Free Escape by Night by Laurie Myers Page A

it’s up to you to fetch. ”
    Samson whined.
    â€œThat’s right. Fetch. ”
    Samson followed Tommy down the stairs. Tommy opened the front door.
    â€œ Fetch the book.”
    Samson trotted down the steps and into the street. He picked up the book and returned to Tommy. They hurried to the sitting room, where Tommy inspected the cover.
    â€œThere’s no title or author’s name, Samson. Should I open it? I can’t read words very well, but there might be maps inside. I can read a map.”
    Samson pulled at Tommy’s arm.
    â€œWhat’s the matter? You don’t want me to open it?” Tommy stared at the small leather strap that held the book closed. He wanted to tear it open, but something held him back. He rubbed the book as if to bring out its secrets.
    â€œMaybe you’re right,” Tommy said. “This might be important for the war. I should return it to its owner.”
    Tommy gazed out the window at First Presbyterian Church. He had gone inside only once since it had become a hospital. The bright, well-kept sanctuary was gone; in its place was a world filled with screams, groans, and pleas for help, and a heavy, overpowering smell of death.
    â€œSamson, I’ll return it. But I’m not going inside the church by myself. You’ll have to go, too.”
    At the word “go,” Samson stood.
    â€œNot yet,” Tommy said. “After lunch we’ll find the one-armed man.”

 

    Tommy held the book tightly under his arm as he and Samson crossed the street toward the church. A train rumbled down Washington Street, heading for the depot.
    â€œThat’s the third train today,” Tommy said. “They’re carrying more soldiers to North Georgia, so the war must be getting worse.”
    Tommy climbed the steps into the stone archway of the church. Samson stopped.
    â€œCome on, Samson.”
    Samson did not move. He had not been allowed in the sanctuary, and that memory remained strong. It didn’t matter that Reverend McKnight had given him permission. “If it provides those young men even the smallest comfort, then I believe the Lord would not mind,” he had said. Samson was not convinced.
    â€œCome,” Tommy said firmly. Samson came.
    They sucked in one last breath of fresh air and entered the sanctuary. Tommy surveyed the room. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he remembered. Light poured in through the tall windows that lined the walls, giving the place an almost cheery feel. The surgeons and nurses hurried from man to man, comforting one, delivering a cup of water to another.
    The rows of cots did not seem so out of place today. The day they had removed the pews and set up the cots, Tommy and his sisters, Annie and Marion, had climbed into the pulpit and counted every cot—220.
    â€œMaster Tommy.” It was Henry, one of Mr. Barrett’s slaves. Mr. Barrett, a banker, was a mean and stingy man, but for the sake of the Confederacy, he let Henry work at the hospital.
    â€œTommy, what’s a big ten-year-old boy like you doin’ here? You ten now, ain’t ya?”
    â€œAlmost.”
    â€œAlmost? Don’t you be addin’ years. Life do that all by itself. If you’re looking for the Reverend McKnight, he’s over there.”
    Across the room Reverend McKnight sat in a chair, his Bible open in his hands. He was a tall man and easy to spot, even when seated. The sight of his father gave Tommy confidence.
    â€œI’m looking for a soldier with one arm,” Tommy said.
    â€œLots of men here have one arm.”
    â€œHe just came in,” Tommy said.
    â€œThen he’s yonder by the pulpit.”
    Tommy stuck close to Henry as they walked between the rows of cots.
    â€œCome here, pup,” a man called.
    Samson glanced the man’s way but stayed near Tommy.
    Then Tommy spotted the one-armed soldier on a cot near the corner. A thin stream of light poured onto him from the