Acts of Courage (17 page)

TWENTY-FOUR

Laura awakened from her sleep to the sound of rifles. At first, startled by the realization that she was in strange surroundings, she swung her feet abruptly to the floor. Pain shot to her head. Gingerly, she started toward the door. Then she remembered where she was and sat down on the side of the bed.

She did recall reaching Lieutenant FitzGibbon with her message about the surprise attack. She also remembered that Mrs. De Cew had taken her upstairs to wash her bleeding feet and give her soft shoes. A waiting officer then had escorted her to this farmhouse—a few fields away. Inside, she had vaguely recognized Mrs. Turney, who had helped her upstairs to this comfortable bed.

I must have slept right off,
she thought as she looked around the small, clean room. She remembered nothing about the room from the night before. Just past the two oak posts at the foot of her bed, the pale blue chintz curtains blew gently in the breeze. Nearer the door, there was a small washstand with a jug and bowl, clean towels, and a dish of soft soap.

The gunfire started again as Laura headed for the door. She winced. Her feet were wrapped in strips of a white linen shift.

“Hello,” Laura called out at the top of the stairs.

She heard light steps below. A woman hurried up the straight, steep stairs toward her.

“Mrs. Secord, how are you?” she asked before she reached the top of the stairs.

“I’m quite well,” Laura replied, “… although a little light-headed, I’m afraid.”

“Just you go right back to bed,” the woman said as she took her hand. “I’m Mary Turney. A soldier and my husband brought you here the night before last. You were worn right out.”

Laura did not know the Turneys personally, but she recognized the woman’s face and knew the farmhouse where she had slept. “The night before last—you mean, I’ve slept since then?”

“Yes, you have.”

“And the fighting? Has it been going on all this time?”

“Oh, no. The fighting just got started. Lieutenant FitzGibbon sent men out to watch. They watched through all that night and yesterday and last night.”

“So, now they’ve come.”

“I don’t rightly know, but they must have, for there’s shooting now. I’m sure it’s not a turkey shoot that’s going on. Though I’ve not heard any cannons.”

“Did British soldiers arrive in time to help?”

“Don’t you worry yourself. Lieutenant FitzGibbon is taking care of it. His men have been planning for it ever since you came. You just sit right on your bed until I get back up here with some soup. That light head will be gone in no time.”

Laura lay on the bed and thought of her meeting with FitzGibbon. At the time, she was sure he was really Red, but now she was beginning to doubt it. After all, she had been in a state of extreme exhaustion and could easily have been confused. But whether FitzGibbon was really Red or not, the important thing was that she had delivered her message, and FitzGibbon, whoever he was, had acted on it.

Before long, Mrs. Turney came back with a bowl of soup and a cup of steaming coffee. She hurried back downstairs to her baby. As Laura sipped the hot coffee, her thoughts went back to Queenston.

She wondered how her family had fared as the American army marched through. Had her daughters and Fan and Bob been able to carry on in her absence? If she were missed by the scouts, would the authorities accept the explanation that she was visiting her brother in St. David’s? Then, as she took sips of the soup, she realized that the American soldiers would be too busy planning an attack to look for a missing wife and mother. Her family were fine, no doubt. The danger was possibly nearer at hand.

“You finished that soup yet?” Mrs. Turney called up to Laura.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Can I bring you some more?”

“No, thank you.”

Mrs. Turney climbed the steep stairs and puffed a little as she put down a pair of leather slippers for Laura. “You may need these when you feel like getting up. Here, let me help you with the bandages.” She moved toward Laura.

“No, thank you. I can do this myself.”

“Well, if you’re sure you can manage. I should get back down to my kitchen work. But just you call if there’s anything else you need.” Mrs. Turney turned and left the room and walked heavily down the stairs.

Laura slowly unwrapped her bandaged feet. They were still swollen, but not too painful now, and she was able to fit them into the slippers. For a minute, she lay back on the bed and tried to sleep. But she was too restless. She needed to be doing something to take her mind off her family—and the battle a few fields away. It was strangely quiet for a battle so near. Whatever had happened? She felt her way down the narrow back stairs and then went on out to the kitchen.

“I’d like to help,” she told Mrs. Turney, who was peeling potatoes at the sink.

“Now, that’s not necessary. You just go back to bed.”

“No, I’d really rather work. It’ll pass the time.”

***

Laura and Mrs. Turney sat silently in the kitchen, wondering what was happening. Had the battle ended so quickly, and who had won? They listened for the whoops of victorious Indians. If they heard these, they would know that the victory had gone to Upper Canada.

Finally, Mrs. Turney said, “We’d best be preparing some supper.” She bustled over to the pantry and came out with the leftover potatoes in the iron spider frying pan, which she set on the back table. “Here, you slice these, dear.” She handed Laura a knife and went back to her pantry for more victuals.

Laura’s hands trembled a little as she sliced the potatoes. She strained to hear the sounds that did not come. She started chopping the sliced potatoes.

“We don’t need those potatoes for mincemeat,” Mrs. Turney said, then added more gently, “Thank you, dear. They’ll do just fine.”

Laura nodded as she looked down at the potatoes, all chopped into little bits.

It was nearly five when they heard the sound of someone running toward the house. Mrs. Turney swung the door open and her husband burst in.

“They’ve surrendered. It’s all over. And the lieutenant wants to see Mrs. Secord before I take her home.” It was then they heard the jubilant whoops of the victorious Mohawks and Caughnawagas.

***

The following afternoon, Red sat alone at his desk in the De Cew house when Laura entered. She had not been dreaming. It really was Red.

