Nevertheless, She Persisted

by Mindy Klasky

She finished reading the article and looked up, becoming aware of her surroundings once more. She knew with a sudden certainty that she could not continue blithely in her comfortable existence, peddling books while the country tore itself apart.

  Sadly, in sober contemplation, she turned away and walked back to the Joslins’ house. When she reached it she found the Joslins sitting in the front parlor with Mr. Morse and two other gentlemen from the church.

  “Mr. Thompson,” said Mrs. Joslin as Emma looked in the parlor door. “You have returned very quickly!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Emma said sadly.

  “He has heard the news,” said Mr. Morse, gesturing toward the paper in Emma’s hand.

  Emma met his gaze. Energetic and active, William Morse was a leading member of the Reverend Mr. Joslin’s congregation. He was also captain of the Flint Union Grays, a militia company to which he had tried more than once to recruit Emma. Emma had politely declined, having no wish to draw attention to herself by marching in parades or sporting a uniform at picnics and dances. Now, though, the militia would be called to a different task.

  “The Grays are going,” Morse said, holding Emma’s gaze. “I have written to the governor, and will take the company to Detroit to enlist in the infantry regiment. Do you join us?”

  Emma could not hide a frown of concern. She had expected this—it was inevitable now that the war had begun that she would be pressured to enlist—but she had not yet decided how to respond.

  “I do not know,” she said. “I need time to consider.”

  Mr. Morse’s brows rose slightly. “Well, do not take too long. We are holding a recruiting meeting in a few days.”

  Emma nodded, and because she felt that to leave the parlor would call her courage into question, she sat down and listened to Mr. Morse planning the details of the Grays’ journey to glory. She learned that the other two gentlemen, Mr. Prentiss and Mr. Jordan, with whom she was acquainted from church, were also officers in the Grays.

  Governor Blair was raising a regiment of volunteers in accordance with President Lincoln’s proclamation. Ten companies would be formed, and Mr. Morse intended the Grays to be one of them. Their number was not near the required one hundred men, so recruitment was necessary, but Mr. Morse was confident he would quickly make up his numbers.

  “There is a fervor in the streets already,” Mr. Prentiss said with suppressed excitement. “One can see it.”

  “One can hear it,” Mr. Jordan added drily. “All the talk is of going to Washington, to be a part of crushing the rebellion. We must hurry or we’ll miss the fun.”

  “We’ll have no trouble filling up our company.” Mr. Morse glanced again at Emma, but she made no comment.

  Mrs. Joslin had sent the maid for an extra cup and saucer when Emma had joined them, and now she poured coffee and offered it to Emma with a smile. “You are wise to consider carefully, Mr. Thompson. I imagine you may be concerned what your family will think.”

  Emma regarded her, and gave a slow nod, though in fact she was certain her family expected never to see her again. For her part she wished never to see her father again. Her mother and sisters she missed, and Thomas.

  Poor Thomas, the only boy, whose sporadic fits made him useless for farm work. Their father thought him stupid, though Emma was sure he was not. Gentle Thomas. She smiled a little, thinking of him. She had chosen Frank’s surname in his honor.

  Recalling her company, Emma sipped her coffee and tried to pay attention to the conversation. The men were discussing firearms now, speculating whether the government would arm the regiment with the newest rifles or some less magnificent gun. Her thoughts drifted again to Thomas, who handled firearms so poorly that their father would not permit him to hunt, declaring him a waste of powder.

  Emma was a keen shot. She’d learned eagerly, as she’d learned everything her father wished of her.

  The youngest, and probably the last of his children, she had bitterly disappointed him by being born female. He had reacted by demanding things of her he never asked of her sisters, and being robust in health and larger than her siblings, Emma had made no protest. She actually enjoyed such chores as chopping wood and hunting or fishing for the stew pot. Yet nothing she had ever done, though she tried in all earnestness to please him, had mitigated Isaac’s resentment.

  What would he think, she wondered, if he learned his youngest child had gone for a soldier?

  She shook her head and took another sip of coffee. Isaac would never know of Frank Thompson’s exploits. He would certainly not appreciate them if he learned of them, and Emma had taken care that he should not.

  “I would join you,” Mr. Joslin said to Mr. Morse, “but I fear I am too old, and too burdened with responsibility.” He glanced at his wife, who had shown momentary alarm.

  “No, no,” said Mr. Morse. “Thank you, Reverend, but I am sure there are plenty of young men who do not have such obligations.”

  “We can still help,” said Mrs. Joslin, looking relieved. “I will organize the ladies in our congregation to prepare some little comforts for the Grays to take with them.”

  Her husband nodded, glancing at Emma. “We should send a Bible with each of them.”

  “I haven’t a hundred Bibles on hand,” Emma responded promptly, “but I will gladly donate as many as I can.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Thompson.” Mr. Joslin made a slight bow in her direction. “And perhaps the ladies can inscribe them with an appropriate sentiment.”

