Scar by J. Albert Mann Page A

father, Noah.”
    I can’t return his gaze. “Thank you.”
    Josh and my father were a lot alike. They shared that lightness of spirit I wish I had. They both moved through life with ease. Life doesn’t allow me to pass so easily. Most days, it seems, I have to fight my way through it.
    We’re quiet. Josh’s eyes stay on me. I keep mine pinned on the dusty road before us. Men are exchanging information about the raid or discussing what will come next. A few women stand near, not speaking, babies on their hips andworried looks on their faces. Children dart about between them, not realizing the seriousness of the situation. There is one particular fellow sitting atop a fine-looking horse and causing a small commotion as he tries to dismount in the center of a group of men. He has the largest nostrils I’ve ever seen, larger than the nostrils of the horse he rides.
    â€œWho is that?” I ask.
    â€œThat’s Major Meeker from Sussex County in New Jersey,” Josh says. “He is commander of the Sussex troops that came in a few moments ago.” Josh rolls back onto the grass, closing his eyes. He places his arms behind his head.
    â€œMeeker? The buyer of the hat, Meeker?” I ask.
    Josh laughs out loud, keeping his eyes closed. “What a memory you have, Noah,” he says. “Yes, Meeker of the hat.” He fishes out his handkerchief again and wipes his face. The heat is already oppressive.
    â€œTell me about yesterday, Noah.”
    I sigh and stretch out next to him. “They came in around dinner time. My mother, Mary, and I ran to the ditch I dug after the raid on Peenpack.” My face colors with shame as I repeat my sin of hiding in the ditch, and I’m glad for Josh’s closed eyes. “They came from the north—at least, I think they did. I couldn’t tell how many there were, or how many Indians and how many Tories, since they were all dressed as Indians with their faces covered in war paint. They burned down our house and barn, and then took off south. From what I can tell so far, they burned about four or five houses and about the same number of barns, and I heard the churchis gone, as well as two of our forts and the sawmill up the road. They wounded one man—shot him right off his horse—killed four others, and kidnapped two young boys. Mr. Tyler says they headed north, directly up the Delaware River. And with all the animals and supplies they stole from us, he thinks they can’t be moving too fast. He plans on catching them by marching us up the Cushetunk path, which also leads north, but inland from the river.”
    â€œUs?” questions Josh, opening his eyes halfway and looking at me without turning his head. “I didn’t think your mum would allow that.”
    Before Josh can see the pain he causes me with those words, Mr. Tyler appears above us. “Boy, I need you to come with me.”
    â€œI’ll be right back,” I say, without looking over at Josh. I’m happy to leave him in this manner.
    Mr. Tyler leads me toward the doctor. As we approach, he looks up, and I hide my limp while at the same time hating myself for doing it. Never once do the doctor’s eyes look down.
    He reaches out and shakes my hand. “I’m right heartily glad to meet you, son. My name is Dr. Benjamin Tusten.” His hand is strong but soft; he doesn’t pull a living from the soil.
    â€œHow do you do, sir?” I say. “I am Noah Daniels.” And I look to Mr. Tyler, wondering why he asked me to come meet this doctor.
    â€œBoy,” Mr. Tyler begins, and I can see he’s in his usual serious mood, his eyes jumping from me, to the doctor, tothe crowd in the road, and then back to me again. “You’re to stay with this man for the duration of the campaign. He’s a Lieutenant Colonel and the commanding officer. And since you aren’t part of the formal militia and you aren’t