Angel of the Battlefield (15 page)

Angel of the Battlefield

“I have the worst teacher ever!” Maisie told Felix outside the school. “She's ancient.”

“Oooh,” Felix said. “Sorry.”

They walked along the broad street, past the small shops and cafés that lined it. The cool air already hinted at autumn, and Felix could see splashes of color as the leaves on the trees were just beginning to turn red and gold. If they turned right onto Thames Street, they could walk along the harbor. It wasn't the direct way home, but Felix wanted to look at the boats there, the sleek yachts with exotic locations and the sailboats with their mysterious names. The sailors intrigued him, too. They had weathered faces and strong arms, and a look about them like they'd led interesting lives. Felix liked to try and imagine what it might be like to sail across the ocean.

Just when he was about to suggest going that way, Maisie grabbed his arm and tugged him in the opposite direction.

“But Mrs. Witherspoon gave us the most wonderful assignment ever,” Maisie said.

“Since when does homework make you happy?” Felix said.

“The assignment is on someone who changed history, someone most people haven't heard of.”

Felix nodded. “Like Clara Barton?” he said.

“Who knows? Maybe that letter from Dorence Atwater influenced history,” Maisie said.

“And in there is the answer,” Maisie said, pointing to the library.

They climbed the stairs and walked inside. Maisie marched right up to the information desk.

“I'm looking for information on someone named Clara Barton, please. And my teacher said we couldn't use the Internet.”

The librarian smiled. “Oh, you have Mrs. Witherspoon, I see.” The librarian tapped on her computer keyboard, then said, “Right this way.”

Maisie and Felix followed the librarian up the stairs and through a maze of rows and rows of books, until she finally stopped, scanned the shelves, and then pointed.

“This row,” she said with a sweep of her hand.

“You mean the book's on this shelf?” asked Maisie.

“No,” answered the librarian with a grin. “
All
the books on that shelf are about Clara Barton.”

“Wow,” Felix said under his breath.

Felix and Maisie lifted their gaze to take in all the books with the name
CLARA BARTON
on their spines.

“If you need anything else, come get me,” the librarian said.

When she walked away, Maisie and Felix looked from the books on the shelf to each other and then back to the books.

“I guess,” Maisie said finally, “she did something important. Maybe she became the first woman doctor.” Her voice sounded hushed and awed as if just the sight of these books had great significance. “Or the first woman general in the army.”

“She would have liked that,” Felix said.

“I guess there's enough here for my report,” Maisie said, still staring up at the books without taking even one of them down from its place on the shelf.

“I guess,” Felix said.

Maisie slowly reached a hand up and took one of the books. The picture on the cover showed a stern-faced woman with dark hair beneath a cap.

“Is that Clara?” Felix asked, surprised.

Maisie nodded.

Once on television he'd seen some device that could take a picture of a baby and age it so that you could see that person as a child and then a teenager and then older and older, all the way through old age. That's what he felt he was looking at. No matter how hard he stared, he could not find the teenage Clara in this middle-aged woman's face.

Maisie flipped the book open and randomly stopped on a page.

“‘On April 20, 1862, after the First Battle of Bull Run, General William Hammond gave Clara Barton permission to ride in army ambulances. There, she provided comfort and nursing to the soldiers,'” she read. “‘She petitioned to bring her own medical supplies . . . in July 1862, she traveled behind the lines to some of the grimmest battlefields of the war, including the Siege of Petersburg and Richmond, Virginia.'”

“She did it,” Felix said. “She went to war, in a way.”

“In the best way a woman could back in 1862, I guess,” Maisie said thoughtfully. “‘Eventually,'” Maisie read, “‘she was put in charge of all the hospitals.'”

Now Felix took one of the books from the shelf. He went to the index in the back and looked for Dorence Atwater. When he found it, he turned to that page and read to himself about the very list he and Maisie had held in their hands.

“Listen to this,” Felix said. “Abraham Lincoln put her in charge of finding out all of the names of the men from the Union Army who were missing and contacting those families!”

Maisie had now filled her arms with Clara Barton books. She held one up for Felix to see.

He read its title:
“Clara Barton: Founder of the American Red Cross.”

The enormity of what he and Maisie had experienced filled him.

“The Red Cross,” Felix managed to say. “That's who helps during hurricanes and tornadoes and fires and—”

“Wars,” Maisie added.

She took her brother's hand, awkwardly with all the books she held, and squeezed it. They had been through so much together, the two of them. Not just skinned knees and bad dreams, but their parents' divorce and moving from the city to this new, unfamiliar place. And then their trip to The Treasure Chest that sent them back in time.

