MacFarlane's Ridge (24 page)

Cam needed no encouragement. It had taken them a while to get to Richmond, especially after Wanda’s horse had up and died on them when they were just a few miles out of town. They walked the rest of the way, and Cam had been thankful for her men’s clothes. They had encountered some thoroughly unsavory people on the way, not the least of which being several garrisons of British soldiers headed north at double-time.

Wanda had filled Cameron in a little on Revolution history. She said the soldiers were mostly likely headed to New York, gathering for the upcoming battle at Montreal.

“Johnny Burgoyne is a British general. He’ll be sailing up the St. Lawrence River with about ten thousand men in the next few weeks,” Wanda had said. It was eerie, to Cam, knowing what was going to happen before it took place. She didn’t like it.

“Don’t tell me any more,” she said. “I don’t want to know what happens.”

Wanda had laughed at her. “You already know, honey. I mean, I hate to spoil the movie for you but you do remember that the patriots win, right?”

“That’s not what I mean at all, and you know it.”

Cam was, however, thankful for some of Wanda’s knowledge. She seemed to know exactly where to locate Angus Duncan, and it had only been a matter of asking around at several taverns to figure out which one he was in. A small sliver of moonlight filtered in, and Cam watched Angus. It was hard to fathom that this man was her great-ancestor. She tried hard to see a resemblance between Angus and herself, but couldn’t. He looked a good deal like Mollie. He was small and wiry, with the same pointed nose and pale blond hair. She wondered how Mollie was, and with that came thoughts of Rob. She pushed them away and went to sleep.

When she awoke, Wanda was sitting on the bed chatting with Angus Duncan, who looked surprisingly well for a man who had been in his condition the night before.

“Oh, good, you’re up,” said Wanda, flashing a smile. “Angus, this is Cam, the one I was telling you about.”

“So you’re the one! Mollie wrote me a bit about you and your problems.”

“My problems?” There were so many at this point, Cam was unsure which ones Mollie would have mentioned.

“Aye. She mentioned that cad who claimed to be your husband and tried to kill you. Sinclair, was it?”

“Oh, yes. Him. I don’t know where he is, and I guess that’s a good thing,” she mumbled.

Angus scratched his head. “Aye, I suppose so, but if ye dinna ken where he is, then how d’ye know you’re safe?”

She shrugged. He had a valid point. “I guess I don’t know that I am.”

“Cam, Angus says Rob should be here sometime soon. Angus has been trying to find someone to buy the ship.”

“Wonderful. In the meantime, what do we do? I’m starving and I need a bath.”

“A wee bit hostile in the mornings, is she not?” Angus asked Wanda, as if Cam wasn’t even there.

“Aye,” nodded Wanda. “It’s okay, Cam. We can trust Angus. Can’t we?”

The man nodded assent.

“Good. Then why don’t you go get us something to eat, and we’ll see about a bath later?”

Cam realized Wanda was talking to her. “I have to go downstairs like this? I smell!”

Wanda sat down beside her, and smoothed out her skirts. “We all do, honey. Everyone here does, and since this place is full of sailors I expect most of them smell worse than you. Stop whining, and go get us some food.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Besides, I have some personal business with Angus Duncan.”

Cam rolled her eyes. “I don’t even want to know. Be nice to him. He’s my great-grandpa,” she whispered.

Wanda giggled and shoved her out of the room. Cam wandered downstairs, where things were still relatively quiet, as early as it was. A sleepy barmaid was sweeping the floor, and glanced up in surprise when Cam entered the room.

“Mornin’ to ye, sir,” she smiled. Her eyes widened a bit. “Ooh! Sorry, missus. I didn’t realize you was a woman, dressed in breeks like ye are!”

“It’s okay. Is there anything to eat?” Cam asked with a smile, and the barmaid brightened a little.

“I suppose I can find ye somethin’, if ye don’t mind last night’s leftovers.”

“That would be fine.”

The girl brought Cam a loaf of bread and some leftover stew, which by now Cam had become accustomed to. She also gave her large tankard of warm ale. Cam thanked the girl politely, and went back to Angus’ room.

