by Tamara Gill
Delight blossomed in her eyes and she pulled away. She made a fist and did a short, punching jab in the air at the same time as she said, “Yes!”
Damn, if she wasn’t the strangest female he’d ever met.
***
The Fenian camp was settling down for a party. Wagons containing casks of local bootlegged booze had arrived soon after she and Sean had had their little argument and even though he knew she was a girl, he’d set her to work helping unload the consignment. As her muscles screamed with over use and she felt new aches adding to old ones, Jaclyn had cursed him for that. The work proceeded quickly though. Now the casks were set up in central points around the camp and their contents would be poured out once the party began.
The mournful lowing of cattle made her turn. She saw several Fenians guiding a herd of cows into a field beside the camp. Jaclyn didn’t know much about cows. She was surprised by how big they were in real life and how much noise they made clumped together in a herd. These cows had brown and white splotches all over their hides and huge hanging udders. The lead cow had big, soft brown eyes and wore a bell, which gave out a tinny clank with her every step. She was being prodded with a stick by one of the Fenians, evidently to make her to go where she didn’t want to. Apparently this cow was no fool. She wanted to head home, have her dinner and go to bed. This nonsense about going on an adventure into the unknown wasn’t for her.
But here she was with no more choice than anyone else in the area had had on this long, hot June day. She belonged to Thomas Newbigging and her fate, along with the others in the herd, would bring him to the Fenian camp for one last time that day.
When the Fenian herders started to divide the cows Jaclyn turned away. Soon many of those in the herd would be dinner for the Fenian army. Jaclyn hoped that the lead cow with her cheery bell wouldn’t become part of the Fenian celebration. Feeling rather queasy, she decided not to stick around to watch the slaughtering.
As it had been all day, the camp was filled with civilians from Fort Erie. They were talking to the Fenian soldiers, checking up on their horses, or just wandering around gawking at the sight of the little city of tents that had sprung up so suddenly on their doorstep. Jaclyn nodded to William Lewis and saw old Jim Bailey trying to convince the Fenian horse minder that Sunny Girl and the other Bailey horses should be returned. The Fenian was having none of it, but neither he nor Jim seemed to be irate about their little disagreement.
It was a different world from the one Jaclyn was used to. With travel difficult and time consuming, the mail slow—and no e-mail alternative—and many newspapers coming out only once a week, people were not constantly bombarded with information. An event like this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and the advent of so many strangers provided a pleasurable leavening to the sameness of everyday life in a small community. As an antidote to boredom, the Fenians were already proving effective. Things were only going to become more exciting the next day.
So old Jim Bailey wheedled and bargained with the Fenian soldier, testing out his skills on a stranger and enjoying the debate. Without the stresses of everyday pressures to put an edge on his temper, he could afford the time and the energy to deal with this problem. Jaclyn figured that eventually he would succeed, for she couldn’t remember his name as one of the local citizens claiming damages from the government as a result of the invasion.
She wandered off without speaking to Bailey. He was having fun and she didn’t want to interrupt his flow. Moreover, she was tired. The muscles in her legs had stiffened as a result of her ride on the old gray and her shoulders were sore from hauling supplies. Her body was telling her she ought to find a spot to sit down and maybe have a little snooze. But if she did that would she wake up in her own time? Then again, what if she didn’t wake up back in the twenty-first century? How was she going to get home?
She shoved her hands into her pockets and told herself that she was just being stupid. She’d get home somehow and in the meantime she would learn as much as she could about the Fenian invasion through firsthand experience.
Her meanderings brought her to the command tent of Colonel O’Neill, although she hadn’t consciously headed that way. The Fenian sentry grinned at her. He’d been posted there through much of the day, so they were familiar with each other.
“Looking for Major O’Dell?” he asked, leaning on his rifle with a casualness that made Jaclyn nervous.
She eyed the gun in a worried way and said, “Sure.”
