Divided Nation, United Hearts

by Yolanda Wallace

  “Don’t be silly, Wil. You know women aren’t allowed to join the military. A good thing, too. I would faint if I saw all that blood and gore. The most you could hope for is to be a nurse, but you wouldn’t be given a gun or permitted to fight.”

  Wilhelmina brushed a lock of blond hair off Libby’s forehead. “Who said I intend to enlist as a woman?”

  Libby’s mouth fell open in shock. “Surely you jest.”

  “Quite the contrary. In fact, I have never been more serious.”

  “Do you honestly think you could get away with such a ruse?”

  “I pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes in the lecture hall tonight, didn’t I? Not to mention I even managed to fool you, my lifelong friend.”

  Libby’s cheeks colored at the reminder she had believed Wilhelmina to be a stranger when she spied her standing beneath her window.

  “Yes, but that was from a distance. Do you think you could stay hidden in close quarters for months, maybe years at a time with hundreds of men and convince them that you’re one as well?” Their conversation was already hushed due to the lateness of the hour and the topic of their discourse. Shuddering with distaste, Libby lowered her voice even more. “How do you plan to perform life’s most basic functions surrounded by an army of men without revealing your true sex?”

  Wilhelmina had asked herself the same question during the carriage ride. She couldn’t bathe or relieve herself without exposing part of her body. How could she manage to do either without giving herself away? Either in the barracks, in camp, or on the battlefield, privacy would be an even more precious commodity than peace.

  “I don’t know how long I can keep up the pretense, Libby, but I feel compelled to try. I want to do my part, and—no offense to your mother or the ladies who have volunteered to help her provide supplies to the troops—I want to do it where it counts the most. On the battlefield, not the home front.”

  Libby fixed her with an appraising stare. “I never imagined you with a rifle in your hands, Wil.”

  “Neither did I. Until tonight. Now I can’t imagine anything else. I can sit on the sidelines no longer. I must join the fight.”

  “I admire your courage, but how do you plan to accomplish your task? What you’re proposing is impossible.”

  “Not impossible. Improbable. Those are two entirely different beasts.” Wilhelmina didn’t know if she would be able to pull the trigger the first time she had to aim a gun at someone or if she could hold her nerve the first time one was trained in her direction, but she had to try. “I shall cut my hair, change my appearance, and sign up in a city where no one knows me.”

  “But what about…” Libby’s voice trailed off and her cheeks colored. “You know.” She waved her hand in the general direction of Wilhelmina’s body.

  Wilhelmina spoke to save Libby further embarrassment. “My breasts are small enough that I won’t have to bind them too tightly, and I haven’t had the monthly curse since I was fifteen. The doctor in charge of my care said I am barren.”

  “Is that why your father has created such a large dowry for you?”

  “Yes.” Wilhelmina lowered her head. Speaking of her marriage prospects always made her feel more like a piece of property than a person. “But few men are willing to marry a woman who cannot bear them children. The ones who have remained in the running for my hand seem to care more about my father’s money than they do about me.”

  Libby nodded sympathetically. “I feel lucky in that regard. Stephen cares for me, not my family name or my father’s riches. He wants to make his fortune on his own, not inherit it from his wife. One day, I hope you will meet a man who feels the same way about you.”

  Libby caressed Wilhelmina’s cheek. Wilhelmina closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation. How she wished she could tell Libby the secret she had long carried—that the only person she wanted to marry was her—but she knew Libby wouldn’t understand. Libby’s heart belonged to Stephen and always would. Wilhelmina’s, on the other hand, seemed destined to go unclaimed.

  “And what of your parents?” Libby asked. “Do you plan to tell them what you have in mind?”

  “I shall leave them a note explaining my absence, though it hardly seems necessary. I have always been an afterthought in their eyes. My brother has always been Father’s favorite, and my sister has always had Mother’s good graces. I doubt anyone will even know I’m gone.”

  “I shall know.” Tears welled in Libby’s eyes as she held Wilhelmina’s face in her hands. “Though the cause is just, are you truly willing to risk your life in order to see it through?”

