The evening of Sunday May 10 in the year 1863, Hettie Childs called her son, Robey, to the house from the old fields where he walked the high meadow along the fence lines where the cattle grazed, licking shoots of new spring grass that grew in the mowing on the edge of the pasture. (p. 1)

He shook out the sweat-stained saddle blanket and lay down in front of the horse on a bed of green ferns and where arched fiddleheads unfolded and a lead tied loosely to his wrist. (p. 32)

"What do you have to say?" he asked the porcelain-faced doll, and when there was no reply he whispered the word "nothing". (p. 64)

"Please," the major said. "Untie the young man. We'll just have to take our chances." Then, to the young officer with the leather book, he expressed the sentiment that someday this war would be over and when...