dell and his friend Jack arrange for foraging parties.” He shuffled through the pile. “This map should be of use to you, Major. It identifies all of the farms in the area and names the owners. Dismissed.”
Sean took the map and saluted smartly. Then he turned on his heel in what Jaclyn had come to understand was a military maneuver, and marched off. He didn’t bother to check to see if Jacqui was following like his own little duckling. She shot a quick look at O’Neill, who was still smiling, and another at Canty, whose cold eyes bored into her and made her shiver. Then she turned and once more hurried after one of the Fenian invaders.
***
“This has got to stop,” the boy said, huffing a little as he caught up.
Sean looked down at him with his brows raised. “What has to stop?”
“You sauntering off and expecting me to follow, of course!”
He stopped in his tracks. “I think I’m missing something, boy. You expect me to cater to your whims?”
Jack grinned his cocky grin and shrugged. “Well, when you put it that way it sounds pretty lame, but look at it from my point of view. I feel like a dog on a leash. You jerk my chain and I’m expected to come running. You know, Sean—”
“Major.”
“Whatever. The thing is, this chasing after you doesn’t work for me.”
Sean put his hand on the hilt of his sword and settled his feet wider apart. “Now, here’s a fine broth of a boy, full of demands.” He eased the sabre out of its sheath a few inches. The alarmed expression on the boy’s face was priceless as he watched this small threat. “The thing is you’re my prisoner, young Jack, and if you tire of following me around I’d be happy to have one of the men tie you to a tree until we’re ready to release you.”
Jack’s large blue eyes widened. “But you’re digging up Newbigging’s orchard! There won’t be any trees left standing.”
“An exception could be made.”
Jack gasped. Outrage blazed from his eyes. “You wouldn’t!”
Sean stifled the desire to laugh, but he couldn’t resist a grin. “I would.”
The boy’s hands curled into fists and he shoved them into the pockets of his odd looking trousers. Then he firmed his jaw and almost spat out his words. “All right. I’ll follow you. But don’t make it too tough. Okay?”
“Possibly,” Sean drawled, not bothering to hide his amusement this time.
Jack made an outraged sound in his throat. If he’d been a girl, Sean could imagine him stamping his foot and flouncing around to show him his back. Young Jack had a lot to learn about manliness.
He started off again, with Jack trotting along beside him.
***
The arrogant bastard might be the best-looking male she had ever come across, but Jaclyn’s thoughts were less than kindly toward Major Sean O’Dell as she had to half-run to keep up with his long strides. He was everything she hated in a male—domineering, self-centered, dismissive and arrogant. Damn him, what right did he have to go loping around the camp, expecting her to follow him?
The right of conquest, an insidiously logical part of her whispered in her thoughts.
That almost halted her in her tracks. She’d thought of the Fenians as a rather benevolent, at times comical, bunch of guys who could never hope to succeed in their mad attempt to destroy Great Britain by invading its North American colony. But there was nothing comical or even benevolent about Sean O’Dell. As she watched him marshal his men, organizing the foraging parties that would strip the farmers of the Fort Erie area of food supplies and horses, all she could see was a formidable competence and an alarming presence that just might be leadership.
It struck her now that she’d been looking at the Fenians with the benefit of hindsight. She knew that two days from now the Fenians would leave Canadian shores. She knew that they would act with courtesy and restraint toward the local residents while they were in the Niagara. There would be no rapes, no cold-blooded murders, no wanton destruction of property. There would only be some pillaging and the most entertainment the people of the area had enjoyed in a long time.
Hindsi
ght was a wonderful thing, she thought, as O’Dell lined up his troop and prepared to address them. She knew the outcome of the invasion and so all of her ideas were colored by that knowledge. But what if she didn’t know? What if she’d lived in 1866 and she’d opened her door to find Sean O’Dell and his makeshift band of foragers demanding her food while another bunch of them walked into her barn and stole her horses? How would she feel?
Or, to put it in her own terms: What if a bunch of strangers knocked on her door, told her they were liberating her from the evils of Canadian democracy and oh, by the way, they were going to take her car and all the food she had in her apartment?
Without the lightening fast communications of the twenty-first century, the people of Fort Erie had had to rely on rumor, innuendo and experience in 1866. They knew that the Fenians were former Union soldiers and they knew full well how ruthless the Union army had become during the last couple of years of the US Civil War. Face to face with a Fenian, without the benefit of hindsight, the people of Fort Erie were bound to be scared out of their socks. It was a wonder there had been as little violence between the invaders and the local population as there had been.
Silently, Sean walked along the ranks of his assembled unit. He moved slowly, pausing every now and then to look at a soldier. Jaclyn watched with fascination as cocky grins faded to blank stares, and the fidgeting men straightened to ramrod stiffness. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. He was, simply, a force that could not be denied.
Standing back so that he was visible to the drawn up ranks of men, he said, “Fenians, we are here to liberate the people of this British colony. We need foodstuffs, we need horses, but we do not need to make enemies! Lieutenant, organize your men into parties of six. They are to scour the farms in this area and return with all the stores that can be found and with horses for riding and drawing the carts needed to transport the victuals. Enlist the assistance of the local people if you are able.”
