by Tamara Gill
He searched her face as if he couldn’t quite believe her matter-of-fact response, but desperately needed that little reassurance. “You’re right about that, young Jack.” He looked away. “Now I can never go back.”
“I guess not. What happened when you reached the US?”
He looked at her again, frowning as her question dragged him away from the memories of Ireland and back to his new life in the United States. “Oh, America, you mean.”
She nodded.
“The boat landed in New York City. It was met by the Fenian Brotherhood. They took me in, helped me find a place to live, got me a job.”
“In the Union Army.”
He shrugged. “My only skill was knowing how to tend a horse.”
Jaclyn snorted. “You don’t tend horses, Sean, you become one with them. It might not seem like much to you, but it’s a bloody miracle to me.”
He smiled faintly. “I like horses. We get along well.” He moved the canteen back and forth, staring at it as if he could somehow see the water inside as it sloshed from side-to-side. “I could learn how to soldier, my friends in the Brotherhood said, and one day I could help free Ireland. At the same time, if I joined the cavalry, I’d be able to make use of my skill with horses. It seemed a sensible idea at the time.”
“Do you regret enlisting?”
“No.” He took swig from the canteen. “But I was new to America. I had no idea that a war might break out between the states. Or what war was like, and what it would do to the men who fought it. What it would do to me.”
He stopped. Jaclyn waited for him to say more, but suddenly he stiffened. She looked around, trying to see what he had seen. After a moment she noticed Thomas Newbigging and the Reverend David Lumsden. They were standing tensely and Newbigging was making a cutting motion with his hands.
Newbigging’s eyes were narrowed and his shoulders were set in a rigid line. He was clearly annoyed about something. Lumsden, on the other hand, had an oddly relaxed stance in the face of Newbigging’s hostility.
Jaclyn shot Sean a quick glance. “What’s up, do you think?” she said, pointing toward the two men.
His jaw hardened and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “Lumsden’s drunk.”
Jaclyn knew Lumsden was an alcoholic because she’d read about it in the records of the invasion, but she wondered how Sean knew. “Really? He looks sober enough.”
“Does he?” Sean kept his narrowed gaze on Newbigging and Lumsden. “Thomas Newbigging is clearly angry. In fact he appears to be ready to set his fist right into the Reverend Lumsden’s fine straight nose, yet Lumsden stands there resting on one hip, his hands piously linked before him, looking like he is about say his prayers.”
Jaclyn laughed. “Maybe he is! He may know that he’s no match for Newbigging if they come to blows.”
Sean shook his head. “There’s more to it than that. Look at his face. See how unfocused his expression is? His body is there, but his mind is elsewhere.”
“Okay,” Jaclyn said. “I see what you mean. But how do you know those signs show he’s drunk?”
“Experience. Keeping men away from spirits is half an officer’s job.”
Again, there was that edge of anger, carefully contained. Sean O’Dell might be a soldier, but he didn’t like war, or the army. He stood up, settling his hat on his head and straightening his shoulders. “Come along, young Jack, we’d best interrupt them before they come to blows.”
***
“Mr. Newbigging, I can assure you these men have the most gracious manners,” Lumsden was saying as Sean and Jaclyn neared. “You will not be—Ah, Major...O’Dell, is it not?”
Sean touched the brim of his hat. “Reverend. Mr. Newbigging. From a distance it appeared that you were having some sort of difficulty. May I be of assistance?”
Thomas Newbigging rounded on him with considerable relief. “Indeed you can, O’Dell. I find that not only has my orchard been destroyed to make a place for your camp, but every one of my horses has been stolen by your so called foraging parties.” Newbigging’s voice hardened. “I want my horses back.”
Sean appeared unmoved by the demand. “I am afraid that is not possible, sir.”
Newbigging thrust out his chest and his fists bunched. Subtly, Sean moved, positioning his feet wider apart and putting his hand on the hilt of his sword. His expression didn’t change.
Newbigging took note of Sean’s body language and relaxed his own. Lumsden looked on, a fatuous smile on his face, apparently oblivious to the little drama being played out before him.
