My Vicksburg by Ann Rinaldi

soldier who'd fought in a minor skirmish to do something decent. I was honor bound to do something for him. I'm still not sure he won't lose that arm."
    He released me. "Hey, the shelling's stopped. It must be noon. Let's get home," he said.
    I giggled.
    "What's so funny?"
    "You said home. And we are home," I told him. "I want to go upstairs and get a pillowcase full of clean clothes for me and Mama. Can I?"
    He said yes. He also said he wanted to give me something. So he came upstairs and while I gathered clothes for myself and Mama and James, he stuffed his whole set of Dickens into a pillowcase. As well as some of his childhood books, for James.
    "For you to read," he said of the Dickens, "during those terrible times when the shells are falling. These books will get you through. I promise."

Chapter Nine
    When we got home that afternoon, things were in chaos. No, the shelling hadn't started again, not yet, but Mama was at the dining table, seated across from James, and both were crying.
    Easter stood by, near tears herself, and Robert was in back of Easter, unable to stand on his own two feet but holding onto a kitchen cupboard and trying to soothe the lot of them.
    "I can take care of it, ma'am," he was saying to Mama.
    "No, no, Robert. Landon said I was not to allow you out of the house."
    "But a snake on the roof." Robert was saying.
    I followed Landon in. He set down his pillowcase of books. "Who's got a snake on the roof?" he asked. "Ma? What's wrong? Why are you crying? James? Did you get hurt?"
    James would not look at him.
    "Well, somebody tell me what's going on here," Lan-don said irritably. "It can't be as bad as what's going on out there."
    "There's a snake on one of the posts of the roof," Robert told him. "I wanted to go out and kill it, but your mother here won't allow me outside. Says she's going according to your orders."
    "She is. You can scarce stand," Landon said. "How can you battle a snake?"
    "It isn't only that," Robert reported. "It seems that your little brother here has been playing with your matches and started a small fire."
    Sure enough, there on the table were the remnants of a small fire. The day's copy of the
Daily Citizen,
which was the only newspaper now being printed in Vicksburg, and printed on the back of old wallpaper at that, was singed around the edges. It looked as if it had been on fire and then that fire hastily put out. Around it were several of Landon's large glue and phosphorous matches, which I knew he had cautioned James never to touch.
    Landon took it all in. He stepped forward, closer to James, who was still sobbing quietly. "You did this, did you?" His voice was stern, not kind.
    "I didn't ... mean ... to." James hiccuped.
    "What do you mean you didn't mean to?" Landon asked.
    James didn't answer. He kept his eyes downcast. This was not his Landon talking to him now, this was someone else, someone who frightened him.
    "Look," Landon said, "I think you better go into your room and sit there and think on what you've done. And
I'll be in later and we'll talk about it. You hear? Go on, now."
    James didn't move. "But I wanted ... I wanted to see you kill the snake," he all but wailed.
    In an instant Landon picked James up off the chair, set him firmly on the ground, and gave him a small spank on the bottom and a shove toward the hall. "Go and do as I say," he ordered.
    James ran. Landon then walked Robert back to his room, and they were in there a few minutes. I heard low talking. I supposed Robert had his fever again. But when Landon came back out into the kitchen he said nothing about Robert. All he said was, "Stop crying, Mama, everything will be all right."
    "No, there's more, Landon, there's more."
    "All right, have at it. Might as well, Mama."
    "Well, you know how I give Easter five dollars and send her to market every morning to see what she can find in the way of meat?"
    "If you're going to tell me there isn't any more meat in the marketplace, Mama, I've already been