My Dearest Enemy

by Jennifer Moore

  She winced. Of course he would assume a catastrophe to be the reason for her making the journey. She should have anticipated it. “No, Father is fine. And the farm is just as it has always been. I am sorry to have worried you.”

  He sat on the sofa beside her and scratched his cheek in the way he did when thinking something through. “It goes without saying that I’m very happy to see you,” he began then cleared his throat. “But your arrival is somewhat of a surprise. Did you send word ahead?”

  “No, I’m sorry to come unannounced.” She took his hand and gave the answer she’d prepared over the week-and-a-half-long journey. “I’ve missed you, Isaac. And with father gone, the farm’s been quite lonely.” She wasn’t proud of employing guilt as a tactic, but she figured it wasn’t truly a lie. She had been lonely, after all.

  “But, how did you . . . surely you didn’t travel alone?”

  “Of course not. In Amherstburg, I met a group traveling this direction, and they offered to accompany me as far as Byron.” She was pleased that the answer was entirely truthful.

  He pulled his brows together. “Group? What group?”

  “A group of travelers.” She knew that wasn’t the answer he was looking for, but she kept talking, hoping to redirect his line of questioning. “When I heard they were coming through Byron, I of course thought how much I’d love to see my brother, and also, I helped Father treat the American soldiers after the battle of Frenchtown, and I heard some of my former patients had been transferred here. I thought I’d check on them.”

  Isaac’s eyes widened. “You were in Fort Detroit?”

  “Yes.” She offered him the plate of pastries. “Perhaps the doctor in town has need of assistance?”

  Isaac took the plate from her without looking at it and set it on his lap. “I’m sure Dr. Baldwin would be grateful for any help you could give.” He let the sentence hang in the air as if there were a “but” following.

  “Well, it’s settled, then.” She jumped up and moved toward the fireplace, holding out her hands to warm them. If she kept talking and moving, she was certain she could distract him from probing too deeply.

  Isaac rose as well. “Abigail . . .” His voice was uncertain. Her brother was not one who enjoyed having his routine interrupted, and she knew a surprise such as this would take him some time to come to terms with.

  She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her cheek on his chest. “I am so happy to see you, Isaac.” She pulled back and grinned. “Now, I’m certain my intruding without an appointment has put a wrinkle in your afternoon schedule.” She could see the truth of it in his eyes. “Do not worry about me at all. I am quite tired, and I’d like some time to freshen up. Return to your duties, and later this evening or tomorrow, you can show me around town.”

  His expression relaxed. “Yes, of course.” Opening the door to the passageway, he called for Mrs. Bennett and instructed her to prepare a room and a bath for Abigail.

  “I am glad you are here, Abby-snail,” he said. The teasing way he said her childhood nickname told her he was adjusting to the surprise. “Please, do not think me rude for my questioning. You caught me unawares.”

  “And I know how much you dislike being caught unawares.”

  “I’ll return in a few hours,” he said, fetching his hat from the table where he’d tossed it. “Please, make yourself at home.”

  “You know I will,” she teased.

  Isaac gave a theatrical sigh. “Yes, I do.” He winked, pulled on his hat, and departed.

  Abigail let out a sigh. She’d survived the first round of interrogations. And done it quite well, she thought, swallowing down a small surge of guilt. She didn’t like deceiving her brother. But what was the alternative? She couldn’t very well tell the commander of the camp that she’d arrived in the company of enemy soldiers with the goal of protecting their leader. How would he react? Isaac didn’t see things the way her father did. His perceptions were black and white, right and wrong, and Emmett was the enemy.

  She looked through the window at the forest beyond the town. Jasper and the others had promised to keep a close watch on her and Emmett. She hoped they were at this moment spying on the prison camp, making certain he was well.

  As the group had sat around their campfire in the evenings, they’d told her more about Lieutenant Fox and discussed the best ways for Abigail to go about her mission. The first duty was to gather intelligence. Discover where Emmett was being held, make certain he was well, and attempt to determine the nature of the hostility between him and Lieutenant Fox. “It may have run its course,” Murphy had said.

