Hear the Wind Blow by Mary Downing Hahn

thing and fell backward, clutching a boot in his hands. That's when I realized the heap was a soldier's corpse.

    Rachel's grip on me tightened. "It's a dead man, Haswell."
    I nodded but kept my eyes on the living man. He was pulling the boots on, forcing his feet into them.
    "I get the coat, too," he snarled at me. "And anything else he has on him."
    With that, he began pulling at the coat. The dead man rose as if he were fighting to keep what was his, but his head fell back and his arms flapped as the robber succeeded in yanking the coat off. "It stinks," he said with a grimace, "but I'm used to that." He struggled into the coat and stood looking at us. A sadder-looking man never lived and breathed. Nor a scarier one, for that matter.
    "You have any food?" He came a little closer, a gaunt man wearing a dead man's boots and coat, reeking of death. But not as old as I'd thought at first.
    "Get back." I tried to speak loud, but my voice came out as small as a child's. "Don't come a step closer. I've got a gun and I know how to use it."
    Rachel's grip on me tightened and I could feel her trembling. "Go away," she whispered. "Leave us be."
    "Ah, now, sweetheart." The man leaned around me, trying to get a better look at my sister. "What's a pretty little girl like you want to be so mean? Ain't your preacher taught you the Lord's way of sharing with the less fortunate?"
    Rachel pressed her face against my back. "Make him go away, Haswell."
    "All I want is something to eat." The man sounded indignant. "God Almighty, is that too much to ask, boy?"
    Instead of answering, I kicked Ranger hard. The horse fairly flew across the bridge, passing the man before he had a chance of stopping us.

    "Hey," he hollered after us. "Just a morsel, a sip of water!"
    Neither Rachel nor I looked back, but we could hear him shouting and cursing even after we rounded a bend in the road and left him behind.
    When we'd gone a safe distance, I slowed the horse to a trot and looked back. Nothing moved among the trees. Nothing followed us.
    "Was he a Yankee?" Rachel asked.
    "Hard to say. After a while they start looking the same. Dirty, ragged, hungry, sick." Weary of it all, I spit on the ground.
    "I think he was a Yankee." Rachel spit on the ground, too. "Were you scared of him, Haswell?"
    I hesitated. If I told Rachel the truth, she might worry I wasn't fit to take care of her. "I feared he'd take our food," I said slowly. "But I don't think he aimed to hurt us."
    "You could have shot him." Rachel touched the revolver stuck in the waistband of my trousers.
    "Yes, but I'm glad I didn't have to."
    "Trouble is, folks like us aren't accustomed to killing people," Rachel said with a sigh. "Look how Mama felt after she shot Captain Powell. I wouldn't want you losing your wits, Haswell."
    I didn't say anything, so we rode a few minutes in silence. Then Rachel spoke up again. "How do you think Avery feels about killing?"
    "He's probably used to it by now, Rachel."
    "He just aims and pulls that trigger." Rachel pointed her finger straight ahead. "Bang! Bang, bang! And he doesn't even know who he hits or whether they die or not."

    "I reckon that's just about the way it is." But it made my stomach tight to picture Avery charging into battle like our old hero Achilles, laying waste to the Yankees the way Achilles laid waste to the Trojans. It might change a person to behave like that. What if the souls of all those dead soldiers followed you the rest of your life, rebuking you for killing them? I shivered, and not just because the night was damp and cold. Please God, I prayed, let Avery come home safe, just the way he was when he left. Don't let him be shot or killed or sick.
    "I thought we were almost there," Rachel said.
    I peered ahead. The road was pale in the dark but crisscrossed with shadows. "I think it's just around that curve," I told her.
    When we were finally in sight of the farm, I headed Ranger off the road and into the trees. From the safety of the