Chapter 3

Dear Ben,

I hope this letter finds you alive and well and... well, alive. I cannot tell you how relieved I was to receive your letter! We all were. Everyone here is all right, I suppose. Annabelle has gotten married and moved back to London. I never liked her, but I do hope for her safety on their journey.

I've just turned thirteen last week! Finally, I'm a teenager! So far, I feel no different. Mother had a lovely party for me, even if it was smaller than usual. Most importantly, for six months you are only five years older than me instead of six!

Business at the store is not so good. I suppose with this being wartime, people don't have as much idle spending money. I help out there as much as I can, especially when Father is off with the Commissary. It's harder now that you are gone. Father is considering hiring a new apprentice, but we'll see. I don't like the idea of replacing you, though he says that will never happen.

Anyway, Miss Manderly is starting to teach us French at lessons. It's pretty dreadful, though. All I remember is "Bonjour, Monsieur! Comment ça va?" Oh well. I will most likely never need it anyway.

Everyone says hello and sends their love. We miss you.

-Felicity

It was late spring now. May... all right, Ben couldn't remember. Late May, at any rate. The terrible winter at Valley Forge was over. They were somewhere in Maryland now, and the weather was much nicer. The French had now formed an alliance with them, putting the British on edge. Meanwhile, the German Baron Friedrich von Steuben stepped in and started training the young soldiers. He taught them the basics like how to march (Ben never knew there was a right or wrong way), how to aim, and how to attack with bayonets. From his experience with the Prussian army and strict discipline, the Baron turned a bunch of old farmers and clueless teenage boys into a real army. Personally, Ben liked his accent. And his name was fun to say. Things were slightly looking up. Tomorrow, however, combat, something Ben had miraculously not seen yet. Blood shed, lives lost-maybe even his own. He tried his hardest not to think that this night could be his last. He was smart, he was careful, and despite what Felicity used to say, he was not completely oblivious. They had been trained well. Nonetheless, there was still the risk. He closed his eyes and laid back on the hard ground. A few feet off, some other soldiers sat around a fire, eating what little supper they had and trading stories. He heard their laughter ring through the night air. Normally he would join them, but tonight he felt like being alone for a little bit, lost in his thoughts. The spring night was pleasant; the stars shone brightly above him and the crickets chirped. All too soon, however, his serenity was disturbed by Luke. "Ben?" Luke asked, sounding panicked. "Ben? Are you all right? Ben!" Ben opened his eyes.

"Relax, Luke," he laughed. "I'm just tired." Luke sat down next to him. "Aren't we all," he said. Ben just nodded. Both boys just stared off into the distance for a while. Then Luke said, "Battle tomorrow."

"Mm-hm," answered Ben.

"Think it will be bloody?"

"John says they always are."

"You scared?"

"No, you?"

"Little."

"Me too." Neither said anything for a moment. The night wind played with Ben's dark hair. He tried to keep it out of his face, but what was the point? "You know," said Luke. "When I joined the army, I thought it was going to be all about adventure and slashing enemies' throats and glory."

"Me too," said Ben. "But I guess that's all just a fantasy."

"This is our reality," said Luke, gesturing around the camp. Ben nodded. Everyone was in rags, some without shoes. Everyone was dirty, and their hair was long and unkempt. Many of them hadn't shaved since God knows when. Ben felt the stubble on his own cheek and sighed. So this was what he had waited nearly three years for. He now felt as if he were awaiting death. "Well," said Luke, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm going to bed; I'm tired."

"I guess I will too," agreed Ben. Both unrolled their blankets and lay down on the hard ground. Ben thought back to his loft at the Merrimans'. At first he found it too tight and small, but he grew to like it. It was private and quiet, tucked away from the rest of the world. It was small but cozy, and all his own. And he gave it up for an itchy blanket and cold ground. "Quit whining," he told himself. "You chose this, so stop complaining and deal with it." He rolled over and tried to sleep. It took a while, but finally he drifted into a dream about going home. He was awoken suddenly by a big clap of thunder and a downpour of rain that drenched everybody. "Ugh!" he groaned. "Really?"

The next day was gloomy. A slight drizzle fell on them as they marched to their potential doom. Ben's heart hammered inside his chest. He could die. He could be dead by the end of the day. Everyone marched stiffly with grim countenances, all but Matthew, who marched stiffly while whistling. "What are you so happy for?" whispered Ben. "We could die!"

