She raced over to the bed and bounced beside him.
I watched and listened as the two bantered. After dodging a pillow thrown by Sam, I joined in the laughter and retelling of old memories. Then, as they continued gabbing, I tried to finish up the last of my packing, wrestling the bedding off the bed they still occupied.
“Jennifer! Jason!” Mom called from downstairs.
“Coming, Mom!” Jennifer piped up.
I had mellowed with Sam’s visit, but I wasn’t as ready yet as Jennifer to accept this new start in our lives. When I pushed the top drawer of my bureau a little too hard, my baseball trophies fell over.
“Your father wants to get going,” Mom said. She was now in the hallway and was peering into my room. “Jason, the movers are going to do your room shortly. It looks like you still have a few things to pack, though.”
“I’m almost done,” I said. “Sam’s here. Jen and I are just saying goodbye.”
Mom smiled. “Hello, Sam.” She backed out of the room. “Don’t be too long, okay?”
The three of us sat in silence. It was hard for me to keep back the tears. I blinked rapidly as I shook my best friend’s hand. Jennifer openly let the tears flow and hugged Sam a little tighter and a little longer than usual.
“See you later, Freckle Face,” she whispered to Sam.
“Not if I see you first!” Sam said, his voice quavering uncertainly.
We all shuffled down the stairs and quietly shrugged into our heavy winter coats. Mom and I looked at each other. I smiled, and she put her arms around my shoulders so as not to embarrass me completely in front of Sam.
“We’re off, Fred!” I heard Dad say from the kitchen. “We’ll see you in Lucan.”
“Right you are, Mr. Stevens. Safe journey!”
Dad held the front door open for us to leave. I let Mom and Jennifer go ahead. Dad followed Sam and me out but stepped around us to open the car.
“Take care, Sam!” I said.
We high-fived each other, and I scrambled into the empty back seat. Jennifer and I waved at Sam, who lingered on our front steps. Soon we were off in a cloud of exhaust and snow flurries. I settled back. My mellow mood had vanished and the anger was back.
Chapter 3
After we headed out of the Toronto area, drafts gusted in between the door jambs and window frames of our car. Jennifer threw me a warm comforter. I gathered the blanket around me, smiled a thank-you to Jennifer, closed my eyes, and fell asleep. The gentle rocking of the car in the snow squall helped to lull me, but I still heard snatches of conversation between my parents and Jennifer.
“Highway 23, next turn!” Dad said. “Used to be called Cedar Swamp Road a hundred years ago.”
I felt the lurch of the car as it skidded in the rutted drifts lining the highway. The snow was falling more heavily now and the wind had increased steadily. I was too nervous to sleep anymore.
Jennifer poked me. “Welcome back, sleepyhead!” She was trying hard to cheer me up.
“Didn’t miss much, did I?”
“Only about three accidents and an extra ten centimetres of snow!”
I sat up as the car skidded again. Wet snow built up on the wipers and the windshield with each passing swipe.
“Cedar Swamp School’s next on our tour,” Dad joked, trying to take our minds off the weather.
I groaned. He always had the same spiel whenever we came this way to Granddad’s.
“School Section Number 4, built in 1874, and the meeting place for the vigilantes who burned out the Donnellys.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. Still, Dad’s history lesson did distract us from the storm.
“Today’s February 4, isn’t it?” Jennifer asked. “The anniversary of the Donnelly massacre?”
“You’re right, Jennifer,” Mom said. “You’ve heard this story before, haven’t you, Jason?”
“Yeah, Mom, a million times.”
I watched the blinding snowflakes hurtle toward us. The white wall of snow was hypnotizing me, so I was sure Dad was having a hard time keeping the car on the road.
“James Carroll, the constable from Lucan, led the vigilantes,” Dad said. “They met at the schoolhouse early in the morning of the fourth. Between complaints about the Donnellys and several passes of the liquor jug, they decided the Donnellys had to go.”
“But I’ve never understood why,” I said, needing to keep my mind off the storm.
Mom and Dad looked at each other in surprise. Dad even glanced in his rearview mirror to make sure it was me in the back seat. After a short pause, he launched into the story again. “Jealousy, I gather.”
“Jealousy?” Jennifer said. “I’ve never heard that before.”
Nor had I. I leaned over Mom’s seat to hear Dad better.
“The Irish,” Dad continued, “were all hard workers, hard drinkers, and hard fighters. The Donnellys seemed better at all three than most. They farmed; they worked in logging camps and railway lines; they operated stagecoaches. They prospered in very hard times.”
“But that doesn’t seem to be enough reason to murder them.” I was really awake now.
“It was a brutal life in Lucan in the mid-1800s,” he continued. “There were stories of farm thefts, livestock mutilations, fights, stagecoach feuds, and barn fires. Locals never forgave Jim Donnelly for the murder of Pat Farrell, even though he spent the seven years he was sentenced to in Kingston Penitentiary. While he was away, his wife, Johannah, raised their seven boys and daughter, Jennifer. The boys had to learn to take care of themselves and to look after their mother. They learned to work hard and defend themselves. Their reputations started early.”
“But, Dad,” Jennifer said, “that’s still not enough reason to murder them.”
“Tom!” Mom suddenly cried. “Look out!”
A flurry of blinding snow smothered the windshield as the car bucked a heavy snowdrift. I banged against Mom’s seat and lurched toward Jennifer, grabbing her before she slammed her head into Dad’s headrest. We both fell back against the bench seat.
“Thanks, Jason!” Jennifer whispered.
I grinned. “Watch it, Stilts!”
I knew she really hated that name, but this time I was using it to let her know we were still friends. She took the hint and smiled in return. Pushing myself closer to the window, I peered into the raging storm. Even though it was daytime, the sky shifted from light grey to a more ominous black.
“Jennifer,”
