by Tamara Gill
Sean took a minute to assess the situation, then set about rectifying it. More Fenian soldiers appeared to check the contents of the carts, a man was assigned to direct traffic, another was dispatched facilitate the flow of vehicles out of the camp. It took Sean a half-an-hour, but in the end the supplies were moving smoothly in and empty wagons were going out.
Jaclyn settled herself against the breastwork and watched this sorting out with interest. She didn’t know what Sean would be like in a battle, with a gun in his hand, ordering men to shoot people and she didn’t particularly want to find out, but she’d discovered that he was an excellent manager.
With traffic moving freely, he looked around, spied Jaclyn and came over to her. “Are you still here?”
She nodded.
“I thought I told you to help out.”
He might have. Jacqui couldn’t remember. She shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
“I meant to.” He took off his hat and wiped his brow. “Christ, it’s hot.” His dark hair lay matted against his skull. He ran his fingers through it, then put his hat back on. “See that cart over there?” He pointed to a vehicle that had just parked. “Help unload it.”
Jaclyn’s jaw dropped. “Unload? Me? Sean, you are kidding, aren’t you?”
“Stop complaining. Make yourself useful and I’ll see you get a mid-day meal.”
“Look, Sean—”
“Major O’Dell.”
“Major O’Dell, right. That’s not my thing, you know?” She held her hands up, palms forward. “I don’t do unloading.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who are you, young Jack?”
Her palms were pink and soft, with no calluses in sight. She quickly balled her hands into fists and shoved them in her pockets. Afraid to meet his sharp, intelligent gaze, she hunched her shoulders and stared down at her feet. “My papa has a hired man. He does most of the heavy work around the place.”
Sean didn’t reply. After a moment Jaclyn looked up. He was watching her with that thoughtful assessing stare of his. “Maybe,” he said. He pointed to the cart he’d identified earlier. “The fellow driving that rig claims he’s the postmaster of Fort Erie and an important person in this area.” He paused for a heartbeat, then added, “Is that true, young Jack?”
Jaclyn tried to calm her thumping heart and decided her best defense was to keep up the pretense that she was a surly youth caught in lie. “I’m not telling you anything, Major.”
Sean looked her up and down. Inwardly, Jacqui squirmed.
Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of you. Go help the postmaster.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you can go home and watch your daddy’s hired man do his work.”
Jaclyn stared at his implacable features. If he only knew how impossible that was! “I’ll stay.”
CHAPTER NINE
With Sean’s expert reorganization the tension in the loading zone eased. For the most part the off-loading was being carried out with polite civility and overall good humor as Fenian soldiers worked side by side with Canadians to empty the carts and store the foodstuffs. Acknowledging the unusual heat on this sizzling hot June day, everyone, Fenian and Canadian alike, was working more slowly than they might ordinarily and taking the time to talk. They were getting to know each other.
Jaclyn saw the process first hand as she helped William Lewis unload his wagon. She’d gone over to Lewis reluctantly, fearful that he would question who she was and why she was in the camp. She needn’t have worried.
“So the Major sent you over to assist me, did he?” William Lewis nodded in Sean’s direction.
Jaclyn looked around to see that Sean had turned away and was dealing with some issue between a Canadian and one of the Fenian sentries. “Yes. He said you were the Postmaster of Fort Erie and that you deserved extra help.”
William Lewis straightened, lifted his round black hat then settled it more securely on his head and beamed at her. “It’s true. I am also a member of the Fort Erie town council. I’m here in my role as councilor to ensure that no violence occurs between our citizens and these loathsome invaders.”
Jaclyn selected a burlap sack that looked to be small enough that she’d be able to carry it, and picked it up. What was in the damn thing? It weighed a ton. “This bag is full of big round lumps. Are they potatoes?” she said, gasping and staggering a little under the burden.
“Turnips.” Lewis picked up another sack, which he carried with much more ease than Jaclyn carried hers, and they walked together to the central distribution point where several Fenians were itemizing incoming goods.
“Like last year’s crop?” Jaclyn gasped, hoping that her heart wasn’t going to burst from carrying this deadweight in the midday sun. She began to worry about sunburn, skin cancer and the ozone layer.
“My family is not partial to turnips,” Lewis said. “I sent my wife over to Buffalo for her safety when the rumors that you fellows were planning to invade reached their peak. She’ll be annoyed that the Fenians have requisitioned her supply of dried apples and other fruits, and that they grabbed our laying hens, but she’ll not mind losing the turnips.”
“Thank God we’re here,” Jaclyn said. They had reached the distribution point, and after identifying the contents of their sacks, were told where to stack them.
“So you’re a member of the town council, Mr. Lewis?” she said as they walked back to the cart.
“I am,” Lewis replied. He looked Jaclyn over before adding, “You seem a might young to be involved with this lot, boy.”
“I’m not really with them,” Jaclyn said cautiously. She was worried now about keeping her story straight. Old Jim Bailey apparently knew Thomas Newbigging who would undoubtedly know William Lewis since they were both on the town council. Sooner or later these three guys were bound to get together. What if they started talking about the strange boy who claimed to be a Canadian, but whom no one in the area knew? She’d be in real trouble then.
