Alias Dragonfly by Jane Singer Read Free Book Online Page B

campgrounds. My body was aching, my stomach rumbling with hunger. I must have been there for at least four long hours.
    A lone picket—one of the soldiers who’d caught me—paced to and fro beneath the tree. I could hear his sighs like he was breathing in my ear. I dared not move. At last he mounted his horse, spurring him to a gallop.
    Now what? I looked down to see if any horses had been left behind for me to ride. There were none in sight. I swore to myself that I’d find a way to follow my father’s regiment.
    I shinnied down the tree trunk. Just as my feet neared the ground, someone grabbed me by the leg.

Seven
     
    I aimed my boot at his head. “Stop!” he yelled, “I’m—” He dodged another kick. “I’m here to help you.” He tucked me up under his arm like I weighed nothing and carried me to an open rig. I twisted and kicked against him. “Let me go!” I yelled. He staggered and then caught himself. Was I being kidnapped?
    “Get in, head down,” he ordered, lifting me inside the rig. My coat hung in tatters from being torn by branches. It was flapping behind me as I slumped behind him in the seat, trying to catch my breath.
    I pulled my revolver out of my boot, and pointed it at him.
    “Don’t shoot!” He pushed back the slouch hat that nearly covered his face. I saw black, shiny curls. And eyes, well, that were greener than green. It was Jake Whitestone.
    “How dare you!” I shouted.
    “Dare I what? Rescue you?”
    “Follow me, find me, and chase me!” I was steaming mad, and relieved that he wasn’t a Rebel. Or maybe he was, and I didn’t know what to think. I was really tired, and hungry and thirsty, and—
    He handed me a canteen. I gulped the water.
    “Find your strength,” he said. Then he gave me a piece of hardtack. The cracker was rock-solid. I bit down but couldn’t make a dent. Find your strength. He slapped the reins. “Get, now get!” The horse vaulted forward.
    “Where are you taking me?”
    “Your father’s regiment is going to face General Beauregard at Manassas Railroad Junction. It’s a twenty-mile ride,” Jake Whitestone said, his back to me.
    “How do you know this?”
    “Centreville is two miles from Manassas,” he said. “I figured it out from there.”
    “It’s twenty-two and three-quarters miles, exactly. I know just where. I’ve studied a map of Virginia,” I snapped, bouncing and pitching in the carriage seat.
    Whatever Jake Whitestone was doing there, at least he was getting me closer to my father. I’d leave him at Centreville no matter what.
    “I’ve never driven a rig like this, so hold on,” he shouted over the crunch and crackle of wheels and reins. “And if you hit me again, I’ll throw you out. I rescued you, remember?”
    “Oh, yeah? I was doing just fine until you showed up.”
    The map in my head told me that we had to wind along New Hampshire Avenue, going straight down to reach the Potomac River and cross over at the Long Bridge. The streets were clogged with pedestrians and wagons as usual, but there weren’t many soldiers among them. Had all the Union troops gone into Virginia?
    I smelled a briny and swampy odor I was sure must be the river. I knew once we crossed it we would be on the Confederate side.
    Two soldiers stood near a wooden hut. They raised up their rifles as our carriage drew close. One of them leaned down and took a long look at me. His rifle butt was really close to my face.
    “What is your business?”
    I started to speak, but Jake interrupted me. “My little brother here got drunk back in Washington City. I have to get him back to Centreville before my Pa finds out he’s missing.”
    The soldier studied me, the ragged boy I was pretending to be.
    “Yesh, sir,” I slurred my voice. “I can’t stand up for nothing. Jeez, all I had was a pint of ale, jeez.”
    “Shut up, Tommy,” Jake said, producing a paper and waving it in the soldier’s face. “I’m with the medical corps. After I get rid of