Erin's Rebel (30 page)

“No proper lady would be seen in public without her foundation,” Greta told her.

Eyeing the woman’s stout form, Erin balked. “You’re not wearing one.”

Greta laughed. “I’m just an old
Hausfrau
. When I go to market, I’m always sure to conceal my bodice under a cloak or shawl. And no one’s the wiser. Thee, however, are seeking outside employment. Not so easy for a woman. Thee must look thy best.”

So, Erin had gone along with the woman’s advice, even down to the corset. But it didn’t make being able to walk or sit any easier. At least, the newspaper office was only a few short blocks from the boarding house. She hadn’t had to worry about using a carriage or streetcar to get there.

She stepped inside and found a stout, balding man chomping on a cigar. He raised his brown, bushy brows in question.

“Good morning, sir,” Erin said. “I’m here to see the editor.”

His brows knitted into a frown. He raked his gaze over her, then stood. “I’m Edmund Radley, editor of the
Dispatch
.”

“Oh, good.” She extended her hand. “I’m here about a job. My name’s Mrs. Erin O’Connell.”

He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he bowed over it. “Please, sit down, Mrs. O’Connell.” He motioned to a wooden chair across from his desk. “Do you have poems or perhaps a short story to submit?”

“No. I’m a reporter.”

“A reporter, you say?” He tamped out his cigar on the side of a spittoon. “This is most unusual. Where have you worked before?”

“The
Philadelphia Inquirer
,” Erin answered truthfully.

“Ah, I suspect you are a ladies’ feature writer, society pages, no doubt.”

“I have experience on all types of stories and can write anything you need.”

“I see.” He braced his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers while he regarded her. “We do have a number of ladies’ activities here in town that we need someone to cover.”

She leaned forward. Was he giving her the job?

“When would you be available?”

“Right away.”

“Very well.” Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out a bound notebook and a pencil. He laid the pad on his desktop, then scribbled something on the first page before handing the notebook to her.

“Tomorrow afternoon at four, go to this address.”

Erin glanced at the top page where he’d written a street address. “What’s there?”

“A tea being given by the Ladies’ Relief Society. They knit socks, gloves, and scarves for our boys in blue.”

“Knit socks...?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Cover the tea, and write a story about it. I need it to be as sentimental and tear-jerking as you can make it. Bring the finished story back to me, and we’ll see about a job here.”

Erin smiled, although her first impulse was to slam the notebook on his desk and walk out. Ladies’ Relief...knitting socks? Swallowing a retort, she said, “I’ll do my best, sir.”

She left the newspaper office and sighed. It
did
beat doing laundry. And who knows, with her knowledge of twenty-first century journalism, once she got her foot in the door, she could push her way to a better position.

****

Will spent a miserable Christmas in a cold, drafty guardhouse. The worst part of his ordeal was being away from Amanda for the holidays and not knowing how Erin had fared. She didn’t belong in this century, and he’d left her to survive on her own. Although he’d briefly considered going north with her, that just wouldn’t have been possible. For one thing, he couldn’t abandon Amanda or his obligations to his home.

The worst he could expect to happen was he’d be shot or hanged, and that would put him out of his misery. He never expected to see Erin again.

The young, russet-haired corporal who’d been standing guard tapped on the door of Will’s tiny prison. “Captain,” he said, “you’ve got visitors.”

Visitors?
He rose and moved to the open doorway, peering out. The corporal stood on one side, while on the other stood his father. Since his arrest for desertion, he’d assumed his father would disown him. He’d never expected a visit. Jenny and Kevin Donnelly stood by Zachary’s side.

“Son,” Zachary said, “I’ve just been informed of your arrest. What is this all about?”

Will narrowed his gaze. “You didn’t know?”

“Your sister told us you’d left camp and had been charged with desertion, but we had no idea you’d been captured. How long have you been here?”

Will counted back as he adjusted his greatcoat around him to ward off the late afternoon chill. “I’d say about two or three weeks. But I wasn’t captured. I returned voluntarily.”

“Why weren’t we informed that you were here?” Zachary was aghast. “I know you, son. You would
never
desert your appointed post without good reason. Jenny said you’d gone off after a woman.”

“Erin O’Connell,” Will said. “The man who took her would’ve killed her. I couldn’t allow that to happen.”

“Is she here with you?”

He shook his head. “I sent her north, for her own safety.”

“And the man who took her?”

“He’s dead.”

“I see.” Zachary seemed to mull this over. “So, there’s no one to confirm your story.”

“No, sir.”

“You can’t contact Mrs. O’Connell?”

“I don’t know where she is.”

“Well, I
will
be speaking to your commanding officer, and this will all be sorted out.”

Will admired his father’s confidence but didn’t believe anyone could get him out of this mess.

Zachary went in search of the colonel. Jenny stepped forward to wrap Will in a hug. A lump rose in his throat. The warmth of his sister’s embrace and the concern of his father for his welfare had him wishing he
could
get out of this. Then he’d at least have a chance of finding Erin again.

Jenny pulled back, dabbing her eyes with a hanky.

“Oh, Will. I wish I had known you were here.” She glanced past him into the shack that stood for a guardhouse. “They kept you locked in there?”

“They wouldn’t allow me to contact anyone.”

“How awful! And they kept you here over Christmas with none of us the wiser. Even Kevin didn’t know you’d come back.”

Will glanced at Kevin who stood at his sister’s side. “Does Father know you two are...?” He hesitated, not sure what to say.

Jenny clapped a hand over her mouth. Kevin grinned. “I forgot,” she said, “that you didn’t know.”

“Begging your pardon?”

“We’ve married.” Jenny raised her left hand where a gold wedding band circled her ring finger. “And Kevin and I are having a baby.”

Will couldn’t believe all this had happened in the short time he’d been away. “And Father knows?”

“Yes. He’s even called Kevin,
son
.”

“Well, I’ll be. And what about Mother?”

Jenny sighed. “Momma’s still upset about the whole thing, but in time, I’m sure, she’ll come around.”

“A new baby will be a big help in that department.” He hugged his sister. “I’m glad at least one of us has found happiness.”

“Oh, Will.” Jenny hugged him again. “Papa will see to it that you’re released from this awful place.” She sniffed daintily into her hanky.

“How’s Amanda fairing? Does she know anything?” He cringed at the thought of his daughter suffering over his fate.

“We told her you had to go on a special mission. And that’s why she couldn’t see you this Christmas. But we told her you’d sent your love.”

Guilt washed over him. Even as he’d risked his life to save Erin, he’d regretted leaving his daughter. If he survived this war, he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to her. If he even had the chance to fight again.

Without Erin at his side, however, he couldn’t imagine any kind of life worth living.

Chapter Thirty-two

All Erin could concentrate on was how to draw a breath in the damn corset she’d agreed to wear.

“Tea, Mrs. O’Connell?” Erin glanced up at her hostess, a portly gray-haired woman, who stood over her holding an ornately decorated blue and cream ceramic teapot.

“Please,” Erin said. Maybe the tea would help her to concentrate on what she’d come here to do. She sure wasn’t about to eat anything. The hated corset would probably pop open, and she’d create a scandal. She smiled at the thought.

She had to make an extreme mental effort to forget about the damn undergarment—even though it threatened to pinch the life out of her—and concentrate on her assignment.

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.