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it dissipated after a couple of breaths.
    “Maybe Doctor Radcliffe is right. Maybe I do need to rest. That reminds me—I need to speak to the fort’s quartermaster.”
    “What for?”
    “Nanette has kicked me out of our room.” She stood. O’Connell held her by her elbow until she found the steadiness she needed.
    “That didn’t take long. What did you do? Refuse to compliment her on her superiority to all other living beings?”
    Some of Claire’s tension loosened when she laughed. She reminded herself she couldn’t necessarily trust this man—she hardly knew him. It just felt like she should.
    “I had nightmares last night, and apparently I moaned loudly enough to drown out her snoring.”
    Now the Irishman chuckled. “She’s a snorer—I should have known. I’ll show you where the quartermaster’s office is.”
    She noticed he didn’t ask about her nightmares. Perhaps it was out of politeness or respect for her privacy, but whatever the reason, she was thankful.
    “Oh, you don’t have to trouble yourself. You can just tell me. I do have a decent sense of direction, believe it or not.”
    “No trouble at all.” He held out an arm, and she took it. She smiled at the thought of how shocked her aunt would be if she could see Claire on the arm of an Irishman. Thankfully Claire had managed to escape from the marriage traps her aunt set for her in the brief time she was in Boston. She was fairly certain those young men’s arms were not as brawny as the tinkerer’s.
    O’Connell led her from the shade past the workshop and through a large square. He pointed to a lovely red brick house with a wraparound porch and white columns.
    “This is the middle of the fort. That’s the building known as the General’s House. He says it’s too fancy for him, and he’s usually not here anyway, so it’s where visiting officials stay.”
    Claire studied the house. “I’ve only seen buildings like it in books. Is it a former plantation house?”
    “No one knows. Rumor has it the Confed general who ran the fort had it built to compete with the one his brother was going to inherit.”
    “It must have been hard to surrender it.”
    “Aye. He didn’t surrender. Like a good general, he went down with his fort.” He gestured to a large oak in the middle of the square. “That’s where he was hanged for treason.”
    She looked up at him with a frown. “Are you teasing me?”
    “No, just telling you our little stories. Some say he can be seen walking the square looking for the key they pried from his hand after he died.”
    Claire shivered. “That’s horrible. Where is the key now?”
    “On a chain on the housekeeper’s ring. The men call her Brown Betty, but to stay on her good side, stick with addressing her as Mrs. Soper.”
    “So she’s not afraid of the general’s ghost?”
    Patrick snorted. “From what I hear, she was happy to see the old boy hang.”
    “Got it. Thank you—this is the sort of information you don’t find out in briefings, and I don’t want to inadvertently anger anyone else.”
    “I told you, Chad’s not—”
    But Radcliffe stalked toward them with a furious expression.
    Chapter Four
    Fort Daniels, 23 February 1871
    The man who argued with Chadwick didn’t seem to see Claire. She stepped out of the way, but O’Connell didn’t move and caught the brunt of the man’s forward momentum with his shoulder. Claire had to hop to the left so neither of them would knock into her.
    “Watch where you’re going, tinkerer.”
    “I could say the same to you, Perkins. I wasn’t moving when you ran into me.”
    “That’s Doctor Perkins to you.”
    Radcliffe stood between them. “We don’t have time for this. Come with me. You too, Doctor McPhee.”
    “This is ridiculous,” Perkins said. He rubbed his shoulder under his neat black suit and emanated irritation. “You don’t know with certainty the boy is consumptive.”
    “You saw the blood on the handkerchief, and I heard the