by Tamara Gill
“A book publisher! How interesting. I cannot imagine why anyone would leave such a gentlemanly pursuit to join the army.”
O’Neill smiled faintly. “It does not pay very well, Mrs. Newbigging, and the public is fickle in its choice of books. Then too, I was a young man of three and twenty when I decided to join the army. I found the book business dull and craved the excitement of being in the military.”
Mrs. Newbigging shuddered delicately. “Did you serve in many campaigns, Colonel?”
“I was involved in the Mormon War and in the Civil War.”
“And now you are part of the Fenian invasion force. I must say, sir, that I would have thought the War Between the States would have provided enough excitement for anyone!”
“I am not here for excitement, Mrs. Newbigging, but for justice,” O’Neill said very seriously, flicking a quick glance at Thomas Newbigging.
Mrs. Newbigging glanced at her husband too, then she smiled and said, “What an honorable pursuit,” before she began to interview Owen Starr, asking him gentle questions that seemed innocent, but were not, then listening to his answers with an open, uncritical expression that invited confidences.
She’s really good. Jaclyn munched on a ham sandwich that tasted wonderful. By the time she had polished off another ham sandwich, Mrs. Newbigging had finished with Starr and Haggerty and had set her sites on Sean.
She began by offering him more tea.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You drink it without lemon or milk, I think, Major?”
“That is correct, ma’am.”
A hard nut, Jaclyn thought, hiding a grin. Sean had decided to be difficult.
“You must be a connoisseur of fine tea, Major. Is there a good selection in the United States?”
Jaclyn sipped her own cup of tea. Unlike Sean, she had added lemon, wondering as she did so, where the Newbiggings had acquired the fruit at this time of year, in this provincial backwater. The little wedges were yet another sign of wealth and standing for this Canadian family.
Mrs. Newbigging had used her best china for the tea party and the hand-painted cup looked small and fragile in Sean’s tanned, callused hands. He held it gingerly, as if he was afraid he would break it. But he smiled as he listened to Mrs. Newbigging and when he answered, his rich Irish-accented voice was laced with amusement, not nerves. “I’m afraid I cannot answer your question, ma’am, as I’ve mainly drunk coffee since I emigrated to America.”
Mrs. Newbigging opened her eyes wide. “Coffee only? Imagine! Not that I dislike coffee, of course. I do drink it, you understand, but I do enjoy a cup of tea. It is so much more soothing than coffee, don’t you think, Major?”
He looked down at the cup in his hands. “Tea has its place.”
“I am sure you are thinking of your childhood, Major, when tea was a much more common drink.”
“Perhaps I am.” He smiled, but his eyes were wary.
Mrs. Newbigging continued blithely on, giving no indication that she’d noticed the danger signs, but the direction of her questions veered away from the tender subject of his life in Ireland. “I see from your uniform that you were an officer in the Union army, Major.” He nodded. She continued on. “Such a very difficult time for everyone in the States. Had you been there long before you joined up?’
“No, ma’am.”
To Jaclyn’s amusement, Sean told the story of landing in New York and being adopted by the Fenian Brotherhood. Mrs. Newbigging made approving noises and Sean continued on, outlining his decision to join the army and his experiences in the war. Like the other Fenians, he moderated his description so as not to distress his hostess.
That didn’t stop her from asking, “But Major, after all the dreadful experiences you must have suffered during the war, why did you join this invasion?”
Sean looked down at the teacup again. When he returned his gaze to Mrs. Newbigging’s he said, “It was an obligation, ma’am.”
O’Neill added, “We invaded your land to help our Irish brethren in Canada West free themselves from the rule of Great Britain, a ruthless tyrant nation. We are here because we seek to aid Irish independence everywhere. Ireland is a small country, Mrs. Newbigging, ruled by a large one that does not understand or respect the Irish race. We are champions of peoples who wish to free themselves from the tyranny of a larger, more powerful nation.”
“And yet you and all your men joined the Union army, Colonel, not the Confederacy.”
