Sarah and I tottered to the parade. Thomas had to work and Mother said she “had to finish Mr. Donald’s shirts or we won’t eat tonight.” So we scuttered, hand in hand, down the dusty alleys to Central Street. The first to process were high-plumed soldiers dressed in Imperial Red. Then came trumpeters, drummers, and, finally, the Colonel, mounted on a white stallion. He towered over the crowd, glaring at us through beady eyes. All the children cheered. The adults were tense.