A bugle sounded loudly nearby and soldiers appeared from everywhere.  Suddenly the empty parade ground was filled with noise, conversation, the clatter of boots on the wood walkways heading to the mess hall.  Several looks were passed her way.  She straightened and averted her eyes.

The young soldier came running back.  She realized that she was close to becoming a problem to him.  If he didn’t finish with her soon he’d miss dinner.

“I’ll lead your team over into the other courtyard so your wagon’s out of the way,” he said.  “Then you can stable your horses.  There’s water and hay.  Then Mrs. Hutchinson said to show you were the children are.  Then she said if you needed to eat, there’s food in the mess hall kitchen.  Then she said come see her if that’d be all right with you.”

Charlotte got down from the wagon.  “Do you have a name I could call you by?”

“Joseph Beacham.  Corporal.  Infantry C.  United States Army.”

“Joseph Beacham.  Thank you for your kindness.  That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Charlotte wanted to tell him to stop calling her ma’am, but she was afraid he wouldn’t comprehend what she was saying any more than Miller had.

“Tell me where to find them please?”

“Sorry, I forgot again.  Over there.”  He pointed to the doors that bordered the second parade ground.  “First door.  In an empty junior officer’s quarters because there were four and I think, begging your pardon again ma’am, that no one knew what to do with them.”

No one knew what to do with them.  “I’m obliged,” she said.

Charlotte unhitched the team and led them to the stalls along with the mare.  She was grateful for the respite, the watering and feeding, but now she had to find them.  Suddenly it seemed so hard, knowing what they’d been through.

She stopped in front of the door Joseph Beacham had indicated.  She waited.  Gathering all her courage and resolve, she knocked.  The door opened cautiously and then flew open and Ada was in her arms, clutching her with a strangle hold, the face pale and thin now, hidden away in Charlotte’s shoulder.  No tears, though.  And because Ada didn’t cry, Charlotte refused to.

While she held Ada, Charlotte acknowledged the three others who were watching her solemnly.

“I’m here,” she said.  Ada took her hand and held it tight, leading Charlotte over the threshold.  There were two rooms, scrubbed wood floors, a vaulted ceiling with rafters.  Clean, she noted.  A broad many-paned window let in light.  A long farm table took up most of the space, along with a butcher block and a sideboard.  A double-sided fireplace with a cooking grate stood between the rooms.  A rocking chair sat by the hearth.  In the other room, she could see a row of iron beds pushed up against each other.