  But Barney had shaken his head. “The lieutenant is wicked,” he said, his face somber. “I knew a man like that before—you remember Abe Gustafson, don’t you, Luke?”

  Luke nodded, his face looking ill. “Liked to play games with people—cruel games meant to frighten.”

  “And he didn’t stop,” Barney said. “Just got worse.”

  “I won’t let him hurt Emmett,” Abigail told them. She’d spoken the words without thinking, and as soon as they’d left her mouth, she’d felt foolish. Did she actually believe herself capable of stopping a powerful man with a vendetta? Or think she was the one to protect an army captain?

  But the others hadn’t laughed or treated her vow with looks of patient indulgence as she’d expected.

  “That’s why we came for you,” Jasper said. He gave a succinct nod of his head, his mouth pulled into a tight line.

  The simple words made Abigail’s heart feel light and her cheeks hot.

  “If you please, Miss Tidwell, I’ve drawn your bath.” Mrs. Bennett entered the room, pulling Abigail from her reminiscing. “And I’ll have your dress laundered,” she said, giving the dirty gown a disappointed look as Abigail imagined matronly women in fine houses often did. She gestured for Abigail to follow.

  A bath sounded wonderful. “Thank you.”

  ***

  The next morning, after breakfast, Abigail wore the new gown her father had given her, and walked arm in arm with her brother through the small town of Byron, Ontario. The location was very remote, a few miles north of Lake Erie, along the main route from the larger cities of York and Kingston to the east. With the lake frozen, the road was the lifeline for supplies to the western settlements.

  The main street consisted of a small inn and a few shops. Isaac told her about the various structures, and then they continued farther, out of the town toward the military buildings.

  Abigail would have liked to visit the military area the day before, but of course a young woman wandering about a prison camp would have been inappropriate, and she’d forced herself to be patient.

  Isaac showed her his office and pointed out the barracks, both those that housed the British soldiers and those housing the prisoners, and then he led her into the hospital building.

  A slender young man with a large nose rose from a desk and hurried toward them, and Isaac introduced her to Dr. James Baldwin.

  Abigail curtsied, and the doctor bowed awkwardly, as if he were not used to meeting new people.

  “And how can I be of aid, Major Tidwell, Miss Tidwell? Not feeling ill, I hope, miss?”

  “I hoped to offer my assistance here in the hospital.”

  Dr. Baldwin looked at Isaac, obviously thinking he was the more reasonable of the two.

  “Abigail treated some of the prisoners after Frenchtown,” Isaac said.

  “Indeed?” Dr. Baldwin’s eyes widened, and Abigail braced herself for the man’s skepticism when it came to a woman working in what was typically a man’s domain.

  Isaac must have seen the doubt in the doctor’s eyes as well. “She has worked closely with my father for many years, and she is quite skilled.”

  The doctor nodded politely, but didn’t fully hide his disbelief. “I will be grateful for any help she can offer.” He spoke the words as if he knew he was supposed to say them, but they were far from convincing. “Would you accompany me
to the ward?”

  He led them through a doorway to the large room beyond. The hospital ward’s smell was a familiar combination of healing medications and bodily fluids. Abigail was used to the unpleasant aromas, but Isaac’s hand flew to his nose at once. He dropped it quickly, but his nose was still wrinkled as if he felt nauseated.

  Abigail stifled a smile at his reaction. Isaac had never been comfortable with illness of any sort.

  Dr. Baldwin motioned with a wave of his arm to the few occupied beds. “Right now, we’ve only the typical camp maladies to contend with.”

  “Such as dysentery, leg sores, arthritis, and impetigo?” Abigail said.

  “Yes.” He glanced at her before continuing. “Regular colds, of course, and a few cases of fever, although I do not believe any to be typhus.”

  “No red-colored spots on the chest or abdomen, then,” Abigail noted.

  Dr. Baldwin glanced at her again and this time raised a brow.

  “You see, Doctor Baldwin,” Isaac said, restraining a smile. “Abigail is very capable.”

  “We shall see,” the doctor muttered.

