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handkerchiefs waved and fluttered wildly in the air.
    Craning his neck, Billy leaned farther out the window. A whistle shrieked. Where were his folks? Against the ringing of church bells, a brass band played a lively tune. The sights and sounds raised a lump in his throat.
I see ’em!
They were beside the band. When he saw Jamie’s head buried in the folds of Ma’s skirt, he had to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. Pa waved at him. Billy watched Pa lift Jamie over his shoulders and point in his direction. Then Jamie raised both hands over his head, crossed them in the air, back and forth. He warmed to Ma’s smile and gazed at the bouquet of Sweet William clutched against her chest. Overwhelmed with sadness, he buried his face in his arms.
    Billy lingered at the window as the train inched its way through Somersworth before turning inland, away from the Salmon Falls River. He remembered the many times he had run across the pasture into the woods to Little River, wandering along its pine-needled banks until it emptied into Salmon Falls.In late spring he fished for trout with Pa. Harry tugged at his shirt, pulling him back into his seat. Billy sat down and glanced around the packed car. It was strangely quiet. Curiously he watched Harry finger a pink ribbon, fold and place it carefully inside his Bible. Josh curled up on the hard wooden bench and leaned his small frame against Leighton. Across the aisle, Charlie sat with his arms crossed, his face unflinching. And Jeb Hall, eyes all puffy and red, sat beside him.
    Billy pressed his back into the bench and glanced around the car. It was hard to figure out all the feelings going on inside him. One moment he was sad, and then, before he knew it, he was excited again. He liked being with Harry and his friends. This time it was just like church, sitting right up in the front pew.
    The train whistled its final stop—Portland. Grabbing his pack, Billy leaped down the platform steps, relieved to breathe deeply of the salt-scented air. Gulls screeched and hovered overhead as he walked beside his friends over the long bridge across the bay to the endless rows of cone-shaped tents that dotted the fields.
    â€œIs that the army?” Billy asked, wiping sweat from his brow and pointing to the other side of the inlet.
    Harry chuckled. “Yeah, it’s Camp King all right. Only it’s just a training bivouac for the Seventeenth Maine, Billy.”
    â€œBivouac?”
    â€œIt means we’re going to camp here.”
    Billy stopped in the middle of the bridge and looked back over his shoulder. In the distance he spotted the railway depot, red brick against the light blue sky. His spirits soared. “This ain’t so far from home.”
    Leighton threw his arm around Billy’s shoulders and laughed. “Billy Boy, we ain’t fightin’ the rebellion in Portland, Maine. The army’s learnin’ us to be soldiers here, but we’re gonna be a long way from home afore long.”
    Billy buttoned his trousers, tucked in his shirt, and politely nodded at the army surgeon as he moved through the line of new recruits in the broiling sun. With little scheduled for the rest of the day, Billy and his friends scouted the encampment until the dinner call sounded from the frame cookhouse. Shadowing Harry’s footsteps, Billy followed him through the long meal line, averting his eyes from those of strangers gathering for their first meal in the army. Under the cool shade of an oak, he settled on the grass with his friends and Jeb and Charlie and reached for the fork tucked in his shirt pocket. He stared curiously at the rations in his tin tray, turning up his nose at the grayish meat, poking the cracker.
    Leighton emitted a low moan as he forked a hunk of meat. “Nothin’ but some fatty boiled beef and tasteless hardtack. This ain’t fightin’ food.”
    â€œWe ain’t fighting yet,” said Josh, sopping his cracker