Sophia's War by Avi

the same direction taken by the prisoners. I needed to see where William was going.
    Even as I went, I was aware that the lieutenant stayed in step with me. I paid him no mind. But after somemoments, he reached out, gently touched my arm, and said, “Miss Calderwood, I fear I have offended you by my words. Your brother means nothing to me.”
    â€œBut, sir,” I cried, my voice ragged with emotion, my eyes streaming, “he means everything to me.” At the same time I shrugged off his touch, which only moments before I would have treasured.
    â€œYou must forgive me,” he said.
    Somehow, I retorted, “You only spoke your mind, sir.”
    â€œMiss Calderwood,” he insisted, “please be assured I did not mean to say anything to suggest I don’t esteem you.”
    â€œThank you for your company. I can find my own way now.”
    â€œHanover Square is this way.” He pointed in a direction opposite where I was heading.
    Making no reply, I kept on after the prisoners.
    He halted, but called, “I look to see you at home, Miss Calderwood. ’Pon my honor, I’ll be more civil with my tongue and opinions.”
    I hurried after the prisoners.
    Moments later, I stopped and watched the lieutenant sauntering away. My primary thought was I have put my family in peril. Then, not sure what else to do, I turned and fairly ran in the same direction that I saw my brother—and the other prisoners—go.

15
    AS THE MEN moved slowly down the center of the street, I hurried alongside, searching for another glimpse of my brother. When I saw him, I shouted, “William!”
    Some heads—not his—shifted.
    â€œWilliam!” I cried again, in as loud and unladylike a voice as I could muster. “William! It’s me! Sophia!”
    That time he turned and looked about.
    â€œHere!” I shouted, and raised my hand.
    His face blossomed into some life.
    â€œWhere are they taking you?” I shouted.
    Before he could respond, one of the soldiers came up to him and, with the butt of his musket, struck him on the shoulder.
    As William stumbled, I stifled the scream in my throat. It was only because he was caught by one of his fellow prisoners that he did not fall. The soldier who hit him turned toward me. “Go home, girl!”
    I had the wits to let the line of prisoners pass. But only briefly. Short of breath, heart racing, greatly disconcerted, I began to follow again, this time making sure I stayed behind the prisoners.
    The column of captives proceeded north, going to the west of the Commons area, until they reached the block between Murray and Barclay. They were, I now grasped, going to the King’s College, a wide, tall building, with an elegant cupola top center. It was where William had been going to school before hostilities had begun in earnest. Now it was surrounded by soldiers. And the prisoners, including William, were being shoved inside. His school was to become his prison.
    I stood for a while outside the ring of guards feeling altogether hurly-burly but trying to regain my composure. All I knew was that I must do something to help my brother. Would they let me visit? Could I bring him food? Would they allow him a doctor?
    My next thought was to hasten home and inform my parents about what I had learned. No doubt they would be both greatly relieved and deeply worried—just as I was.
    That said, I knew I needed to settle myself. I decided the best way to do so would be to go on to Hanover Square and inquire about Mr. Gaine, as Father had asked me to do. Off I set, relieved to be alone, though my thoughts were as crowded as an unruly mob.
    As I went, I kept thinking about William and his suffering. Yet I must admit, I was also thinking of myself, mortified that I had allowed myself to foolishly, and childishly, be distracted by John André. I was reminded of the old adage: Nothing makes one older than knowing how young you are.
    Upon