Alias Dragonfly by Jane Singer Read Free Book Online Page A

too.”
    “I have a message for—”
    “What? Speak up, son.”
    My voice was cracking. “Yes, sirs, I need to see Private Summoner Bradford of the Second New Hampshire. Urgently.”
    “You don’t say?”
    “I don’t say what?” I whispered.
    They moved closer. The largest loomed over me. “What is your business with him? I won’t need to ask again, will I?”
    “His daughter is dying!” I blurted out. I tried to push past them. I was shoved hard, and nearly toppled to the ground.
    “Do you have a damn pass, or what?”
    My mind went blank at this. How could I not have known what I’d need? Foolish! I was foolish!
    “You just can’t cross into a camp, see,” the soldier said, brushing his hand along my cheek. I drew back. “We got a war on, in case you didn’t notice . . . sir.” He leered and winked. “Cub of a boy here, I’ll bet, or, better than that . . .” He jostled my hat, and a rush of damp curls fell straight down my shoulders and back.
    I faced him straight on, my hands on my hips. “I said it’s an emergency. Please help me find my father.” I stood my ground. My heart was racing, but I’d come too far to give up now.
    “I’ll see what I can do . . . Miss.” He strode away, chuckling some. “And if you are dying, I’m a straw-footed Rebel.”
    I slammed my hat back on my head. “Which way to the Second New Hampshire?” I yelled after him.
    “Keep here,” he answered, laughing hard. “Don’t die on us, now.”
    A boil of anger rose up hard in me. I’m not waiting for anyone, I swore to myself, and ran headlong toward the first pitched tent I saw.
    I burst into the tent, knocking hard into a half-dressed soldier just as he was holding a razor to his cheek. He wheeled around whipping shaving soap all over my face and coat.
    “What in Hades? I’ll beat you blue!” He pushed me to the ground, his foot on my chest.
    At the sight of me sprawled on the floor of the tent and helpless, he emptied the rest of the shaving water all over me. He reached for his rifle.
    “Summoner Bradford!” I yelled loud as can be. “Summoner Bradford! He’ll know me.”
    “Sergeant!” he shouted out the tent flap. “Intruder!” The gun was pointed at me.
    Three men pushed into the tent. One of them was my father. The soldier, half his face shaved and looking like a striped raccoon, motioned to me. I must have looked a fright; a mass of coat, hair and mud-covered boots splayed on the floor.
    My father knelt over me.
    “My God, Maddie.”
    “Please, sir,” the shaving soldier said, “this brat barged right in!”
    “I’ll take it from here,” my father said.
    “The ‘it’ is me, right, Papa?” I summoned sass, swallowing the bile in my throat.
    “Do something about her, Private Bradford,” a soldier ordered. “We leave soon.”
    “Yes, sir,” my father answered, holding me tight.
    When the soldiers backed out of the tent, my father picked me up in his arms.
    He wiped my face with the sleeve of his coat. “My God, child, this is madness. I’m sending you straight back to my sister.”
    “No! No! No!” I yelled. “I’m not going back!”
    My father slapped my face. He’d never struck me. We both jumped back, horrified.
    “Oh, Maddie, I’m sorry, I—”
    There was a thudding of booted feet outside the tent. “Private Bradford?” a voice called. “Muster, and inspection. The Captain’s orders.”
    Just as my father lifted the tent flap, I slipped past him, dropped low, and crawled under horse’s legs and shiny, new soldier boots, sliding along like an eel on a river bottom.
    If my father tried to push through the masses of men and mounts to come after me, I was long gone, having shinnied up an oak tree, hidden in the thick branches.
    “Maaaadddiiie!” My father’s cry was muted by the stamping and snorting of the horses.
    “I love you, Papa,” I whispered.
    I stayed up in that tree until the endless ant line of soldiers wound their way out of the