Ghost Soldier (18 page)

“Where's Louise?” I demanded through chattering teeth. In the night, the shouts of the men and the crackling of the fire were deafening. Something crashed in the barn and the roof caved in, and I wanted to shake Rich. There couldn't be much time left. “Have you seen her?”

He looked around wildly.

The tree, I thought. Louise would have gone to the oak tree in order to leave the locket for Rich. I turned back toward the cluster of trees at the construction site. In the fire's glow, I could see a much larger grove of trees there now, and I headed for it. In a moment, Rich joined me.

Then I saw Louise—a girl maybe a year older than me, wearing a dark calico dress, running back through the trees toward the house. A hair ribbon held back most of her black curls, but the right side had pulled loose and hung in her face. If she was coming back, she must have already hidden the locket.

Then out of the corner of my eye I noticed a soldier, mounted bareback on a horse. He had caught sight of her, too, and he kicked the horse, jerking its head around by pulling its mane. The horse stumbled, righted itself, and broke into a canter straight for Louise.

“No!” Rich screamed, running toward them, the flames glinting off his bayonet. I knew he'd never make it, and I remembered the way his blade just passed through the other soldier. Even if Rich reached the man, he wouldn't be able to stop him.

Rich knew it, too. “No!” he howled again, but it was a cry of desperation, with no strength in it.

I sprinted. Aiming just short of Louise, I hoped to catch the horse before the man was close enough to grab for her if I won this race. No warm-ups, no chance to get psyched—I just took every second of running I'd ever done, and every piece of coaching I'd ever gotten, and made it work for me. I kept my back straight, to open up my lungs, and used my arms to pump. I ran full-out, knees high, faster than I'd ever run on the school track.

I didn't even know if the man would see me, or feel me—but I had to try. And I remembered Fort Stedman. Rich had seen me, all right. I think a couple of the other men had as well. And I'd sure felt those cold hands prod me. I'd
been
there. I'd stepped into the past and become a part of the ghosts' time. I could do it again.

Barely ten yards before the soldier would have reached Louise, I crashed into the horse and grabbed on to its mane. My whole body felt chilled.

The man pulled up a fist to hit me, and I got a strong whiff of whiskey cutting right through the oranges. But trying to hit me meant he could see me! Maybe with my blue jeans and blue plaid shirt, I might fit in with the other soldiers in their ragged uniforms.

“Sir,” I cried, dodging his fist and struggling to catch my breath. “Please, sir—the officer wants you.”

The soldier squinted at me. “Who're you, boy? You look odd—what's that you're wearing?”

He hadn't bought it. Desperately, I groped for an explanation. “Um—my uniform—it was falling apart, sir. I grabbed some clothes from the house.”

He still didn't look convinced. I suddenly remembered the drummer boy at Fort Stedman. He'd been sent with a message. Maybe that would distract the soldier from my appearance. “I'm the drummer boy, sir—my drum's over by the supplies. The officer ordered me to find you! Right away, he said.”

The man glanced back toward the barn, and his eyes got shifty. I looked at the horse and realized he'd probably stolen it before his friends had torched the building. These men were like a crazy mob in the midst of a riot.

“He said he saw you take that horse, sir, and he liked the way you handled it,” I said and prayed my guess was right.

The man looked pleased. “Said that, did he?”

I nodded. “The officer said he saw three horses getting away.” I pointed in the opposite direction from the way Amalie had run, hoping no one was really hiding out over there. “He saw a secesh loading saddlebags and tying them off on the horses—heavy saddlebags! He thinks they're full of silver! He thinks you can get them back, sir.”

The man started to smile. “Good work, boy,” he muttered, turning the horse in the direction I'd pointed. He'd forgotten I looked strange.

I turned back toward the trees as the horse cantered away. Louise stepped out of the shadows, glaring at me. She defiantly brushed the loose hair back out of her eyes. “What will you do with me now?” she practically spat at me.

Still winded from the sprint, I shook my head weakly. “I'm not a soldier,” I told her, panting a little. “My name's Alexander Raskin, and I'm a friend of Richeson's.”

