Erin's Rebel Page 19

  I need this job. Reaching for her pencil, she positioned the notebook alongside her place setting. “You ladies darn socks?” she asked.

  “Oh, no, dear, we knit socks.”

  “Oh, sorry, knit socks.” In her own unique shorthand, she wrote: Knit socks for soldiers.

  Darn...knit...what the hell is the difference? It’s all boring.

  “We also knit gloves and scarves,” a bird-like, silver haired woman, sitting across from her said.

  Erin copied that down. “And?” she asked. How was she supposed to write a story about this?

  “We ship them to our local troops down in Petersburg.”

  Petersburg, she wrote. The image of soldiers engaged in battle brought Will to mind. Maybe he was in Petersburg, or wasting away in some godforsaken Federal prison. He may even have been executed. How was she to know? A lump rose in her throat as she considered the possibilities.

  “You’re more than welcome to join our group, Mrs. O’Connell.”

  Erin glanced up from her writing. “Huh?”

  Her hostess frowned. “Is your husband in the army?”

  “Husband?” It took her a few seconds to realize the woman meant Mr. O’Connell. “No, he’s dead.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  The other women at the table actually tittered.

  “It’s fine.” Erin brushed off their concern. “He died before the war started. But—” An idea dawned on her. “—why don’t you ladies tell me about your men in the service of the Union.”

  “Well,” her hostess began, “my dear husband is stationed in Washington City, and my two sons are in Petersburg.”

  By the time the tea was over, Erin had enough material for at least five heart-wrenching stories. Satisfied, she bid the ladies goodbye, confident this would get her the job.

  She returned to the boarding house and intended to retreat to her room to write the story, then return to the newspaper office to deliver it. Greta emerged from the parlor, on her way to the kitchen, carrying a tray of used cups and saucers.

  “I just served afternoon tea to the guests,” she explained. “Would you care for some?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve had quite enough tea,” Erin said.

  Greta glanced at the notebook she carried. “Thee got the job?”

  “Not yet. I have to write a story first. Then if the editor likes it...”

  “How exciting,” Greta said. “I wish thee luck.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wolff. I’ll be in my room.”

  Erin started up the stairs, her gaze drawn to an auburn-haired, olive skinned woman making her way down.

  Greta took a moment to make introductions. “Mrs. O’Connell, meet out newest boarder, Mrs. Driscoll. Madame, this is Mrs. O’Connell.”

  Erin stared at the striking, green-eyed woman while Greta made her excuses and headed for the kitchen.

  “Yer name is not O’Connell,” the woman said in a lilting brogue.

  The comment stopped Erin in her tracks.

  “’Tis Branigan,” she continued. “Miss Branigan.”

  A chill swept through Erin. “How do you—”

  “Ye’ve come from a long distance.”

  “Well, I was in Virginia a short time ago.”

  “No. Farther than that. ’Tis a place beyond our time.”

  Erin gaped at the woman. “Who are you?”

  “Who I am is not important. ’Tis you who don’t belong here.”

  Erin found it increasingly hard to breathe. She needed to get to her room and yank off the damned corset. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I am the only one who can help you, Miss Branigan.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “Damnation!” a soldier declared when a shell burst behind him.

  Will shared the sentiment. He crouched in his trench, while the Yankees spewed shell after shell in their direction.

  “Captain.” A lieutenant raced up to him, trying to catch his breath. “The men are running low on cartridges and powder.”

  Will nodded. “I’ll pass on the word to the supply sergeant.”

  For weeks he’d been sitting in this hole in the ground trying to avoid Yankee fire. Back in January, his father had contacted friends who owed him favors. They’d used their political influence to have the charges of desertion against Will dropped. He, in turn, had to swear a new loyalty oath and reenlist for the duration of the war. Afterward, he’d been sent to rejoin his company in Petersburg.

  Every day he agonized over his choice in sending Erin north. Had he done the right thing? He wished he had a way to know she was all right. He couldn’t get her from his mind.

  Doc had assured him Erin was tough. She could take care of herself. But Doc didn’t know the whole story. How would someone from his time survive if they were thrust into the seventeenth century? God forgive him. He should have found another way to keep her safe. A way to keep her with him.

  Another blast close on his right diverted his thoughts from Erin.

  “Sir,” the lieutenant said. “The Yanks are shelling us again.”

  “Men,” Will called to those around him, “prepare to fire at will.”

  Gunfire blasted around him. His only regret, he’d die here in this hole and would never have the chance to see Erin again.

  ****

  Intrigued by Mrs. Driscoll’s comments, Erin accepted the Irishwoman’s invitation to converse in her room. Although the woman had just moved into the boardinghouse, she’d already marked her territory with personal belongings.

  The small table set in the center was covered with a gaudy red, orange and brown tablecloth on which sat three large candles. At least the woman didn’t have a crystal ball.

  Mrs. Driscoll motioned for Erin to take a seat at the table, then sat across, studying her.

  “Have you ever had yer cards read?”

  “Cards?”

  “The tarot.”

  “I’ve heard of tarot cards. But no, I’m not familiar with them.”

