The colonel’s eyes were sad. “I am sorry to see you go, Lorenzo.” He pulled me to him in a Spanish-style embrace, then pushed back. “No one place is better than another. If your heart is right, you can be happy anywhere.” “I hope everything works out with your grandfather,” Eugenie said. “If it doesn’t, you can always come back here.” My hand found hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Some day I’ll return to New Orleans.” She returned my squeeze. “When you reach Fort Pitt,” the colonel said, “Lt. Linn will give you a chit to present to the Continental Congress. It will entitle you to twenty-five dollars a month for your services as medic.” “Twenty-five dollars?” It was more than I earned as a scribe, and it was twice a second lieutenant’s salary. I didn’t know what to say. “Thank you, Your Excellency.” “Don’t thank me. The Continental Congress thought this mission so important they gave Gibson and Linn a generous letter of credit that authorizes them to obtain money or necessities for them and their men.
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