Read Online Alias Dragonfly by Jane Singer - Free Book Online

Whitestone? If anything, you’re the one who needs help, what with your leg, and all the rocks we’ve climbed and—” I backed away, feeling bad about what I’d said. “I’m sorry, it’s not your fault your leg was hurt and you can’t fight in this war,” I said, throwing Jake Whitestone a blanket.
    I guess I was staying there with him after all. Worse, I didn’t mind.
    To quiet the quivers in my heart, I moved even further away.
    I curled up the way Papa showed me to be safe in a forest, or anywhere: my body rounded in a ball, one arm covering my head just above the eyes, the other holding the revolver.
    I could hear Jake snoring lightly. Just as I nodded somewhere near a doze, I heard footfalls. Maybe an animal padding though the trees. Two footfalls, then. Closer. I gripped my gun. Tightly.
    A tall, young Negro man, a bandana wrapped around his hair, crept along through the trees, pausing just in front of me. Something about him rang familiar. What was it? He held the hand of a woman with an infant in a carrier cloth. A small child clutched her skirts. She was dressed in a ragged skirt with a brown coat thrown over her shoulders. He had a knife in his hand.
    I sat up, closing my fingers tight around the gun. He held the knife out as though to attack me then and there. I remained stock-still, holding his hard gaze with my own. Just as he stepped closer, the knife outstretched, I motioned to Jake Whitestone sleeping a few yards away and put my finger to my lips. He paused. I was holding my breath. He lowered the knife, then nodded sharply and slipped by us. I exhaled for so long, I swore the air around me moved a fraction, and a startled spider jumped from a leaf to the ground.
    I’d seen the man before. Or had I? I focused hard. The way he moved reminded me of the tall woman carrying the laundry basket in the alley. And the man I’d seen at the alley door? Were they one in the same?
    I would tell no one what I’d seen, not even Jake. I wasn’t sure if I could trust him, yet.
    I slept fitfully, but for how long? When I opened my eyes it was dawn, clouded and misty. I jumped up, trying to catch a sound from the soldiers’ camp. All was still.
    “They’ve gone,” said Jake.
    I ran to hitch up the horse, piling the blanket and food box into the carriage. Jake came limping behind me.
    “Hurry!” I yelled.
    We left the forest at a gallop.

Eight
     
    “Follow the soldiers!” I shouted as I spotted horses streaming ahead of us, surrounded by swirls of dust.
    “We’re going to the ridge up ahead,” Jake called out as the carriages thundered along.
    “No! I have to get to my father!”
    “You can’t! It’s too dangerous,” he shouted back.
    I started to climb out of the carriage. My foot caught on the spinning wheels, pitching me back against Jake. I was gasping and kicking. Jake forced the horse to a stop, knocking us both forward.
    “Get out, Miss Bradford. See how far you get.”
    Not far, not far. How in heck would I get anywhere? I had to stay with him.
    “I’m going to the ridge just ahead,” he said. “Staying or going?”
    I slumped back down in the seat.
    As we rounded a bend in the road, a woman with long, blonde hair unfurled like a flag galloped toward us, going away from the direction of the soldiers, back toward Washington City, just the way we had come.
    When she drew closer, I recognized her immediately as the girl called Betty Duvall, the one I’d seen in the city who’d spilled her tresses between a man’s hands: the glowing, fine-featured face, scarlet cheeks, and ropes of shining hair.
    Her horse was pouring sweat, and she was whipping the animal so hard that the foam flew from its mouth. She thundered along and was soon obscured by the dust kicked up by her steaming mount, swirling in circles over our heads, filling our noses and mouths.
    And out of that swirl there came a sudden babble of voices as we neared a crested ridge. Bushes and trees exploded with all manner of men