Fascinating, Jaclyn thought. Nowhere in his letters did Thomas Newbigging state that the Reverend David Lumsden had been drinking during the afternoon of June 1, but it was clear to her that the man had imbibed enough to be well lit, if not yet soused.
“Then I’ll talk to Colonel O’Neill,” Newbigging said, determination in every tense line of him. “He should be finished meeting with his officers by now.”
“That will not be necessary, sir.”
Rage snapped in Newbigging’s eyes. “Just who are you to tell me what is and what is not necessary?”
Sean’s hand was still on the sword hilt, his feet still planted, but there was a certain arrogant, relaxed casualness in the set of his shoulders. “I am in charge of the commissariat. I’m the officer who sent the foraging party to your farm, Mr. Newbigging. I ordered your horses confiscated.”
“Then you can order them returned.”
“No, I cannot.”
“Cannot or will not?”
Sean shrugged. Newbigging looked as if he was going to burst.
Lumsden smiled and gestured toward Sean. “Come, Mr. Newbigging. We don’t need to deal with this gentleman, as delightful a young man as he is. We shall talk to Colonel O’Neill. He will sort out this whole problem.”
“Colonel O’Neill will not see you,” Sean said. Though his voice was even there was an edge of annoyance in his tone.
“Don’t be so sure,” Newbigging said.
“Come along, my dear sir. We only waste time bandying words with the good Captain—”
“Major!”
“Of course, of course! How silly of me. The good Major.” He tugged at Newbigging’s sleeve.
Thomas nodded. “You are right, Reverend. There is no sense dealing with underlings.”
Sean’s jaw clenched and his mouth tightened. Jaclyn wondered if he was going to be the one to start the brawl, not Thomas Newbigging. She put her hand on his arm. It was a feminine gesture, one that women had used forever to stop their men from going too far, and it succeeded in distracting Sean O’Dell. He looked down at Jaclyn’s hand, then over at her face. There was a question in his eyes that made her realize just what she’d done. She snatched her hand away, reddened, and hoped he wouldn’t put two and two together and come up with the right answer.
She needed a distraction. Thomas Newbigging and David Lumsden provided it. “Looks like they’re off to see the wizard.”
Sean frowned and followed her pointing finger. “What’s this about a wizard?”
“Never mind!” she said hastily. “Are we going to follow them?”
“I am.” He continued watching the two men. “You are going back to unloading the carts.”
No way was she going to miss the meeting between O’Neill, Newbigging and Lumsden. “Come on, Major O’Dell, don’t shut me out now. I want to see if the good guys win or lose.”
He looked down at her, his brows raised. “And just who are ‘the good guys?’”
She grinned. “What do you think?”
His gaze shifted back to Newbigging and Lumsden and he started to walk. Since he hadn’t forced her back to the unloading zone, Jaclyn took this to be an invitation to join him.
“Who is Thomas Newbigging?”
Jaclyn frowned. “I thought you knew, Sean. He’s a justice of the peace, a town councilor and he owns this property.”
“That’s who he is now. Where did he come from? What are
his beginnings?”
For once Jaclyn was lost. She hadn’t done any research on Thomas Newbigging’s family background, only on his part in the Fenian invasion. “I don’t know. He’s farmed this land for a long time.”
“Was he born to landowning, or did he work his way into it?”
How should she answer that? She was supposed to know the area and the people in it. Wouldn’t she know if the Newbiggings had been on the land for generations? “This part of the country has been settled for a long time, seventy-five years, I think.”
Sean made a cynical sound in his throat. “Born into it.”
In the distance Newbigging and Lumsden had reached the command post. Lumsden was talking to the soldier who stood guard, but the sentry was shaking his head. Thomas Newbigging stood straight and disapproving, then he said something that made the soldier look at him out of the corner of his eye and shake his head again, more emphatically this time. Newbigging turned away. When he saw Sean and Jaclyn approaching, he said something to Lumsden who looked around, smiled, pointed, then began to talk earnestly to the sentry, his hands moving expressively.
