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This story is a sequel to The Doctor's Daughter. Both are set during the War of 1812. Since the death of Major General Brock in the fall of 1812, neither side has scored a decisive victory. There have been minor accomplishments for both the Americans and the British, but the War Hawks in Washington are eager for more promising actions that will validate Jefferson's boasts that the conquest of Canada is "a mere matter of marching". In the spring of 1813 Major General Henry Dearborn is ordered to lead his forces in an attack on Kingston, Ontario. He considers those orders and then attacks the town of York (later known as Toronto), instead.
17
Candles were lit and spread throughout the dining room and Lawrence thought that in other circumstances he might have viewed this as a romantic dinner with his wife. The other four in the house were upstairs and eating quietly. It was almost easy to forget their intrusive presence and believe that Abigail and he were all alone. He took another spoonful of stew, letting the delicious juices run down his throat while he chewed the tubers and meat.
"Lawrence." He looked across at his wife, who had her head bowed to her bowl. "There's a shadow across the window behind you. The curtains are drawn, but they are slightly parted."
He froze and considered what to do. If he had been seen and he turned around, the man at the window would flee with the certain knowledge that Captain Lawrence Orr was at home. On the other hand, if it was an American soldier then their home was soon to be invaded by the man and his confederates. If the man were friendly and seeking refuge or a meeting with him, a sudden movement might scare him off needlessly.
"Can you describe the man at all, Abigail?"
She glanced up at him and her eyes darted slightly to her left. "No. But someone is there and that person is looking through the gap in the material. I cannot tell if it is a man or woman," she added. She smiled at him and laughed as if he had said something witty.
A woman, Lawrence wondered? He dismissed the possibility of the skulker being one of the fairer sex. "I'm going to get up, as if for more stew. Let me know what the man does."
He stood, reached for his bowl and...
"He's gone!" called out Abigail in excitement.
Lawrence ran for the front of the house and threw open the door. He was just in time to spy a figure running across the roadway. The light was dim, but he could still identify the man as a civilian from the clothing he wore. With a silent curse, Lawrence gave chase.
He raced across the road. A hail at the corner alerted Lawrence to the presence of an American patrol, and he gave up from the chase and hid himself in the darkness between two homes. He listened to the soldiers accost the spying man. There was an exchange, which quickly became friendly. The man mentioned having important news for their commanding officer and then the rest of the conversation was impossible to hear.
The brief snatch he had heard had allowed Lawrence to identify the speaker as one of his neighbours. A neighbour, he remembered, who had seldom expressed republican ideas. Captain Orr silently cursed his foolish neighbour as he made his way through the darkness to the next road.
He reached it in time to watch the spying neighbour walk into view, glance around nervously and then continue on his way. Lawrence sprinted across the road and dashed into the darkness between more buildings. He waited for the man at the next street, realizing his target would have to turn in his direction or else walk right down into the lake.
Wondering exactly what he was going to do, Lawrence listened to the sound of waves lapping against the shore. The American ships had moved directly into York Harbour, a little east of where he waited now.
At last the man walked into view. He seemed to be in no hurry and confident that he was close enough to his goal that he was no longer in danger.
Lawrence waited until the man was immediately before him and then stepped out of the darkness and into the moonlight. "Good evening, Mr. Henry."
His neighbour froze and turned to face him. "You should not have left your home, Captain Orr. All I have to do is call out and American soldiers will rush to this spot. I would suggest you flee York right now."
"I would like to know your intentions, Mr. Henry," Lawrence said calmly. Although his fists were opening and closing in anticipation of action, he felt as if there were some supernatural calmness around him and the other man.
"I am going to report the presence of a spy to our new governors, if you hadn't guessed. You really should have fled with the other British forces, Captain. Why did you stay?"
"I wanted to protect my wife."
The man tsked. "If you had fled, then she would most likely just have been expelled by the Americans when they learned that she was the wife of a British Captain. Now, you'll probably both be accused of spying and she'll likely hang beside you."
"So you're going to inform on us?"
"Of course! You're traitors! I'll be rewarded for my loyalty to the Americans. I might even be given some title or position such as mayor."
Lawrence could feel his muscles twitching in eagerness. "It is you who are a traitor. You are a British subject and aiding the enemy is treason."
"You're just not looking at this in the proper way, Captain. The Americans are going to take the whole continent and I'm going to be rewarded." The neighbour took a step away and glanced down the road, looking towards where he expected help to come from should he call out.
Lawrence charged and before Mr. Henry could cry out, he wrapped his hands around the man's throat and began squeezing. The two men fell to the ground, but Captain Orr desperately kept his grip on the man's neck. He knew that if he faltered his opponent would call out and he and Abigail, and likely anyone found in their home, would be doomed.
The neighbour batted at his head with his fists, but Lawrence held on. The man tried to pry his fingers loose, but Lawrence held on. Mr. Henry wrapped his own hands around Captain Orr's throat and began squeezing, but Lawrence knew that he was going to win that battle. He had started strangling his opponent first and he was slightly stronger than Mr. Henry.
His opponent's face was going red, but this fight was taking far too long for Lawrence's liking. He let go with his left hand and began reaching out, searching for a rock to pummel his opponent.
Mr. Henry concentrated on prying Lawrence's remaining hand from his throat. He was loosening the strangle hold when Captain Orr's fingers found a stone. He clutched the rock, raised it above him and struck down on his enemy's face as hard as he could.
There was a spray of blood. Lawrence lifted the rock and struck again and again. At last his opponent went limp. He struck three more times, partly in fury and partly with cold intent to finish what he had started.
After a few seconds, Lawrence pushed himself off of the corpse and sat in the dirt on the road. No-one seemed any the wiser to what he had just done. And he wondered: what had he just done? He had killed a neighbour to prevent a foreign invader from killing his beloved Abigail.
This war was so unlike any he had ever fought before. It was easy to kill when you were lining up and you saw the ranks of enemy uniforms across the field. This war had enemies as friends and friends as enemies. Your worst enemy might be dressed as any other civilian, and certainly looked and sounded no different than anyone on your side. He was growing to despise war, he realized.
A hand fell upon his shoulder, startling Lawrence.
"Captain Orr? We should get back to your home before a patrol spots us," said John.
Lawrence looked up at him and was astounded that the young man had made no mention of the body. "He was my neighbour and he was going to turn Abigail and myself over to the Americans. I had to kill him."
"Let's leave him here as a warning to others who might befriend the enemy, sir." John stood and his eyes shifted nervously.
