Praise for

A New York Times Notable Children’s Book

A Booklist Editors’ Choice

A Horn Book Best Book of the Year

A Kirkus Reviews Best Children’s Book of the Year

Commended, Best Books for Kids and Teens, Canadian Children’s Book Centre, Starred Selection

“Curtis deftly makes what might have been simply heart-rending hopeful and redeeming instead. . . . A pleasure to read.”

— The New York Times Book Review

H “A delight, featuring the author’s obvious love for his characters, his skillful use of sentiment, and his often

hyperbolic humor. . . . Quintessential Curtis.” — Booklist, starred review

H “A journey of revelation and insight. . . . Profoundly moving yet also at times very funny.”

— The Horn Book Magazine, starred review

H “Beautiful storytelling as only Curtis can do it.” — Kirkus Reviews, starred review

H “Curtis masterfully interweaves goofy family vignettes, memorable characters, and thought-provoking themes into a

page-turner with appeal to multiple audiences and tastes.” — Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books, starred review

“Writing in his customary episodic style, Curtis relates . . . separate stories in alternating chapters, incorporating a

large cast, his trademark humor and gritty hijinks, and the historical events that shaped the

people and the area. . . . Poignant and powerful.” — Publishers Weekly

“A powerful testimony to the joys of friendship and the cost of unresolved hatred. . . . Stunning.”

— School Library Journal

Christopher Paul Curtis

scholastic inc.

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher,

and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

Copyright © 2014 by Christopher Paul Curtisnobodybutcurtis.com

This book was originally published in hardcover by Scholastic Press in 2014.

All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. scholastic and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks

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The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events,

or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-338-35965-7

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 19 20 21 22 23

Printed in the U.S.A. 40This edition first printing 2019

The author has used certain Canadian spellings to establish the setting of this novel.

Map art copyright © 2014 by Mike SchleyThe text was set in Historical, Felltype Roman.

Book design by Kristina Iulo

part one

BUXTON AND

CHATHAM

3

Chapter 1

The American Civil War, 1901 BENJAMIN “BENJI” ALSTON OF

BUXTON, ONTARIO, CANADA

The old soldiers say you never hear the bullet that kills you. They say that as if there’s some sort of comfort in those words.

The Johnny Reb who’d been hunting me down for nearly an hour was going to shoot me from behind and I wouldn’t hear it, but that wasn’t very comforting. I was as f lat on my belly as I could be, but kept pressing my body down, trying to melt myself right into the ground.

He’d slowed down; he knew I’d stopped and he was doing what any good hunter would: being careful. But he didn’t have to be. I’d lost my weapon right after he shot me in my side, and at the same time lost my urge to fight.

More than anything, I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my mother and father and yes, even my brother and sis-ter again. If only one more time.

There was so much I needed to set straight with them, so many words I’d meant to say but hadn’t.

I’d tell my father one of the reasons I’d left Canada

4

and sneaked south to fight for the Union Army of the United States of America was because of how his father had been beaten to death by a slave owner. I hoped he’d be proud that his first son had died so that others would live free.

I’d tell Mother how much she meant to me.I’d tell her how the main reason I’d come south to fight

was that after I helped win the war for the Union I’d work on solving the mystery of her mother and father. Even though she hadn’t seen or heard anything of them since she’d escaped slavery a million years ago, my dream has always been to find them for her.

It would cause me a real gut-ache, but I’d even apolo-gize to my brother and sister, Stubby and Patience. It’s probably not their fault, but I find it irksome when Mother and Father and so many other people in Buxton get this surprised look of amazement whenever Pay and Stubby show off something they’ve made. Who cares that everyone says they’re geniuses when it comes to working with wood?

I know Mother and Father go out of their way to praise anything I do, but I’ve never seen that genuine look of amazement directed at me. I’ve never heard anyone take a sharp gasp of surprise about anything I’ve done. I’ve never seen people exchange quick glances of disbelief over any-thing I’ve written or said.

5

Mother told me with time I’d find my calling, that my siblings were unusual because they’d discovered theirs so early. But now, it was too late for me.

The Johnny Reb let out a long, low whistle, probably calling more of the Confederate murderers to come help him find me.

I knew what a horrible choice I’d made just six weeks ago. If only I could go back.

Oh, why? Why hadn’t I listened when the boss of the Toronto Globe offered me the job of being the paper’s num-ber one reporter and headline writer even though I’m only thirteen years old?

If only I could take back my foolish hasty words when I told him, “Thank you very kindly, sir, but there’s a battle being fought in the United States of America to free the slaves, and there are recruiters in Michigan who need all the help they can get. This time next week, I will be a drum-mer boy in Mr. Lincoln’s army!”

Now, I wished more than anything that I’d never heard about being a drummer boy, even if it was what all the brav-est boys in Buxton dreamed about doing.

But this Southern traitor who was hunting me down was going to spill into the soil, along with my blood, all the dreams I’d worked so hard on. It would all end here in the dirt outside of Macon, Georgia. My plans of becom-ing the best newspaperman in North America were over.

6

All the headlines and leads I’d practiced writing in my head every day were for nothing.

A waste of time.From the corner of my eye, I could see the rebel stand-

ing on the trail, not twenty feet from me. Neither one of us moved. Then he started moving away, looking for broken twigs or footprints, something, anything that would lead him to me.