  “‘Put your trust in God, and keep your powder dry,’” suggested Mr. Morse.

  “Oliver Cromwell,” Emma said.

  Mr. Morse looked at her. “You are well read, Mr. Thompson.”

  “I regard it as necessary to my success.”

  Mr. Morse gazed at her for a long moment, then suddenly smiled. “I hope you do decide to join us, Mr. Thompson. I think you would be an asset to the company. I’ll not press you, however.”

  “Thank you.”

  Emma had to resist the urge to bite her lip. She appreciated the tribute, but she dared not let it sway her. The fact was, enlisting in the army would be far more dangerous than anything she had done in the guise of Frank Thompson.

  To be thrown together with a hundred men, no doubt living and sleeping in close quarters, was a risk that made her quail. The possibility of discovery, of the disgrace and perhaps even abuse that might follow, frightened her far more than secessionist bullets.

  She listened to the others discuss the coming war as she silently wrestled with her own internal conflict. When the guests departed after another half-hour, she retired to her own room and looked at her samples and papers.

  Her employer would be displeased if she abandoned her work. She supposed he would have to accept it with a good grace, but it would mean a loss of income to him, as well as to her. A soldier’s pay was far less than she earned as a salesman.

  That night, as she undressed, she made a discovery that served to give her even greater pause: her monthly bleeding had begun.

  She was prepared. She kept a bolt of soft cotton cloth—ostensibly to clean and protect the books she sold—from which she cut a strip to roll up and use to block the bleeding. She had done this for many months, but each time it was a reminder that her disguise was not perfect.

  If she were a soldier, this would be a chief danger for her. She could not carry a bolt of cloth to war, nor trust that she would find a substitute whenever she might need it. She tried to imagine washing out her cloths for use again, but could not see how to do it without risking discovery.

  Her body mocked her; it reminded her that the life she lived was a lie. Her flesh had been formed for a different fate.

  Clenching her teeth, she put on her nightshirt and slid between the sheets. She had rejected that fate and all its inequities. Her life was her own, and she would never submit to the dominance of a man.

  In the following days, the fervor of excitement about the war increased tenfold. Almost nothing else was talked
of, and as Emma rode out to deliver books, she was asked for news at every place she stopped.

  The Flint Union Grays filled up their number at a meeting on the courthouse steps. All Flint turned out in attendance. Emma was present, but did not put in her name. She listened to the rousing speeches, applauded with the rest of the town, and donated a hundred Testaments, hastily ordered from Hartford at her own expense, to provide the Grays with moral armament to accompany their more martial equipments.

  It was done; the company was full. They were not accepted into the First Michigan Volunteers, for there were more than ten militia companies in the state vying for the honor, but the governor quickly began organizing a second regiment in reserve. The Grays were ordered to rendezvous in Detroit to be mustered into the Second Michigan Volunteer Infantry by the end of April.

  Emma watched the preparations for their departure with mingled feelings of relief and regret. Many of her friends from church had joined the Grays. Damon Stewart, a clothing merchant with whom she’d enjoyed discussions of commerce, had signed up. Flint would be lonely and dull when the Grays went off to war.

  On the 29th of April, a parade was held in the Grays’ honor, followed by speeches and music and much fanfare in the town square. All Flint was there to celebrate the company, who would travel by train to Detroit in the morning.

  The Grays were resplendent in their new uniforms, tenderly made by loving mothers and sisters. Their faces shone with pride and excitement. Speeches were given, patriotic tunes played by a brass band, and the Testaments were presented to the soldiers by the Reverend Mr. Joslin.

  Young ladies bedecked in red, white, and blue made much of the new-minted soldiers. The Misses Little were both present, among a delegation of ladies who went round and pinned a rosette reading “For Union and for Constitution” to the breast of each soldier.

  Emma nodded and smiled a greeting when she chanced to catch Miss Little’s eye. Miss Little hesitated, then lifted her chin and turned away, bestowing her attention and her smiles upon one of the Grays. Emma hid her laughter in a sudden fit of coughing.

  Miss Daphne was not so particular as her sister. She came straight up to Emma with her basket of rosettes, regarding her with childlike speculation.

  “You didn’t get into the Grays,” she said.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Was it because you weren’t tall enough?”

  Emma’s brows twitched. She was not unduly short for a man, being tall for a woman.

  “Ah—not quick enough. The company filled up at once.”

  “Oh. Don’t feel bad, Mr. Thompson. You aren’t the only one.”

  She gestured at the surrounding crowd, the good folk of Flint, who certainly outnumbered the Grays. Emma smiled at Miss Daphne’s youthful assumption that every man in town must wish to be a part of the militia company.

  “When are you going to bring me that book?”

  A stab of dismay struck Emma. She should never have mentioned Fanny Campbell. She looked at Miss Daphne, trying to frown.

  “Did I promise to bring it? I thought I said ‘perhaps.’”

