by Kelli Estes
But, of course, that wouldn’t be happening. Not for the Army, at least.
“Miss Wilson, please approach.”
Emily tore her thoughts away from her misery to look at Provost Marshal Gillem where he sat behind a banged-up wooden desk with his back to the windows overlooking the stables behind the jail. A uniformed guard stood in the corner, at attention.
Colonel Gillem regarded her over a pair of wire-framed glasses and, judging by the curled lip and arch between his eyebrows, clearly did not find the dress a flattering change from the uniform he’d last seen her wearing. She fully agreed with him. To make the matter even worse, she hadn’t had her hair trimmed since the last time she was in Nashville over two months back. It hung over her ears and curled against her neck in an unkempt manner that did not flatter her, no matter what gender she embodied, but seemed even less attractive when paired with women’s clothing.
Obeying the marshal’s order, she crossed the stone floor, hating the ridiculous pointed-toed, heeled shoes she’d been forced to wear. She’d take her old boots over these any day. When she reached the desk, she kept her head lowered and hoped she looked meek and humble so he would take pity on her and let her go.
“Miss Wilson, it is my duty to inform you that all charges against you have been dismissed and you are free to go, on the condition that you will never again don men’s clothing nor impersonate a soldier.”
“I was a soldier.” The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them. “I didn’t impersonate anyone.”
He cleared his throat loudly. “Regardless, you will henceforth conduct yourself in a manner befitting a young lady, or there will be dire consequences. Is that clear?”
She nodded.
“I said, ‘Is that clear?’”
Emily lifted her chin and glared at him with all the fury she felt but knew she could not unleash. “Yes, sir.”
He gave a curt nod. “Very well. Your possessions will be returned to you at the clerk’s desk. You are free to go.”
Numbly, she allowed the guard to lead her to the front office where she was handed her diary and the ring she’d been wearing when she was arrested, which she jammed onto her right pinkie. “What about my clothes?”
The clerk shook his head. “You’re wearing them.”
She didn’t bother to say anything more. She simply turned and walked through the door onto the street with no idea where she was going or what she would do next.
Ben was dead.
Drawing on all the training she’d received as a soldier, she swallowed her pain and forced herself to walk down the street as though today were a normal day and she were a normal woman, though neither could be further from the truth.
It was nearly noon, and the morning rain that had pounded on the jail earlier had given way to a blue sky and sun that was rapidly drying the streets and ripening the stench of horse manure and unwashed bodies. The only place Emily could think of to get away from the press of people, horses, carts, and carriages was the river, so she headed that direction.
She realized her mistake when she reached the bank of the Cumberland River and saw the crush of activity as steamers were lined up to receive or deliver goods and passengers. It was a beehive of movement, and Emily felt out of place and in the way.
As a woman, that’s all she was now—a superfluous thing, always in the way.
If she were truly a man, she could look for employment doing any number of things. As a woman, her only options were to work as a servant tending to someone’s home and children. Or she could be like those girls calling from the second-floor balconies on Smokey Row to the men below, offering their bodies in exchange for money.
The first profession sounded equally as offensive as the last to Emily’s mind. After tasting freedom, she did not want to go back to having to answer to someone else for her every move.
But with no family left, how was she going to survive?
No family. Angrily, she yanked off her identity ring and threw it into the Cumberland River, where it sank out of sight in the brown, swiftly moving current. She had no one left to care what happened to her. No one left to care about her identity when she died. For one tantalizing moment, she considered following her ring into the depths of the river, and never coming up again. It would be so easy to lie in the water and let herself drift away.
But she was too much of a coward for that.
Defeated, she turned her feet north on Front Street and started walking, not caring where she went and not caring what anyone might think about a young woman walking in this rough neighborhood unescorted.
Ben was dead.
Her stomach cramped, and a sob tore from her mouth. Nonetheless, she kept walking. She knew if she stopped, the pain might catch up to her and swallow her whole. She had to keep moving, moving, staying ahead of it because if it caught up to her, she…
She didn’t know what would happen. She simply knew she could not bear it.
She walked for hours, blindly turning corners and crossing streets, unmindful of the danger of carts, wagons, horses, and mules. Her legs and feet ached, but she was used to the pain, and it felt better than the pain in her soul, so she encouraged it by walking uphill, and down, and back again.
It was her fault Ben had been killed. She had talked him into leaving home. She’d promised him she’d keep him safe and he’d believed her, trusted her. She was supposed to stay by him that day, but she’d gotten caught up in the fighting and she’d lost track of him. Because of that, he’d been shot.
She would have stepped in front of the bullet that got him if she’d seen it coming. She would happily have taken his place. Willie’s, too. They should both still be alive and planning their wedding and the children they would have together. She should have been the one killed.
But she was being selfish. She would not wish the pain she felt on anyone else, and if she had died, then Ben would be here suffering.