  Abigail was used to people lacking confidence in her abilities. She would just have to prove herself. “In Detroit, I treated a Lieutenant Cartwright.” Abigail studied the faces of the patients in the ward but didn’t recognize any. “He had a leg full of shrapnel. Have you seen him?”

  Dr. Baldwin nodded. “Had quite a difficult march, but he made it, and his wounds are healing well.” He squinted. “You administered the sutures?”

  “I did,” Abigail said. “And another man . . . oh, what was his name?” She tapped her chin as if trying to remember and congratulated herself for a stupendous dramatic performance. “Captain Prescott? Yes, I believe that was it. He had an arrow in his side.” She pointed at her arm. “And a laceration on his bicep.”

  “I’ve not attended a Captain Prescott,” Dr. Baldwin said.

  “I believe he was the man involved in the accident in the forest yesterday,” Isaac said.

  Abigail’s insides clenched. “And was he hurt?” She gasped out the words.

  “Fortunately, no one was injured,” Isaac continued. He glanced nervously at a bowl filled with bloody bandages and did not seem to have noticed Abigail’s response. She glanced at the doctor, hoping he’d not noticed either.

  He appeared to be watching Isaac. Perhaps she should be glad the man seemed intent on ignoring her. In the future, she’d need to be more careful with her reactions, she thought, frustrated with how easily she’d slipped.

  “Shall I leave you here, then?” Isaac said, glancing toward the door. “I’ve duties to attend to, but I’ll return you home if you’d rather—”

  “No. If Dr. Baldwin is in agreement, I’ll stay.” Abigail was disappointed she’d not get a closer look at the prison camp, but she thought the hospital was the surest place to meet the American prisoners and inquire discreetly about Emmett.

  “Yes, very well. You’ll find an apron in the cabinet.” The doctor pointed to the other side of the room. “And, if you please, mix up a bread-and-milk poultice.”

  “Of course.” She could tell Dr. Baldwin was testing her, hoping she would ask what exactly was a bread-and-milk poultice, and how did one make it? But she’d been treating ulcerations for more than a decade, and she thought she could probably do it with her eyes closed. As long as the hospital had the proper ingredients.

  Isaac bid Dr. Baldwin farewell, and Abigail accompanied her brother to the door.

  “I’ll fetch you for luncheon, then?” he asked.

  “If it’s not an imposition.”

  “Of course it’s not, Abby-snail.” He kissed her cheek and tipped his hat. When he opened the door to leave, he drew back.

  An officer stood outside, his hand outstretched as if he was about to open the door himself. Isaac had very nearly plowed him over. The man snapped to attention, his heels clicking together, and saluted the major.

  “At ease, Private,” Isaac said.

  “Sir, if you please, I’ve a note for your sister.”

  Abigail blinked and looked closer at the man. His voice sounded familiar, and at once she knew exactly who he was. “Private Matthews,” she said, recognizing him from Fort Detroit. He was Lieutenant Fox’s assistant. “How nice to see you again.”

  “Miss Tidwell.” He bowed. “Lieutenant Fox sent me to inquire after your health and to ask if you’re amenable to joining him for tea tomorrow afternoon. He lifted his gaze to Isaac. “You are invited too, Major.”

  A muscle in Isaac’s jaw twitched. The small movement spoke volumes to Abigail. He was apparently not an admirer of the lieutenant.

  “If you like, Abigail,” Isaac said. “I will happily join you. Though I’m certain the lieutenant will understand if you are still too fatigued from your travels.”

  Abigail smiled at her brother. She admired how gracious he was, agreeing to an engagement he clearly didn’t care for and at the same time giving her an excuse if she chose to take it. She considered for a moment. Of course, Lieutenant Fox was the last person she wished to see—the very last. But if she was to find out anything about Emmett, the lieutenant was very likely the best place to start. “Meet the enemy head on,” as the Irish poet said.

  She reminded herself to be on her guard. Both Jasper and Murphy had speculated that her chance encounter with Emmett while walking with Lieutenant Fox in Detroit was very likely planned by the man in order to gauge her reaction.

  “I would like that,” she said. Or lied as the case was. “Tell Lieutenant Fox thank you for the thoughtful invitation.”

