There was no record of her father at Johnson’s Island. The last group of prisoners had been processed more than two weeks ago, and there was no one named James Jacoby in the entire bunch. The list of prisoners included ones taken from the battle near Pittsburgh Landing, but her father was not among them. She read the lines again, but the meaning was clear. She felt fresh tears spring up. Her father was not taken prisoner. There would be no prisoner exchange. If he was missing, then he was presumed dead or deserted. The letter came that morning. A fresh-faced boy who had been delivering death notices of local boys killed or wounded had delivered it to the surrounding farms. He had galloped up on Melinda as she was putting the final touches on a crude scarecrow built in the center of the corn patch. It kept wanting to fall over, no matter how far she tried to pound it into the ground. It finally stood, tilted slightly, its arms jutting out and its head canted to one side.