She hoped he wasn’t suffering, wherever he was. A soul feels only love after death, right?
She was alone now. Her entire family was dead, and she had no one. No reason to keep moving. Why was she even trying?
She stopped, and a man bumped into her. He scooted around her with a tip of his hat and a “Pardon me, miss,” but Emily barely noticed.
What was she going to do now? She had no home to go to, no means of income. Little money.
Worry shot through her. Did she have her money, or had the jail guards stolen it?
She jammed her hand into the hidden pocket in her skirt where she’d stashed her diary.
She looked around for a secure place where she would not be seen by pickpockets or other unscrupulous characters, and realized she was near the capitol building, where they had been quartered back in February. It felt so long ago.
The building sat stately on top of the hill with all slopes leading up to it a warren of cart tracks, footpaths, and Army tents, all guarded by the soldiers standing atop the barricades that had been constructed around the gleaming limestone building. There was nowhere she could check the contents of her diary without being seen. No shrubbery or walls to duck behind.
And then she remembered St. Mary’s Church, only a block away, where she’d attended services the Sunday after arriving in the city back in February. She hurried there with the diary clutched in both hands. When she reached the brick building, she ran up the steps and inside.
Emily immediately realized her mistake. She’d forgotten the church had been converted to a hospital. Beds lined the walls and made two rows down the center of the building, all filled with what looked to be gravely ill men.
“Hello, miss,” came a friendly greeting from a soldier carrying a basin of water. “Can I help you?”
She backed away, “No, no thank you. I…I took a wrong turn.”
She hastened back out and spotted a nook t
o the side, just outside the church doors and shielded from the street by a brick wall. Quickly, she ducked into the secluded space and, with a last glance to confirm no one was paying her any attention, opened the diary’s secret compartment.
Relief flooded through her. Willie’s handkerchief and ring were still there, as was the stack of currency she’d stashed away at every payday while in the service of the Army, and the money she’d taken from David’s knapsack all those months ago. She was grateful she’d had little to spend her money on, because it would keep her alive until she figured out what she was going to do. She would have to be careful to stretch it as far as it could go.
Casting another furtive glance around her, Emily withdrew a couple of bills and securely tucked the rest back inside the diary, slipping it into her skirt pocket.
The afternoon light was fading as she returned to the street. Night would soon be upon her, and she needed to find a place to sleep.
She took to walking again, her legs and feet protesting every step. The ill-fitting shoes she’d been given had worried blisters on both feet that felt like they were oozing blood. As she neared the Public Square, she could not keep her memories at bay. Was it only two months past that she’d stood here in this square for the dress parade, shoulder to shoulder with her fellow Union soldiers? She had felt so much pride that day in her ability to serve her country and do it so well despite being a woman.
With Ben on her right, she’d stood at attention for what felt like hours with her eyes glued to the stately Nashville City Hall and Market in front of them. The building stood three stories tall with an additional level in the form of what looked like two stone guard or bell towers on the top. Without turning her head, she’d moved her eyes to see what she could of the rest of the square and remembered being impressed by the fine architecture, with many of the buildings standing four or five stories tall. They should have made her feel small, but on that day, they’d only made her stand straighter and lift her chin, feeling all the pride of her station.
Pride goeth before a fall. That had certainly been true for her.
Pushing her memories aside, she made her way past City Hall and Market, seeing for the first time that a long extension came off the back, filled with merchants hawking their wares, though most were shutting down for the day. Past the great colonnaded block that was the Courthouse, she spotted what she was hoping for—a dusty sign proclaiming the three-storied building fronted with balconies to be the City Hotel.
Feeling like something was finally going her way, Emily found the entry door on the side of the corner building and saw she was on the street that had once led to a suspension bridge across the Cumberland. The bridge had still been smoldering back in February when she’d first arrived after retreating Confederates had set it afire. Now there was nothing but a wooden sign stopping pedestrians from walking right off the high bank and falling into the water.
The hotel entry was a tiny space so small Emily could have stood in the middle and touched all four walls, if her tight sleeves allowed her to raise her arms that high, of course. Cooking smells wafted through the air, and a flight of scuffed stairs disappeared up to the right. A bell hung from the wall beside a closed door with a sign inviting guests to pull it should they require assistance. She gave the thin rope a yank.
Heavy footsteps announced the proprietor’s arrival before the door was thrown open and a harried-looking woman appeared, wearing an apron and holding a chubby baby on her hip. “Oh, hello,” she said with a smile. She pointedly looked behind Emily, as though expecting a husband or other escort. Upon finding none, she lost her friendly facade and raised one eyebrow at her. “What do you want?”
“Good evening,” Emily began, showing her best manners to disabuse the woman of her obvious assumption. “I am in need of lodging and have cash to pay for it. Do you have a room?”
The woman didn’t bat an eyelash. “No, sorry, we’re all full.” She closed the door, and Emily heard the slide of a lock being firmly secured.