It wouldn’t be easy for him; the forest has always helped me. I lay as still as death, my nose pressed so tightly to the earth that little pieces of dirt and rotting leaves rolled up my nostrils when I breathed in and rolled back when I breathed out. They tickled me, but laughing was the far-thest thing from my mind.

I waited forever.And ever.Then I let myself believe the impossible: He was gone!

He’d missed me! All the life that had been draining out of me started f lowing back! I trembled from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. To be safe, I slowly counted to one hundred.

Just to be sure, I did it a second time.Then a third.I raised my head.He’d missed me! I was still alive! This seemed too good

to be true!

7

It was too good to be true.His voice came from behind me, so close that he could

have whispered, but no, he gave that cursed rebel yell, and it felt as if a lightning bolt chucked from the heavens cut me clean in two. My head jerked up; I couldn’t help myself.

“Yee-haw!” the Confederate murderer hollered. “I sho ’nuff knowed that you all was gonna move, little black boy! Now you all’s gonna find out what we’uns do to y’all Yankees what wants to come down he-uh to steal our grandpappy’s land and take away them slaves what loves us so-o-o-o much! Yee-haw! You all needs to get ready to meet yer maker! Y’all got any last words, huh, Yankee? Yee-haw! Yee-haaaaw!”

I kept my eyes closed. My head dropped back to the ground like it weighed a ton.

I was ready.He pressed something smooth and cool to the back of

my neck, right at my hairline.The old soldiers say you never hear the one that kills

you. And I suppose maybe there is some comfort in know-ing that.

But I heard everything. So there was no comfort to be found.

He pulled back a bit, then fired. It hit with a loud thump right in the area between my neck and skull. A f lood of light exploded from the back of my head and ran throughout my body.

8

This was so unfair.And I was surely going to let him know.“Oww! Are you crazy? That hurt!”I jumped up and rubbed the spot where he’d shot me. A

lump on the back of my neck had already begun swelling.“You cheated!”He was laughing.I snatched the bow away from him. “Where’s the

arrow?”The way he was laughing got me madder and madder.

“It ricocheted off your head and flew all the way into the woods!”

One thing was settled. Spencer Alexander was about two seconds away from being seriously whipped by his own bow. The only question was how bad the beating would be. If he’d taken the plum off the end of the arrow, I’d really pummel him. If the plum was still on, I’d show a little mercy, something he hadn’t shown me.

I spotted the arrow, the tip still covered by the plum. At least he hadn’t cheated that way.

“Spencer?”“Huh?”I swung. The bow whistled, then made a sharp crack

when it caught his leg.He didn’t waste any time; he ran down the trail and I

was right behind him.

9

I was able to hit him twice before he saw that if he got off the path and ran through the woods, I’d have a tougher time hitting him.

“Benji! Wait! I’m sorry!”I missed again.“It’s too late for sorry, and what kind of accent was

that? You think all white southern American people say ‘yee-haw’ and ‘you all’ every other word? And have such bad grammar?”

He yelled over his shoulder, “I was just trying to be authentic.”

“Well, then, Spencer Alexander, I hope you’re ready to take this authentic Buxton butt whipping!”

I swung two more times, but he was dodging so closely between trees that I slapped more oaks and maples than my cheating friend.

The spot where he’d shot the back of my neck throbbed as we ran through the woods.

I swung again, but instead of hitting Spencer, the bow wrapped around a sapling and snapped back, giving me a stinging blow to my upper lip.

I stopped and covered my mouth with my hand. I tasted blood.

Spence turned around and leaned on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Serves you right, Benji; you know I was just –”

10

Two plum-tipped arrows wobbled from the woods right toward Spence. One caught him in the chest, and the other went square into his ear.

Pilot and Randall drew back two more arrows.Pilot said, “The choice is yours, Johnny Reb: a slow, long

starving death in prison, or a quick shot to the heart here.”Spence rubbed his ear and yelled, “You cheated, Pilot!

You know we said nothing above the shoulders!”I said, “Pilot cheated? Who shot me in the back of my

head . . . point-blank?”“That was different. You flinched, and I acciden-

tally shot.”“I f linched? I didn’t even move.”“Besides,” Spencer said, “we’re all square; you whacked

me three times with my own bow!”I snapped his bow over my knee. “Well, now you don’t

have to worry about that.”“I’ll never play American Civil War with you again,

Benji Alston. You take things too serious. If you were with the North, they never would’ve won the war.”

Pilot said, “This is getting boring. I feel like a swim.”Spencer can always be counted on to do what’s right.

He stuck his hand out. “Sorry, Benji, I just got caught up in the chase. It was like you were a rabbit and I was a fox – as soon as you put your head down, something inside quieted

11

my good sense and the next thing I knew, the arrow was f lying.”

I shook his hand. “Sorry I whipped you with your own bow. I’ll get Pay and Stubby to make you a new one.”

“Yee-haw! Reach for the skies, you all Yankee dogs!”Big Twin and Little Twin peeked out from behind two

trees, their arrows aimed at me and Randall.Pilot said, “That’s it, I quit. Let’s go for a swim.”That was the end of the American Civil War as it was

fought in the woods of Canada in 1901.The whole thing was a waste of time, but I was able to

get a good headline out of it:

johnny rebs lost the war thirty-six years ago and lose it again today. some folks

never learn!!!