When the door closed behind her, FitzGibbon reached out for Laura’s hand and clasped it in both of his. “They surrendered without a battle,” he declared. “And it’s all because of you that we were ready for them. We would have lost without your warning. How can I thank you?”

She gave him a mischievous smile and said, “I always seem to be getting you out of tight spots, don’t I?”

He laughed that merry boyish laugh that she remembered from so many years ago and motioned her to a chair by his desk. He pulled his own chair out from behind his desk and sat close beside her.

She drew her swollen feet in under her chair. When she looked up, he was still staring at her. He seemed to be speechless.

“So, FitzGibbon is your real name?” she asked, still nagged by lingering doubts.

“Yes, it’s James FitzGibbon, but I couldn’t tell you that when I visited your home—for I was going on a fishing expedition into the enemy camp to discover their strengths and resources.”

“I understand that,” she said, “but I do not understand the rest. What are you doing in Canada, and how did you find your way into the British army?”

“Well, after I sailed back to Ireland, I ended up back home on Bantry Bay. I worked hard on my father’s small farm and occasionally caught a salmon to help feed the family. Then, when I was fifteen, a French fleet invaded our area, and troops were sent in from England to protect us. The first regiment to appear in our village were the Devon and Cornwall Fencibles, who were billeted in our homes. Their quiet behaviour and gratitude for our hospitality astounded me, for the whole village had little use for the English.”

“So, you ran away and joined the army when you were old enough?”

“Not exactly. I had neither the money nor the education to become a commissioned officer and so was reluctant at first to join up.”

“So, how did it happen?”

“Friends and a lot of luck.” A sad expression crept across his face, and Laura did not question him further, for she had heard that FitzGibbon was a protégé of the great Sir Isaac Brock.

“Well, it is our good fortune that you were here to save us from the enemy. All Upper Canada would have been lost without you.” She spoke more formally now, but as she stood up, she added, “And, Red, you know I’ve never forgotten you over the years. There were many times when I missed you and wondered what had become of you.”

Red smiled a proud lieutenant’s smile, but there was something impish in it. “Now, don’t say you were pining. You’ve had plenty to keep you occupied with a husband and children.”

“Of course, but you still had a special place in my heart. Don’t slip out of sight again, Red. Come and see me and my family as soon as you can.”

“I will, Laura.” He rose from his chair.

Laura smiled at her old friend and stood to leave. Then a look of fear crept into her eyes. “I have just one request, Red.”

“What is it?”

“Please don’t tell anyone that I brought you this message. We are not safe from the enemy. Today, you have won the battle, but tomorrow, who knows who will rule the Peninsula?”

“Don’t concern yourself, Laura,” said FitzGibbon, his eyes twinkling. “Nothing will be said, but I feel confident we will drive the Americans back home.”

“I hope you are right, Red. God be with you in our defence.”

***

Mr. Turney’s vegetable wagon crept along at a snail’s pace toward Queenston. Laura sat up on the buckboard beside the farmer, trying not to shout at him to hurry along. She had been gone for only four days, but she was getting more anxious about her family the closer they got to the village.

“I’ll just keep moving slow and easy up to your house, Mrs. Secord,” Mr. Turney said, peering through the gathering dusk. “No point in arousing suspicion. We have the Americans on the run now, but who knows what next month will bring?”

Laura nodded but was still impatient. This trip back to Queenston seemed to be taking longer than the trek to Beaver Dams. Finally, as they reached the edge of the village, they turned out from the woods that lined the roadway and started down her street. She could hear the creak of the well-crank turning in the backyard, but, apart from that, all was silent. The red roses overhanging the front walk blossomed quietly; it was as if nothing had happened.

Mr. Turney pulled the reins tightly and his horses stopped in front of the house. “Everything seems to be fine,” he said, “but I’ll wait here in case you need help. If all is well, you can wave me on. I have business to attend to at the Landing.”

Laura jumped down lightly from the side of the wagon as he finished speaking. She winced a little as her feet touched the ground. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for everything.”

Ignoring the pain from her bruised feet, Laura ran up the path toward the front door. The smell of roses gathered in around her like a bride’s veil. She walked up the stone steps and threw open the door. Inside, the hall was quiet and dark. All she could hear was the clock ticking in the parlour. The kitchen was empty, but the table had been set for the next morning’s breakfast. Laura ran back to the front door and waved Mr. Turney on.

“I’m home, James, I’m home,” she shouted as she ran back down the hall toward the stairs. She raised the muddied hem of her borrowed petticoat and ran up the steps. James had still not answered her. The upper hallway was as silent as the downstairs. But when she looked up toward the bedroom, she saw him. He was standing, but he was so weak that he had to lean against the doorway.

She ran to him and threw her arms gently around him.

“Thank God! Thank God!” James whispered, clasping her to him.

For a minute they stood there, silently holding each other.

Then he asked, “Laura, did you reach FitzGibbon?”

“Yes, and the American soldiers have surrendered. The British have control of the Peninsula again.”

“Do the Americans know how their surprise was found out?”

“I asked FitzGibbon not to reveal my part, in case there were more American attacks. He will keep my secret. We are safe, James. We are safe.”

James limped back to his chair and sank into it, grimacing with pain. In the dying light of the sun, Laura could see deep lines around his mouth that she had not noticed before. She sat on the footstool beside his chair and reached across to take his hand. It was warm and strong. It gave her hope that his health would soon be completely restored.

They sat together at the end of the day and looked out the window toward Queenston Heights.

THE ROUTE OF LAURA’S WALK