  “I am.” Wilhelmina’s heart ached for the concern she heard in Libby’s voice. She hadn’t meant to cause her pain. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Will you keep my secret?”

  “Of course, you ninny. Haven’t I always? I would try to talk you out of this silly notion, but I know it’s impossible to talk you out of anything once you have made up your mind.” Libby blinked away her tears. “Write to me every single day so I’ll know you’re safe. Because if you don’t, I shall find you and drag you home by the ear. Is that understood?”

  Wilhelmina placed her hand to her head in a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Libby’s joyous peal of laughter helped lift some of the burden on Wilhelmina’s heart. She didn’t look forward to leaving her family and friends behind and putting her fate in the hands of strangers, but Frederick Douglass’s words had inspired her to do everything she could to make freedom a reality rather than a dream. Not just for the thousands of men, women, and children in bondage but for herself as well.

  “Kiss me, Libby.”

  Libby frowned. “Whatever for?”

  Wilhelmina ran a finger over the furrows in Libby’s brow. “Because tonight might be the last time we see each other in this life.”

  “Don’t speak that way.”

  “Don’t speak the truth, you mean?”

  “No.” Libby pulled away. “Don’t speak like one of those women who take comfort in the arms of other women.” She looked at Wilhelmina as if seeing her for the first time. As if seeing a stranger. “You’re not like those women, are you?” she asked hesitantly.

  “I take comfort where I can find it. Surely you don’t take issue with that,” Wilhelmina said. Fearing the chance she was about to take might never come again, she tossed reason aside. “I won’t deny that I love you, Libby. I always have.”

  Confusion radiated from Libby’s eyes. Confusion and something darker. “You have feelings for me? You’re—”

  Wilhelmina smiled to ease Libby’s mind. Smiled even though she felt like crying in despair.

  Libby’s relieved laughter filled the room. “You’re teasing me again. You were teasing me the whole time, weren’t you? There.” She pressed her lips to Wilhelmina’s. The moment was brief, but for Wilhelmina, it seemed to last a lifetime. “There’s your kiss. Now hold me close, cease your jokes, and promise me you won’t speak of such foolishness again.”

  “I promise.”

  As she held Libby in her arms, Wilhelmina wondered if the joke was on her.

  Chapter Two

  February 1862

  Shiloh, Tennessee

  Clara Summers was an early riser. Not by choice but by necessity. Though her family’s farm was small, it couldn’t run itself. Clara needed to get out of bed well before the sun rose in order to make sure all the tasks that needed to be accomplished were taken care of before the end of the day.

  Since her mother died of the consumption back in 1857 and her father and older brother left to join up with the 4th Tennessee Infantry Regiment five months after the war began, the responsibility of running the farm had fallen squarely on Clara’s shoulders. Not like she had any say in the matter. Despite what her father had said before he and Solomon rode away last fall, her little brothers were too young to be the men of the house. Abram was only thirteen and Percival was about to turn ten. If she didn’t bear the load, who would?

&nbs
p; She shimmied out of her nightgown two hours before dawn and splashed some water from the washbasin on her face to wipe the sleep from her eyes. She dipped a bar of lye soap into the water and ran it over her arms and legs. After she rinsed off the thin layer of suds, she dried her skin with a threadbare cotton cloth and reached for her work dress. The dress bore more patches than original material, but she refused to part with it because it was the last article of clothing her mother had sewn for her before her untimely passing.

  After Clara laced up her thin-soled shoes, she tied a kerchief around her head to keep her hair from falling in her eyes while she fed the hogs and milked the cows. She had inherited her red hair from her mother, whose people immigrated from Belfast years ago. She hadn’t inherited her mother’s Irish brogue, but she had been cursed with her notoriously short temper. When she was in a mood, the men in her family knew to give her a wide berth. Despite the seemingly endless list of chores that stretched before her, she had awakened in a good mood today and hoped to make it last.

