by Tamara Gill
Sara looked over at Jaclyn and smiled. With Sean settled she took up her sewing again. In and out, in and out. The rhythm was soothing, almost mesmerizing. “I am not certain, Jack, but I have faith.”
Jaclyn thought about that as she went down to the kitchen to organize some breakfast. Sara believed they had done the right thing by bringing Sean here to the Bailey farmhouse. In a broad way that fit with the thoughts Jacqui had been having about why the past had swallowed her up and brought her back to this particular time. Was she meant to be in the Fenian compound to keep Kempson from amputating Sean’s arm? Was she supposed to be involved in the lives of Sara and Jim Bailey and Sean O’Dell?
Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Who could tell? All she knew was that she was still here despite the fact that the Fenian invasion was officially over. The Fenians were on the scow in the custody of the US Navy, the town of Fort Erie had been secured, the population liberated from the invader, and the bitter, and eventually very nasty, recriminations had begun. She had plenty of material supporting her research, so she would have no problem finishing her report. If she had been dumped here so that she could discover the many little details about the invasion that were never recounted she could have gone last night. Since she was still here there had to be something more.
Grandpa was in the kitchen by the stove. He grunted good morning as she entered.
The ingredients for breakfast were set out on a scrubbed pine table. “Where’d you get the bacon?” Jaclyn asked. “Wow, and eggs too. I thought the Fenians had taken everything.”
“The bacon was behind a bag of onions. I guess they didn’t want the onions when they cleared out the root cellar and missed the bacon behind. As to the eggs, well I found a couple of hens that must have been off wandering when the rest were taken. There’s even half a loaf of bread from the other day. Altogether we’ll have a hearty breakfast. I can’t speak for tomorrow, though.”
Grandpa had a cast iron frying pan out on the stove. He laid the bacon into it and before long the meat began to sizzle, sending out a sweet, salty scent. Jaclyn closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the fragrant aroma.
“Watch this, would you, Jack, while I make coffee.” Using a thick wad of folded cloth to protect his hand, Bailey took a full pot of boiling water off the stove.
“Sure.” Jaclyn wandered over to the stove and used a fork to poke at the bacon. In her opinion it was cooking too fast. She looked around for the controls that regulated the heat, but found none. “How does this thing work?”
From the table where he was measuring spoonfuls of coffee into the bottom of a tin coffeepot, Grandpa said, “What do you mean?”
“Well, I want to turn down the bacon. Where are the regulator things, you know, the knobs that control the amount of heat on each burner?”
Grandpa was frowning at her in complete puzzlement. “Knobs? What are you talking about?”
Jaclyn looked at the stove then back at Grandpa. “No knobs? How do you change the heat then?”
His expression still bemused, Grandpa pointed at the door in the body of the stove that Jaclyn had thought was for the oven. “You bank the fire or you build it up. If you want to open the door, use this.” He handed her the folded cloth he’d used to carry the water container from the stove. “The latch is hot.”
Jaclyn took the cloth and opened the door. Inside a fire burned lustily, the coals red hot. She shut the door without touching anything. This time it was her turn to be bemused. “Okay. Well, maybe I’ll just move the frying pan around a bit so it’s not completely on the burner.”
“The whole top of the stove is hot,” Grandpa said, sounding amused now. “Pass me the cloth would you?”
Jaclyn passed it over and watched him pour the boiling water over the grounds. The coffeepot reminded her of the French press her parents used, except the container wasn’t glass and there didn’t seem to be a plunger that would squash the grounds against the bottom of the pot. In fact, it looked as if the grounds were expected to float around freely until they became saturated and sank.
Bizarre.
Old Jim Bailey finished pouring in the boiling water, placed the kettle on the floor by the stove and handed Jacqui back the cloth. Then he began to stir the water and the coffee grounds together. Jacqui used the cloth to wrap around the handle of the frying pan, which she lifted off the stove. It seemed the easiest way to cool the pan a little.
The knock on the door made her drop the pan back onto the stove. It hit the metal surface with a crash that she didn’t even notice. Her eyes wide, she looked at Bailey.
