Ghost Soldier Read Online Free Page B

I? Why didn’t I ever meet them?”
    Dad took a deep breath. “We eloped and got married by a justice of the peace. No fancy wedding, no pictures. She said she didn’t want any—she wanted to live the moment, not pose for it with photos. She told me her parents were dead—she didn’t have anyone to come to a wedding. I was so carried away that I just believed her.” He looked up, and his grey eyes shone with tears. “I don’t even know if she was telling the truth, okay? She said her maiden name was Thomson, but she never showed me a picture of her parents or told me where she’d grown up. I wish things were different—believe me, I do—but I don’t think she wanted us to be able to find any answers.”
    I jammed my fists down into my jeans pockets as far as they would go and stared at the pebbly paving on the walkway. Even under the hot sun I felt cold inside. Why hadn’t Mom told Dad about her family? I couldn’t understand, and it scared me.
    â€œBill?” Mrs. Hambrick said. “Alexander? Are you two all right?”
    Her friends had gone, and she stood there looking concerned. I wanted to tell her, No, I’m not okay, and my dad’s not okay, and it’s all your fault! But I couldn’t say anything.
    â€œWe were just talking about going to the battlefield tomorrow,” Dad told her, blinking hard before he turned away from me.
    I could have said I wouldn’t go. I could have told Mrs. Hambrick I couldn’t care less about her stupid Civil War, or War Between the States, or whatever they wanted to call it. But I remembered the ghosts last night, with their wide-brimmed hats and their rifles glinting in the moonlight. Maybe they were soldiers from the War.
    â€œIt’s almost the anniversary of the end of the siege of Petersburg,” Mrs. Hambrick said, her face relaxing a little. “They have reenactors do living history demonstrations at the battlefield—I’m sure you’ll like it, Alexander.”
    I could feel Dad’s eyes on me, willing me to be polite. I just followed Dad and Mrs. Hambrick down the wide wooden steps to the parking lot below as she talked. I wasn’t interested in living history shows. I was interested in the ghosts.
    Before Mom left, I’d never said anything to Dad about the Indian ghosts I saw. But the first summer after she left, I’d felt the cold and smelled the tang of oranges again. When I found myself shivering in the July heat, I knew I was looking into another window through time.
    I saw the grassy Indiana field grow wet in the afternoon sun, until it turned into a swamp, with clear water in the middle and muddy places near the banks. Men led horses across it, men in rusty armor with puffy sleeves, wearing curved helmets on their heads. Some men inched across rickety wooden bridges, swaying above the deepest parts of the water. At the far bank, men tugged at the horses, knee-deep in sticky mud. I was so excited, I ran and told Dad, and he smiled at me, the bluish light from his computer monitor turning his face pale.
    â€œI can almost see the soldiers the way you describe them,” he said. “De Soto’s men, right? Where did you hear about them?”
    â€œI didn’t hear about them,” I tried to tell him. “They’re there—you can see them if you don’t mind the cold. It’s like looking through a window. Mom said I could see ghosts!”
    His face closed up then, crumpling like a spelling test littered with mistakes. “Was that a game you two played?” His voice sounded rusty. Then he swallowed and said, “It sounds like fun.”
    â€œIt’s not a game—I saw them!”
    â€œOkay, Defender of the Galaxy,” he said dully. “I’m sure you did.” But as he turned back to his computer, I knew he didn’t believe me. When I ran outside again, the soldiers were gone and the swamp had