  “Very well, Miss Tidwell. Four o’clock tomorrow.”

  Isaac glanced at her but did not say anything as he and Private Matthews bowed and took their leave.

  Chapter 18

  Emmett paced back and forth over the packed dirt floor of his cell room. In his entire life, he couldn’t remember ever feeling such a lack of control. A shoulder-crushing mixture of frustration, fear, and anger. If Lieutenant Fox was to be believed—and Emmett’s gut told him in this case the man was telling the truth—Abigail was here in Byron. Emmett had thought the one advantage of leaving Detroit had been getting the lieutenant away from her. But now she was here, within the man’s reach, and again Emmett had no way of protecting her. He smacked a fist into his palm.

  “Calm yourself, Captain,” Major Graves said from the chair in front of the desk. “You’re making the lot of us nervous.” He set down a quill and turned. “Still unsettled about the incident in the forest yesterday?”

  Emmett sat on the narrow shelf of his own bunk and didn’t reply. Unsettled? Of course he was unsettled. An infernal tree chopped by two tea-sipping buffoons had nearly crushed him. And nobody was doing a thing about it. In this instance, Emmett had managed a narrow escape, but it was just a matter of time before Lieutenant Fox succeeded in catching him off guard. That worry, however, was secondary to Abigail’s safety. He could only hope her brother’s rank afforded her some measure of protection.

  “You should be feeling fortunate instead of agitated.” The major nodded as if dispensing sound advice. “A dangerous business, chopping trees. Accidents aren’t uncommon.”

  “We’re probably all safer here as prisoners than out there with the battles and the Indians,” Lieutenant Devon said. He set aside the letter he was reading and stood, carefully placing the miniature portrait of his beloved on a ledge on the uneven boards of the wall. He crossed the small room and poured a cup from the water pitcher, offering it to Emmett.

  Emmett shook his head, turning down the drink. He didn’t explain his real concerns. Didn’t want to give the others reason to worry about him or their own safety. He scooted back, leaning against the wall and picked up the bit of hematite from the ledge beside his own bunk. He’d found rubbing his fingers over the bumps of the cool metal to be extremely soothing. “I trust all is well at home, Lieutenant?” He nodded toward the letter, glad to have something else to think about.


  Lieutenant Devon looked toward the miniature portrait and smiled. “Yes. All is well. Georgiana is complaining of the naval blockades and the shortage of fashionable gowns and bonnets in Boston. But she and her family are safe and healthy.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Emmett noticed the way the man’s eyes shone when he spoke of his beloved. He set the rock back on the ledge.

  “I’ll just be happy when this infernal war is finished.” Lieutenant Devon raised the cup in a salute and downed the contents, grimacing. “The well water tastes worse every day.”

  “The lake should thaw soon,” Major Graves said. “A month at the latest. Then we’ll at least enjoy a change of sce—”

  The cup dropped from Lieutenant Devon’s fingers, hitting with a thud. He pressed a hand to his throat then doubled over, clutching his stomach as he fell to the floor.

  Emmett jumped from his bunk and crouched beside him. “Lieutenant?”

  The lieutenant groaned and pressed his arms tighter against his middle.

  Emmett looked up at the major.

  “I’ll send for the doctor.” Major Graves hurried to the door.

  “Lieutenant.” Emmett patted his back. “Can you speak?”

  “Going dark.” The man spoke through clenched teeth, the sound hardly more than a grunt.

  Lieutenant Devon wore no coat, and his shirt was quickly soaking through with sweat. He groaned and pulled into a tighter ball.

  Emmett retrieved the cup and poured some more water, kneeling down to help the lieutenant drink. But he stopped. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed. The water had a strange smell. Emmett touched it to his tongue and frowned at the bitter taste. The tip of his tongue started to burn then went numb.

  This reaction was certainly not the result of stale well water. Had the lieutenant been poisoned? He looked up at the pitcher and felt a wave of nausea as realization hit. The poison had been meant for him.

  Dread clenched his chest tight. As long as Lieutenant Fox continued his vendetta, Emmett put anyone close to him in danger.