  Mrs. Driscoll produced a deck of cards from thin air, but Erin realized they’d probably been hidden in her voluminous sleeves.

  “How do you know I’m not Erin O’Connell?”

  The woman hesitated. “You are and you aren’t.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You once were Erin O’Connell, but ye’ve moved beyond this life.”

  “Are you talking about reincarnation?”

  “My ancestry is part Romany and part Celtic. The ancient Celts believed everyone’s spirit was reborn many times. Ye’ve stepped through a doorway.” The woman shuffled the cards.

  “But why did this happen?” Coldness crept up Erin’s spine.

  “Yer dreams. They guided you here.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense. Even if I was Erin O’Connell in a past life, why would I be reliving it now?”

  Mrs. Driscoll’s eyes glazed over. She seemed to draw into herself. “There are many reasons for a soul to return to their former life. Ye’ve done something that released a terrible tragedy that was never meant to be.”

  Erin thought about Will’s death and the dream she’d had. Had he died at the hands of Jake the first time? “My grandmother gave me a brooch that contained a lock of a man’s hair. She told me it had been given to Erin O’Connell.”

  Mrs. Driscoll nodded. “Yer grandmother was a seer. You recognized that and gave her the brooch knowing she’d know you in yer next incarnation and return it to you so you could accomplish yer task.”

  “How do you know about my grandmother? She hasn’t even been born yet?”

  “Time is immaterial in the spirit world. What matters is that you learn from yer past life.” She gazed at Erin intently. “You haven’t.”

  “You mean, my relationships with men?” Erin had never had a serious relationship with any man before Rick. She’d always found a reason to dump her past boyfriends, rationalizing that she wanted to concentrate on her career. Was the reason for he
r failed love affairs set in her past life?

  She glanced down at the cards Mrs. Driscoll shuffled. “What are those?”

  “Tarot.”

  “Are you going to tell my fortune?” After all she’d been through, Erin still held an innate skepticism of fortunetellers.

  Mrs. Driscoll ignored her and stared at the cards she’d laid out. “Ah...” She tapped the face of one of the cards.

  Erin gazed at the picture. A naked man and woman stood side by side before an angel with the sun behind his head. She pointed.

  “What’s that?”

  “This card is ‘The Lovers’. It symbolizes a joining of two souls.”

  “That can’t be me and Will. He was married before.”

  “’Tis true, but the woman was not his soulmate...the one he was destined to travel through time with.”

  “Erin O’Connell is his soulmate?” Erin asked doubtfully.

  “You have always been his soulmate.”

  Erin shook her head. “That can’t be true. Where was he in my present day life?”

  Mrs. Driscoll set two more cards out. One had a drawing of a skeletal figure. The other, a man hanging upside down from a T-shaped tree.

  “What do those mean?” Erin asked.

  “’Tis death.” She pointed a long finger at the skeletal figure. “The other is the hangman. You are closing the door on one chapter in yer life and opening another. You must give up control and accept what is to be.”

  “I don’t understand,” Erin said. “And you didn’t answer my question. Where was Will in my present day life?”

  Mrs. Driscoll hesitated, drawing into herself. Finally she said, “He was reborn but wasn’t drawn into yer circle.”

  “My circle?”

  “The circle of family members and those ye’ve had past relationships with.”

  “Why not?”

  “You betrayed him in this life.”

  “Betrayed him? How did I do that?”

  “Erin O’Connell lured him to his death.”

  Erin thought about Jake. Had he shot Will the first time instead of her? The dates of his original death would go with that. But she hadn’t lured Will to her, she’d been kidnapped. This was like some weird time warp. And trying to reason it out was giving her a headache.

  “I’ve come back twice,” she said. “The first time I prevented Will’s death but caused my own premature death. This time it was Jake who died.”

  “You still haven’t completed yer circle.”

  “What do I have to do now?”

  “You and yer soulmate must come together.”

  “Impossible.” Erin shook her head. “He left me. I’ll never see him again in this life.”

  “You must,” Madame Driscoll insisted.

  “He doesn’t want me.” If there were a way to get him back, she’d jump at it. But their lives didn’t fit together. She couldn’t be Will’s soulmate.

  She was tired. All she wanted now was to go back to her old life.

  “Since you know so much about these matters,” she asked the woman, “tell me, is it possible to go back to my old life?”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Driscoll nodded. “But the cost will be great.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Will blew his nose, then lifted the tin cup of chicory blend coffee to his chilled lips. After taking a sip, he spat. The brew wasn’t hot or even lukewarm, but damned cold.

  He felt feverish, achy, and tired. The trenches the army had dug around Petersburg defended the town, but the people within were prisoners. They couldn’t get supplies, food, or medical help, except for what little the deteriorating Confederate army could supply them.

  If Erin had been telling the truth, and he now suspected she had, this was all for nothing. The Yankees, who surrounded Petersburg, would be victorious. And where did that leave him? If he survived this siege, he’d go home a defeated man. He’d already lost what was most important to him.

  Yankee shelling resumed. The men entrenched alongside him returned fire. He was left to wonder when this nightmarish battle would end. Lifting his head above ground level to view the enemy fire, he quickly ducked back down. The trench warfare took away the pageantry and glory of face-to-face battle but may have saved many lives on both sides. It also prolonged the agony. Nearly nine months had gone by, and the Yankees kept coming.

