Alias Dragonfly by Jane Singer Page B

seesawing into the sky. Things, live things chirred and chittered in the bushes. Late day was fading, night loomed.
    While I was focusing on every little sound, I noticed Jake was awake, staring at me.
    “Why don’t you get some rest,” he said, moving his leg and wincing from pain. I felt sorry for him right then.
    “My mother would make a plaster of nettles and mustard grass, to take the ache out of that leg of yours,” I said. “But I can’t scout out those things with so little light.”
    Darkness was closing over the canopy of trees. In the distance, horses whinnied, and I could hear the low voices of soldiers, the clanking of cook pots, and smell the sharp, acrid tang of fire smoke. I leaned back against the trunk of a sturdy oak, listening, ever listening for the smallest sounds of hoof beats, the calls of moving soldiers. Why were they staying put? I wondered. What were they waiting for?
    Jake’s voice was quiet, and very sad. “I wish I could turn back time, to stop the omnibus from crushing my leg when I was four years old. And killing my mother when she jumped out to help me.”
    “My mother died six months ago,” I said. I felt a sharp pain where my heart was. I hadn’t spoken about her until that moment.
    “I’m really sorry, Miss Bradford.”
    He moved a bit closer to me, slowly, like he was approaching a deer that was about to bolt away.
    I didn’t bolt, but I was ready. I’d never been in a situation anything like this before. I was uneasy and curious at the same time.
    “I hardly remember my mother,” he said. “We lived in Georgia. My father was a cotton merchant. He decided to move to New York, where his business was headquartered. He was making piles of money off the backs of slaves. I’d seen plenty of their suffering, and it never seemed right to me, but then I heard Mr. Lincoln speak at Cooper Union about how no man should ever be in chains. Oh, how I agreed! I was in school in New York and after classes, working at a job . . . well, it was something I’d always wanted to do.”
    “What job was that?” I asked
    “It was . . . teaching, teaching children. I love children.” He was rambling a bit. Maybe he was just tired. “I hardly saw my father,” Jake said. “When the war started, he declared his allegiance to the Confederate cause. He said now that South. I refused to go. He hit me hard and told me to get out. I stayed in a sad old rooming house full of poor people and women, who, well, were not seemly, and then I was sent, I mean, I came to Washington City.
    “To join the fighting?” Right away I felt guilty. That was nasty of me to say. I could see his leg was really bad. “Wait here,” I said, heading for the stream. I scooped up a bit of wet mud.
    I went over to Jake. “Rub this on your leg,” I said stiffly.
    He did just that. “It’s warm, then cooling, then, oh, God, that feels better. Thank you.”
    His face relaxed. He moved his leg back and forth. I started away.
    “Please stay,” he said. “I want to tell you something.”
    “Okay.” I have to admit, I wanted to stay.
    “I’m ashamed that I cannot be a soldier,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m nearly eighteen, old enough to serve in that way.”
    “Why did you follow me?” I asked. And what should I do? I wondered. I stood up and moved a bit closer, my hands on my hips. “Why did you follow me?” I asked again when he didn’t answer. “Why?”
    “I need to be here too,” he said, avoiding my eyes.
    “Why?”
    “None of your business,” he said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, Miss Bradford. I’m . . . I’m trying to help, okay?”
    “I don’t need your help!” My face was close to his.
    “It’s not a holiday for me either!” He was steaming mad. So was I. Mad at myself, really. Why didn’t I just leave him? When you feel things and can’t say what you feel, it really is hard, isn’t it?
    “I don’t need you to watch over me. Do you get that, Jake