He set the spoon down carefully and straightened, staring at the door. “Well now, who could this be?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Grandpa, what if it’s the British? What if someone told them about Sean? What are we going to do?”
“We tell them he’s not here and ask them to leave. No one comes into my house without my consent. If they do they’ll get a fight.”
Jaclyn remembered Grandpa facing down Sean with the unloaded gun. Sean may have taken that weapon away from him, but Bailey had replaced it with the newer, more effective Springfield used by the Fenians at the Battle of Ridgeway. “Grandpa, are you going to load the musket this time?”
Jim Bailey laughed and went to answer the door. “If I have to.”
The front door to the Bailey farmhouse looked toward the Ridge Road. The back door, which led into the kitchen, faced south toward the path that led down to Thomas Newbigging’s house. On the first day of the invasion Sean and his foraging party had arrived at the Baileys’ kitchen door. Now the soldiers at the door were dressed in the darker blue of the Governor General’s Body Guard. Major George Denison had come to pay a visit.
Hovering behind Grandpa, Jaclyn recognized him immediately. She wondered how she should play this meeting and decided that the surly teenager role would be the most logical. After all, she’d spent a day in the invasion’s equivalent of jail because of this guy. She had a legitimate grievance. She shoved her hands into her pockets and hunched her shoulders as she stared at Denison with a sneering frown.
Grandpa too had apparently decided to be crusty and not particularly helpful. “Ah. More soldiers. If you’ve come for provisions, the last lot took all they could find. Left us with precious little to feed ourselves.”
George Denison saluted, then he smiled reassuringly. He seemed to like saluting and the smile told Jaclyn that he was enjoying himself thoroughly.
“You have no need to worry, sir. My men and I will not be a burden on the people of this region. We have secured the necessary provender.”
“That’s good to hear,” Grandpa warmed his voice a little, offering Major Denison a smidgen of acceptance. “What is it you’ve come for, er...”
“Major George Denison of the Governor General’s Body Guard, at your service, sir! Under the command of Colonel Lowry of the British forces.”
“What happened to Peacocke? He was the one in command when the Fenians invaded.”
“He was superseded, Grandpa,” Jaclyn murmured.
That focused Denison’s gaze onto her. His expression was puzzled for a moment, then it cleared. “You,” he said cheerfully, pointing at her, “were my first arrest.”
Jaclyn glared at him. She figured an annoyed teenage boy wouldn’t let that one go without protest. “Yeah, and you made me spend the day locked up with a bunch of scurvy Fenians, too! It took Thomas Newbigging vouching for me before I was set free.”
“My duty is to clear the area of the enemy and two Volunteers told me you were a Fenian.”
“They did not! They didn’t know who I was, which wasn’t surprising really, because they weren’t from around here. It was you who decided that I was a Fenian.”
“That’s enough, Jack.”
Jacqui crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at both Denison and Grandpa. She wasn’t sure if teenagers argued with their elders in the nineteenth century, but she could remember some whoppers with
her father and even visualized the sympathetic looks he received from other adults. An argument with Grandpa would establish a relationship between them in Denison’s mind and perhaps make him less suspicious of her. She added a whining note to her voice and said, “But Grandpa, this is the guy who wouldn’t pay attention to anything I said! I told him who I was. I told him again and again, but would he listen? No!”
“Boy, we talked about this yesterday. Did I give you leave to go down to Fort Erie?”
Warming to the little skit, Jaclyn kicked the doorframe in an absent-minded way, as a teenager who had found himself in the wrong might. “No, but...”
Grandpa nodded, shot a look at Denison and said, “I don’t say the Major was wrong not to have listened to you. But when all’s said and done you should not have been in town. Now, let’s have an end to it and find out what Major Denison wants of us.”
Denison looked relieved not to have been dragged into the family squabble. “I and my men have been patrolling the area, searching for Fenian stragglers.”
Jaclyn swallowed. She stared painfully at Denison’s face, with its eager, excited expression. Here it comes. He’s heard about Sean. What do we do?