The Fenian nodded. “He’s in there all right, but you can’t see him. They’re working out strategy, Colonel O’Neill and all the senior officers, that is. Bound to be at it awhile yet. Why don’t you go rustle up some dinner?” He sucked in an appreciative breath and shot her a wink and a leer. “I’ll bet those steaks will taste mighty fine when they’re cooked.”
Jaclyn thought about the cows with their big soft eyes and plodding steps. “Any possibility of a vegi meal tonight?”
The Fenian frowned.
She shook her head and raised her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Never mind.”
She turned and sniffed the air as she moved. There was definitely the scent of beef on the barbie so some of Newbigging’s cows had been sacrificed to the Fenian deception already. She sighed, then chuckled to herself. Thomas Newbigging was about to storm the Fenian camp with yet another demand. A little of her energy returned as she thought of the upcoming conflict. Thomas Newbigging was not going remember this as one of his better days.
She headed toward the Newbigging house and caught Thomas striding along, his face set and shoulders stiff.
She waved at him and said, “They’re in the field over by the horse picket lines.”
He didn’t ask how she knew what he wanted. He just nodded and accepted. “Can you show me where the picket lines are located?”
“Sure.”
“I invited them to tea to avoid something of this nature,” he said. His strides were long and impatient. Jacqui found herself in a running walk just to keep up with him.
“That idiot Lumsden convinced me O’Neill was a decent man who would honor his word when he gave it. I should have listened to my own instincts and told O’Neill to go to hell.”
“You will get most of your cows back.”
Newbigging snorted. “O’Neill promised me I would lose nothing else. He provided me with a piece of worthless paper that stated my property was not to be touched. Ha! A lot of nonsense.”
They reached the picket line. Old Jim Bailey was still in negotiations for the freedom of his horses, but the Fenian guard didn’t appear to be anywhere near to being won over by his arguments. In the field beyond, the cows mooed and shuffled about, evidently agitated.
“I see your stock is still alive and well, Bailey.”
Jim Bailey sighed and wandered over to where Thomas Newbigging was doing a quick visual count of his somewhat depleted herd.
“I’ve been trying to get the horses back. The black gelding is a useful beast, but it’s Sunny Girl I really want. It’s bad enough that the Fenian major broke her to the saddle against my wishes, but Adam and I have plans to breed her when she’s old enough. She’s a filly I will miss if she isn’t returned.”
“I’m short,” Newbigging said. “What have they done with the rest of my herd?”
“Dinner,” Jaclyn said. “Smell.”
The two men sniffed the air. Jim Bailey nodded in a mournful way and an expression of resigned outrage settled over Thomas Newbigging’s face.
“Damnation,” he muttered. “You there! Stop what you are doing immediately! These are my cattle. I’m taking them back.”
The Fenian looked at him. “I don’t think so, mister. These beasts will feed us for days.”
An ugly flush stained Newbigging’s cheeks. Jim Bailey shook his head and said to Jaclyn, “That Fenian fellow has made a mistake. Tom Newbigging is a patient man, but once his temper’s up he’s the very devil to cross.”
“I have a signed order fr
om Colonel O’Neill,” Newbigging was saying loudly, “stating that none of my property is to be taken by you fellows. Return the cattle to me immediately and I will overlook your transgression.”
The Fenian soldier didn’t appear to be in the least intimidated by either the anger in Newbigging’s voice or his signed document. “Can’t do that, mister. I have my orders.”
“This supersedes any orders you might have been given!”
“No sense in using your uppity words on me, Englishman! I can’t hardly understand the half of them. You say you’ve got an order? How do I know if it’s real or not?”
“Here!” Newbigging thrust the document in the Fenian’s face. “Read it.”
The Fenian pushed the paper away without looking at it. “I can’t read, mister, so your paper’s no good to me. I get my orders when my officer comes by and gives them to me. Until then, I keep your cattle and I slaughter your cattle if that’s what I’ve been ordered to do.”
For one seething, silent minute Thomas Newbigging did nothing at all. The Fenian who handled the horse picket sauntered over to stand nearby and the Fenians working the cows also moved closer. If it came to a skirmish between Thomas Newbigging and the Fenian soldiers, it was clear who would be the winner.