Her eyes flashed, but she didn't relax. “That could be a lie,” she said. “You lied to that Yank about the horses and about getting those clothes from our house.”

I straightened up and met her eyes. “I'm sorry about that, but I had to tell him something. I'm not lying about Rich—he told me you two have a hiding place in a hollow of an oak tree over there.” I pointed toward the grove behind her. “It's hidden by some branches that hang down low.”

She blinked at that detail, then she recovered. “But the Yank was right—you are dressed strangely, and you don't sound like us.” She shook her head. “You don't even sound like the Yanks. Who are you? What are you doing here?”

I swallowed. I was going to have to tell her the truth and hope she would believe me. “I told you—I'm Alexander Raskin. And I'm here because Rich told me to find you and make sure you're safe.” I took a deep breath. “These clothes—well, they look funny because—because—I'm from a different time.”

I saw her eyes widen, and she took a step back from me. I rushed on. “There's no time to explain, because I don't know how long I can stay here. You've got to believe me that I know Rich, and I'm here because he sent me—look, he wrote poetry, and he's got a harmonica.” Where was Rich, anyway? He could tell me what to say to her.

I groped for more proof. “He told me how you both were so close and how Amalie and George were close. You two and Jefferson would make up skits for special occasions, and Amalie would play the piano in the parlor at night and your father would sing. George couldn't sing, but he'd recite poetry. Rich can sing—he's got a good baritone.”

Louise was smiling now. “You must know him! I don't understand how you come from another time, but you know too much that only Richeson could tell you.”

“Louise,” I said, then realized that was too forward for 1865 and corrected myself. “Miss Louise—please, tell me where you're going. Rich needs to find you after all this is over. That's why he sent me.”

She shook her head, her smile gone now. “I don't know what you should tell my brother. After tonight, I cannot say what will happen. A young soldier, Mr. Andrew Harkens of South Carolina, was staying with us. He had been gravely wounded at Spotsylvania and was sent home on furlough to recover. On his way back to rejoin his regiment at Petersburg, he stopped at our home. But when he heard that Sherman's marauders were headed our way, Mr. Harkens said he would stay with us until they were safely past.”

Louise looked at the firelit sky over my shoulder, and her eyes filled with tears. “That can never happen now! But he had made plans with Mr. Baker to take us west if the worst happened. He has friends in Illinois—Confederate sympathizers—in a place called Cairo.”

Then she turned back to me. “But I have not thanked you for your courage, Mr. Raskin! You saved me.”

“I'm just glad I was here at the right time,” I said honestly. “I only did what Rich would have done if he could.”

“I left something for him in our special place,” she said shyly. “Would you see that he gets it, Mr. Raskin? It is only a small box—it contains a keepsake and a note to tell him we were forced to leave Two Stirrups for Illinois.”

I nodded. “I'll see to it.” I looked around. There was still no sign of Rich, and that worried me. “We'd better get out of here before that soldier comes back. The Bakers' place is the next farm out, isn't it? Rich told me. Would you like me to go with you?”

She lit up. “Again, I thank you, Mr. Raskin! I am in your debt tonight.”

But I walked only a little way with her before we saw figures ahead and heard Amalie's voice: “Louise! Oh, Louise, I thought we'd lost you!”

“Go on,” I told her. “I'll make sure Rich knows where you've gone.”

She smiled at me and drew herself up and curtsied deeply, holding out one hand. I realized I was supposed to take the hand and kiss it, and I bent over it, gasping from the cold and blushing hot at the same time.

“Thank you, Mr. Raskin,” she said as she rose. “You are a true gentleman and a dear friend, wherever you come from.” Then she ran ahead to join the others.

I walked back to the cluster of trees, rubbing my arms trying to warm up and searching for Rich. I thought he'd be at their hiding place, but there was no sign of him. I pushed aside the branch, though, and I could see the tin box, shut tight against the rain, waiting for Rich to come for it.

Ignoring the searing cold, I took it down and worked the top loose. There was still enough light from the fires to make out her slanted handwriting.

