Chapter 22

 

We discovered soft candlelight gleaming inside the pane of window glass at the cabin’s front, signaling that one if not both of the Merrill parents had stayed up in the cold, quiet night to await the return of the Merrill son. Edgar said his goodnights, and after a gentle rap to the door, withdrew into the dark cabin, leaving us to find our way back to camp by mid-winter moonlight.

We arrived soon enough to find Hugh reclined by the fire, not reading, but gazing into the dying embers. We exchanged few words as we rekindled the fire and settled down for the night.

James took first watch so that Hugh could get some sleep. James insisted that I do the same, and I left him for my tent, where I changed back into my borrowed Roger-wear and carefully folded Clara’s gown. It was with an almost mournful sentiment that I bundled it tight with my reproduction day dress in the corner of my temporary abode. When that was finished, I gathered the coarse blanket and canvas that comprised my bedroll and fell down into the itchy, haphazard material, not even bothering to make it up before I turned in.

Talan woke me in an early morning hour, after a less than satisfying slumber. His watch was over and the last three hours were mine.

I kept my Navy pistol close by. The fire had been stoked and I had sufficient light. Still, I didn’t move, even when the thought of bringing out the paper I had bought and doing some writing came into my brain. Instead, I sat listening to the night, soaking up the heat from the fire, waiting until faint rays of pink began to transform the night sky to daylight.

That morning was slow-moving and restless. We were all aware that there was nothing to do but wait. Later in the morning Edgar came over with more cornbread from Clara. He stayed in camp for a while, but keeping good on his schoolwork that his mother assigned, spent most of the time by the fire, reading pages from the tattered Bible I had spotted resting on the side table during my first visit to the cabin. After a few hours had passed with no break in the tense but monotonous agenda, Edgar decided to return home. Because Edgar assured him that Benjamin was out of the cabin for the day, Hugh went with him to visit Clara.

It was afternoon when James decided to make the trip into town to talk with Mr. Anderson. James had looked for him the night before, but there was no sign of the Farrier at the church social. James and I had talked about his making the trip throughout the day, and debated as to whether or not I would accompany him. It was finally decided that he would make the trip alone.

In the short time since James had joined our camp, he and I seemed to be something, though I wasn’t sure what it was. It was some unspoken partnership, respected by even Gil, challenged only in fleeting glances from where Talan was usually stationed on the edge of action. Yet we upheld it without any hindrances of tradition. It was more comfortable than romance, but more detailed than camaraderie. Neither of us knew what it was, just that it was, so we let it be.

I saw James off at the creek, resting in the crook of his right arm for a moment, holding his hand before he released it and stepped away.

"I’ll be back," he promised. "At least an hour before sunset."

He turned and walked through the trees. I watched him for a few seconds before traipsing back to camp. Hugh hadn’t returned and my only company was Talan. He was examining a rather intimidating, beat up rifle, but as I approached he stood up and stopped me before I could retreat into my tent.

"You’re lying to him, you know."

"What are you talking about?" I asked wearily. The lack of sleep was weighing heavily on my shoulders and my mood.

"James." Talan didn’t blink, just stared right at me. "You can’t just keep ignoring the fact that we have lives back in the 21st Century. Or are you going to be all, oh, by the way, James, I’m from the future and at some point will suddenly evaporate through time. Or will you just throw that into some random conversation about pants?"

"Hey, I stayed here. If you want to argue about messing with history, talk to Walter." At that point, laying the blame on someone else was far easier than taking it myself.

"Walter’s obsession has rendered him out of reach! Gallivanting around after Gil with his horse and his gun. At least you had a thread of reality left!"

"They’re relying on us!" I didn’t know why we had to be at each other’s throats every time we were alone, but I didn’t care. "Gil, Edgar, Clarence, everyone! I’m sorry if I can’t block these people out. What do you want me to say? That I don’t care about any of them? How can I?"

