Free Angel of the Battlefield by Ann Hood Page B

them.
    â€œWell,” the girl said, “what have we here?”
    â€œUm,” Felix said. But he could not think of anything else to say. He rubbed the sore place on his arm and winced.
    The girl waited.
    Maisie peered at her. Except for the old-fashioned clothing, she looked completely ordinary. She did not look like she belonged in Doha, Maisie decided. So whatever had happened to them did not bring them where she most wanted to go. Second most, she wanted to be back in New York City. A cow mooed again. She definitely wasn’t in New York City, either.
    â€œWhere are we?” Maisie asked. She wondered if the shard she’d tucked in her pocket was still there. She reached inside the pocket of her fleece, and her fingers touched the smooth, hard porcelain. Finding it there comforted her, even though this girl was awkwardly staring at her.
    â€œAll of this land belongs to Captain Stephen Barton,” the girl said with the slightest hint of a lisp. “My father.”
    The name meant absolutely nothing to Maisie. When she met Felix’s eyes, he shrugged.
    Maisie swallowed hard. “I’m Maisie Robbins,” she said. “And this is my brother, Felix.”
    The girl studied them carefully. Then she held out her hand.
    â€œClara Barton,” she said. “Pleased to meet you. Now can you tell me what you’re doing in my barn?”

Clara Barton
    Maisie watched the girl intently. She had dark hair topped with a bonnet of some kind, and she wore a long, loose dress and black granny boots that laced up the front. As Maisie looked around the barn, a slow realization came to her. She knew exactly where they had landed. Filled with disappointment, she kneeled beside Felix, who lay sprawled and dazed on the ground.
    â€œCome on,” she said. “Get up. Mom is going to kill us for sure.”
    If their mother hadn’t been so adamant about them not having cell phones, Maisie would have called her right there and then. She almost laughed, imagining her mother’s surprise when she heard where they were.
    Clara kneeled, too. She gently prodded Felix’s arm. Clara shook her head. “I do not think it’s broken,” she said.
    Maisie looked at her, surprised. “Well, I think we need an X-ray to be sure. If we can use your phone and call our mother—” Maisie stopped.
    The girl was staring at her in complete confusion.
    â€œOh. Right. You’re not allowed to have telephones,” Maisie said.
    Clara continued to stare at Maisie.
    â€œHaven’t you ever seen anyone in her pajamas before?” Maisie said.
    Clara didn’t answer. She just kept staring. Finally, she pointed to the logo on Maisie’s fleece jacket. “Are you in a society of some kind?” she asked.
    â€œWhat? This?” Maisie said, fingering the blue-and-orange stitching that said NY METS . She laughed. “Well, sure. Of course you don’t know about baseball. You don’t have TV or even a radio, right?”
    Felix looked even more puzzled than the girl. His face was pale, and his arm hurt. Badly. He didn’t care what this kid thought. Felix was certain his arm was broken. Below the short, yellow sleeve of his T-shirt, he saw a red mark right where it hurt most.
    â€œCan we please use your phone?” he asked Clara. He didn’t care how mad their mother got, either. If she could come and get them, he would be happy. Why had he ever let Maisie talk him into this?
    â€œDidn’t you hear me? She doesn’t have a phone,” Maisie said with great authority. “Can’t you guess where we are?”
    â€œI don’t feel like guessing,” Felix muttered.
    â€œNo phone. No TV. No radio. No Mets,” Maisie said, counting off on her fingers. She leaned close to Felix and whispered, “She’s wearing a bonnet.”
    â€œI can see that!” he snapped.
    â€œWhere are you from?” Clara asked, chewing her bottom