Angel of the Battlefield by Ann Hood Page A

Revolutionary War?”
    â€œAnd before the Civil War,” Felix said.
    Clara had gotten to her feet and now loomed over them. “I don’t mean to be rude,” she said, “but what ever are you two talking about? And you never did tell me why you are in my barn.”
    â€œI know how we got here,” Maisie said to Felix. “But I have no idea how in the world we’re ever going to get back.”

The Baseball Game
    â€œClara,” Felix said, “where exactly are we?”
    â€œOn Captain Stephen Barton’s farm,” she answered tentatively.
    â€œAnd where is Captain Stephen Barton’s farm?” Maisie said, pacing in front of them.
    â€œOxford,” Clara said. Then she added, “Massachusetts.”
    Maisie paused in her pacing just long enough to say, “I have no idea where Oxford is. I don’t have any idea where anything in Massachusetts is.”
    â€œWhat does it matter?” Felix said miserably. “
Where
we are isn’t quite as important as
when
we are, is it?”
    His sister broke into a grin as if he had said something wonderful. “That’s right, bro,” she said, suddenly cheerful.
    â€œHuh?” Felix said. He certainly didn’t feel any better. In fact, all he wanted was to be back in Newport, in his bed with his iPod on, and listening to the playlist his father had made for him before he’d gone off to Qatar.
    â€œWell,” Maisie said, her eyes twinkling, “we’re here, right? We might as well make the most of it. I mean, we’ll never have an opportunity like this again, will we?”
    Clara got to her feet and swept her hand over her dress, wiping off the straw that clung to it. “You two are just the oddest people I’ve ever come across,” she said.
    â€œYou have no idea what it’s like here,” Felix told Maisie. “They don’t even have baseball yet.”
    Maisie grinned. “That’s where we’ll start then,” she said. “We’ll teach Clara Barton here how to play baseball.”
    â€œThey probably don’t even have balls,” Felix mumbled.
    Clara put her hands on her hips. “We most certainly do,” she said. “And I can throw one with an under swing better than any boy’s and make it go exactly where I intend it to.”
    â€œWe’ll see about that,” Maisie said. She couldn’t help but think that a girl who had never heard of baseball couldn’t play better than two kids whose father had spent countless warm Saturday afternoons in the park teaching them to throw and hit balls.
    Clara laughed. “You’ve never had my brother David teach you anything.”
    Maisie started to look for something to use as a bat. She picked up and then rejected a pitchfork, a hoe, and a shovel. All too heavy or misshapen.
    â€œClara,” Felix said softly. “I think you’re going to be a good baseball player. There’s one player called a pitcher whose job is just to throw the ball, and it sounds like you’d be perfect for that.”
    â€œBut how can you play with that arm of yours?” Clara said, kneeling beside him.
    â€œI forgot all about it!” Felix said, surprised. “This thing must really be working.”
    He watched Clara carefully remove the poultice from his arm.
    â€œI had quite a skating accident myself a couple of years ago,” Clara said as she poked and prodded his arm.
    â€œYou really are a tomboy,” Felix said, unable to hide his admiration.
    â€œThere you go again with your funny words,” Clara said. “A tomboy?”
    â€œA girl who can do things like throw underhanded and skate superfast,” Felix said.
    â€œThat’s me, all right!” Clara said, blushing. “I felt so proud when I heard the surgeon say to my father, ‘That was a hard case, Captain, but she stood it like a soldier.’” Clara patted Felix’s