Erin's Rebel

by Susan Macatee

  “I suspected as much. Wagner doesn’t seem to know how to be respectful to a woman.”

  She had trouble finding the words to reply. The aroma of sandalwood and his unique masculine scent that had floored her when he’d carried her into Doc’s tent left her flabbergasted.

  “I’d warned Wagner to stay away from you,” he said.

  “He was so drunk, I don’t think any warning would have stopped him.”

  “He didn’t hurt you—”

  She shook her head, noting the concern in his eyes. “All I could think to do was get out of the tent.”

  “That was wise, ma’am.”

  She glanced at the bundle he still held. “Are those for me?”

  He grinned. “If you don’t mind, ma’am. I have two shirts that need washing.”

  “My pleasure.” When he handed her the clothes, their hands briefly touched. Electricity shot through her. She caught his gaze.

  His eyes widened. He swallowed and backed away a few steps, then tipped his cap.

  “Ma’am.” He turned away.

  She watched him cross the camp and disappear from sight. If a reason existed for her coming to this time period, it had to be Will Montgomery. But why had this happened? Would she ever go back to her old life, or was she stuck here forever?

  Although she’d tried to hold her emotions in check, the tension that had been building for the last few days caused her eyes to burn at the prospect. A sob built at the back of her throat. She dropped the clothing she’d been sorting in the basket and scurried into the privacy of her tent.

  ****

  When Will returned to his tent, he found one of his soiled shirts hanging on a stool outside.

  May as well get this one washed, too. The thought of seeing Mrs. O’Connell again so soon brought a smile to his face. He hadn’t had any reason to smile for the past two years.

  Amanda was the only bright spot in his life, now. But sometimes, she reminded him too much of her mother, Anne. One look at that cherubic face and the hurt would come back as strong as the day he’d lost his wife to pneumonia. After two years, guilt from not being with her when she passed still consumed him.

  Since her death, he’d found the army to be pure escape, until the death of his younger brother. Living in the large house they’d shared with his parents and Jenny, as well as Amanda, made it impossible to move forward. The place was a daily reminder of all he’d lost.

  Now, he found himself in danger of becoming attracted to a woman he hardly knew and was likely involved with another man. His loneliness had caused him to fall for the first, pretty face available. If he were smart, he’d keep his distance from the woman, but seeing her threatened proved too much to ignore.

  He started back to her tent, steeling himself to keep his emotions in check. He only needed her laundering services and planned to deliver the shirt and leave.

  Mrs. O’Connell wasn’t outside her tent where he’d left her. Perhaps she’d gone inside or left on an errand. He hesitated, trying to decide what to do, but heard a stifled sound from inside the tent. He drew near the canvas and listened. The muffled sound of sniffles turned to sobs. It had to be Mrs. O’Connell. Should he intrude? He considered leaving the shirt outside, but the thought of her alone, crying her heart out, was too much for him. After a moment of hesitation, he pulled the tent flap and peered inside. Mrs. O’Connell sat on her bunk, her face buried in her apron.

  “Ma’am?”

  She glanced up and quickly wiped her flushed face. “Yes?” Her voice cracked.

  He eased his way into the tent. “I beg your pardon for the intrusion, but I heard you and feared Sergeant Wagner may have come back and hurt you.”

  She shook her head, then turned away as if embarrassed.

  “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean...” He lifted the soiled shirt he held. “I forgot this.”

  She turned toward him. “Just leave it...” Her face crumpled. More tears dropped from beneath reddened eyelids.

  “Ma’am?” He set the shirt on her table and stepped to where she sat, reaching his hand out to rest on her slender shoulder. He felt an overwhelming need to protect this woman, but being here in her tent was highly improper. He’d be wise to take his leave. Now.

  Her slim frame heaved beneath his hand. He couldn’t leave her in this state. “Tell me how I can help you.”

  She shook her head. “No one can help me.” Her lower lip quivered.

