Excerpt from How to Dodge a Cannonball by Dennard Dayle, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

0.5 GLEASON'S NOTES

"This is the struggle for everything. Freedom. Dignity. The American Future. I'm proud to give whatever Columbia requires."

—Tobias Gleason, To Arms for Liberty (1861)

"I don't know what's happening. But I know that when the last sword is sheathed, it will have been worthwhile."

—Tobias Gleason, One Man's War Journal (1863)

"They died for nothing. Dead men aren't free: they're trapped in wood and dirt forever. The living have even less. A white burial in a clean cemetery is kinder than Black life."

—Tobias Gleason, The Pyre of Hope (1863)

1 ANDERS TURNS SEVEN

"Good morning, niggers!" announced Anders, waving through the schoolhouse window. Cheer shone through his voice, emanating the joy of being alive and American, in that order. The bulk of the assembled students ignored him, but two waved back. Anders mentally marked them as his friends.

His mother thought he'd gone swimming, which had been true fifteen minutes ago. Anders found the water hard to enjoy: he couldn't figure out floating, and letting the current drag him back to shallow depths tired him out. Now that he'd finished connecting with the Illinois River fish (and the rocks in the riverbed), it was time to learn.

Learning remained a core value, to the extent that he understood what core values were or why they mattered. Thus, it deserved special attention on his birthday. An event that mattered simply because it was his, and lowered the odds of an unprovoked kick from a moody adult. Visiting the only children in town that acknowledged him didn't hurt.

Despite some dampness (overcast weather preempted his usual sun-drying method), he enjoyed his perch. Peering from the window put him above everything, as if he held court. A theater balcony had to look something like this, sans the risk of falling. He resolved to invite one of his two known friends to try it. The stools spread around the room looked shabby, so they'd appreciate the tip.

The teacher eyed Anders the way shopkeepers did, complete with a confused squint. Or practical: the teacher owned bifocals but only wore them under duress. Anders gleaned her first name from Mother, but proper learners stuck to last names. Bell never introduced herself, so she was the teacher. Shorter than most adults, equally confounding, and less impatient. She only looked tempted to smack him half of the time. But she always looked tired, even before he got on a roll.

Anders waved again, hoping to stir more of a reaction. Instead of responding, she turned back to her charges and opened a thick blue book. Tiny, tilted, hand-drawn letters dotted the browning pages.

"Are we doing figures?" asked Anders. He liked figures. Numbers made sense, which was why he could count all fifteen kids in the room and their twenty-two shoes. Words got complicated and made everything else complicated. Someone needed to find a way to replace them with numbers, so people could get through books faster. If the Bible used numbers, the world would be at peace.

With numbers, he also knew most of the black kids were older. The oldest were twice his age and had lost general enthusiasm for education. Sitting in on their session felt like capturing a piece of adulthood.

"Today, we'll explore some history," said the teacher. She expertly ignored and answered Anders at the same time. He considered it their personal game.

"How much history? Is there a lot?"

"Who knows why this town's called Liberty Valley?" asked the teacher. She'd only ignored without answering, so Anders was ahead.

A girl two heads taller than Anders raised her hand. Anders might have called her cute, if his mother wouldn't thrash him for that. Instead, he'd call her … something else. She was very something else.

"Robin." The teacher acknowledged the girl with a point. The girl (Robin!) stood up (no shoes?) and spoke.

Excerpted from How to Dodge a Cannonball by Dennard Dayle. Copyright © 2025 by Dennard Dayle. Excerpted by permission of Henry Holt and Company. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.