Jaclyn almost choked on her tea. Britain had supported the South during the US Civil War. Faced with the growing danger of sharing a border with the increasingly belligerent—and wealthy—Northern States, many in the British North American colonies had also sympathized with the Confederacy. The two societies had some elements in common. Both had a social structure that was markedly different from that of the North, both were more agrarian than industrialized and neither wanted to become an extension of the vigorous, ruthlessly capitalistic Northern way of life. Though not everybody in Canada had been pro-Confederacy, many felt it was a small David fighting against the massive might of a Goliath. Sympathies had been for the underdog.
Mrs. Newbigging allowed no time for the room to ice over with hostility and tension as a result of her zinger. She immediately turned her attention the last person in the room who had not been the recipient of her gentle interrogation.
Jaclyn should have been prepared for her turn to come up, but none of the men had paid much attention to her and she’d been lulled by the interesting conversation Mrs. Newbigging had stimulated.
“Your name is Jack, is it not?”
Despite the warmth of the day, Jacqui shivered, with a fear that was swift and potent. She had to figure out a way to stop this woman or she’d be in deep trouble.
The problem was, she hadn’t a clue how to do it. “Yes, ma’am.”
“My husband tells me you are visiting the Baileys. Are you a relative of some kind?”
Jaclyn took a deep breath, let it out and took another. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. She stole a quick look at Sean. A lock of black hair had fallen over his forehead. Beneath it his blue eyes were narrowed and his mouth was fixed in a straight, set, line.
“I’m at university,” she muttered.
“McGill,” Newbigging said, wading into the fray.
“A college man!” Mrs. Newbigging said. “How delightful.” She began to talk about the son of someone in the area who was also at McGill. “Mildred is so proud of him.”
“I guess so,” Jaclyn said. Her mind was absolutely frozen. She couldn’t think of a single way to stop this disastrous conversation.
“Do you know him?”
She hadn’t thought it could get worse, but it just had. If she was a local person wouldn’t she know this guy? How big was McGill in 1866? Pretty small, she’d guess. Even if she’d been from somewhere else she would probably have known the apple of Mildred’s eye. “Er, of course.”
“What are you studying, Jack?”
“History...and the culture too...of the ancient world. You know, Greece and Rome. Places like that.”
“Oh! So you intend to be a man of the cloth like Mr. Lumsden?”
Lumsden beamed. “A divinity student! I had no idea. You must come to me for advice on your studies, lad.” His voice softened and a faraway look entered his eyes. “I remember the years of my education so well. That was a happy time for me. So full of opportunity and promise. My faith was strong then. I believed in myself and my future.”
Sean stood up. “I regret ma’am, Mr. Newbigging, that I must take my leave. Thank you for the pleasant conversation and the hospitality of your home. Colonel, I believe the last of our expected provisions should have arrived by now. I had better go attend to them. Jack? Come along with me.”
Mrs. Newbigging eliminated Jaclyn’s last hope that she’d be able to avoid having it out with Sean. “Thank you for coming, Major, Jack. It has been most interesting meeting you both.” She turned her
attention to her remaining guests.
They were dismissed. Jaclyn’s hands shook as she put the teacup and plate onto the tray beside Mrs. Newbigging and said a polite farewell. Though no one else in the room seemed to notice it, she could feel the fury radiating from Sean. She had no doubt that once they were out of earshot he would be asking a lot of questions she didn’t know how to answer.
He was stiffly polite to young Tom Newbigging junior who saw them to the door, and deadly silent as he and Jaclyn headed away from the house toward the camp. Finally, when they were in a no-man’s-land between the two, he stopped.
Jaclyn stopped too. She didn’t want to. She would have preferred to keep going and avoid this scene all together, but she figured Sean would grab her if she tried to walk on by and who knew where that would lead. Better to try to bluff this one out.
Sean looked her up and down. Jaclyn stared back at him, defiantly.