  His heart twisted. He’d avoided women since Anne had died. He wouldn’t allow himself to be hurt like that again. But the sight of this woman alone and in tears broke through his resolve. He dropped to one knee drawing one of her small hands into his.

  Wrapping his other arm around her, he pulled her against his chest. She reached an arm around his back clutching him as if her life depended on it and sobbed into his shirt. He allowed her to cry a few minutes more. Her enticing scent and the feel of the soft feminine bosom pressed against him set his pulse racing.

  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, handing it to her.

  After she dabbed her eyes and blew her nose, she drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “I’m sorry.” She stood, extracting herself from his arms. “I don’t even know you.”

  He rose to face her. “It was my pleasure, ma’am. I just wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

  She smiled at him. “I suppose you’d fix my problem if you could.” Saying nothing more, she bit her lower lip drawing his gaze to her generous mouth. Much time had passed since he’d felt a woman’s kiss, other than the perfunctory kisses bestowed by his female relatives. Despite the urging of his brain to leave, he leaned toward her. His lips touched hers, tentatively at first, then when she didn’t protest or pull away, he deepened the kiss and devoured her sweet taste. She tasted of apples and cinnamon mixed with salty tears. She’d likely been helping Mrs. Malone with the baking. His thumbs brushed the wetness from her cheeks.

  Her arms circled his neck, pulling him closer. He sighed, relishing her womanly softness as she leaned against him. No. He couldn’t do this. Not with her. He removed himself from her embrace. “Begging your pardon, ma’am. I shouldn’t be here.”

  She frowned. Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

  “I’d best be going now.” He stepped outside and left without looking back. What had he been thinking? This woman would bring him nothing but trouble.

  Chapter Nine

  A week later, after traveling north with the army, Erin unpacked her supplies and prepared for the onslaught of men with shirts in need of laundering. Every morning when she woke, she hoped she’d find herself in her city apartment in a soft bed complete with air conditioning, running water, a stocked refrigerator, and a microwave.

  Since that hadn’t happened, she had no choice but to come along with the troops, for she had nowhere else to go. Also, being in Pennsylvania, she now felt closer to home. Her only trepidation was they were now camped north of Gettysburg. The thought of being involved in a bloody battle over the next few days scared the shit out of her.

  The trip had been grueling. She’d traveled in a wagon over bumpy, rural roads. When she couldn’t take the jostling any more, she’d get out and walk. At least, the trip had given her a break from the constant laundering. She swore she’d grown new muscles she hadn’t known she had, and her hands were cracked and sore.

  On those occasions when out of sheer exhaustion she’d fallen asleep in the wagon, she dreamed of highways. Smooth, paved highways where she drove along at high speed on pneumatic rubber tires. A bump would jolt her out of her dream, and she’d find herself still in the nineteenth century. Then despair kicked in. Would she ever get back to her old life?

  Captain Montgomery remained a big piece of the puzzle. Before Grandma Rose had died, she’d told Erin she would find her destiny in the past. But it hadn’t made any sense, so she had chalked it up to an old woman’s ramblings. But now that she was in the past, she realized what Grandma to
ld her was important. Maybe she had to accomplish something to get back to her own time. But what?

  Although Will Montgomery had been avoiding her, her heart still raced every time she caught a glimpse of him. After he’d kissed her, she knew without a doubt she’d come back in time for him. She brushed a finger over her lips as the memory of that kiss made her crave more.

  Why did she have to fix things here? What connection did she and Will have?

  Banishing her troubled thoughts, she put her tent in order with the help of a few women and young privates. She sat on a camp stool under the shade of her canvas tarp to take a breather. While she fanned herself, enjoying the light summer breeze, an elderly woman caught her attention. She must be a visitor from town.

  The woman was small, almost birdlike, and well-dressed. She wore oval spectacles perched on her long nose and carried a black parasol trimmed in lace and a dainty crocheted bag that dangled from the waistband of her skirt.

