Between Albany and Saratoga, New York
January 1864
Riding in the wagon next to Viola, with Michael and Sarah in the rear, Lane first saw a vast dust cloud rising from the road, then red-coated soldiers on horseback. General Burgoyne and his staff reined to a halt.
“Mr. Lane, my compliments. You were as good as your word. Young lady, I see you have a cargo of people rather than potatoes today. This army still needs to eat.”
“Just out to buy more provisions now,” Viola said. “I’ll come find you when I have goods to sell.”
“Please see that you do. You’ve hired more helpers? Business must indeed be brisk.”
“My brother and his wife. Visiting.”
“Yes, of course. Well, we’ve an army to follow and perhaps more business to attend to. Mr. Lane, we shouldn’t be hard to find when the time comes.”
With that, Burgoyne spurred his horse and his staff followed. Packenham touched the brim of his hat and smiled as he rode past. Behind, the red-coated host stretched farther than they could see. Viola pulled the wagon off the road, and they bumped along slowly through bare farm fields as the British army streamed past.
They rode silently, Viola picking her way along and the others holding on tightly.
Lane inquired, “How much farther?”
“I’ll let you know when we get there. We turn off the main road in another half mile.”
“Do you think they suspect what we’re doing?”
“The fact that we’re traveling in broad daylight makes them less suspicious rather than more. But they don’t care. If they cared at all about slavery they’d be on the other side, wouldn’t they?”
Lane thought about the events of the last few weeks. His quiet life in Boston, teaching Gaelic to boys who wanted nothing more than to be American, their parents clinging to the old ways. Long hours reading and thinking about Irish history, about the wrongs inflicted by the British over 700 years. Romantic stories of failed revolutions and his frustration, knowing how they ended, and how what Ireland needed was fewer poets and dreamers and more warriors. And finally, his big idea to use the Irish soldiers in the Union Army to bring about Home Rule in Ireland.
And now, sitting next to Viola, glancing back at Michael and Sarah, the reality. That the direct consequence of his actions was the continued enslavement of millions of people. That would also be his legacy.
They rode on in silence. Viola turned the wagon onto a narrow lane, and the ride was smoother again. After ten minutes, Viola said, “That’s the house ahead. Tell me if you see anyone, anyone at all. If you do, we’ll just keep on moving and not stop.”
Lane looked back at the man and woman riding in the back. They had been silent for the entire ride. They were no doubt suspicious of the White man riding up front.
“It was a mistake. I understand. I can’t undo what I’ve set in motion.”
Viola looked over and frowned. “It’s never too late to repent. You just need to decide that’s what you’re going to do. You let me know when you’ve made up your mind. I have some ideas. You won’t like them. Coming along on this ride isn’t going to save your soul or right any wrongs. But maybe there’s a way.”
Lane was about to respond, but Viola said, “I don’t see anyone. I’ll take Michael and Sarah inside. John, put the horse and the wagon in the barn for now. Quickly.”