Talan flailed his arms, anger boiling over. "Not that they really care. I mean, Gil’s putting his own sister in the middle of a battlefield! How do you think she feels, husband on one side, brother on the other, shooting at each other, but do they care? Not to mention, oh yeah, she’s going to have a baby. She can’t be doing this!" The concern in Talan’s voice when he mentioned Clara had reached a level that I had not heard from him before.

I took a chance. "Then stay for her. We’re here now. We can do something!"

Talan’s scowl was no longer focused on me, rather on something invisible in the sky. He didn’t answer.

I gave one last plea, "Are you going to help us or not?"

"Yes! All right, I’m helping!" He looked down. "You’re not going to fight without me, okay?" He abandoned the argument and fell down beside the fire, angrily taking up the rifle.

I waited for a few seconds, exhaling slowly, releasing the anger that had been pumping against my temples. I walked over to Talan and sat down beside him, "You’re just as afraid to lose any of them as I am. You wouldn’t have said that about Clara if you didn’t care for her."

"Maybe. Still. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to go home," he muttered.

"I know."

He shot me a sideways glance. "Walter’ll be back. We Ninjas of History have to stick together no matter what, right?"

I gave a reluctant smile. "All for one and that kind of thing."

Surprisingly, Talan smiled back. "Exactly."

We sat for a few moments listening to the crackle of the camp fire.

"So," Talan finally said, the outburst seeming to have helped him settle back into his natural demeanor. "Now what happens?"

"The skirmish," I answered. "It’s tonight."

"Yes. And was there any information in that paper you wrote that might assist us in this evening’s festivities?"

"Not really," I said miserably. "The copies of old newspaper records I used as sources weren’t exactly battle blueprints."

He gave me pained look. "So… nothing?"

"With us here? Since we haven’t been to a modern library, I honestly don’t know how much impact our actions are going to have on tonight’s... happenings." As much as I hated to think Walter was right, he was. While we weren’t going to stop the war from raging on, Gil had armed us and set us loose to fire at will, or even worse, to be the target for gunfire. There was no predicting how that was going to affect the outcome. "I’m afraid to say I could have written an entirely different paper by sunrise."

"Or it could be exactly the same," Talan offered.

"I hope so," I sighed. No casualties, no arrests. Sounded good to me. "Well, we can most likely still count on being intercepted by local authorities."

"Which means…" Talan said flatly, "Getting shot at."

I rubbed my forehead with my hands. "Yeah."

Talan was still looking at the various workings of the gun. I wondered if he actually knew anything about loading or firing the weapon. "At least I have experience in that particular department," he said.

I couldn't help but to laugh. "We've won already!"

Talan abandoned the rifle and poked at the fire over which a kettle hung, keeping our life source of coffee hot.

I looked around at our miniature camp and my mind went to the thousands – millions – of soldiers throughout time, who would spend their last days camped out, away from home, sustaining themselves on coffee and mocking encounters with gunfire. The American Civil War was looming in the future and hundreds of thousands of lives would be lost in it. Where were they now, January 23rd, 1857? Had they any idea that they only had four years left? Five? Six? Would they dare to think the afternoon preceding a march to battle would be their last? Dare I think it?

"Sophie?" Talan broke up my thoughts, an odd expression filtering over his face. "Where in town did Benjamin go?"

* * *

"He went to talk to the banker. He should have been back by now."

Clara answered us, standing in the doorway. We had blurted out the question just as she had opened door. Behind her in the cabin, I saw Hugh sitting at the small table. Talan and I exchanged looks but didn't press the matter further. We thanked her and left.

It was one thing to read about the event, or even to anticipate it, but it was a new fear that gripped us as we stood on the eve of it, the inevitable pressing upon us like a sadistic New Year's countdown.

We knew it was useless but Talan and I checked the outlying fields. Bradley was gone and the mule had escaped again, not because of a broken fence, but because the gate had been left open. The smokehouse and tunnel beneath it were empty and undisturbed. We even checked the cabin's regular cellar. Benjamin was nowhere to be found.

