Sophia's War by Avi Read Free Book Online Page B

brother.

14
    AT FIRST I was not even sure it was he. I had to look extra hard, for the face I saw was besmeared with filth, and his clothing soiled and torn. There was, moreover, a cloth wrapped round his right thigh. He limped. Overall, this person was in a deplorable state.
    It took moments of stupefied gawking for me to become convinced it was my brother, William. Horrified, I wanted to shout his name, but I held myself back because I was standing right next to John André. Had I not been told by both my parents that the lieutenant must know nothing about William? Had he not said as much? Was that not what I had wished? There was something so much more bitter: the truth is that I, for that moment, wished I had no brother.
    Pushing away such vile thoughts, my heart beating painfully, I could only stare.
    â€œIs something the matter?” I heard John André ask as if from across the sea.
    â€œWho are they?” I murmured, not having wits to know what else to say.
    â€œPrisoners.”
    â€œWhat . . . what will happen to them?” I stammered.
    â€œThese men have rebelled against their lawful government” was his reply. “They must pay the penalty for their stupidity. By the laws of all countries, rebels taken in arms forfeit their lives. They will be treated no better than they deserve.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I said, taken aback by his harshness.
    â€œThey should all be hung.”
    â€œ Hung! ” I cried. Upon the instant, my mind filled with the ghastly image of Nathan Hale, which cojoined with that of my brother.
    â€œBut they have only sought to defend our liberties,” I heard myself say, echoing a phrase Father had used. That I, too, had thought. Indeed, before I could think of what I was saying, I blurted out, “As my brother has.”
    John André gazed upon me with bepuzzlement.
    Realizing what I had done, I turned from him, aghast.
    Then I heard him say, “Miss Calderwood, are you saying you have a brother ?”
    My blunder made me afraid to speak or even glance at him. I was equally fearful to look, as it were, at myself. Who am I? What was I thinking? I did not know how to respond. Or what to do. By this time, the prisoners had moved farther down the street.
    â€œMiss Calderwood,” André pressed, “am I to understand you have a brother fighting for the rebels?”
    I stood there mute.
    â€œCome, come, Miss Calderwood, rebellion does not suit you,” he said in his lighthearted fashion. “Letgrown men take care of such matters. A maid should not pay any mind to disputed politics.”
    Unable to look at him, I said, “And what . . . what should a maid put her mind to?”
    He boldly turned me about so I had to face him. “To making yourself as agreeable to me as possible,” he said. “That’s the proper employment for a fair young lady. As for a brother, a rebel brother”—he gave me his most brilliant smile—“let’s agree I did not hear you speak. We shall ignore him.”
    Flabbergasted—how could I ignore my brother!—I said nothing, but gaped at André as if he were a stranger.
    â€œMiss Calderwood,” he went on, “you have my promise: I shall not say one word to your esteemed parents. Or,” he added meaningfully, “to the authorities.”
    As I stood there, I recalled the first time I had seen Lieutenant André. The time when he’d struck that poor, dawdling prisoner with his sword. His words and that memory reminded me that John André was our enemy. Further, I recalled who I was: his enemy, enemy to his army, his government. And I remembered what I was, what he had mockingly called “American.”
    These thoughts came upon me like blinding bursts of cannon shot so that I could only retreat. “Forgive me,” I managed to say, “I must go.”
    Whirling about, I began to hurry down the street in