  Erin watched, too tired to move. The woman studied her, then approached. She opened her mouth, revealing a gaped-tooth smile.

  “Can I help you?” Erin asked.

  “I’m looking for Mrs. O’Connell.” Her voice was high and thin.

  “That’s me.”

  The woman leaned in close. Erin caught the aroma of roses. “Your contact will meet you tonight.”

  “My what?”

  “Shh.” The woman glanced from side to side. “Someone might hear.”

  “Are you sure you’ve got the right person?” Erin frowned.

  “You are the laundress from Ireland?” She waited as Erin digested the question.

  Her reporter’s instincts kicked in. Erin O’Connell had been a Yankee spy. Best to play along and see what information she could obtain.

  “Where am I to meet this person?”

  The woman’s brow furrowed. “You don’t sound like you’re from Ireland.”

  “I’ve done a lot of traveling.”

  Looking doubtful, the woman continued, “To the west of camp...just outside. You’ll have to avoid being seen by the pickets.”

  Erin nodded as if all this was routine. “How will I know him?”

  “He’ll call you by the name Robin.”

  “All right.”

  “And you’re to bring the book with you.”

  “Book?”

  “We need any new information you’ve gathered,” the woman stated matter-of-factly.

  “I lost it,” Erin lied, “on the trip north.”

  By the way the woman’s eyebrows drew together, Erin feared she was in for a scolding. “You mustn’t be so careless, dear, the Reb’s wouldn’t hesitate to send you to prison, or worse, if you’re caught.”

  Erin nodded. “I’ll be careful in the future, but what should I do for now?”

  “I’ll inform your contact. If he still wants to see you, he’ll get a message to you.”

  Without another word, the woman hobbled off.

  Erin’s thoughts went to the journal still inside her trunk. Was that the book they wanted? Nothing of consequence in there would help the Yankees, and she wasn’t sure she’d want to give it to them, anyway.

  She was curious about who this contact was, but did she really want to get herself involved in espionage? The fear of being caught and locked up in a Confederate prison was all the deterrent she needed. She had enough problems.

  ****

  July 3, 1863

  Will gazed across the field toward the rise called Cemetery Ridge. Yankee troops waited on the opposite side of the open expanse. His regiment had been ordered to march through the field and attack the Federal line. But they would come under fire long before they reached the other side.

  After two days of fighting, he and his men were hot, hungry, and tired. He surveyed his company where they stood alongside the rest of the regiment. A few leafed through small copies of the Bible, while others whispered prayers. He frowned when he caught sight of Sergeant Wagner weaving his way toward the rear.

  “Sergeant!” Will called. “Resume your post.”

  “Yes, sir.” Wagner moved to his spot up front. He glared at Will but said no more.

  Kevin Donnelly, the young Irishman for whom his sister had set her cap, was among the group whispering prayers. Will watched Donnelly make the sign of the cross.

  Will’s thoughts turned to Amanda. He’d promised his daughter he’d return. An image of the child’s auburn plaits and round, baby-face flashed through his mind. She’d already lost her mother. He had to survive.

  Confederate cannon fire jolted him from his reminiscence of home. The troops waited within the tree line for another hour, the shade providing some respite from the hot, humid summer day.

  While the cannonade continued, his thoughts drifted to Erin O’Connell. He still felt guilty for kissing the laundress, but her vulnerability and pain brought his protective instincts to the fore. And, Lord help him, Mrs. O’Connell was a beautiful woman. If he survived this battle and wasn’t wounded badly enough to be discharged from the army, he’d have to decide what his feelings were regarding her.

  After the cannons quieted, the order, “Forward. March,” echoed down the line. Raising his sword, he repeated the order as he led his men into the open field. They marched part of the way in silence long after the drums and cheers of the artillery men faded behind them. At the midway point, the explosions of Yankee shells and men screaming in pain lent a nightmarish quality to the long trek.