"Loosen up!" Matthew whispered back. "It's an adventure!" Ben and Daniel glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. Some adventure. All too soon, they reached the battlefield. They stood. They waited. Then a shot was heard, then another, and another. The British were there and attacking. Everyone slammed to the ground. A seemingly endless line of redcoats loomed before them, firing on then mercilessly. Ben wasn't going to lie; he was scared to death. He grabbed at the grass and shut his eyes. He was going to die, he was going to die! He heard Daniel next to him murmur, "O God, O God, O God," over and over again. A second later, everyone was up on their feet again, firing back. Ben loaded his rifle as quickly as he could. His finger slipped, and he muttered a word that would have put soap in his mouth back home. Home. He missed it so badly right now. He missed his mother comforting him when he needed it. He missed Mr. Merriman treating him as his own son. He even missed Felicity teasing him. He thought back to their goodbye. He remembered how she had cried a little and how he had hugged her and assured her that he would be back. He remembered how he had kissed her quickly on the forehead right before he left. Or was it her cheek? Oh well, no matter. He had expected her to go, "Eww! That's disgusting, Ben Davidson!" Instead, she blew her own kiss out the window. That had been sweet of her, perhaps the sweetest thing she had ever done for him. "Pay attention," he told himself. A cannon blasted, killing two men. He cringed as cries of pain sounded everywhere. "Tell my parents I love them," he said to Daniel as bullets whizzed by, one just barely missing his ear. "Wait, what am I doing just standing?" he thought. "I've got my own weapon! Oh God, I've got a weapon in my hands! I'm holding something that can kill someone! It can even kill me if I'm not careful! Oh for God's sake, just shoot, you idiot!" He took aim and fired, and a British soldier grabbed his arm in pain. Ben looked down at his rifle. "Oh my God," he thought. "I just shot someone." He didn't know whether to feel proud or terrible. Oh well. Now was not the time. That would come later- if he lived that long. Cannons fired. Guns were shot, including his own. Men on both sides dropped dead. Smoke and cries filled the air. Hand to hand combat proceeded, which was even worse. Ben tried his hardest to remain strong, not to show how scared he was. The whole fight was nothing but a blur. All he really saw was a bunch of red in front of him. He tried hard to fight the soldier off, who did likewise. "Oh my God, we're trying to kill each other," he realized. He them felt something sharp-very sharp- on his chest. When he realized that it was a knife slowly digging into his skin, he quickly hit the soldier over the head with the butt of the rifle. The man clutched his bloody forehead and cried out in agony. He stumbled to the ground, and only for a split second did Ben look into his eyes, which looked back at him sadly. "You won," they seemed to say. His eyes closed, and his chest heaved up and down. A few seconds later, it stopped. Ben stared in horror at what he had done. "God Almighty!" he thought. "I just killed someone!" A sinking feeling filled his heart. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

The British ended up retreating, yet there were many lifeless bodies on the ground from both sides. Ben knew he should be glad that they won the battle (and that it didn't last too long), but truthfully, he felt like a murderer. He didn't even acknowledge the pain in his chest until they got back to camp and Matthew exclaimed, "You're bleeding!" Ben looked down. Matthew was right; his shirt was stained with blood. The rest of his friends gathered around. "How'd that happen?" asked Daniel. Ben shrugged. "I think someone cut me with a knife," he said nonchalantly.

"Oh God," murmured John. "Why on earth didn't you tell anyone?"

"I don't know," said Ben. "I didn't think it of any importance."

"It obviously is if it's bleeding," John argued. "Take off your shirt and let me see." Ben obeyed, and just above his right breast was a small but bloody gash. "That looks painful," Matthew remarked. John examined it. "Tis not very deep," he said. "Just hold a cloth over it until the bleeding stops."

"Is it fatal?" asked Luke.

"No," said John. "You'll probably have a scar, though."

"Wonderful," Ben muttered.

"Aw, cheer up," said Matthew. "You've got to have some battle scar to show what a great war hero you are! Look how many scrapes and bruises I've gotten. I've even got this burn!" He proudly rolled up his shirt sleeve.

"That's from when you accidentally tripped on a log and your arm brushed the fire," Ben pointed out. Matthew grinned. "Rebecca doesn't know that." Everyone laughed. Then Ben flopped backwards on the makeshift bed and sighed (after the storm last night, tents had been acquired). "Now what's wrong?" asked Daniel.

"Nothing," Ben assured him.

"Something's wrong," said Luke. "What's eating you?"

"Nothing," Ben said again. "It's just-well- all right, this is going to sound ridiculous-but I feel bad-terrible, really,-about killing that man. I know that that's war, but I feel like a murderer now." Everyone else was silent for a moment. Then Daniel said, "I know what you mean. I thought it would make you feel great and victorious, but instead, it makes you feel awful."

"I agree," chimed in Luke.

"Me too," agreed Matthew. John shook his head. "It's kill or be killed, boys," he said. "You can't be soft hearted if you want to be in the army. We all made the choice the fight, and now we have to make the sacrifice. That's just war." They let his words sink in. "You'll get used to it," he went on. "It gets easier."

Later that evening, Ben wrote again to Felicity by the flickering candlelight:

Dear Felicity,

I hope that all of you are well. We are all relatively fine here. Of course, we all have scrapes here and there, and John's shoes are history, and you would probably run for the hills if you saw me now (and that's being optimistic!), but none of us are dead yet!

We fought our first battle today. Let me tell you right now, combat is no fun.

How I'm alive to write you this is a mystery to me.

By now, I'm sure you've heard of the French alliance with us. While we all appreciate it, I personally think they just did it because they don't like England, not because they particularly like us. Well, maybe your French will come in handy someday after all! With the French fighting alongside us, it puts the British in their toes. Maybe, just maybe, they will surrender. That will be the day.

Be good, Lissie, and don't get into too much trouble. Please say hello to everyone for me.

-Ben