In a voice that was artificially calm and completely devoid of emotion, he said, “Who the devil are you?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Young Jack tilted up his chin in a way that was oddly unsettling and glared defiantly. “I told you,” he said. “I’m Jack Sinclair.”
“Is that really your name?”
The question seemed to startle him. He stepped back, blinking and frowning. “What makes you think it isn’t?”
There was caution in his voice. Sean took note and made assumptions. “You’ve already lied to me once. Why shouldn’t I question other facts you’ve told me?”
Jack let his lids droop over his eyes. They were long lashed and the movement was disarming, particularly when combined with that slight tilt to the proud, defiant head. “How did I do that?”
“You allowed me to believe that you were from around here, when you’re not.”
Jack swallowed and scuffed his foot. Then he looked up, a challenge in his eyes. “Why shouldn’t I? You wanted to make use of me. You planned to pump me for information about people and places in the area.”
Sean felt a muscle jump in his jaw, which he’d clenched so tightly it ached. “We’re here to help you. What we do is for your own good...” His voice faltered under the derisive expression in Jack’s eyes.
“Yeah, sure,” Jack said.
Fury swept through Sean, a hot physical burn that balled his hands into fists he longed to use to wipe the contempt from the boy’s smooth features. For a silent, terrifying moment he feared he would not be able to call upon the control he’d carefully cultivated since that night in Ireland when he’d let his temper guide his actions to the point that he’d killed a man with his bare hands. Then the icy cool of rage contained, but not controlled, shrouded him in a transitory calm.
He stepped closer to the boy, intimidating him with the promise of violence, but not the reality of it. “The Newbiggings don’t know who you are, but you know who they are. You identified Thomas Newbigging this morning. You picked him out and told us all that he was a JP and a member of the town council. How did you know that if you’re not from around here, boy?”
Jack took a step backward. Sean reached out and grabbed his arm. The boy started so squirm, twisting and pulling, using his free hand to thump Sean ineffectually. “Let me go!”
Sean reacted instinctively, seeking to immobilize rather than hurt. He caught the hand that was pummeling his shoulder and used it to jerk Jack hard against him. His plan was to unbalance the boy, give him a good shake, then push him away so that the only part of him that was harmed was his self-esteem.
It didn’t work out that way. When Jack landed hard against his body, Sean knew immediately why the boy hadn’t given his real name. He let Jack’s arms go and jumped away as if he’d been scalded. He was breathing hard and his heart was thundering. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears.
“Sweet Mother of Jesus!”
Jack was panting too and in her eyes was anger and something else. Fear perhaps? “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“You’re a girl!” It was a stupid thing to say, but it cleared his head. The pounding in his chest subsided and the icy calm that had cloaked his fury became a more normal cool.
She tilted her chin in that defiant way that didn’t quite look right on a boy, but had a very pretty effect in a girl. Sean grinned, enjoying the skirmish now.
Clearly the young lady opposite him wasn’t. Her eyes smoldered with outrage. “Quit it, you big lug! Just ’cause I’m a girl you don’t have to treat me differently.”
“Yes, I do.”
“As I expected! See why I didn’t tell you my real name? See why I’m not telling Thomas Newbigging or old Jim Bailey? If they knew I was a girl they’d deck me out in a crinoline and lock me up in the attic like Newbigging did with his daughters. Oh yes, he has daughters, although he wouldn’t let them attend the tea party this afternoon. We marched past one of them this morning. She was feeding the chickens, remember? He decided to keep them out of the action for their own protection, whether they wanted it or not.”
Sean let her spit out her impassioned tirade without interruption. There were good reasons why men kept their women secreted away and he was more inclined to applaud Newbigging’s actions than to censure them. Young Jack wouldn’t understand that, though. He didn’t think she much liked being a female.
When he was sure she’d finished he said, “What is your name?”
Her jaw worked. He guessed that she was trying to decide whether or not to cooperate. He almost laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was a spunky little thing, if a bit too skinny for his liking.
