Alias Dragonfly Read Online Free PDF Page A

those Tribune dispatches whenever they appeared.
    I clutched my father’s hand at the breakfast table. The thought of his departure was making it hard to swallow. The johnnycakes and bacon stuck in my throat as Aunt Salome introduced us to her one boarder, a very old man called The Colonel, who had long, wispy white hair. He held his fork with a trembling hand. Clutched in his other was a small revolver. He pointed it at my father in his uniform and whispered, “traitor.”
    “We’re not enemies at this table, sir,” my father said, reaching over and gently removing the gun from the old man’s hand. I noticed a tiny Confederate flag on the Colonel’s lapel.
    The Colonel opened his mouth but only hissing sounds came from his throat. All his teeth but one were missing. He grabbed my hand and pressed it to his dry lips.
    Then, the poor man’s head fell forward and crashed into a china tureen that held the remaining eggs. His hands were limp.
    “Oh, Lord, my good china!” Aunt Salome picked up the cracked tureen, cradling the pieces in her hands. The Colonel lay still.
    “Nellie!” my aunt shouted. “Come get the Colonel.”
    Nellie bustled in and, lifting the old man in her arms like he weighed nothing, carried him upstairs.
    “Usually he faints away after the table is cleared,” my aunt said, shaking her head disapprovingly and mopping up the spilled eggs with a napkin.
    The meal went on as though nothing had happened. I felt like I was going to scream. I stood up.
    “Remain at table, Madeline,” my aunt ordered. My father pulled me back down to my seat.
    Nellie came to the table, a pitcher of milk in her hand. “I’m afeered the Colonel has passed on, Missus Salome,” she said.
    My father got up from the table.
    “Shall I help with the body?”
    “No, sir, I got hold of it,” Nellie said. “I’ll wash him up so when the cemetery cart come, he’ll be fit to meet Jesus sure.”
    Just as I was saying a silent prayer for the Colonel, the door to the dining room opened. A young man walked, or rather limped, to the table at a tilt, as though blown sideways. He was tall and burly, with a shock of black hair that curled about his starched collar.
    “Last to come, Mr. Whitestone. Was your sleep disturbed?” Aunt Salome asked, an unusual note of kindness in her voice.
    “Yes, ma’am. The newness of it all, I suppose,” he said, shooting a quick glance around the table, his eyes resting lastly on me. He had bright green eyes, a strong chin with a cleft in the middle, and suddenly, my cheeks were burning hot. I reached for a tumbler of water, accidentally spilling it over the tablecloth, and wiping clumsily at the puddle.
    “Sorry,” I said, looking down at the pooling liquid.
    Aunt Salome forced a smile, “It’s only water, not blood.” This comment brought another rusty chuckle to her throat.
    Whitestone’s eyes met mine. He was hiding a smile behind his napkin.
    I looked away. My cheeks burned. What was happening to me?
    “Madeline! You’ll starve to a rail,” Aunt Salome snapped, shoving my plate even closer.
    My father whispered, “Just to please her, take some bites, Maddie. I have to go now. My camp isn’t far. I’ll come back soon.” He whispered again, “I’m leaving the Colonel’s revolver in your trunk upstairs, Madeline. The war, it seems, is all around us.”
    Good , I thought. Papa had taught me to shoot, and I was good at it. As long as you don’t kill a living thing, Maddie, he’d said when we were deep in the forest as I shot at rocks lining an ancient, crumbling wall.
    My father got up from the table, straightened his uniform jacket, and headed for the door. “Thank you, Salome,” he said, “for taking care of my precious Maddie.”
    My aunt nodded. “Godspeed, brother,” she said, rubbing her eyes. Was she about to cry, the hard old thing? “Don’t worry over her, hear?”
    My breakfast came up in my throat. I jumped up from the table and fled toward the kitchen,