My dearest brother.

Sherman has come and we have gone with a South Carolina soldier, Mr. Andrew Harkens. Amalie believes he wishes to court her, but I know better! He likes me. He proposes to take us, and the Bakers if they will come, west to friends of his in Illinois, in a place called Cairo. I do not know their names, but surely people will know Mr. Harkens. I will wait for you there. I hope you approve of Mr. Harkens when you meet him. Here is Mother's locket to keep you from loneliness on your journey.

Love,
    
Louise Chamblee

Two Stirrups
    
March 29th 1865

I dug in my pockets, wishing I had something like Rich's journal. But all I found was the list of museums and the pencil I'd used to make notes yesterday. I copied Louise's letter, careful to get the lines spaced right and every mark of punctuation correct. If Rich didn't turn up before I went back to my own time, at least I'd have the copy to show him.

Then I carefully wrapped the torn strip of wallpaper around the locket, exactly as I had found it, and put the tin box together as tightly as I could so that one day a construction worker would still find it in the same condition. Exhausted and freezing, I eased myself down on the grass. Why hadn't Rich stayed with me to see Louise for himself and read her letter?

Chapter Sixteen

T
HE
F
ACE IN THE
L
OCKET

“Where have you been?” Dad demanded, furious.

“Out running,” I said. I tried to look innocent, even though it was way too late to come back from my run and I wasn't wearing sweats. It had been morning when I awoke, sprawled on the ground under the scrub oaks and pines. I'd felt stiff and tired, even though I'd slept for hours. Rich had never come back. People were arriving for work, and I had to sprint to catch the last shuttle before it stopped running, conjuring up a vivid memory of sprinting toward Louise.

Dad looked from me to the Hambricks. Then he said evenly, “Carleton says you didn't sleep in your bed last night.”

Carleton looked up at me with a smug expression, and I wanted to throttle him. His smile turned nervous.

Then Nicole said, “Are you trying to get Alexander in trouble, brat?” She turned to Dad. “He makes up stories all the time, Mr. Raskin. He just wants to be the center of attention. You can't believe anything he says.”

Carleton's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open.

“Well, somebody's making up stories, all right,” said Mrs. Hambrick.

Nicole tugged on her hair nervously and glared at me.

Carleton's face scrunched up, and I felt miserable. Even if he was a pain sometimes, somebody ought to stick up for him. I figured he was probably mad because I didn't let him run with me the other morning or today. But he was telling the truth.

I made myself say, “I have been out running. But before that I was at Research Triangle Park … all night.”

Nicole looked surprised. Carleton gave me a wide grin, and I envied him for finding it so easy to forgive.

Dad's round face darkened. “How could you do something so—so—” He was shaking his head in hard little jerks, and his ponytail whipped behind him, “—so irresponsible!”

“I had to help a friend,” I said simply.

“A friend?” Dad demanded. “At night?
All
night? And you had to lie to me about it?”

I wouldn't have had to lie if you'd believed me about the ghosts, I wanted to say, but instead I nodded. I needed to figure out how to tell him the truth, but I was too tired.

“You're grounded,” Dad said flatly. “Go upstairs and get cleaned up. You're not leaving this house alone.”

I nodded again. It was fair, and without Rich, there was nowhere to go anyway.

I dragged myself upstairs and stayed in the shower for a long time. I was hoping to see Rich sitting on my bed, waiting for me when I got out, but he wasn't there. Only Carleton was in the bedroom, hugging his squashed red tyrannosaurus and looking worried.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked as soon as he saw me.

I shook my head and fished in my duffel bag for clean underwear.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered into the tyrannosaurus. “I just wanted to go running with you! And you went without me—yesterday and today, both.”

“I know. Look, don't worry about it, okay? It doesn't matter.”

He watched me dress. “Why did you tell them the truth?” he finally asked. “They'd have believed you more than me.”

Maybe. I wasn't too sure about that. Dad hadn't looked ready to believe me—he looked mad enough to lock me inside for life.