Soldier's Secret

Moss Marissa

Description

Historical fiction at its best, this novel by bestselling author Marissa Moss tells the story of Sarah Emma Edmonds, who masqueraded as a man named Frank Thompson during the Civil War. Her adventures include serving as a nurse on the battlefield and spying for the Union Army, and being captured by (and escaping from) the Confederates. The novel is narrated by Sarah, offering readers an in-depth look not only at the Civil War but also at her journey to self-discovery as she grapples with living a lie and falling in love with one of her fellow soldiers. Using historical materials to build the foundation of the story, Moss has crafted a captivating novel for the YA audience. The book includes a Civil War timeline, archival photos, a glossary of names, a detailed note on sources, and a new readers guide.

Informations

• Publié par: ABRAMS BOOKS
• Date de parution: 15 septembre 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781613123676
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

RANK THOMPSON isn t your ordinary Union Army soldier. He s also a nurse, tending to wounded soldiers on the battlefield a spy, crossing Rebel lines and risking his life to find out what the enemy has planned a mail carrier, delivering letters, foodstuffs, and news from home to his fellow soldiers. But Frank has a secret that could cost him his place in his beloved army. And maybe even his life.
Frank Thompson is actually Sarah Emma Edmonds.
This riveting novel from bestselling author Marissa Moss is based on the true story of Sarah Emma Edmonds, a teenager who masqueraded as a man during the Civil War.
Sarah s gripping voice vividly reveals her incredible journey of self-discovery and brings to life the truths and horrors of the Civil War. As Frank Thompson, Sarah must grapple with living a lie-while having to deal with ordinary day-to-day life situations in a very non-ordinary way.
Historical fiction at its most compelling, A Soldier s Secret includes actual photographs taken during the Civil War, now housed in the Library of Congress and National Archives, as well as a select Civil War timeline and biographies of Union officers.

The photographs in this book are from the collections of the Library of Congress except for the images on this page and this page , which are from the National Archives. They all were taken during the Civil War (1861-1865) by a number of different photographers. The photo-illustration on the title page is by Shane Rebenschied and was taken specifically for this book. Copyright 2012 Shane Rebenschied.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Moss, Marissa.
A soldier s secret: the incredible true story of Sarah Edmonds, a Civil War hero / by Marissa Moss.
p. cm.
Summary: Nineteen-year-old Sarah masquerades as a man during the Civil War, serving as a nurse on the battlefield and a spy for the Union Army, escaping from the Confederates, and falling in love with one of her fellow soldiers. Based on the life of Sarah Emma Edmonds.
Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN 978-1-4197-0427-7 (alk. paper)
1. Edmonds, S. Emma E. (Sarah Emma Evelyn), 1841-1898-Juvenile fiction. 2. United States-History-Civil War, 1861-1865-Women-Juvenile fiction. [1. Edmonds, S. Emma E. (Sarah Emma Evelyn), 1841-1898-Fiction. 2. United States-History-Civil War, 1861-1865-Women-Fiction. 3. Impersonation-Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M8535So 2012.
[Fic]—dc23
2012008319
Text copyright 2012 Marissa Moss
Book design by Sara Corbett
Published in 2012 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact [e-mail] or the address below.
115 West 18th Street New York, NY 10011 www.abramsbooks.com