  She put some leftover biscuits in the potbellied stove to warm while she fried some eggs and sausage in a cast iron skillet. Abram and Percy stumbled in the kitchen still half-asleep as she spooned the food onto three chipped plates. She gave her brothers the lion’s share of the victuals and left only the bare minimum for herself. Nothing unusual. She was used to going without. Abram and Percy were growing so fast they would eat her out of house and home if they had the chance. Abram was already almost as tall as she was, and Percy was even with her shoulder. By next year, both would be looking down at her instead of looking up. But next year was a long way away. And unless the war ended much sooner than anyone expected it to, Clara would have to make all the decisions. Because the men of the house were still just boys.

  She worried for Papa’s and Solomon’s safety, but in a way, she was glad they were gone. She felt silenced when they were home. Their loud voices always combined to drown hers out. They were good men at their core and Clara was proud to call them family, but they felt it was their duty to tell the women in their lives what to think and how to feel. Clara had never been allowed to have ideas or opinions of her own. Until now. She prayed every night for the war to end, but she wasn’t looking forward to losing her newfound freedom. How could she go back to being quiet now that she had learned to speak up for herself?

  “Slow down,” she said as Percy shoveled food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days.

  Abram snickered. “If he chokes to death, we’ll have one less mouth to feed.”

  Clara cuffed his ear. “Apologize to your brother.”

  Abram glared at her and didn’t make a move to comply with her wishes. Like most Southern men, Abram hated being told what to do. That was the main reason the Yankees and the Confederates were at odds now. Clara’s family had never owned slaves, and her father derided most slave owners as “lazy no-accounts who would rather sip mint juleps on their front porches rather than getting their hands dirty in their fields,” yet he had not hesitated to take up arms to defend their right to do so. Clara didn’t care who won the fight. She just wanted Papa and Solomon to come home safe.

  “Do you want me to get the strap, Abram?”

  Abram eyed the leather strap hanging from a hook near the fireplace. Clara couldn’t count the number of times their father had used the strap to mete out discipline. “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” he said each time he smacked the strap against someone’s hide. Eventually, simply the threat of its use was enough to keep everyone in line. Usually. Abram couldn’t seem to stop himself from testing the limits of Papa’s patience from time to time. Clara knew it was all a part of growing up, but she wished Abram would hurry up and get this part over with. Patience was a virtue she didn’t possess.

  “You may be the oldest one left,” Abram said resentfully, “but you ain’t Papa.”

  Clara gathered the empty plates and set them in the sink. Carefully so Abram wouldn’t see how much his comment rattled her. She knew she wasn’t Papa. She wasn’t Mama, either. But she was doing the best she could. Why couldn’t anyone see or appreciate that? She stood up straight and threw her shoulders back. She couldn’t fall apart now. Not when her family needed her most. “Until Papa and Solomon come back,” she said firmly, “whatever I say goes.”

  Abram grabbed two biscuits from the larder. He finished the first in two big bites and held the other in his grubby fist. He looked at her as if sizing her up to see how far he could go. “When he left, Papa said I should do the providing, not you.”

  Clara washed and dried the dishes, then set them on the counter so they could be reused during the midday meal. Abram was trying to start a fight, but she wanted no part of it. She tried not to let his words hurt her. She knew he was scared about the war and worried about whether Papa and Solomon would make it home under their own power or lying toes-up in a pine box. She shared his fears, but she couldn’t afford to let him see her uncertainty. She had to be strong for all three of them, not just herself.

  “You’ll be running your own house soon enough, brother. Why the rush?” she asked with a smile. “Is Mary Bragg pressuring you to propose?”

  Abram’s face reddened and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his overalls as he pawed at the floor with the toe of his boot. He had finally reached an age where girls were objects of fascination rather than nuisances, though he tried his best not to let it show. Except when Mary Bragg was around. Then his tied tongue and blushing cheeks made his interest apparent. His shaggy strawberry blond hair shielded his face as he stared at the floor. “I’m as much of a mind to marry Mary Bragg as you are to walk down the aisle with Jedediah Ogletree.”