Fortunately William Lewis wasn’t that interested in her antecedents. “I was talking to some of these Fenian fellows in Fort Erie. They seem a mite surprised that the land is as settled as it is.”
“Many came over thinking that there would be free land for settlement,” Jaclyn murmured. She thought it was safe enough to admit that. She’d already had a conversation with one of the Fenians about it and had heard others in the camp mentioning it. “Lots of them are pretty disappointed.”
“We’re a prosperous area,” Lewis said. “No one who is willing to work wants in the Niagara.”
They had reached the wagon again. Two Fenian soldiers, young men who couldn’t be much older than Jaclyn, were lifting out burlap sacks as if they were featherweights. She was impressed. If they’d taken the time for some personal hygiene and smelled a little better she’d also have been willing to indulge in a feminine leer or two, for they both possessed wide shoulders, narrow hips and intensely blue eyes that reminded her of Sean.
“Why, thank you, my lads,” Lewis said in such a hearty tone that Jaclyn blinked and stared at him. “I suppose this sort of task wasn’t what you expected when you signed on with the Fenian invasion force.”
The two men grinned. They both had white teeth, although one had a big black gap where he’d lost a front tooth. “Hauling supplies is part of army work,” gap-tooth said.
The other added, “Sure beats digging latrines.”
They both laughed. So did William Lewis. He pulled out a sack and the three men started moving toward the depot. Jaclyn sidled away, hoping Lewis would forget about her so she could find something less exhausting to keep her busy.
He didn’t. “Come on, boy. Get a move on. Don’t be standing about, doing nothing.”
Jaclyn realized that he and the two Fenians were going to wait for her so they could all walk to the depot together. With a sigh, she selected a sack and joined William Lewis and his new found Fenian pals.
“My friend here,” Lewis jerked h
is head in Jaclyn’s direction, “tells me that you boys were told you’d find free land to settle when you came here.”
The two Fenians cast her quick, cautious glances. Then the one with all his teeth said, “True enough.”
“As you can see we are a populous area, with the land all claimed and farmed,” Lewis said, striding along with a hefty sack over his shoulder and not even huffing. “I fear your leaders have led you astray on this matter.”
“That ain’t the only thing,” gap-tooth said. “We were told you would all rise up against them English monsters the moment we set foot on your shores, but that hasn’t happened and I don’t know why.”
“For the most part, we are content with the way we are governed,” Lewis said. “There’s talk of the British colonies forming a new nation, but not all of us think that is a good idea.”
Stumbling along under the weight of her turnip sack, Jaclyn thought about Confederation, a year and a bit away. Concerned about the rising power of the United States and unwilling to accept continued responsibility for the safety and security of its North American colonies, Great Britain had pushed for the union. Whether William Lewis liked it or not, self-rule was the order of the day.
The conversation went on, with Lewis digging for information and the Fenians happily giving it. Jaclyn panted along behind, listening, but lacking the energy or the will to become involved. Breakfast seemed a long way away.
By the time they finished emptying the cart her legs had turned to rubber and she was quite certain she was about to have a heart attack. The two Fenians may have raised a sweat—they could hardly have avoided it, given the heat of the day—but didn’t seem to be particularly tired. Even William Lewis, short and scrawny, seemed unfazed. He kindly told Jaclyn to go get herself a drink of water before she started unloading another cart.
Jaclyn leaned against the side of the wagon and fanned herself with her hand as she watched William Lewis stride away with the two Fenians who had promised to introduce him to some of the other men in their unit. God, it was hot! Sweat trickled down between her breasts and along her back. She wished, again, that she could take off her vest and decided that this being in disguise did not have a lot to recommend it.
She’d better get some water before she became dehydrated or suffered from heatstroke, or both. Stifling a groan, for her muscles were starting to ache from the riding earlier that day and the unaccustomed labor, she wandered off in search of a drink.
Most people were getting their water from the creek. That made sense. They didn’t have time to dig a well and although Thomas Newbigging’s had probably been pushed into service, it was outside of the breastworks. As she didn’t have a canteen or a cup to dip in, she had to find a place where the bank was low enough for her to kneel down and scoop up a mouthful in her cupped hands without overbalancing and falling in. If that happened not even her loose vest would be enough to disguise her sex.
Once she discovered a likely spot, she began to worry about pollution. Guys were all around her, churning up the water, grabbing their own drinks, and dumping stuff into the stream. Looking at the rather murky water she wondered where the latrine was in relation to her current location.
She was trying to get her bearings when a voice said, “Thirsty?”
“Yeah. I was just wondering—” Her mind identified the voice and she looked up. “Sean. Oops, sorry. Major O’Dell. What are you doing here?”
He handed her a canteen. Water sloshed. Without asking him where he’d gotten it she raised it to her mouth and drank. Pure heaven.
“If you remember, I promised you a meal. Sure now, slow down! You can’t drink the whole canteen in one gulp.”
Obediently she stopped. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she said, “Why not? That was great.” But she handed the canteen back to him.
