Read Online Lorenzo's Secret Mission by Lila Guzmán - Free Book Online Page B

grandfather until I’m old enough tojoin the army.”
    â€œSo you’re going to be a medic in the army.”
    â€œNo. I want to be a regular soldier.”
    Calderón yawned.
    â€œAm I boring you?”
    â€œSorry. I’m just tired.” Calderón’s eyes focused on me. “Why did your father leave Virginia in the first place?”
    â€œMy grandfather didn’t approve of his choice of wives. They argued. My grandfather ordered Papá off the plantation. Papá took me and my mother to New Spain when I was just a baby.”
    â€œYou’re going to live with a total stranger?”
    I nodded. “Everyone’s a stranger until you meet them.” Embarrassed by all the intimate revelations, I walked outside. Late afternoon light struggled through the treetops. In an hour it would be full dark. I climbed to the roof and helped William draw in the fishing lines.
    â€œPull to shore,” he called out. “Time for supper.” As usual, a shout of “hallelujah” went up.
    The catch of the day rested safely in a wooden box with holes bored in it. This box, sunk in the river and secured by a rope tied to the bow, kept the fish William and I caught alive and fresh.
    That night, after a supper of fried trout and perch, the men rolled up in their blankets, turned their feet toward the fire, and were soon snoring.
    I took a position as lookout where the sandy beach met the woods. Corporal García’s death had left us shorthanded. All afternoon I had stayed busy to avoid thinking about Calderón’s questions. Now, with nothing to do but scan the forest and think, my conversation with Calderón hounded me.
    I would soon meet my grandfather, the man who had held a grudge against my father for fifteen years. I shivered at the thought.

Chapter Fifteen
    Two weeks later, I dangled my legs over the flatboat roof and read a book for young military surgeons about camp hospitals.
    On the deck below, Calderón, his arm in a sling, chatted with a Spanish corporal. Day by day, Calderón grew stronger, as did William. Full recuperation would take at least three months. Luckily, gangrene had not set in. I seriously doubted I could saw off a man’s arm or leg if I had to.
    The farther north we traveled, the colder it became. Every morning, a heavy frost dusted the ground.
    A distant boom echoed across the water. Clouds of geese and ducks exploded skyward from an island a half mile upriver. Expecting to see signs of a gathering storm, I scanned the sky. Nothing. Not a single cloud.
    Within seconds, another boom thundered, closer this time.
    Calderón whooped like an Indian.
    The man has gone mad, I thought as I watched him scramble around the boat.
    â€œReturn the salute!” he ordered.
    Two Spanish soldiers dutifully fired the cannon over the port bow.
    Calderón grinned up at me. “Look! Fort Arkansas.”
    A half-mile away, barely visible in the morning mist rising off the river, a fort high on a hill loomed into view.
    I suddenly understood Calderón’s excitement. Fort Arkansas served as halfway point between New Orleansand Spanish Illinois. For us, it was no more than an overnight stopping point to get fresh supplies, but for the first time in weeks we would see fresh faces. The idea of sleeping inside a fort instead of on shore under an armed guard thrilled me.
    The fort was made of upright logs chiseled to a point at the top, no doubt to discourage Indians from scaling the walls. Four guard towers, two stories tall, cut with small square windows, stood at each corner. Spain’s castles and lions flew from the flagpole in the center of the parade ground.
    By the time we pulled the flatboats to shore, Spanish soldiers had rushed out the front gate to greet us, their faces beaming.
    Equally glad to see them, we hopped onto dry land.
    The Spanish captain, the highest-ranking officer present, threw military etiquette to the wind.