Defeated, she retraced her steps to the Public Square and looked around, hoping for another option, or another idea. When none came, she stopped a gentleman passing by with an armful of rolled papers. “Excuse me, sir, but could you point me in the direction of any nearby hotels or inns?”
His face held questions as his gaze examined her, but he succumbed to good manners and pointed. “The Union Hotel over on Market Street. Second building on the left.” He tipped his hat and continued on his way.
She must look a fright, she realized, if people were assuming she was a woman of questionable morals. She raised a hand to touch her short hair, realizing she should have asked the provost marshal for a hat. All the shops were closed now, and she would not be able to buy one until morning.
The burn of shame propelled her across the square to the hotel. She wanted nothing more than to lock herself away in a room and hide from the rest of the world. The Union Hotel, however, also did not have any vacancies. The kind man there directed her to Mrs. C. Lankford’s boardinghouse, but Mrs. Lankford also turned her away.
What was she to do now? She had nowhere to go, and she was in a town crawling with soldiers looking for female companionship. And, apparently, she looked the part.
Her stomach clenched. If she had her musket, she might be able to protect herself, but she’d been stripped of that and left with only a dress that didn’t allow her to raise her arms enough to fight off an attack.
Simply standing on the street alone at this time of the night would make anyone think she was a working woman.
A working woman. That was it! Emily knew a working woman who might feel sympathetic enough to her plight to help her. The prostitute at the bordello the other men had dragged her to down on College Street. What was her name? Bea? Lee? Vee! That was it. Vee. Vee White.
With her head held high, projecting as much confidence as she could muster, Emily walked the three blocks as fast as she could and marched right up to the grand front door of the bordello. No gentlemen were coming and going yet, and it took a few moments for anyone to answer.
When the door finally opened, a graceful, middle-aged woman wearing a blue gown stood there looking at her quizzically. “I’m afraid you have the wrong establishment, my dear,” she told her kindly after looking Emily up and down. “Perhaps you should try Madame Emaline’s down on Front and Broad Streets. She might have a place for you.”
Emily placed her hand on the doorjamb. “Wait, please. I’m looking for a friend of mine who works here, Vee White. Is she available? I’ll only take a moment of her time, I promise.”
The woman’s head tilted to the side. “She does not work here anymore. Up and disappeared one morning, and we’ve never heard hide nor hair of her since. Left us short a girl, that’s for certain.”
Tears stung Emily’s eyes, and she looked down at the stoop to hide them from this kind woman. What would she do now? Where could she find safety? Damn this cursed dress. If she were still in men’s clothing, she had no doubt she would already have secured lodgings and would be enjoying a hearty meal at this very moment.
The woman studied her, and just when Emily started to turn away to retreat back down the steps, she opened the door wider and said, “Why don’t you come in? I’ll see to it that Cook gives you something to eat and a warm place to rest for the night. In the morning, we can see if there might be something we can do to help each other.”
Emily’s stomach growled so loudly in response to the offer of a warm meal that even the woman heard it, and she smiled. “That decides it. Come in.”
Emily had no intention of discussing future employment with the woman, but she was not about to turn down the offer of a safe place to sleep tonight. She followed the woman down the back stairs to the kitchen, where she was handed a chunk of bread and a bowl of stew by the cook. The other woman disappeared upstairs. The delicious aromas curled around her, and complet
ely forgetting her manners, Emily lifted the bowl to her chin and spooned the broth in like she’d never had a proper meal before.
With her stomach finally full, she sat back on the bench and looked around. The cook was bustling about the room, aided by two young girls setting delicious-looking cakes and sweets on shining silver platters to be carried upstairs. Other plates held nuts and dried fruits, and some held sliced meats and cheeses.
Emily could not remember the last time she’d seen this much food in one place. Not even back home in Indiana had they feasted like this, except the day after Mama died and all the neighbors brought food to the house to comfort them.
But this wasn’t mourning food. This was celebration food.
Emily stared at it all in wonder, feeling like she’d slipped out of her time and into another for, surely, food like this wasn’t available during wartime. Where had it all come from?
When Cook saw her staring, she snapped her dish towel in the air and ordered, “Come with me. I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight. It’s best if you stay out of the way, and whatever you do, do not go upstairs or Madam will have your hide, and mine too.”
She led Emily to a room off the kitchen no bigger than the pallet on the floor that would be her bed for the night. It looked like heaven to Emily, especially since it had a door she could lock and know she would be safe.
As soon as Cook left her with an oil lamp, she kicked off her shoes and set them next to the closed door. The sound of voices from upstairs told her customers were starting to arrive, and she wondered if they would keep her awake. She lay on the pallet and drew a single blanket over her, needing nothing more since the heat of the kitchen warmed the room nicely. She planned to close her eyes for only a moment and then take some time to write in her diary, but sleep claimed her.