The soldier nodded and pointed toward the command tent. Newbigging and Lumsden went in.
“What the devil?” Sean said.
Jaclyn laughed. “I think the good Reverend has just taken your name in vain, Major O’Dell.”
“Damnation!”
Sean lengthened his stride. Jaclyn followed suit. When they reached the compound the guard nodded. “Major, the two gentlemen are inside the tent waiting for you.”
Sean didn’t say anything. He impaled the guard with a look that made him blanch, then strode over to O’Neill’s tent.
Jaclyn followed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “Wow. This guy Lumsden is good, isn’t he?”
Sean didn’t reply. He walked into the tent to find Colonel O’Neill leaning back in his chair as David Lumsden introduced Thomas Newbigging through one of his long, flowing discourses.
“I have met Mr. Newbigging,” O’Neill said, cutting Lumsden off. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Mr. Newbigging?”
“Your boys stole my horses.”
O’Neill saw Sean. “Is this true, Major?”
Sean stood at attention. “I did not exempt Mr. Newbigging from the foraging expedition, sir.”
O’Neill turned back to Newbigging. “We did not steal your horses, Mr. Newbigging, we requisitioned them. Please make a note of your losses. When we have defeated the British we will do our best to reimburse you and others who have aided our cause in this way.”
That was too much for Thomas Newbigging. He looked from O’Neill to Sean and back again. “Hear me, sir! I am not aiding your cause. I am against it. I am a loyal citizen of Britain and I know no matter what happens, if I should fight and fall, or if you should steal all the goods I own, that my government will support me. They will make good any losses I sustain in this absurd invasion.”
“I am sorry to hear you say that, Mr. Newbigging. We have not come here as enemies, but to help the people of this land.”
“By stealing our horses?”
O’Neill sighed. “Mr. Newbigging, if you believe the British government will reimburse you for the loss of your horses then why are you here?”
“Just because they will see to my losses, doesn’t mean I have to stand for you raping my land, stealing my livestock and God knows what else.”
They were pretty much at a standstill now. Jaclyn couldn’t see how Newbigging and O’Neill were going to escape from this impasse to get where the records said they were about to go.
“I am sure you can understand Mr. Newbigging’s concerns, Colonel,” Lumsden said, his voice smooth to the point of being oily. “He is a reasonable man and one of some influence in this region. Surely it would be advisable for you to take that into consideration.”
Newbigging was watching Lumsden the way a cat watched a wounded bird, ready to pounce if need be, but willing to wait. Evidently he’d realized that he would not make any further progress with O’Neill and hoped Lumsden would be more successful.
Beside her, Jaclyn saw Sean stiffen, but he didn’t speak. She sensed that he was angry and impatient, but also resigned. He knew the way the world worked.
Lumsden raised his hands, palms up and spread his arms. “That is why, Colonel, I am sure you will agree to attend—”
“Lumsden!” The dismay in Newbigging’s voice was obvious to everyone in the tent but the Reverend David Lumsden.
“Am I being too slow, Mr. Newbigging? Forgive me. Colonel, Mr. Newbigging would like to invite you to join him for tea this afternoon—”
“Lumsden!”
“Sweet Mary, Mother of God,” Sean muttered.
Jaclyn choked back a giggle.
Lumsden beamed and waved his hands in an all-encompassing, generous way. “And your fine officers, of course.” He paused, peered at Jaclyn, then added, “And this young man, as well. You are all welcome. We can then discuss the loss of Mr. Newbigging’s horses in a much more pleasant setting, don’t you think?”
To his credit, John O’Neill kept a straight face and did not exacerbate the fury that was clearly evident on Thomas Newbigging’s features, but there was amusement in his eyes as he said, “How delightful, Mr. Newbigging. Of course I accept your kind invitation, for myself and on behalf of my officers. I cannot answer for our young visitor, however.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jaclyn said. Like O’Neill she was trying not to let her amusement show, but it wasn’t easy.
