Sarah's Ground (9781439115855) by Ann Rinaldi Page A

laughed, he hee-hee-heed and slapped his knee. The apple was peeled. The peeling was all of a piece.
    â€œMay I offer you a piece of apple?”
    â€œNo, sir, thank you. But you eat, you must be hungry.”
    â€œI’m never hungry. But I’ll eat when you leave. First letme give you a letter for General McClellan. He’ll sign your passes, I promise you.”
    He scribbled out a letter. “My secretary, Mr. Hay, is swamped with work.” And I thought,
Even Miss Cunningham wouldn’t write her own letters
.
    I thanked him profusely, and he stood, a tall, gangling man who did not look polished and elegant like McClellan, but who did look as if he knew what the war was all about.
    â€œIt’s been my pleasure, Miss Tracy. Take care of the general’s home for us. One of these days maybe I’ll have the time to visit.”
    He took my hand, not to kiss, but to shake, vigorously. And it was over.
    I found my way back downstairs. As I left the room I heard him munching the apple.
    Over to H Street then, where McClellan said he would be, near Lafayette Park. Government wagons raised dust in the street. The sun was getting hot. I longed for something cool to drink. Or some of that apple the president was eating when I left.
    â€œHow was the president?” Priscilla asked me.
    â€œWonderful,” I told her, “just as we’ve been told he is. A real
person
.”
    â€œYou think he be as good as Washington?”
    I was surprised at the question. And even more surprised at my answer. “He is what we need right now, asWashington was what we needed then,” I told her. And she nodded and understood.
    Of course there were sentries, twelve of them, in front of McClellan’s fancy brick house. Of course the house had wrought-iron gates and flowers in front, and long ceiling-to-floor windows and marble floors inside.
    Of course I had to wait again and sit and watch the aides and officers running in and out with the purpose of such importance that I felt part of the wall when they passed.
    And of course McClellan was annoyed when he looked up from his desk to see me again.
    â€œI told you to go to the president,” he said, as if speaking to a stubborn child.
    â€œI did,” I said. “He gave me this for you.” And I handed him the letter. It had been sealed by the president, of course, so I do not know what was in it, but whatever was in it made General George McClellan’s face redden.
    â€œI never told you my aide didn’t write the passes,” he said. “Of course he wrote the passes. What I told you was that he had no right to do so. And regulations have changed since then. But of course, Miss Tracy, I will write new ones.”
    The voice softened until it became like syrup. “Its just all a grand mistake,” he said. “And I will do anything in the world I can to help you.” He wrote quickly. I asked for a pass for Mary McMakin, and he wrote that, too.
    â€œI’ll send a steam tug with provisions to Mount Vernonif you need it. All you have to do is ask, Miss Tracy.”
    So,
I thought when I left.
So. One has all the guards of the queen of England, and the spit-and-polish uniform and the fancy furbelows of rank and privilege. The other peels his own apples and doesn’t even have a telegraph in his office. I didn’t see an officer in sight. And yet this one cowers before the words of the other
.
    I don’t think General McClellan will last long,
I told myself, going back outside.
I don’t think so at all
.
    Priscilla and I got some frozen ices from a street vendor. Then some hot pretzels and coffee. Then we went to the Washington market to shop for meat and vegetables and other items.
    The new passes worked wonders on the ride home.

Fourteen
    M ary is here. I made another trip to Washington to bring her. She is at once fearful of the war and animated because of all the soldiers. Every time we were stopped