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letters, the alphabet. “You see anything here that looks like your brand scar?” he asked.
    I studied the letters from front to back, and back again. Some letters were tall and lean, others round and fat. One was sharp and pointed, like the tip of the paring knife Mama used to peel apples for a pie. I didn’t see nothing that looked like my leg scar—like mine and Rosco’s scar.
    â€œIt ain’t here,” I said.
    â€œKeep looking,” Rosco encouraged. “If you ever gonna learn to read, you first got to learn to stick with it when it starts gettin’ hard.”
    I nodded. “ All right , Ros, but I just don’t see nothin’ that looks anything like—” and before my impatience got the best of me, I saw the letter—the P —standing right up in the middle of the alphabet parade. “There it is, Ros!”
    â€œWhat I tell you?” Rosco said.
    That P was just as proud. It was nestled between two circles; one of the circles had a line poking out from it. “That’s how my leg must’ve looked sticking out to the right, from my dress, ready for a mosquito to bite it,” I said, pointing to that round, one-legged letter.
    â€œThat’s Q comes after P , in the alphabet,” Rosco explained.
    â€œQ” I repeated, tracing the letter with my finger.
    â€œWhat words can you make with a Q and a P?” I wanted to know.
    â€œAin’t no words you can make with just a P and just a Q . You need other letters woven between the two of them before they can be turned into a word.”
    Fireflies had begun to spark the darkness. “We best get back to the quarters, Summer. Thea’s gonna be starting evening prayers soon.”
    â€œBut I don’t know nothin’ ’bout reading yet, Ros,” I protested, turning through the pages of my book asecond time. “All’s I know is what a P and a Q look like, and them two letters together don’t even make no words.”
    Rosco clapped his hand onto my shoulder, same way I seen him do to Dash when Dash gets riled up. “Girl, you jumpin’ past the gate too fast,” Rosco said. “Remember, it took me a long time of studying that book before I could even know a few little bitty words.”
    â€œBut—” I began.
    â€œBut nothin’,” Rosco interrupted. “Tonight at prayers you need to ask whoever it is Thea prays to to put some kind of patience in you.” Rosco stood and held out a hand to help me up off the grass. “And pray to calm that flutter-bug that’s batting at you.” Rosco started to walk toward the quarters. I followed after him quickly.
    â€œThere ain’t no flutter-bug batting at me, either! I got me plenty of patience,” I snapped.
    As we made our way back to the quarters, Rosco promised me that we’d stick with our lessons, that we’d meet under the cypress tree every time we could both steal away without anybody knowing we were gone. I could see the glow of Mama’s prayer candle coming through the burlap that hung at the door of our cabin. The burlap was there to let in any little bit of night breeze that might float by, and to keep the bugs outside, away from where we slept. Mama’s candle grew brighter as we walked.
    Rosco and I each drifted into our own private thoughts. I was still itching to know more letters, but the two that I had just learned were enough to ring inside me like a happy little play-song: P~Q~P . . . Q~P~Q . . . P~Q~P . . .

6
Rosco
    September 11, 1862
    I T WAS GONNA TAKE A MIRACLE to teach Summer to read. She was so eager to get letters and words in her head all at once that she wasn’t paying full attention, and she wasn’t learning nothin’. If she wasn’t my sister, I’d have told her that I didn’t have no time to waste trying to teach an addle-head.
    And Summer talked way too much. After our lesson, soon as we got back to the