“I will return with an officer and when I do I will take my cattle back. There had better no more missing than there are right now.”
The Fenian shrugged. Newbigging glared at him then turned away. He headed off without waiting to see if Jaclyn or Jim Bailey were with him.
He made quick time to the command tent. Jaclyn trotted along behind. Jim Bailey decided to stay with his horses and wait there to see what happened.
“I want to see O’Neill,” Newbigging said to the sentry.
Predictably the Fenian shook his head. “The Colonel is busy.”
Newbigging waved his signed order in the sentry’s face. “Your soldiers are in violation of a direct order of your commander. I think he would want to know about it now, even if he asked not to be disturbed.”
The sentry shook his head again. “I can’t do that, mister.”
Thomas’s hands clenched. The order O’Neill had written crackled as the paper crumpled in his hand.
In his description of the invasion Thomas Newbigging didn’t say anything about decking a Fenian sentry, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t have happened. Jaclyn winked at the sentry. “I bet the meeting is almost over. Perhaps you could just ask Major O’Dell to come out and let him decide if it’s important enough to bother the Colonel with.”
The sentry looked from Jaclyn’s helpful expression to Thomas Newbigging’s narrow-eyed fury and decided that the idea was a good one. He poked his head into the tent and a few moments later Sean emerged.
Jaclyn shot him a cautious look and gestured toward Newbigging. Sean raised his brows and she thought she could see a look of resignation in his blue eyes. “Good evening to you, Mr. Newbigging. I’m told you have a problem.”
“This paper O’Neill signed is worth shit!”
Wow! Jaclyn eyed Newbigging with interest. It appeared that even starchy Victorians could let go at times. She had no idea he’d even know any swear words.
Sean held out his hand. “And what paper would that be, Mr. Newbigging?”
“You know damn well what it is!” But he handed over the document.
Sean read the order quickly. As he gave it back to Newbigging he said, “What part of your property has been taken now?”
“My cattle. The whole herd. I want those that haven’t been slaughtered returned to me tonight.”
Sean raised his brows. “I see no problem with that, Mr. Newbigging. The Colonel’s orders are clear. Your property is not to be taken or used by our men.”
“Then explain that to them!” Filled with frustration, Newbigging’s voice rose.
Colonel O’Neill sauntered out of the tent. “What is going on here?”
“Mr. Newbigging’s herd of cattle has been brought to the camp, sir.”
“Take a deep breath, O’Neill! Those are my cattle your men are cooking.”
O’Neill and Sean exchanged looks. “The men are celebrating our successful invasion, Mr. Newbigging,” O’Neill said.
Newbigging snorted. “I should have expected as much. What kind of army is this, O’Neill? I gave one of your men the orders you had signed and he refused to acknowledge them. Are you really in charge here?”
O’Neill’s eyes narrowed. “Beware, Mr. Newbigging, lest you step too far. I appreciate that you have been much put upon today, but...”
“Damn you! You ruined my orchard. You’ve stolen my horses and my food and now my cattle. Don’t talk to me about being put upon. This goes beyond being put upon. This is an outrage! You claim you have come here to liberate us? I fear for the future if you succeed. The might of Britain provides far better government than the petty tyranny of Irish marauders ever would!”
This was not the Thomas Newbigging who appeared in the documents Jaclyn had discovered in the provincial archives. This was a weary man pushed beyond his limits and spoiling for a fight.
O’Neill must have recognized that, for he said, “Major O’Dell, go with Mr. Newbigging and make sure his herd is returned to him. Mr. Newbigging, my apologies.”
Newbigging didn’t nod or acknowledge this in any way. He simply stomped off in the direction of the field where his cattle were being held.
Sean exchanged another look with O’Neill and followed. Jaclyn tagged along behind.