“I have food. Guess what I got?”

“Stew and bread?” asked Wanda.

“You win a prize. I also was momentarily taken for a man because of these trousers, which brings me to my next point. Can I start dressing like a female again?” Although she had practically lived in jeans in Haver Springs, since arriving in the past she had become quite fond of the comfort of a long, loose skirt.

Angus laughed as he spooned up some stew. “I dinna see why you can’t put on something more decent. After all, ye’re back in civilization again.”

“Splendid. Where can I get clothes?”

Angus thought for a moment. “I’ve become a bit friendly with some of the tavern wh– the local ladies. Perhaps they could lend ye some dresses?”

Wanda nodded. “Perfect. And a hot bath, maybe?”

“Aye, there’s a bath to the rear of the kitchen. I’m sure Martha would fetch some water for ye. I dinna know that it would be hot, though.”

“Hot, cold, whatever,” replied Cam indifferently. “I just want to be clean before I put on new clothes.”

“Verra well, then.” Angus rose. “I’ll send Martha to fix your bath, and then I’ll talk to some of the ladies about some suitable clothing for ye. Although,” he reflected, “I’m no’ so sure they’ll be awake yet. I expect there was a lot o’ business last night.”

As the door closed behind him, Cam looked at Wanda. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“What was your personal business with him?”

Wanda stared out the window. “I can’t say.”

“Why not?” Cam demanded. “I have a right to know.”

“You do not have any such thing. It’s personal,” retorted Wanda.

“Come on, Wanda. The guy’s my great-something ancestor. I can keep a secret!” Cam pleaded.

Wanda grinned. “So can I. The end.”

Cam flung a bread crust at her. “Okay, be that way.” She tried a different tactic. “Wanda, do you really think we can change history?”

“I don’t know, really. I think maybe we could, but most history is based on the actions of a whole lot of people working together. Or maybe it’s a question of predestined fate versus the ability to make a conscious choice. I’m not entirely sure.”

Cam frowned. “What do you mean, exactly?”

Wanda moved her skirt out of the way and folded her legs into a neat lotus position. “Do you remember in college biology, where you had to come up with a theory, and then find a way to prove or disprove it?”

“Um, sort of.”

“Okay. Let’s assume that the Wanda Mabry school of time travel is based on the following theory: Because someone who travels from the future to the past already has a basic idea of what’s going to happen, they have the option of causing things to change.”

Cam leaned forward, interested. She was trying to get her legs into a lotus too, but it didn’t quite work. “Go on.”

Wanda held up a finger. “You have to have a corollary to this theory, and that is the fact that any kind of major historical event – the American Revolution, for example – is the result of the activity of a whole lot of different people, not just one individual.”

“So,” Cam said slowly, “what you’re saying is that we can’t prevent large-scale things like the Revolution from happening, because there were so many people and circumstances involved in its beginning.”

“Right. On the other hand, we could change smaller events in people’s lives. Remember when we were out on the road and I said something about running over Abraham Lincoln’s granny in the wagon? If that were to happen, it would mean nothing in the general scheme of things.”

“Because someone else would become president instead of Lincoln, and they would be the one who frees the slaves!” finished Cam triumphantly.

“Bingo!” Wanda grinned. “So even if I walk up to George Washington and tell him to make sure his men wear thick socks and good boots when they get to Valley Forge, it ain’t gonna change the fact that it’s going to be a long, cold winter, and a lot of men are going to get sick and die.”

“But the ones who live might not get frostbitten feet,” pointed out Cam.

“Exactly.” Wanda stretched and looked at Cam. “So here’s the real humdinger. What if history
can’t
be changed? What if all the actions we perform here, in the past, directly cause history, as we know it in the future, to remain the same? That would imply a predestined fate, and that we in fact have no choice in anything we do at all.”

“Ooh,” murmured Cam. She had never thought of that before, and it was troubling. “I like the first one better. The idea that if we’re going to be here, maybe we can change something small. I don’t like feeling that it’s all planned out already and we don’t have any free will at all,” she protested.