  Clara clenched her teeth to keep from saying something she might regret. Jedediah was the son of one of the richest landowners in Shiloh. He had set his cap for her long ago, but she didn’t feel any of the ardor for him he claimed to feel for her. All the women she knew said she should feel honored by his attention. Instead, she felt smothered. She couldn’t breathe when he tried to sweet-talk her. All she wanted to do was get away from him, not move closer. But she didn’t know how to explain how she felt without making it seem like she was putting on airs or playing silly games in order to fan the flames of Jedediah’s interest. She wanted to live her life on her own terms, not have some man dictate her every move. Not her father, not her brother, and especially not Jedediah Ogletree.

  “He doesn’t want me,” she said firmly. She wanted to put the subject to rest once and for all so she wouldn’t have to address it again. She had a hard enough time trying to convince Jedediah she wasn’t interested in him. Why did she have to sway everyone else, too? “He and his father want to get their hands on the deed to Papa’s land. He thinks he can use me to get it, but he’s got another think coming. I wasn’t put on this earth to be any man’s property—or a means to him acquiring more.”

  Abram looked up and met her eye. “But don’t you want to get married one day?” he asked earnestly.

  “How can I when I’ve got Papa, you, and your brothers to take care of?” As the only daughter, it was her lot in life to look after her family until the end of her days. She could do that as a married woman or as an old maid. Given a choice, she preferred the option that didn’t shackle her to a man she didn’t love. “Now get out of here and go rustle up some fresh meat for supper. I’ve stretched the squirrel stew about as far as I can take it.” She’d added in a few more vegetables each day to make it last, but at this point the meat was little more than a memory. They had pork in the smokehouse, but she didn’t want to burn through their reserves too fast. This winter—and this war—might be a long one.

  Abram grinned, reveling in the chance to be a child instead of the man he longed to be. “I’ll bring back the biggest raccoon you’ve ever seen. Just you wait and see.” He reached for the shotgun over the mantle and ran for the door.

  “Take your brother with you.”

  Abram skidded to a stop. His shoulders drooped, a
long with his spirits. “Do I have to?”

  Papa and Solomon had taught Abram to hunt as soon as he was old enough to hold a rifle. Everyone in Shiloh called Solomon the best shot in the county, but Abram might be even better. If he aimed at something, he was bound to hit it right between the eyes. Percy, on the other hand, lacked his brothers’ hunting ability. Too enthusiastic to be stealthy, he usually scared the prey away before he could get close enough to raise his gun, let alone fire it.

  “Mrs. Turtledove said she saw a group of Union soldiers tromping through her woods last week,” Clara said. “According to her, two of them raided her smokehouse and three stole all the pigs from her pen. She’s been known to tell a tall tale every now and then, especially when she’s had a few sips of moonshine from Myron Chamblee’s still. But in case she’s telling the truth this time, I don’t want either of you going off by yourselves.”

  “You let one of those Yankees come at me.” Abram raised the shotgun to his shoulder and fired off an imaginary shot. “I’ll kill him dead before he can even think twice.”

  Clara shivered as if someone had walked over her grave. “There’s been too much killing in this war already. We don’t need you adding to the tally. Now go on. Get.”

  She gave Abram and Percy a smack on their backsides and shooed them out the door. Once they were gone, she allowed herself a few minutes to enjoy the brief moment of peace and quiet before she headed outside to slop the hogs.

  She was a country girl through and through. She was born in this rural part of Tennessee and, God willing, she would one day die here. Some of the people she had grown up with had been seduced by the lure of the big city and had abandoned the simple small-town life for the thrills Memphis and Nashville had to offer, but she preferred to be serenaded by the chirping of crickets and the croaking of bullfrogs rather than a lovelorn singer in a smoke-filled saloon. Lately, however, the quiet she had come to know and love was interrupted more and more often by the sound of gunfire as Union soldiers pushed farther and farther south and Confederate troops tried to hold them off.