Too Good to Be True(83)

Angus whined. “Okay, boy,” I whispered. In the kitchen, I found a pen and piece of paper by the phone. “Dear Mr.

O’ Shea,” I wrote.

Thank you ever so much for your kind assistance in helping me find my beloved Angus last night. I trust you slept well. I have the unfortunate duty of fighting off the Yankee hordes this morning at Chancellorsville (also known as Haddam Meadows on Route 154 just off of Route 9, should you be interested in watching us drive back the Northern aggressors). Should I survive unscathed, I very much hope that our paths will cross again in the near future. Very best wishes, Grace Emerson (Miss).

Dumb or cute? I decided it was cute and tucked it by the phone. Then I took one more peek at the gorgeous sleeping man, picked up Angus and let myself out. My dog needed a bath, and so did I.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“THIS WAY, FIRST VIRGINIA!” I called, safely aboard Snowlight. Granted, the fat little white pony was not exactly a warrior steed, but he was better than nothing.

Margaret trotted up to my side. “I really need to stop doing this,” she said, pulling at the corner of her wool uniform. “I’m dying here.”

“Actually, you’re supposed to die over there, by the river,” I corrected.

“I can’t believe this is your social life,” she said.

“Yet here you are, tagging along.” I turned toward my troops. “‘Who could not conquer, with troops such as these?

’” I quoted loudly. My soldiers cheered.

“So you went to bed early last night,” Margs commented. “Lights out, Angus quiet, and it was only 9:30 p.m. when Mom dropped me off.”

“Yup. Early to bed, early to rise,” I said, my face prickling with telltale heat. Margs had found me this morning in the kitchen, hair wrapped in a towel, red bathrobe firmly cinched, very proper. She’d driven down to the battlefield herself, since she had a deposition in Middletown at two, so I hadn’t had the chance to tell her of recent developments with Hottie the Hunk Next Door.

“Hey, I met a guy in court and thought you might want his number,” Margaret said, aiming her rifle at a Union soldier.

“Oh, wait, don’t fire,” I said. “Snowlight will fall asleep if you do. He has narcolepsy.” I patted the pony’s neck fondly.

“Gentle Jesus of the three iron nails, Grace,” Margs muttered. She pointed her gun at the soldier and said, without much conviction, “Bang.” The soldier, well aware of my steed’s shortcomings, fell with obliging dramatics, clawed the ground for a few seconds, then lay tragically still. “So, should I have him call you?”

“Well, actually, I don’t think I’ll be needing anyone’s number,” I said.

“Why?” Margs asked. “Did you find someone?”

I looked at her and smiled. “Callahan O’ Shea.”

“Holy shit,” she yelped, her face incredulous. At that moment, Grady Jones, a pharmacist by day, fired a cannon from fifty yards away, and Margaret dropped dutifully to the ground. “You slept with him!” she exclaimed. “With Callahan, didn’t you?”

“A little quieter, please, Margaret, you’re supposed to be dead, okay?” I dismounted from Snowlight and gave him a carrot from my pocket, stalling so I could talk to my sister. “And, yes, I did. Last night.”

“Oh, shit.”

“What?” I asked. “What about ‘Grace, you deserve some fun’?”

Margaret adjusted her rifle so she wasn’t lying on it. “Grace, here’s the thing. You do deserve fun. You definitely do. And Callahan is probably a tremendous amount of fun.”

“He is. So what’s the problem?”

“Well, fun’s not really what you’re looking for, is it?”

“Yes! It…well, what do you mean?”

“You. You’re looking for happily ever after. Not a fling.”

“Quiet down! You’re supposed to be dead!” snapped a passing Union soldier.

“This is a private conversation,” Margaret snapped back.

“This is a battle,” he hissed.

“No, honey, this is called pretending. I hate to break it to you, but we’re not really in the Civil War. If you’d like to feel a bit more authentic, I’d be happy to stick this bayonet up your ass.”

“Margaret! Stop. He’s right. Sorry,” I said to the Union soldier. Luckily, I didn’t know him. He shook his head and continued, only to be shot a few yards later.

I looked back down at my sister, who had draped her arm across her face to shield her eyes from the sun. “About Callahan, Margs. He happens to be looking for the whole shmere, too. Marriage, a couple of kids, a lawn to mow. He said so.”

Margaret nodded. “Well. Good for him.” She was quiet for a minute. Shots rang in the distance, a few cries. In another minute, I’d have to remount Snowlight, join a reconnaissance party and catch a little friendly fire in the arm, resulting in a gruesome amputation and my eventual death, but I lingered a little longer, the sun beating on my head, the sharp, sweet scent of grass rising all around us.

“One more thing, Gracie.” Margaret paused. “Did Callahan ever tell you exactly what happened with his embezzlement?”

“No,” I admitted. “I’ve asked once or twice, but he hasn’t told me.”