O’Neill nodded, then said politely, “What time should we attend your party, Mr. Newbigging?”
“It’s not a party. It’s tea,” Newbigging said.
“My mistake,” O’Neill said. He couldn’t quite keep the laughter out of his voice this time.
Newbigging reddened. “Come at four. We take tea at four of the clock.”
O’Neill rose and with a little bow that was somehow dismissive, said, “We shall be there, Mr. Newbigging.”
Newbigging gritted his teeth, glared at Lumsden and turned to leave. Sean stepped aside to let him pass. Lumsden gave O’Neill a cheery wave and followed.
When they were gone, Sean saluted his commander. “I’ll follow them, sir.”
O’Neill grinned. “Good idea. I would hate to have our tea party cancelled because our host had killed his friend.”
CHAPTER TEN
Newbigging and Lumsden weren’t going to kill each other before the tea party so Jaclyn took Sean’s plate and cutlery down to the stream to wash it while he went off to do his officer thing.
The soldier guarding the baggage gave her a friendly wave as she returned the plate to Sean’s knapsack. Using her body as a shield she quickly rifled the pack. There wasn’t much beyond what she’d seen before, but she did find a book—a copy of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick—and a picture of a man and a woman standing side-by-side in front of a photographer’s backdrop. In true Victorian fashion there was no physical contact between them as they stared into the camera, their expressions serious. Were these Sean’s parents? They were young when the photo was taken, perhaps in their thirties, but that was easy to explain. Having a portrait taken mid-nineteenth century was expensive. You did it once and not again. As she walked through the camp she realized she couldn’t ask him their identities or he’d know that she’d been snooping in his stuff. She was quite certain that would make him really mad.
The Fenian camp was now a mixture of invaders, dressed in various combinations of Union blue, green jackets or civilian clothes, and Canadians, many of whom had doffed their jackets and were wandering about in their shirtsleeves. The two groups mixed together easily. The invaders were friendly and non-threatening, despite their lethal collection of weapons, and the local people were polite, interested, and equally non-threatening. It was a perfect marriage of convenience.
She looked up at the sky, trying to judge the time from the position of the sun. It was past noon and before dusk,
but that was about as precise as she could figure out. She didn’t want to miss the tea, but she had also begun to think about what was happening with the Canadian volunteers.
By this time the Queen’s Own along with her ancestor, Hugh MacLeod, were nearing or had reached Port Colborne, located on the Lake Erie side of the Niagara Peninsula. Colonel John Stoughton Dennis, the acting commander of the Queen’s Own, was feeling pretty full of himself, for he believed that he would be the officer in command of the Canadian militia forces fighting the invasion.
Dennis would have the afternoon and evening to preen before the Thirteenth Battalion from Hamilton would arrive in Port Colborne. Their commander, Colonel Alfred Booker, was senior to Dennis, so he would take over command of the volunteer force. Frustrated, Dennis would then do his utmost to carve out an independent command of his own. But right now the Thirteenth were still on a hastily organized troop train heading west to pick up further volunteers.
Captain Donohue, the Fenian who thought he’d had seen British regulars near Chippewa, had been wrong. The British regular forces were still in transit on the afternoon of June first. The riders Donohue had seen were civilians and they were as shocked at the sight of the Fenians as the Fenians were of them. When Colonel Peacocke, the officer in command, arrived in Chippewa later that day, the mayor would inform him that the Fenians were nearby. Peacocke would take heed and proceed cautiously.
It seemed to Jaclyn that here in the Fenian camp there were fewer troops about this afternoon than there had been when the Fenians had first dragged her from the riverside this morning. She knew the Fenians lost men during the day of June first, but it was impossible to tell if the men wandering out of the camp were going AWOL or if they had been sent out on some official business.
She looked at the sky again. The sun had moved, but she couldn’t be sure how close it was to four o’clock. She decided to seek out Sean. Even though he didn’t have a watch, he seemed able to tell the time pretty well. She could only hope he didn’t want to miss Newbigging’s tea either.