Wanda winked. “Gives you something to think about, doesn’t it?”

“No kidding,” she sighed. It gave her a lot to think about.

After a while, Angus came back, buried under a pile of clothing.

“I did the best I could, lass, but ye ken I have no idea for women’s sizes. I had to hazard a guess. I told the girls that you were my cousins come in from out of town.”

“Did the girls ask why your cousins had no clothes?” asked Wanda.

“Aye, in fact they did. I told them ye’d been set upon by robbers, who liberated you of all your belongings but your travelin’ clothes, which of course were no longer fit to wear once reaching Richmond.” He finished with a bow, and ceremoniously tossed the dresses on the bed.

Cam rummaged through the pile. Most of the dresses were close to being clean, although one or two still smelled like their prior occupants. She selected one in a nice forest green, and again asked Angus about the possibility of a bath.

“Aye, Martha is down in the kitchen getting it ready for ye. She should have it near to full by now.”

Cam practically clicked her heels in joy. A cold bath was better than none at all. She grabbed the dress and a pair of shoes and scampered down to the kitchen.

The barmaid pointed. “There’s some soap and a washrag for ye on the table, and a cloth to dry with when you’re through.”

“Thank you, Martha.” The girl left, and Cam latched the door. She pulled off her filthy breeks as fast as she could, and stuck a toe in the bath water. It was ice cold.
Might as well take the plunge.

Once in, she scrubbed hurriedly with the rough cloth. No wonder hygiene was a low priority in the eighteenth century. It was too cold to do this every day. When she was done, she hopped out and toweled herself dry as fast as she could. She pulled the muslin underdress over her head and added a pair of wool stockings. She then slipped the green dress on top of everything else, and glanced down. There was no mirror in here, but she figured she didn’t look half bad. There was a tap at the door.

“Just a minute!” she called, tugging the low-cut bodice up a bit. Expecting Martha again, or maybe Wanda, she flung the door open, and gasped. There stood Robert MacFarlane. He was dressed in a fine blue coat, with matching trousers and cream-colored hose. His thick black hair was pulled back and tied with a blue ribbon. He looked as dashing as ever.

With a squeal of surprise, she flung her arms around him. “Rob!”

Taken aback, Rob’s dark eyes widened as he gazed down at Cam. “Hello, lass. Ye look better every time I find ye.”

She blushed self-consciously. “Thanks. I don’t look too trampy, do I?”

“Trampy? D’ye mean indecent? Not at all. On the contrary, ye look quite ravishing,” he grinned. “Angus said he’d got the dress from one of the tavern wenches, but on you it’s nearly respectable. Certainly more so than the men’s clothes you were wearing. Tis a good color on you.”

She stared up at him. He really was devastatingly handsome. “So,” she began. “Is Ian with you?”

He shook his head. “Nae, I sent him back to the ridge to mind Mollie and the boy. His eye was troubling him, and he kept falling off the bloody horse. Besides, planting’s due to begin, and I didna’ want him to get his crops in late on my account.”

He was blocking the doorway, and didn’t seem to show any inclination towards moving.

“Well, we should probably get back upstairs. Angus and Wanda will be waiting for us,” Cam murmured.

“They’re busy,” he said abruptly. “I told them we’d give them a bit of time to get to know one another. Your friend Wanda is a quite a lass. Tis no wonder she managed to survive this long, all things considered, aye?”

Cam’s eyes narrowed. “Time to get to know one another? What exactly does that mean?”

Rob laughed. “Never fear, Angus willna’ compromise her honor, lass.”

“It’s not Wanda’s honor I’m worried about. She’s quite taken with Angus,” Cam said. She wasn’t going to mention to Rob that Angus was someday going to be her great-ancestor. A thought suddenly struck her. Who had Angus married? She didn’t think there had been a wife mentioned on Emily’s genealogy sheet.
Oh, no. Could Wanda Mabry be … no, I’m not even going to think about that.