  A young corporal scurried along the best he could in the muddied ditch.

  “Corporal,” Will called. “Do the men have enough caps?”

  “No, sir,” the corporal replied. “Everyone’s low...on rounds, too.”

  Will sighed. No caps or rounds and not nearly enough food. How the hell were they supposed to hold out?

  His thoughts drifted to Erin. He hoped she was all right. At least, she was away from the war. The army had left Pennsylvania alone after the defeat at Gettysburg.

  Once the war ended, if he survived, maybe he’d have the opportunity to travel north to find her. Would she even want him after he’d sent her away?

  An explosion drew his attention to his left. The corporal standing beside him flew backward. The man screamed, sending Will scrambling to help him. His right leg was blown clean off.

  Will swore and yanked up a muddy rubber mat used for sleeping. Pressing it against the stump, he tried to staunch the flow of blood. “Son,” he said, “you’ll be all right. I’ll send someone for one of the doctors.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man’s teeth chattered, and his lips turned blue. Will did his best to comfort him until the corporal’s light blue eye’s glazed over. He lay still, with not even the thready beat of a pulse.

  “Damn it all to hell!” Will cried. This wasn’t fair. He spread the bloodied, mud encrusted sheet over the young corporal’s face.

  More explosions echoed through the trenches. He stood, raising his revolver. If he died, he intended to take as many Yankees with him as he could. After firing off six shots, he crouched to reload.

  A blast knocked him flat on his stomach, and the trench collapsed, burying him beneath a pile of mud. With his last breath, he called out for Erin and Amanda.

  ****

  “What do you mean, the cost will be great?” Erin asked. “What is that? Some kind of Celtic mysticism?”

  Madame Driscoll studied her. “Ye’ll be lost forever, never finding the man you were meant to spend eternity with.”

  “But if Will’s that man, I’ve already lost him,” Erin protested.

  The woman shook her head. “He still lives but won’t survive long without yer spirit to guide him. Only you can pull him from the brink of death.”

  “But what can I do? I don’t even know where he is.”

  “He is a long way from here, but if you don’t find him in time, yer spirits will never meet again.”

  Erin sat back considering her options. Will had made it clear he didn’t want her. The last thing she needed to do was traipse back into a war zone.

  “You said there was a way for me to return to my own time.”

  The woman pursed her lips. “On May 1st, the feast of Beltaine, you can return. You have the brooch. Since it exists in the time from which you came and was the catalyst that sent you here, you can use it to return.”

  If what this woman said was true, she could find a way out of this nightmare. She could go back to her old life. Without Will, she had no reason to be here anyway. “You’re telling me that in six weeks, I can go back to the future?”

  “Aye. But are you prepared for an eternity without love?”

  “Love.” Erin shrugged. “I think it’s highly overrated.” Memories of hot showers, indoor plumbing, pizza, electricity, and Internet surfing excited her. She could go back. All she had to do was wait six weeks. That would be a snap.

  But when she returned to her room, memories of Will sapped her resolve. She wondered if he’d returned to the army or was sitting out the end of the war in prison. Mrs. Driscoll had told her he was still alive but wouldn’t stay that way without her
.

  She’d be unable to live with herself if she went back only to learn he’d died in the last days of the war. On the other hand, if she stayed, how would she ever find him?

  ****

  Will woke in a large open field. His torn, mud-encrusted uniform had been replaced by a neat, clean one, even down to the shiny brass buttons. Warm sunlight flooded the field. Where was he?

  “Papa.”

  He glanced in the direction of the child’s voice. Amanda raced toward him, her auburn hair loose and flowing behind her.

  “Amanda, where did you—?” She ran into his arms. He gathered her close, inhaling her youthful fragrance.

  “Miss Erin brought me,” Amanda said. She giggled. He scanned the horizon.

  “Erin?” he said.

  Erin appeared, beaming. Her hair was also loose and flowing like a cloud around her face, her eyes large and bright. She looked like an angel.

  “Will?”

  A deep male voice yanked him from the dream. He reluctantly opened his eyes to glare up at Doc.

  “How are you feeling?” Doc asked.

  “I was feeling very well—until you woke me.”

  The doctor chuckled. “That good of a dream?”

  “I was with Amanda...and Erin.”

  Doc patted his arm. “You’ll see them again.”

  “There’s a chance I’ll see Amanda—if this cursed war ever ends—and if I survive. But I don’t believe I’ll ever see Erin again.” A wave of pain traveled down his shattered body. He winced. His right leg was broken. He’d also suffered a concussion and two fractured ribs when the explosion had collapsed the trench. In short, he was a mess.

  “You have to have faith that you’ll live to see them both again. Just like I know I’ll see my Josie and little Nathaniel.”

  “Doctor?” A soft feminine voice interrupted them. “If you’re done with this here patient, I’ll wash him up.”

  Doc grinned, turning to the slight blond girl holding a basin of water and a towel. “This is my good friend Captain Montgomery,” he told the girl. “You take extra good care of him.”