Free Boys of Wartime: Will at the Battle of Gettysburg by Laurie Calkhoven Page B

night.
    That’s when it hit me. If the soldier was a surgeon, Union or Reb, he could move around in the dark. Go from place to place. Tend the wounded.
    Father had left a medical kit behind. What if the soldier carried it and pretended to be a doctor? Would he be able to get across enemy lines?
    I set my bucket down and looked all around. No one appeared to be watching me. I crept into the carriage house to share my plan.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    White Flags
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    I whispered my plan in the dark while the soldier wolfed down the bread. He was still crouched behind the carriage.
    â€œI’ll need a green sash,” he said.
    â€œGreen sash?”
    â€œA surgeon’s sash,” he told me.
    I didn’t think we had such a thing.
    â€œIt might be safer for me to wear one of your father’s suits. Pretend I’m him,” he said. “Can you bring one to me?”
    â€œI’ll try to get one out of the house. There are Rebs inside. Wounded ones.”
    He crept forward and gripped my arm. “Do what you can,” he said. “You’ll have to come with me. Show me the way. Say you’re my son.”
    I gasped, much too loudly, and then looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear. I thought my plan would be enough to keep me at home, but he still wanted me to go with him. My heart was drumming in my ears. I could tell this man was used to giving orders. But I wasn’t a soldier. I was scared. And I was probably putting Mother in danger by helping him.
    I could just leave him here, I thought. Go back to the house. Never bring him the suit, the medical kit. Help Mother with the wounded. Put him out of my mind. He could find his own way to the Union lines.
    It was like he could read my thoughts.
    â€œI’m counting on you, son,” he said.
    I nodded and slunk back into the yard, sure that I would be shot at any moment. I picked up the bucket and crept in the back door. I realized my legs were shaking when I collapsed on the floor. Sweat dripped down my face, or maybe it was tears. I was too mixed up to know.
    The tramp of the guards outside reminded me that we were prisoners. My breath came in quick gasps and I couldn’t seem to calm it. Finally, I focused on a piece of crockery on a shelf. My thoughts and my breathing slowed.
    The kitchen was dark. Sometime during the day the gasworks had been shut down.
    Mother came in with a candle and found me. “Are you hurt?” she asked, rushing over to check my arms and my legs.
    â€œNo. Not hurt,” I told her. “It’s something else.”
    Mother sat on the floor with me while I whispered my story. Her eyes were wide and frightened in the candlelight. I told her everything in one big rush.
    Mother looked as stunned as I felt. It was clear she had to think on it a bit. “I’ll just take this into the other room,” she said, picking up the bucket. “The men are asking for water.”
    â€œHe wants me to go with him,” I blurted. “To lead the way. Says he needs help getting across the lines.”
    Mother dropped the bucket. Water sloshed onto the floor. “You’re just a boy,” she said.
    â€œWhat if the papers he’s carrying can make a difference in the battle? What if they’ll help the Union to win?” I asked. “Help Jacob to come home.”
    One of the Union men came into the kitchen then, looking for us. Mother asked him if surgeons and their assistants were generally safe from enemy fire.
    He didn’t ask why she needed that information. “Surgeons and drummers often take to the battlefield after dark, searching for the wounded. Carrying them off the field. He waves a white flag if need be. Folks generally don’t shoot. Generally, not always.”
    Then he picked up the water bucket. “I’ll take this into the parlor so that you can be alone for a moment.”
    â€œI guess I should go with him,” I said