Free Sophia's War by Avi Page A

late, so there was no talk. The next day, I left early for Mr. Gaine’s printing shop, where my training as a printer commenced. Thus, I learned about type cases, type racks, the difference between upper and lower case letters, composing sticks, forms, wetting troughs, and quoins. I came to learn such a word as “galley,” the difference between “puller” and “beater,” how to ink type, plus a veritable encyclopedia of other words and tasks too numerous to list.
    Though hard and inky work, it was never drudgery. I liked it. Moreover, Mr. Gaine was impressed—he said so—by my quickness and willingness to learn. So it was that on that first day I went home weary but content. The knowledge that I was earning money, which could help William, gave added pleasure. For the moment I could think of nothing else.
    But when I stepped into my house, I was taken aback by the sight of Lieutenant André’s large trunk in the middle of the common room. Sitting on it was his servant, Peter.
    Although I had tried to put aside all tender sentiments regarding John André, I will be honest and say that when I saw the trunk and understood that he was about to go, my heart tumbled.
    â€œIs your master leaving now?” I asked Peter.
    â€œHe is saying his farewells to your parents” was the answer. The young man somehow hoisted the large trunk upon his back and left the house.
    I knew what I could have done. Should have done. Gone into the back bedroom and made my respectful farewells along with my parents. If, as I assumed would be the case, John André offered some help concerning William, I should be there to thank him too.
    Instead I remained where I was, opting for a romantical meeting with him—alone.
    I had some while to wait, which I did with rising agitation. Might it be better to avoid him? Was I not confused enough about my feelings toward him as it were? As proof of my bewilderment, I did nothing. At length the inner door opened and André appeared. His look was serious, to which his dark complexion, black hair, and strong eyes gave a somber cast. When he gazed around, however, and saw me, his face brightened. That easy, frank smile, which I had come so much to admire, flashed upon me like new light.
    â€œMiss Calderwood!” he exclaimed. “I am delighted to see you, indeed. I was afraid I was going to miss you.”
    â€œThen you are really leaving?” I said, which, overall, was as dull a remark as one could make.
    â€œTaken to Staten Island this very night. I was just paying my respects to your parents.”
    There followed a moment of awkwardness. I did wonder that my parents did not follow him. The realization that they had not gave me unease.
    â€œDid my parents ask . . . ?” I faltered.
    â€œDid they request my help regarding your unfortunate brother?”
    I nodded.
    â€œThey did, Miss Calderwood. They did.” He paused.
    I tried to read the small smile on his lips. Was it pleasure? Mockery? Sadness? Why would he not speak? “And?” I forced myself to say.
    â€œMiss Calderwood, I beg you to comprehend the delicacy of my situation. I am the eldest son of my family, and with my father deceased, I am responsible for my relations: mother, three sisters, and a younger brother, whose name, by the by, is also William. In short, Miss Calderwood, I must not let the slightest hint of irregularity brush against my honor as a British officer. That honor is the most important thing in my life.
    â€œI assure you, Miss Calderwood, my positing to Staten Island is pure coincidence but, given the circumstance, you must agree, fortunate for all.”
    I added other meanings to his words but said only, “Can you not get—as you did for my father—an allegiance form for my brother?”
    â€œI fear he has already taken up arms against the government.”
    â€œThen you won’t