“We have to do it soon,” Jasper adds. “So the Major can spend his fuel healing up his broken ribs and other wounds. He can’t move his toes anymore. The wound hasn’t stopped seeping blood, not even after I stitched it up. And now it’s infected.”

“The shock could kill him,” I whisper.

“. . . heard that . . .”

“He’s going to die anyway—slowly, and in a lot of pain. If we amputate the leg, he has a chance.”

“I’ll take it. . . . Even a small . . .”

A knot of fear is forming beneath my breastbone, and I swallow against it. “What do you need me to do?”

“Be my assistant. Hand me the tools I need, when I ask for them. Do what I tell you.”

“All right.”

“Thank you. Now, go wash up—scrub with soap and hot water. Tom’ll show you. Do you have a clean shirt to put on?”

“I’m going to get all bloody! Why would I ruin a clean shirt?”

“Dr. Liston—the man who invented that splint I used— he’s shown conclusively that clean hands and clean clothes mean clean wounds, and that means less infection.”

It’s been weeks since I did laundry. “I don’t have any clean shirts.”

“You can use one of mine,” Henry says from outside the wagon. “Put it on over the other one. I’ll wash it when you’re done.”

“Thanks,” I say, relieved he doesn’t expect me to change in front of them.

“I’ve boiled some water for you to scrub with,” Tom says. “And I’ve got a fresh bar of soap.”

Jasper turns to the Major. “I don’t have any ether. It’s going to hurt bad.”

The Major closes his eyes tight. “Just . . . do it.”

I pause at the edge of the wagon. “The Joyners,” I say. “They have laudanum. Would that help?”

Jasper’s eyes widen. “That would ease things considerably.”

“I’ll be right back.”

I hop down and dash across the circle to the Joyners’ wagon. Jefferson is still curled up beneath it, snoring softly. I peek inside the bonnet. “Mrs. Joyner?” I whisper.

“Lee?” she responds blearily. “Everything all right?” Someone murmurs beside her, and she says, “Go back to sleep, darling.”

“We’re about to amputate the Major’s leg,” I tell her. “Jasper says it’s the only way to save his life. Could you spare some of the laudanum?”

She hesitates before saying, “Mr. Joyner needs it.”

Mr. Joyner must be sicker than I realized. “It would be a real blessing to the Major right now.”

A soft sigh. I hear rustling, the sound of a trunk opening, a slight thunk when it shuts again. “Here.” Her hand thrusts from the bonnet, holding a small glass jar with a cork. “Bring back whatever’s left.”