His eyes were amused as he said, “Is the red on your face from the sun or the exertion of unloading the wagon?”
“Both.” Sean began to walk and she had to stifle a groan as she put her legs in motion. He looked back at her, the laughter in his eyes more pronounced. “Stiffening up?”
This time she did groan. “God, yes.” Her legs limbered up, though, as they walked through the camp to the spot where Sean had stashed his ‘kit’. There he retrieved his plate, cutlery and cup before they made their way to one of the cooking areas where a soldier was dishing out the meal Sean had promised her.
There was a line up, but as an officer Sean simply went to the front. That impressed Jaclyn. Evidently rank did have its privileges. He led her over to one of the downed trees that hadn’t been used in the breastwork or as fuel yet and they sat down to share the meal.
Literally. He took a mouthful, then offered her the plate. He used his fork, she used his spoon and they both used the knife. It was the weirdest set up Jaclyn had ever been involved in. She thought about communicable diseases, once again glad that AIDS hadn’t been invented yet, then wondered about other things, like cholera and diphtheria. The thoughts were brief ones though. She was too hungry to care much about health risks she couldn’t control.
The meal was some sort of stew that had come out of a big iron pot. She identified potatoes and something she thought might be turnips and a few specks of pale meat that were too small to be identified. She took a mouthful. It tasted okay, but it could have used some seasonings. “What is it?”
“Chicken stew, I think,” Sean said. He’d also managed to liberate half a loaf of bread. He broke it apart and handed her a chunk.
Jaclyn accepted the bread. She looked over at the plate he was now holding. “You mean it could be made with William Lewis’s laying hens?”
Sean laughed. “Could be.” He handed her the plate.
Jaclyn scooped up a spoonful, then dipped her bread into the gravy for good measure before handing the plate back. After she swallowed, she said, “So we’re eating little critters that were alive a few hours ago?”
“You’re not a farm boy, are you, young Jack?”
He was laughing at her. Jaclyn was not fond of being laughed at by good-looking guys, but she figured Sean had a right. She must have sounded pretty silly just then. Still, she couldn’t help the tartness in her voice when she said, “No, I’m not. Are you?”
“In Ireland I was. Now I’m a soldier.”
She dipped her bread into the gravy while he was still holding the plate. “So you’re a professional soldier and that’s why you joined the Fenian invasion force. Did you really think that you would be liberating the people of Canada West?”
Sean took a mouthful of stew and bread. He handed her the plate while he chewed, then he said, “British rule in Ireland has destroyed more lives than you can imagine. I never want anyone to live the way the Irish live. We are little better than the black slaves in the South.”
“The people in Canada West aren’t slaves, Sean. They are free and they’re prosperous and in their own bumbling, peaceful way they’re working toward self-rule. They don’t need to be liberated.”
Jaclyn offered him the last of the gravy on the plate. He shook his head so she sopped it up with her remaining bread.
He drank from the canteen, then he said, with a hint of bitterness in his voice, “Now that I’m here, I’m finding out that what you say is too close to the truth for comfort.” He looked around the bustling camp. A little breeze ruffled his dark hair, lifting it gently until it fell in a black lock over his forehead. Impatiently he combed it away with his fingers.
“Why did you leave Ireland?”
“I killed a man.”
The statement was abrupt, almost harsh. Jaclyn supposed that he expected her to rear back in horror, or at least shock. She did neither. “What happened?”
“My dad was a groom in the stables of the local lordling, who was a dab hand with a whip. He enjoyed using it on his horses—and his servants. His son was worse. He liked to force himself on the women of the estate.”
He stopped. Jaclyn waited, then she prodded. “And?
”
Sean’s jaw tightened. “I used to help my dad with the horses. One evening a mare was in foal, but she was having problems. My dad sent me off to get help. It was near dusk. As I ran, I heard screams and I caught that young bastard forcing himself on a pretty lass who couldn’t be much more than your age. She was pleading with him, begging him to leave her be. He was laughing.” Sean paused and took a long drink from the canteen. He didn’t look at Jaclyn. “I pulled him off her and he slashed me across the face with his whip. I hit him. He went down with thud, smashed his head on a rock and didn’t move. The girl began to scream. I jumped on his horse and rode as fast as I could away from there.”
“But you weren’t caught.”
“No. That night I let the horse go and crawled back home. My dad had heard what I’d done and he’d gone to the Irish Republican Brotherhood for help. They hid me until the welt on my face healed, then they smuggled me onto a boat for America.” He looked over at her, a challenge and not a little sadness in his eyes. “And what do you think of me now, city boy?”
“How old are you, Sean?”
Surprise flickered on his face. “I’m four and twenty.”
“And when did you come to the States?”
“Six years ago, in 1860.”
“So you were, what, eighteen, er, eight and ten years old when all this happened?”
He nodded. There was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes now, along with a lingering wariness.
Jaclyn shook her head. “I think you had a pretty crummy break. Mind you, I don’t think it was a good idea to kill the guy, but you didn’t do it on purpose. Then too, I suppose you’d have been in deep trouble, even if you’d just slugged him.”
