Sarah's Ground (9781439115855) by Ann Rinaldi Read Free Book Online Page A

we don’t give up our arms.”
    â€œI don’t want your old arms,” I answered. “I wouldn’t know what to do with them. But I ask you to respect the dead and the fact that this place is neutral ground.”
    â€œBy whose order?” the only officer with them said.
    â€œGeneral Winfield Scott,” I lied.
    â€œWell, we don’t have other clothes, ma’am,” the officer said.
    â€œThen, wait here. I’ll go into the house and get somethingfor you to cover your markings of rank with. That is the only way you can approach General Washington’s tomb, I’m afraid.”
    I sounded braver than I felt. But they waited. I ran into the house and, seeing Emily in the hall, grabbed the shawl from around her shoulders. “Go and find me four more,” I ordered.
    â€œWhat you doin’ with my shawl?” she asked.
    â€œNever mind, I’ll return it immediately. Do as I say.”
    In several minutes she came back with four more shawls. Two were mine. I ran outside again and down to where the soldiers were standing with Mr. Herbert. Would grown men agree to put shawls around their shoulders like little old ladies? Would they agree to leave their guns at the gate?
    â€œGentlemen.” I held up the shawls.
    â€œYou can’t expect me to put that on, ma’am,” the youngest soldier said.
    â€œAnd why not?”
    â€œIt’s like my granny wears.”
    â€œRespect,” I said. “If I had blankets enough, I’d give you those. Just pretend they are blankets. And think of the story you’ll have to tell your grandchildren. You actually visited George Washington’s tomb.”
    There was some mumbling, but they took the shawls and draped them around their shoulders. “Anybody tell anybody back in camp about this an’ you’re dead meat,” the officer threatened.
    â€œWe all got the same secret,” one of the others said.
    They left their guns and we went down the hill to Washington’s tomb. We stood outside the cast-iron gate reflectively. They took off their hats.
    â€œJust wanted to pay our respects, sir,” the officer said.
    Tears came to my eyes. Overhead I heard my eagle calling. If I were given to conjure, like the Nigras, I’d say it was a sign. But I am a good Yankee, believing in no such nonsense.
    At the top of the hill again, they handed back the shawls, offered Mr. Herbert some money, and picked up their rifles. “Thank you, ma’am,” the youngest one said.
    As we watched them walk away Upton looked at me. “I told you you belonged here,” he said, “but you’d better get the matter official. With General Scott, I mean.”
    As my eagle soared gracefully overhead I promised him I would. I was flush with success. I felt as if I could accomplish anything.

Seven
    I have met some of the neighbors. I think they are all Quakers, although we have one foot-washing Baptist in the person of Mrs. Jean Harbinger. She came around one day bearing a pecan pie. She is a tall, sad woman who lost one son when he fell from a horse and broke his neck. She came with another, named Robert. He is about seventeen and completely under his mother’s domination. She should send him away to school instead of keeping him wrapped around her like a shawl.
    She wears grief on her like a shawl too. It even shows in her walk, which is languid and reluctant, as if she really has no place to go and nothing to look forward to.
    She is the one who told me we are surrounded by a Quaker settlement. That all of George Washington’s farms were purchased by Quakers.
    â€œHe hated Quakers,” she told me, as if she knew him personally. “They thwarted all his war aims in the Jersey legislature. You watch. The ones around here won’t be found if there is trouble in the neighborhood. They’ll hide in their cellars.”
    â€œThat isn’t quite right, Mother,” Robert