Free Lorenzo's Secret Mission by Lila Guzmán

“Welcome to Fort Arkansas! We saw you round the bend. We’ve been expecting you.” His voice shook with excitement. He locked Calderón in a Spanish-style embrace, despite his wound. They hugged and pounded each other’s backs.
    Calderón introduced me and William to Captain Cruz.
    â€œIt is a pleasure to meet you,” the captain said in impeccable English as he shook William’s hand. He wrapped his arm around Calderón’s shoulder. “This gentleman and I served together as pages at the Royal Palace when we were boys.”
    â€œWhat news have you of the Ohio River?” William asked.
    â€œScouts report winter has already set in. The Ohio has frozen over. It is icebound from the Falls of the Ohio north.”
    William’s face sagged while several of the men grumbled.
    â€œYou will have to stay here until spring!” Captain Cruz exclaimed. “You will be our guests for the entire winter.” His light blue eyes glowed with delight.
    Forced to accept Cruz’s hospitality, William ordered the men to unload the flatboats and store the cargo inside the fort.
    Weary and disheartened, we trudged uphill through mud so deep that it nearly pulled the moccasins from our feet. Back and forth, back and forth through the fort’s heavy wooden door we went. It took more than an hour to empty the boat.
    Captain Cruz directed us toward our new home, the largest cabin on the post. Along the way we passed a pregnant Choctaw woman watching us from her cabin door. Apparently one of the soldiers had taken an Indian wife. Judging by the size of her swollen belly, I estimated the baby was due in about two months.
    I looked all around me. One captain, six soldiers, and an Indian in the family way. This was the entire post.

Chapter Sixteen
    Wrapped in a buffalo robe, I huddled near the fire to shake off a winter cold. A checkerboard separated me and Calderón. I looked up at William, who stood by the fire, warming his hands.
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œI said I’m sending a letter to Colonel De Gálvez to let him know our progress.”
    â€œOr lack thereof,” Calderón muttered.
    It was November 30, and we had been at the fort for nearly a month. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like we would leave any time soon. This was a soldier’s life. Wait. Wait. Wait.
    â€œHow are you getting a letter to New Orleans?” I asked.
    â€œBy courier. Every two weeks, a soldier delivers messages to the garrison in New Orleans. He’s leaving in an hour.”
    An hour. An hour to decide whether or not to write Eugenie. I remembered her goodbye kiss, but could I put any stock in it? Maybe she kissed me because she thought she’d never see me again.
    I pulled my buffalo robe tighter, but it did little to block the freezing wind that whistled through chinks in the wall. It looked like the winter of 1776 would be a harsh one.
    Calderón drummed his fingers on the checkerboard. “Are you going to move before the century is over?”
    â€œDo either of you know what ‘
mon petit chou
’ means?” I asked.
    â€œIt means ‘my little cabbage,’” William said.
    â€œOh.” Eugenie had called me a cabbage. And I thought she liked me!
    William gave me a playful punch on the upper arm. “Lucky dog. ‘My little cabbage’ is a term of endearment. The next time a girl calls you ‘
mon petit chou
,’ say ‘
Je t’aime, ma belle
.’”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œTrust me. Those are words she will want to hear. If there’s someone in New Orleans you want to write,” William said, struggling to hold back a laugh, “you best get to writing.”
    Calderón threw his hands up in despair when I forfeited the game and hurried away in search of paper, quill, and ink.
    November 30, 1776, Fort Arkansas
    Dear Eugenie:
    We have stopped at an outpost in Spanish Louisiana halfway