CONTENTS
1 T HE W AR B EGINS
2 Y OU RE IN THE A RMY N OW
3 B ATTLEFIELD J ITTERS
4 T HE B ATTLE OF B ULL R UN
5 B ACK IN W ASHINGTON
6 F RIENDSHIP
7 D ESERTION
8 T OWARD R ICHMOND
9 T HE F IRST S HOT
10 A N EW M ISSION
11 T HE B ATTLE OF W ILLIAMSBURG
12 A NOTHER D ISGUISE
13 T HE B ATTLE OF F AIR O AKS
14 C HASING T RAINS
15 S EVEN D AYS B ATTLE
16 F INDING O LD F RIENDS
17 T HE L ETTER
18 T HE S ECOND B ATTLE OF B ULL R UN
19 O N THE R OADS OF N ORTHERN V IRGINIA
20 T HE B ATTLE OF F REDERICKSBURG
21 P AULINE OF THE P OTOMAC
22 A N EW R ECRUIT
23 S PYING A GAIN
24 A S OLDIER S J OB
25 A NOTHER D ISGUISE
26 S PYING ON S PIES
27 F AREWELLS
28 W EARING A D RESS
E PILOGUE: A S OLDIER S R EUNION
T HE S TORY B EHIND T HE S TORY
U NION A RMY O FFICER B IOGRAPHIES
A B RIEF C IVIL W AR T IMELINE
S ELECTED B IBLIOGRAPHY
A CKNOWLEDGMENTS
UST A MINUTE there. The recruiter stops me as I lean over to dip the pen in ink. You can t enlist.
I freeze. Can he tell? I m wearing a shirt, vest, and trousers as usual, my curly hair cut short except for a lock that insists on falling over my forehead. I brush it away nervously and meet the man s eyes. I ve been passing for nearly three years now, but every new encounter still brings with it the same fear. I take nothing for granted. The key thing, I remind myself, is not to reveal anything, to act as normal as possible.
I beg your pardon, I say as if I haven t heard him clearly. I keep my voice calm and low, pushing down the panic that s bubbling up inside me.
I know you love your country, the man says kindly, but you need to grow up a bit before you join the army. He looks at my peachy cheeks, free of any sign of a whisker. We aren t taking sixteen-year-olds.
But I start to protest, relieved and frustrated at once.
By the time you re old enough, son, this war will be over. Now go on home. The recruiter takes the pen and passes it to the unshaven farmer behind me. Sure, he has plenty of stubble, whiskers to spare.
My ears burn red with shame. I m nineteen, plenty old enough, but with my soft skin and large brown eyes, I look more boy than man. There s no way for me to prove my age, no way to show my mettle. I want to argue-even if I were sixteen, I should be able to enlist. After all, three years ago, when I really was that age, I got my first real job, the kind that pays every week, the kind that earns good money.
I d been doing odd jobs, chopping kindling, harvesting hay, nothing regular, going from town to town, when I ended up in Hartford, Connecticut. I admired the handsome main square with whitewashed buildings and maple trees all around it, all ordered and comfortable-looking. I walked around the courthouse, the school, the dry-goods store, wondering what kind of job I could find, when a sign in a window caught my eye. The neatly lettered placard advertised for a traveling book salesman. That sounded like mighty fine work to me-getting to read all the books I wanted, roaming around to sell them, never staying in any one place for long. What could be better? I didn t wait but strode right in and introduced myself to the stout, jowly man with thick pork-chop sideburns behind the counter.
I m Frank Thompson, I said, extending my hand, the salesman you need. I looked him in the eye, man to man, the way I d taught myself.
The pork-chop man took my hand, chuckling. Well, he drawled, you sure have the confidence of a salesman. And that was how I met my new boss, Mr. A. M. Hurlburt, of W. S. Williams Co., Booksellers. He hired me on the spot, asking me to supper that night with his family to seal the deal.
I was surprised how comfortable I felt sitting at that table, surrounded by Mr. and Mrs. Hurlburt and their six children. The youngest was a small babe, the oldest a freckle-faced twelve-year-old. They shared jokes and stories, asked my opinion of everything from politics to player pianos. I d never been treated that way-like a promising young man, someone with energy and wit whose company they enjoyed. I didn t know what to talk about, so I found myself describing the personalities of horses and cows. I knew animals much better than people then. At first, I felt foolish, but the five boys, ages four, six, eight, ten, and twelve-they must have scheduled their births to have them so neatly arranged-laughed and begged for more.
That s horses, but how about mules? asked the eight-year-old. What kind of character do they have?
I glanced at Mr. Hurlburt. Had he had enough of this foolishness? He smiled at me and nodded.
Go on, now, Frank, don t keep the boys waiting.
I dabbed at my mouth with my napkin. Maybe I was good at this, telling stories. At least to young folk. Well, then, I began, there s the flirtatious mule, the one with small feet, a nicely trimmed tail, and perked-up ears. You know the kind-he tosses his head, skips, and prances, thinks himself a pony, he does. He would practically stand on his head if you flattered him enough.
Sam, the towheaded twelve-year-old, giggled, I know that mule-that s Mr. Harper s!
Then there s the hysterical mule. I was warming up, saying things off the top of my head, giddy at being listened to. That one is melodramatic, bucking and rearing, kicking out viciously until the harness is taken off, then shaking his head smugly since he s gotten his way. This mule is best avoided if you don t want a big bite taken out of your arm.
Oho! said Peter, the ten-year-old. We know that kind, too. The preacher has a mule just like that!
Finally, there s the woe-is-me mule. I paused to swallow a mouthful of potato. He s the thinnest, smallest, weakest creature you ve ever seen. His whole appearance, from his drooping ears to his bedraggled tail, is a picture of meek misery. He wants you to feel guilty for putting even the weight of a pat of butter on his swaying back.
That s the mule Pa s going to give you to take on the road, selling books! Sam guffawed. That s Joe-Joe, isn t it, Pa?
Mr. Hurlburt cleared his throat. I have no intention of foisting poor Joe-Joe on Frank. He needs a horse for this job, not a mule. If you tell stories like these to your customers, I m sure you ll make a lot of sales. Just make sure you re describing the books, not animals.
I blushed, looking down at my plate. Of course, sir, I ll do my best.
And I did. Having grown up with only the Bible to read, I wolfed down the stock of books Mr. Hurlburt sold until I could describe each story so enthusiastically to my customers, I rarely missed a sale. In fact, I don t mind boasting that I was the best salesman the company had had in its thirty years in business, and I wore the fine suits and hats to prove it. Now I could even af