***
Dusk was upon them by the time Thomas Newbigging’s cattle had been herded back to his barnyard and penned up. Sean had overseen the whole operation and he’d kept Jaclyn with him. She’d come closer to the big beasts than she’d ever imagined she would and had nearly had her foot trodden on by one. The fragrant scent of grilling beef gave the whole herding expedition a surreal overtone that bemused her tired mind. Supper on the hoof. Despite her earlier squeamishness she was getting hungry.
The party was in full swing when they returned to the camp. Sean retrieved his pack with his blanket and eating utensils, settled her down by one of the fires and went off to get them supper.
Jaclyn yawned. The heat of the June day was slowly cooling into a warm evening. The fire was far enough away to be pleasantly warm and mesmerizing to watch as sparks snapped and sap sizzled in the green wood. She let her mind drift.
Tonight the Fenians would drink the bootlegged booze and eat Newbigging’s beef. There would be an unmistakable party atmosphere as the hardheaded Irishmen enjoyed the liquor and the euphoria of success. The Canadians visiting the camp would join in the festivities. When dark came, they’d be hustled out of the camp, certain that the Fenians were falling down drunk and would be unable to act the next day.
This information would be transmitted to Port Colborne and to Chippewa where the defenders were massing. The news that the Fenians were feasting on rare meat and hard liquor would be, in its way, reassuring. Irishmen were expected to over-indulge and get drunk. Once they were drunk they would have to sleep it off for hours, then would probably lie about with hangovers for even longer.
Colonel Peacocke, now settled in at Chippewa, had struck Jaclyn as a man of little imagination as she conducted her research. He would seize upon the Fenians’ feasting and drinking as predictable behavior and use it as the basis for his overall strategy. He forgot that the invaders were not just Irishmen but seasoned veterans of the bloodiest and most bitterly fought war of that era.
Sean returned with his cup filled to the brim with a murky liquid and a plateful of beef to which he’d added some boiled potatoes and turnips. Jaclyn sniffed. It smelled wonderful.
He took a sip from the cup then offered it to her. She was thirsty, so she tipped the cup up and drank deeply.
The raw alcohol landed in her empty belly and exploded with the force of a cluster bomb. Every cell in her body protested. Fire burned through her and knocked the breath from her lungs. Her body was para
lyzed and for a moment she thought she was going to suffocate, for she could only think about drawing a breath, not do it. Her eyes watered and the back of her head prickled. Then the firestorm passed, Sean thumped her on the back and she was able to suck in a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, my God! What was that?”
“One hundred proof whiskey. It’s not a good idea to drink it down like it’s water.”
“Hooch,” Jaclyn said. Her voice came out somewhere between a squeak and a wheeze. Over her high school and university career she’d drunk everything from beer to shooters, but she’d never experienced anything with the impact this stuff had.
“Fort Erie’s finest,” Sean said. He cut a piece of beef and held out the fork. “Have something to eat. That will help your stomach.”
She was so hungry. She plucked the meat from the fork and chewed. It tasted wonderful. “Oh no! This might be Bessy.”
“Who?” Sean speared another piece of meat with the fork.
“The spotted cow with the big brown eyes and the bell.” Jaclyn pushed away the fork he was holding out to her. “I can’t eat this.”
He shook his head. “Sure you can. It’s a mistake to put a name to a cow, particularly one that may turn out to be your dinner.”
He had a point. She hadn’t had any trouble eating the chicken stew this afternoon, even though she’d guessed the chickens that had gone into it had belonged to the postmaster, William Lewis. Still, she’d never actually met the chickens and she couldn’t quite push Bessy’s mournful expression from her mind. “I’ll stick with the vegies, if you don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself.” Sean ate the chunk of beef while Jaclyn used the spoon on a potato. “I’ll take meat over potatoes any time.”
“I thought the Irish ate a lot of potatoes.”
“Too many,” Sean said, rather grimly.
Jaclyn mashed a potato and a chunk of turnip together, then scooped them up. “I know what you mean. My mom is into broccoli. She serves it with practically every meal. Says it’s great for your cholesterol levels. She worries about stuff like that. Where’s your canteen?”