“Grandpa! The bacon is burning!” Sara shrieked, coming into the kitchen at a run. “I could smell it upstairs and I didn’t want to leave—”
“Don’t forget to use the cloth when you grab the pan, Sara!” Grandpa shouted, abandoning Denison and rushing over to his granddaughter. Together they huddled by the stove, Grandpa talking in a quiet, apparently soothing, way to Sara. Jaclyn watched George Denison, her careful assessing thoughts covered by a glowering expression as she tried to figure out how he was taking all this.
With the frying pan rescued, Grandpa brought Sara over to the door and introduced her to Denison. The Major took her hand and half-bowed over it, half-shook it while he expressed his pleasure at the introduction. Jaclyn decided that men in the Victorian period had a lot to learn about woman’s lib.
But then, so apparently did young women. Sara dimpled prettily, inclining her head just a little and looking up through her lashes. Denison’s chest swelled visibly. Jaclyn shook her head.
“A pleasure to meet you, Major Denison,” Sara was saying as she made play with long lashes. “I wish I could stay to hear your news, but I must return to my chores. I like to get the beds made before the day becomes too hot.” She aimed another of her teasing, winsome smiles at the Major, then other, more direct looks at Jaclyn and her grandfather. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen?”
“Of course, my dear,” Grandpa said, apparently unfazed by this behavior. He turned to Denison, “Now, Major, you were explaining why you had come to my door.”
“I understand you have a wagon and horses to draw it, Mr. Bailey.” Denison’s eyes followed Sara’s retreating form as she left the kitchen in a swaying walk that could only be called provocative.
“I do.”
There was a hostile edge to Jim Bailey’s voice that dragged Denison’s eyes away from Sara’s tempting form. “I need to borrow your vehicle,” he said crisply, once more the starch and protocol officer.
Bailey frowned. “That’s what the Fenians said when they came. They wanted to ‘borrow’ my horses and they took my wagon to cart away my own foodstuffs. I had the very devil of a time getting my bloodstock back from them. I am reluctant to entrust any of my beasts to a stranger, no matter how noble their need.”
Denison flushed. “This is for your own safety, sir!”
“No doubt. How do I know I’ll get my rig back when you are finished with it?”
This was something Denison could counter. His eyes sparkled as he said, “Mr. Bailey, you will drive it back to your farm, of course! My men and I need a wagon on which to load the Fenian prisoners we’ve captured and take them into Fort Erie. I will need you to drive while my men provide a guard.”
“Don’t do it, Grandpa!” Jaclyn said in her teenage-boy-with-a-grievance persona. “These fellows he’s picking up might not be Fenians. Like me!”
Denison glared at her. She glowered back, obviously and unrepentantly hostile. Grandpa sighed. “Go check on the bacon, Jack. Major Denison, I’ll help you, but the boy has a point. I trust you will accept my word if I vouch for any of those you pick up.”
Denison gave a little bow. “Any form your assistance takes will be most appreciated, sir.”
“All right, let me have my breakfast before I go.” Grandpa turned back to Jaclyn. “I’m going to harness up the team, Jack. You finish off making the breakfast and call Sara and me when it’s ready.”
“Aw, do I have to?” Jaclyn said, whining again. She looked dubiously at the iron firebox the Baileys called a stove. She didn’t really want to be responsible for ruining the meal, or worse, burning down the house.
“Yes,” Grandpa said. He shook his head and went to the door. She heard him say, “I’d offer you and your men a meal, Major, but I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t have enough. The Fenians pretty much cleared me out.” Then he closed the door firmly.
Dodging over to the window, Jacqui saw that he and Denison were headed toward to the barn. Jacqui raced up the stairs. “Sara! Grandpa is going with Denison—” She stopped abruptly. Sara had placed her chair protectively between Sean and the door and in her hands she held the Fenian musket. She looked defiant and absolutely terrified.
“Holy shit! Is that thing loaded?” Jacqui demanded.
Sara lowered the gun. “No. I don’t know how to load it. Grandpa told me to bring the weapon and some ammunition upstairs in case the major decided to search the house.”