They stood like that, hand in hand, the books about Clara Barton between them. Felix didn't say anything. He was too busy wondering where else The Treasure Chest might bring them. Was it possible that they could control it somehow and get back to earlier this very year? To their room on Bethune Street when their parents were still married and their family was still together?

“You were right, Felix,” Maisie said softly. “This isn't something we should mess with. One time-travel trip per lifetime is enough.”

“What if . . . ,” Felix began.

But in her typical fashion, Maisie had moved on, dropping his hand and heading back downstairs to check out the books.

Maybe that was just as well, he decided. There were too many what-ifs. At least for now.

At night, Island Retirement Center seemed like a haunted house, all shadows and dim lights, strange moans and empty hallways. Even the nurses' station was deserted, and the television in the solarium was turned down so low it seemed to be whispering. Maisie and Felix and their mother practically tiptoed to Great-Aunt Maisie's room.

They found the door open, and Great-Aunt Maisie propped up in bed with lots of pillows behind her and around her as if the pillows actually kept her upright. Her bedside table had a vase of fresh peonies. Her lips had their characteristic Chanel Red lipstick on them. Her hair had been tied back in a neat little bun. When they walked into the room, she smiled her crooked smile.

“What a lovely surprise,” she said.

Their mother sat beside her on the bed. “The children insisted on visiting, darling,” she told Great-Aunt Maisie. “They said they wanted to see you.”

Great-Aunt Maisie patted their mother's hand. “Actually, dear, I want to see the children as well.”

Maisie went to the other side of the bed and took Great-Aunt Maisie's hand in her own. She ignored her mother's surprised face and focused on her aunt instead.

“Why don't you rustle up some ginger ale for your old aunt?” Great-Aunt Maisie said to their mother.

“Great-Aunt Maisie,” she said, “you sound a little better. Your words, I mean. They're clearer than before.”

Felix had noticed that, too, and he nodded when his mother said it. “I can understand you almost perfectly,” he added.

Great-Aunt Maisie smiled. “No ice, dear,” she said.

Once their mother had gone, Felix joined Maisie at their great-aunt's bedside.

“Tell me,” Great-Aunt Maisie said. “How is my home? How is Elm Medona?”

“It's fine,” Felix answered politely.

“The apartment is hot and stuffy,” Maisie said. “It's cramped, too, and feels like a prison.”

Great-Aunt Maisie laughed. “I agree,” she said. “I spent many a lonely night up there.”

Felix said, “It's not so bad.”

“You're just like my brother, Thorne,” Great-Aunt Maisie said, delighted. “Always optimistic. Always polite.” She wagged a finger at Felix. “But Thorne had a dark side, too.” Then she turned her blue eyes onto Maisie. “But how is the cottage itself?”

“Well,” Maisie said carefully, trying to decide how much to say. “We only got to go inside once.”

“Officially,” Felix said.

Great-Aunt Maisie waited.

“Please don't tell,” Maisie said in a rush of words, “but we did sneak back in once . . . or twice.”

Their great-aunt broke into a grin. “I thought you might! Marvelous!”

“The room they call The Treasure Chest . . . ,” Maisie began.

“Yes?” Great-Aunt Maisie said.

“We went in there the other day, and something very strange happened.”

Great-Aunt Maisie's grin widened. “Yes?” she said again, even more eagerly this time.

“We found a letter, and it seemed like when we held it, we were able to—”

“One ginger ale,” their mother announced, walking in with a plastic cup full of soda. “No ice.”

Great-Aunt Maisie let out a sigh.

“You did say no ice, didn't you?” their mother said.

“Oh, it's not that,” Great-Aunt Maisie said.

“Since you're feeling so well,” their mother said, “how about a game of hearts?”

“That's a fine idea,” their great-aunt said.

Great-Aunt Maisie shot the moon four consecutive times, ending the game in twenty minutes flat. She thanked them for coming and asked if they would visit again soon.

First their mother, then Felix, then Maisie kissed Great-Aunt Maisie's forehead and prepared to leave.

“Maisie,” Great-Aunt Maisie said, stopping her at the door. “What was the name?”

Maisie squinted, trying to figure out what Great-Aunt Maisie meant.

Great-Aunt Maisie looked at her hopefully. “Just tell me who you met. Please.”

“Clara Barton,” Maisie said in a near whisper.

Great-Aunt Maisie smiled and rested her head against her throne of pillows. “Clara Barton,” she said, satisfied.

Their mother appeared again at the doorway. “Don't bother her with that report of yours, Maisie. Let her get some sleep.”

But Maisie stayed put, watching her great-aunt gently drift off to sleep, a slight smile on her red lipsticked lips.