Killing Down the Roman Line by Tim McGregor

was a hundred years ago for Chrissakes.”
    “Doesn’t matter. It’s still wrong. The man has every right to be angry.”
    “You believe that story? Emm, he accused everyone in town.”
    “Do you think it’s true?”
    Jim tilted his beer, then dismissed it all with a wave. “He’s just trying to stir up trouble.”
    “That’s not what I asked. Is his story true?”
    “It’s complete nonsense. Those people were killed by a gang of escaped convicts and that’s the end of it.” He shook his head again. “Hell, even if it was true, what does he think he’s gonna do? Lay charges against folks already in the ground?”
    “Still,” she said. “It’s an awful thing.”
    “It’s ancient history. Got nothing to do with us.”
    Emma leaned back and fanned her face with yesterday’s newspaper. The peak of the midday heat blowing in through the open window and it not even high summer yet. The knock at the screen door startled them both.
    Will Corrigan stood on the other side of the torn screen. A bottle of wine clutched by the neck. “You must be Emma.” He pulled the door open and thrust out a hand. “Will Corrigan. Pleased to meet you.”
    ~
    Emma didn’t know what to make of their guest. For someone who had just offended twenty people and taken a hard right to the jaw, he was remarkably chipper. All smiles and warmth, complimenting Emma on their lovely home and asking about the flowers she had blooming all around the yard.
    He took a seat at the kitchen table but refused a drink or even coffee. Jim had withdrawn to the sink, watching the man with mute hostility. Emma scolded her husband with a look and joined their guest at the table.
    “I’m sorry I had to bushwack you back there.” Corrigan placed the bottle on the table. “I didn’t want anyone spoiling the surprise, you see.”
    “We were surprised,” she said. “Everyone was.”
    “Then you’ll forgive me.”
    Jim levelled a finger at him. “That’s one nasty accusation you threw down.”
    “That was a history lesson. One that seems to have been conveniently forgotten about.”
    “You expect everyone to believe that story?”
    “It’s no story. God’s truth.”
    Emma looked at him. “How do you know it’s true?”
    “From my father, who was told the story by his father. The sole survivor of the Corrigan massacre, Robert Patrick Corrigan.”
    “It’s a helluva story, I’ll give you that.” Jim, not buying any of it. “But that’s not what happened. Your family was attacked by a bunch of lunatics who busted out of the jailhouse in Garrisontown.”
    Corrigan laughed. “Aye, I’ve heard that one too.”
    “But you don’t believe it,” Emma said.
    “As much as I believe it was a band of renegade Apaches or hobgoblins.” He slid the wine bottle across the table to her. “This is for you. A little peace offering.”
    “You didn’t have to do that.”
    “It’s not much, I know. The wine selection around here is a little slim.”
    Jim slugged back his beer. “We’re not really big on wine.”
    “Then I’ll bring champagne next time.” He turned back to her. “Everyone likes champagne.”
    Emma shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”
    “Okay? Then you’ve never had the good stuff.” He winked at her. “I’ll bring you some.”
    Emma smiled back. The man had his charm. “So where are you from, Mister Corrigan?”
    “Will, please. Lately of Halifax.”
    “I’ve never been there. I hear it’s lovely.”
    “It is. Lots of history too.”
    Jim, wanting him gone, went for bluntness. “What do you do, Corrigan? Besides entertain people, I mean?”
    “Security. Or I used to. Time for a change.”
    Emma seared Jim with a look for his rudeness, then leavened her tone. “Is that what brings you here? Looking for a place to settle down?”
    “In a way. I wanted to find my roots, my history. I wanted to find out who I am, if you know what I mean.”
    “I do.” Emma smiled. The man seemed sincere. “But why now? Why