The Girl in a Coma by John Moss Page B

tell the age of a guy by the way he stands. Most of the time. Sometimes you’ll be wrong.
    Now we’re getting somewhere.

    Rebecca
    The feu de joie was terrifying . If there were British spies, they would have been shaking in their boots. The American Revolution might not be over for several more years and many thousands would likely die, but Rebecca believed the outcome was determined right there, on The Grand Parade at Valley Forge!
    Cannons blasted down a long line, one after the other, in a furious wave of sound and fury. Then the muskets were fired in wave after wave of explosions, one after another, up and down the lines.
    General Washington might have worried about wasting ammunition. He had been a British officer himself, before the Revolution. He worried about running out of gunpowder. But Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben, the friend of Frederick the Great, the King of Prussia, insisted. It was necessary to impress their new friends, the French. It was necessary to frighten the British. And it was necessary to make the soldiers of the new nation proud.
    And proud they were.
    Near the end of the military display, officers rode right around The Grand Parade at a full gallop, with their swords drawn.
    When Captain Edward de Vere rode by, Rebecca was astonished. She was used to seeing him in tattered uniform, covered with mud. But standing in his stirrups, raging with his sword cutting through the air, he was dazzling. And splendid. And frightening.
    After the riders had charged around the edge of the field, two horsemen approached Rebecca and Madge and the other women from Cabin 27. The men walked, leading their horses behind them. The horses were in a lather and looked fierce. Nothing at all like Old Bess or the workhorses of Warwick.
    One of the officers was Captain Edward de Vere. Rebecca knew in an instant that the other must be his brother, Captain William de Vere. Edward was smiling. William looked stern, but there was fire in his eyes. They were like amber in sunlight.
    Rebecca fell instantly in love.

Ten
    Allison
    I’ve been thinking about why I deserved to be shot. I keep wondering if it was my fault. I know it’s ridiculous, but that’s what I keep thinking.
    It’s not always about you, Allison.
    That’s what Mrs. Muratori said when I told her history was boring. Maybe history isn’t boring, maybe it’s you. I objected . It isn’t always about you, Allison. She said that.
    And I swore I’d never be bored, ever again in my life.
    Well, maybe this case isn’t about me. Maybe it’s about him, the guy who did the crime.
    Maybe I didn’t deserve it.
    So far, I’ve figured he probably lives on a farm. He’s a good shot. He got me right in the head and that’s what he was aiming for.
    Now, the problem is, I’ve never been on a farm in my life. I don’t know any farmers. I’ve talked to a few at the Saturday Market down by the hockey arena. But who would try to kill me because I didn’t buy their green beans?
    Some of my customers at Tim Hortons might have been farmers. East City is an older section of Peterborough and there’s not a lot of through traffic. Farmers would more likely go to Saint Tim’s out on Ashburnham or up north on Chemong.
    So, let’s move backwards.
    High school? Lots of boys. Lots of farm kids but no one I really knew.
    Public school? I remember a few kids would come in by bus from the country. I don’t think I talked to a single one of them in over eight years. I didn’t avoid them. They just weren’t my friends.
    I still remember the name of every kid in my room from back then. The name Russell Miller springs into my mind. Why do I remember him? He wasn’t in my grade. But he had a little sister, Sharon. They were farm kids. She was in my room in Grade Three then she died. She was killed in a car accident. No, she was drowned. Or in a house fire.
    Anyway, it was a horrible death