Jaclyn gingerly lifted the gun from Sara’s lap. “Let’s put it over here for now,” she said, carefully placing it against a wall by the head of the bed where it was safely out of the way. “I came up to tell you that Denison is searching for Fenian stragglers and Grandpa decided to go with him.”
“Why?”
“To keep an eye on him, I guess.”
Sara glanced at Sean, who chose that moment to shift uneasily on his bed. “Oh, Jack, I almost gave everything away!”
“It’s okay, Sara. Denison didn’t suspect anything. And he’s basically a decent guy, although he’s overenthusiastic. Listen, I’ve got to go finish off breakfast. Be prepared to come down to eat, in case Denison is hanging around watching.”
“Yes, all right.” She still looked worried.
“It’s okay, Sara. We’re cool. Don’t sweat it.”
Sara laughed, although rather weakly. “Just when I get used to the odd way you talk, Jack, you come up with something even stranger than before.”
Jaclyn paused at the door and shrugged. “It’s how everyone talks where I come.”
“What does it mean?”
Jaclyn ran her hand along the doorframe. The paint was smooth and rich, a far cry from the thin stuff that sometimes bubbled when it dried that was used in her own time. Different worlds. “It means that everything will be all right and you shouldn’t worry about how this will turn out.”
Still smiling, Sara shook her head. “Why didn’t you say that, Jack?”
Jaclyn shrugged again. “I don’t know. It’s more descriptive my way I guess.” She slapped the frame, ending the discussion. “Okay, I’m off. I’ll call you when it’s time to eat.”
“Thanks Jack,” Sara said. She was already moving her chair so that she was once again facing the bed and Sean.
Jaclyn took one last look then headed down the stairs, a somber concern in her expression.
***
“Hey, Sara, how’s it going?”
It was mid-afternoon and Grandpa still had not returned. Sara had spent most of the day beside Sean while Jaclyn puttered around the farmhouse worrying.
Sara looked over and said, “I am hopeful Major O’Dell will be fine, Jack. He woke about an hour ago and asked for some water. He said he felt very dizzy when he sat up, but there was no doubt that he was lucid! I am quite relieved. Would you mind watching him while
I go down and make some bread? If I wait much longer it will be too late to bake any and we’ll have none for tomorrow.”
Jaclyn eyed her dubiously. Making bread in a bread machine was one thing. Spending hours kneading dough was another. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
Sara laughed. “I like making bread. Sometimes when I’m angry at someone, like one of my little brothers, I pretend I’m getting back at him when I punch down the dough.”
“Oh yeah? Well, slug Denison for me, then.”
Sara shook her head and raised her brows, but she laughed again and said, “My pleasure.”
After she had gone it was very quiet in the upstairs bedroom. Jaclyn kept an eye on Sean, but he was breathing evenly and sleeping in a peaceful way, with none of the nightmare images of prison and hanging plaguing him. The day was as hot as the previous three, though, and the room was stifling. Jaclyn fussed with the covers from time to time, but she didn’t sew or do needle work as Sara did, so there wasn’t much for her to do.
Several times she found her mind drifting and her head drooping. Teetering on the edge of sleep her body would jerk as she caught herself and pushed back to awareness, but the heat and the lack of sleep over the past few days fought with her conscience. Eventually she convinced herself that Sean wouldn’t mind if she closed her eyes for a minute or two.
She put her head against the chair back but it was too hard and she couldn’t get comfortable. She looked at the floor, then she looked at Sean and after a minute she slipped down, sat on the floor and put her head on the bed, within reaching distance of his hand. “If you need me, Sean, just tap me on the head. I’ll wake up. See if I don’t.”
He didn’t reply, but then she hadn’t expected he would. With a little sigh she put her head down, settled herself comfortably and went to sleep with absolutely no problem at all.
“Jaclyn.” A hand stroked her hair and the voice that spoke had a lovely Irish lilt, although it was only a thin shadow of its usual strength. “Jaclyn,” the voice said again.
She opened her eyes slowly. As she lifted her head, Sean’s hand drifted down her cheek, then cupped her chin for a long, leisurely moment. “Sean?”
