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nearly toppling Nellie as she struggled through the door with a huge bowl of applesauce. I knelt down, my breath coming in gasps. I was heaving, but nothing came up. Saying goodbye to my father filled me with dread.
    Behind me, I heard the dragging of one foot behind the other, like someone was limping. It was Mr. Whitestone.
    “May I offer some assistance, Miss? My name is Jake.”
    I didn’t answer. I just kept staring at the floor.
    “It’s hard saying goodbye, isn’t it?” He knelt down next to me.
    I looked away. “What do you know about it?” I snapped, my voice gruff and low.
    How could he know what I was feeling, or what was hard for me?
    I stood up to get away, but I was unsteady on my feet, and I fell right against Mr. Whitestone. I jerked away as though I’d been stung by a bee. I stepped clear of him.
    “You don’t know anything about us,” I whispered.
    “That’s true,” he said. “But I know this. Your father is in Mr. Lincoln’s army. My father is a Rebel.”
    I was listening, then. I finally looked at Mr. Whitestone. His face was so sad.
    “Your father is true to the cause and willing to die for it. Be grateful,” he said, giving a little bow to me, and leaving by a small side door that I later learned led to a street through the alley.
    I was stunned and confused. What was Mr. Whitestone doing here? Did his bad leg keep him out of the war? Was he a coward, or maybe he was a Rebel like his father? It seemed like everyone was suspicious. Oh, how I wished Papa were there, so I could talk to him about all this.
    Through that same window, I watched Papa mount a horse and ride away. I wanted to race out and tell him how much I loved him, but I just stood there, wishing like crazy that I could go with him.
    Wishes are fishes. You are here now. Heaven help you.
    To fight away my sadness, I fixed my mind on the young man I’d just met. Was I a gibbering mess because he was so handsome? Bosh!
    I opened the door, not to follow Jake Whitestone or my father, mind you, but to get some air, and untangle my brain. Although I didn’t realize it then, I started spying when I was there in that alley. I found myself out in a high-walled enclosure with broken cobblestones, a tangle of thorny vines and rambling ivy-covered brick walls. A rat skittered between my feet; a crow, something large and shiny in its beak swooped overhead and then, I heard voices. Loud voices from afar, like after I had my accident and every sound was turned up.
    “Man up, private, and stop your blubbering!” a man said.
    “Jeez, I want my mama,” another cried out.
    “Man up. Fool! We muster in the morning.”
    I looked all around me. I was alone in the alley.
    I couldn’t see beyond the walls, so I headed toward an opening at the end of the alley. I stepped into the street and was nearly run down by a newsboy racing ahead of a milk wagon.
    “Extra!” the boy shouted. “The Rebels march in Virginia! Might Washington City fall?”
    I stood gaping at five soldiers across the road. They were laughing and stumbling, dragging a weeping man by the collar.
    “Mama, Mama!” he sobbed. “I don’t want to die.”
    I’d heard his voice all the way back in the alley, I realized.
    One of the soldiers stopped when he saw me and beckoned me to come closer.
    “Whoo-ee! Come to me, sweet thing!” he said with a leer on his face.
    I looked him in the eye like he was a wild boar in the woods, steady and hard, without blinking.
    “Excuse me, Miss,” he said, backing away.
    A Negro woman with a wash basket on her head deftly swerved between the drunken soldiers. She was very, very tall, with a brightly striped yellow and red bandana around her neck. Or was it a woman? There was something strange about her. Somehow, she moved like a man.
    I stepped further into the street. I didn’t get far. A strong hand grasped my elbow. I whipped around to see who was there. It was Nellie, her face set in a scowl. She wrapped my arm firmly in