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made good on his promise. She didn’t have to share it with seven other washerwomen.
    I glance at Ma. She places one arm around Annabelle’s shoulder and gestures with the other as they talk in low voices. In the candlelight, I see that her eyes are tired and her hands are red and scabby from the hot water and lye soap.
    â€œGabriel will escort you directly back to Woodville Farm,” Ma is saying. Before Annabelle can protest, she goes on, “Is this where you want to sleep?” She gestures around the shabby tent. “Is washing dirty drawers what you want to do?”
    Annabelle hesitates. I can guess how she’s feeling. She had her own room in the Main House, with a four-poster bed and a chifforobe full of dresses. Granted, they were Mistress Jane’s hand-me-downs, and she was always at the master’s beck and call. But her duties had been laying out his suit of clothes, not washing them, and choosing the dinner menu, not cooking it. How will she fare at Camp Nelson? Poorly, I reckon, which is just what Ma’s thinking.
    â€œAnnabelle, you don’t belong here. This ain’t the life you want. I’m only here because of Isaac.” Ma cups her palm below her apron strings. “This babe needs to be born near its father. You have no reason to stay. Go back to Woodville. Let Mister Giles get you a position in town. Perhaps you can clerk for a merchant.”
    Annabelle drops her gaze. Throughout our journey, she’s been stalwart. Now I see the weariness in her slumped shoulders.
    â€œI told her she should go back,” I say.
    Ma bristles. “As should
you,
Gabriel Alexander! Last letter I received, you were winning races on those horses. If you stay here, you’ll be digging privies.”
    â€œI won’t.” I pull the telegraph from my pocket. “Captain Waite has given me permission to work with Pa and the cavalry. He says they need experienced horsemen.” I hold out the telegraph, but she pushes it away.
    â€œOnly you’re not a horse
man
. You’re a
boy
. A boy with dreams of being a famous jockey.” Tears well in her eyes.
    â€œMa, I still have dreams,” I say. “But now they’re here at Camp Nelson. After I get a bite to eat and rest for a while, I’ll escort Annabelle to Woodville Farm. But I’ll be back—no matter how tedious the journey—and you can’t deny me.”
    â€œYou can’t deny me, either!” Annabelle suddenly speaks up. “I won’t be returned to Woodville Farm like unwanted baggage.” Bending, she reaches back through the tent opening, her hat brim catching, and an instant later drags her valise into the tent. When she straightens, she glares at Ma and me. “I’m not a slave anymore, and I won’t be ordered around. I aim to make up my own mind!”
    â€œBut Annabelle, this is no life for a young lady.” Using her apron, Ma dabs angrily at the tears trickling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Missus Alexander,” Annabelle says, her voice calmer now. “I can’t go back to Woodville. I know I can be of use here somehow.”
    Ma’s fury suddenly drains. Putting an arm around each of us, she holds us close. “Then it is done. I pray the Lord will keep you safe.”
    Abruptly she drops her arms. “The sun is rising, and the drums will soon tap reveille. Annabelle, hide your valise under the quilts. You’ll need to work with me at the kettles. Soldiers check each tent for slackers, who are promptly removed from camp.”
    I look at Annabelle, hoping thoughts of boiling water and burning lye will shake her from her stubbornness. But she kneels, opens her valise, and pulls out a faded calico. “I’d best change first,” she says.
    Ma turns to me. “Gabriel, find your pa’s tent. Ask for Company B and Sergeant Alexander.”
    â€œSergeant?”
    Pride shines in her eyes. “Your pa’s