Walking back, I willed myself not to think, but I let my voice ask the question anyway, "Talan... You didn't say anything to Benjamin... I mean... he showed you the vegetable cellar, not the other way around?"

"Are you insane?" Talan stopped and rounded on me. "Like I would invite loaded guys to come hang around? Why would I tell him anything?"

"You wouldn't," I said, trying to recover from my blatant accusation. "I'm sorry."

"He showed me the vegetable cellar. He trashed Gil in town. Benjamin is the one behind all this and I didn't help him. I don't want this to happen just as much as you."

"I know. I'm sorry. I trust you." I looked around the cold, bare yard. "But if you didn't tell him... Who did?"

Talan stepped back. His voice cracked, edging on desperation, "I don't know."

Hugh emerged from the cabin and walked toward us.

"Benjamin," I said to him. "He's…"

But Hugh held up a hand. "There's nothing we can do now. Worrying will just make everything worse," he said softly. "Wait for James to return with any news from town." Though timid and modest most of the time, it was clear that Hugh was taking his role as ranking officer quite seriously. "Regardless, Gil is on his way here and should arrive tonight. We'll take care of it best we can."

We followed Hugh back to camp, and waited.

* * *

James returned, just as promised, before sunset. Talan saw him approaching first and nudged me. Talan stood up but hung back as I ran forward to James, who took me gratefully in his arms, sighing against my shoulder. Together, we approached the tents.

"Everything's fine," James addressed us. "I relayed our plans to Mr. Anderson. He seemed grateful for the information. Said he'd keep an extra lookout tonight, especially if it seems like anyone's heading out this way."

Talan threw me a puzzled look. This news did not ease my tensions at all. Mr. Anderson was only one man, someone I hadn't even seen, and even if he was out to help us, I doubted the man who shoed the town’s horses could keep prestigious members of the city from arresting a known criminal.

* * *

Dusk had arrived; the sun was setting quickly. Every few seconds my eyes had to adjust to the new, darker level of light.

The constant cold was something I no longer noticed. It had become a natural part of my existence. Still, we huddled close to the single fire lit in camp, not talking, not even drinking coffee as we so often did out of habit whenever we were around a camp fire.

Only a few minutes of this, however, captured Talan's attention as the final rays of sunlight vanished. He picked up the rifle and stood at the edge of the tents, looking into the distance.

My Navy pistol was loaded and setting loosely in my grasp at my side. Even with James’s arm resting gently around my shoulders and the soft heat from the fire, my mind would not rest.

My thoughts kept going back to the fact that Benjamin was gone and I was certain he played a pivotal role in the impending attempt to intercept Gil. But how did he know? Even if Benjamin was suspicious about the tunnel, how did he know Gil was intending to use it that night? Of course, Benjamin had his friends in town, but which of them knew any more of Gil's actions than Benjamin? Who of them had even come into contact with Gil's men in town? There had been Talan, but he was our spy and I stood by what I had told him: I trusted Talan. Talan was the last person who wanted to meddle with the events that took place, and leaking any information would be doing just that. Even if he had let something slip, the trip to town was before Gil had mentioned any of his plans for rescuing Clarence's family.

Who else?

I hadn't actually seen Mr. Stephens or any of Benjamin's friends. But out of the fog of my crowded brain came the memory of the man on the horse that had shot at us. The same man I had caught a glimpse of in town.

"James?" I asked breaking the silence.

"Hm?"

"When I was in town, I saw a man..." I described him, the rounded face, spectacles, fine clothes, smudged hands. I noted his horse and his zest for carrying loaded ammunition. "Do you know who that is?"

"Well," James answered. "Funny you should say all that. It sounds exactly like George Anderson. The town Farrier I just returned from speaking with."

My heart skipped and I sat up, turning to look straight into James’s eyes. I knew he was right.

But I couldn't choke out any words as Talan spun around from his post. "Hey," he said urgently. "They're back!"