“My name is Jaclyn, Jaclyn Sinclair.”
A memory surfaced of the young prisoner he’d been given saying his name in a defiant, but also cautious way. At the time he’d thought the boy was simply scared. Sean laughed. “You were afraid you might gave yourself away when we first met this morning, weren’t you?”
Jaclyn shot him a look from under her lashes. Now that he knew she was a woman, he realized that she’d been using her tricks on him all day, and while he’d wondered about the boy in his care, he hadn’t stopped to wonder enough.
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It was a close run thing.”
Now they were getting somewhere. He relaxed and smiled at her in what he hoped was an encouraging way. “How did you get here?”
She took a while to answer. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Where are your parents?”
“In Toronto.”
Toronto was a hell of a distance away. “Would they be aware, now, that you’ve chopped off all your hair and borrowed your brother’s second best suit of clothes for this little adventure?”
Mischief sparkled in her eyes. “My parents are very liberal people.”
Sean snorted. “You’re not expecting me to believe that they know and approve of what you’re up to?”
“I wouldn’t say that they know what I’m doing right now, but they do know I’m here in the Niagara.”
“So it’s true that you’re visiting friends.”
She hunched her shoulders and scuffed her foot against the dry earth, then shot him one of those under-lash looks that worried Sean a great deal. It usually meant she was considering her answer carefully and was about to lead him down some path away from where he wanted to go. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair while she considered her answer. Finally she drew a deep breath then blew it out. The contrite expression on her face told him very clearly that she had no intention of admitting the truth.
“Look, Sean—”
“Major O’Dell.”
Temper chased remorse from her eyes. She thrust out her chin again. “Give it up! I’ve been calling you Sean all afternoon. What’s changed?”
“Everything, Miss Sinclair! You’re not a cocky boy, but an unmanageable female. What am I going to do with you?” He looked back at Newbigging’s house, toying with the idea of turning her over to the local justice of the peace.
“Oh, no, you’re not!”
she said, reading his intention. She stamped her foot. “I am damn well not going to be locked up in some back room with Newbigging’s daughters, Sean O’Dell. I’ll see you in hell first!” She crossed her arms over her chest and her eyes flashed with defiance and outrage.
Even dressed in a man’s trousers and the vest that effectively hid her breasts, Sean couldn’t imagine how he’d missed realizing that Jack was actually Jaclyn. She exuded a kind of strong, independent femininity that stirred his sexual interests, even though he liked his women rounded in all the right places. Unfortunately, he could imagine the reaction of many of the war-hardened veterans in the Fenian army if they discovered that the boy who had been wandering around the camp all day was really a young woman. He looked at Newbigging’s house again, judging what the repercussions would be if he dragged Jaclyn to the door and handed her over. Probably not good.
“I will not be turned over to Thomas Newbigging. Don’t even think of it!”
Any girl who was willing to cut off all her hair, dress in a boy’s clothes and make her way from Toronto to the Niagara was resourceful enough to escape from the care of a well-meaning country JP. And if she got loose tonight, with no one to protect her, she would be in worse trouble than she would if she remained in his care. Still, there was no reason to let Jaclyn think he was shifting over to her way of thinking. He was certain that she would take advantage of any action she saw as a weakness. “Thomas Newbigging knows how to protect his women.”
Her hands clenched into fists. She relaxed them, then reached out to him in entreaty. “Sean, look... How can I convince you that it would not be a good idea for me to stay with the Newbiggings?”
“I’ve got things to do. I can’t afford to have a girl tagging along behind me.”
“You couldn’t afford to have a kid tag along either, but it happened. Sean, don’t lock me away, please!”
If he hadn’t already decided to keep her with him, he would have been sorely tested by the entreaty in her big eyes and the hand that trembled a little as she reached out to him. But he had decided and he had to make his point. He caught that hand and pulled her close. “No one noticed the boy. Everyone will see the woman. Make sure you’re Jack and not Jaclyn and you can stay with me.”