  Stoically, he continued forward, although his insides quaked. Men fell to the ground around him. He urged on the soldiers still with him. When they drew near the Yankee troops, blue forage caps and kepis appeared above the rock barricade the Yankees erected. His thoughts again drifted to Erin O’Connell. Her soft, ripe body and sensual lips. He shook his head. Anne. If he was about to die, he should be thinking of Anne, but he had trouble recalling an image of her face.

  As the Yankees rose, preparing to fire, he shifted his sword to his left hand and grasped the butt of his pistol. Adrenaline surged as he shouted to his men to fire at will. He fired off a few shots himself before something hard slammed into his side. Knocked flat on his back, he stared at the smoke-filled sky. Erin O’Connell’s face appeared before everything around him went black.

  Chapter Ten

  A sharp pain shot up Erin’s left side. She gasped and gripped the edge of the table to keep from falling.

  Brigid appeared behind her. “Are you feeling all right?”

  Erin ran her hand down the side of her bodice. The pain had stopped. “I’m fine.”

  Wounded men lay around her on every available cot and on the floor, wherever there was room. The stewards had begun laying them outside on the grass.

  She raced from man to man, keeping herself busy to avoid thinking about Captain Montgomery. But something had happened to him, of that she was sure. Since she could do nothing about it, she concentrated on comforting and helping whomever she could. If she could beam these soldiers to a twenty-first century hospital, so many who were dying could be saved.

  Erin was surrounded by moans, screams, hushed voices trying to comfort, and shouted orders from surgeons. Her senses reeled. The sight of so much blood as well as the sickening coppery smell, threatened to send her running from the scene of all this carnage.

  Although she tried not to worry about the captain, she checked every new arrival. He could be lying out on the field dead. What would she do if he died? She wondered if she’d return to her own time if that happened, or be trapped here forever. After sharing that kiss with him, however brief it had been, she couldn’t stand the thought of his being hurt.

  “I need a nurse over here!” Doc called.

  Erin looked up to find him motioning to her. She gulped and raced over to where he stood. Another surgeon had his hands clamped on an unconscious man’s leg where he lay on a wooden door propped between two crates the doctors used for surgery.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

&n
bsp; Doc looked her in the eye. “We’ve got to take this man’s leg. Hold his artery so he doesn’t bleed to death.”

  She nodded but felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Can you do it?” His frown bored into her.

  Grimacing, she nodded again. “I can do it.” He wouldn’t have asked her if he had someone else. She wouldn’t let him down.

  He nodded, and the other surgeon, a dark-haired man named Nate Edwards, showed her where to clamp her fingers.

  “Don’t ease up or let go,” he instructed her, “until I say you can.”

  “I understand.” Fighting down a wave of nausea, she tried not to think about what she held as warm, slick blood covered her hand. The artery throbbed against her finger.

  Instead, she studied the face of the man lying on the improvised operating table. His skin had turned ghastly gray, but his features looked serene. He reminded her of a marble statue, except for the fuzzy beard covering the lower part of his face.

  She couldn’t help but wonder if he had a wife, children, or a sweetheart waiting at home. She tried not to watch what the two doctors were doing, but the grind of the bone saw and the scent of fresh blood kept her stomach jumping.

  I can’t pass out. If she let go, it would be over for this poor soul. She’d told Doc she could do this, although, God knows what she was thinking at the time.

  After what seemed like hours, Doc told her they’d finished. She had trouble straightening her numb fingers and felt lightheaded when she looked down at her hand covered in warm blood. She would not pass out, nor would she throw up. But she had to get the blood off her. Searching for an unused basin and bar of soap, she scrubbed her hands until her fingers’ tingling indicated the feeling had returned.

  When she was finished, a few volunteers from town arrived to help. She spent the rest of her time dispensing water and washing men’s faces and hands. Doc finally told her she’d done enough for today and insisted she go to her tent to rest. Before leaving, she scanned the faces of all the new arrivals, looking for Captain Montgomery. She didn’t think she could sleep until she found him.