  “Well, will you bring it? Please?” Miss Daphne begged prettily.

  “It is a novel, Miss Daphne,” Emma said, noting the approach of Mrs. Little. “Your parents might not wish you to read it. In fact, you might not care for it at all. It’s about a pirate captain.”

  “Oh, but I love adventure stories!”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Thompson,” said Mrs. Little, joining them.

  Emma bowed. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Your daughters are both looking lovely today.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She reached out to twitch Miss Daphne’s red and white sash, which had fallen askew. “Daphne, dear, your sister needs more rosettes.”

  Daphne’s face fell in disappointment, and she moved rather languidly away, casting one backward glance at Emma. It was the book she was thinking of, Emma knew.

  “You decided not to enlist,” Mrs. Little said.

  “I hesitated too long, ma’am. The company filled almost at once.”

  “You could always join another company, I suppose.”

  Emma regarded her, trying to decide if she meant to mock Mr. Thompson for lack of courage. Mrs. Little’s face showed nothing but a polite interest in the decoration of the soldiers being conducted by her daughters and the other young ladies.

  “Ah, but to serve among strangers, instead of the good folk of Flint. It would be a disappointment,” Emma said.

  “Do you go to Canada, then?”

  Mrs. Little was regarding her, now. Emma met her gaze steadily.

  “I think not, ma’am, though I have not yet decided what to do.”

  “That is a decision in itself.”

  Mrs. Little moved away, then, to greet two other ladies who were passing near. Emma felt a strange impulse to defend herself, and thought rather less of Mrs. Little for not allowing her the opportunity. She shook it off, however. Such arguments could have no benefit.

  As the evening drew near, the celebration moved indoors, where it continued with a supper for the Grays, more music, and more speeches. Emma joined wholeheartedly in the cheering, and the next morning, along with many other citizens of Flint, she escorted the Grays to the depot to see them off.

  Emotion welled in her as she shook hands with many of her friends and bade them farewell. To the oft-repeated strains of The Star-Spangled Banner, they boarded the train, waved from the open windows, and were gone.

  A hush fell over Flint. All the color and excitement had ended, and though people went about their daily lives with cheerful determination, there was a tension in the air.

  Emma began more and more to regret her decision to stay behind. She had not the heart to take up her business again. She delivered the remaining books she had received, but collected no more orders.

  More and more, she felt she could not stand idly by. She had become convinced that she, too, must have a duty to perform, must find some way to serve the Union cause. She spent long nights in solitary contemplation, pacing her room as she weighed the alternatives.

  If only she had gone further in her pursuit of becoming a missionary, she could have volunteered to serve as a chaplain, and perhaps been safer from discovery in that position. That was a futile hope, however. No doubt plenty of chaplains had already offered their services. A soldier’s pay, though it was less than Emma’s income, would be attractive to many.

  She might assist in one of the hospitals. She should retain her alias if she sought this work, for she felt she could tend to the needs of sick and wounded men with less embarrassment to them and to herself as a man than as a woman. She had no idea how to go about volunteering for such work, however. Perhaps she would travel to Washington and see what fortune offered.

  Or she could follow Mrs. Little’s suggestion and enlist with some other company of volunteers, but her heart sank at the thought. If she were to be thrown into close company with a group of men, she would be safer with those who already knew and accepted Frank Thompson than with strangers. The Flint Union Grays had been her best chance of that, and the opportunity had passed.

  She was sitting in the parlor with the Joslins one evening after supper, reading aloud to them from the latest New York newspaper, when a knock fell upon the front door. As the Reverend Mr. Joslin received frequent visits from members of his congregation, Emma at first paid no heed, but the sound of a familiar voice in the hall made her pause and raise her head.

  The maid came into the parlor. “Mr. Prentiss is here to see you, sir.”

  “Mr. Prentiss? Show him in,” said Mr. Joslin.

  Emma folded the paper and set it aside. Bernard Prentiss, who had marched away in splendid martial array with the Grays, now entered the room dressed in a plain suit and carrying a book.

  Not just a book—a Testament. One of Emma’s Testaments. She looked at his face as Mr. Joslin stood to greet him.

  “Reverend, forgive me for intruding,” said Mr. Pre
ntiss. “I came to return this to you.” Looking somewhat haggard, he offered the book.

  Mr. Joslin accepted it slowly. “What has happened, Mr. Prentiss? Have you left the Grays?”

  “I have. The War Department is no longer accepting regiments for three-month enlistments. They demand three-year terms, now, and I cannot commit to that. I have a wife and small child—”

  “Yes, of course,” said Mr. Joslin. “Quite understandable. It was valiant of you to volunteer at all.”

  Mr. Prentiss gave a wan smile, and his glance crossed Emma’s. She felt a tingle suffuse her, spreading down her forearms to the tips of her well-manicured fingers.

  “Are others returning, Mr. Prentiss?” she asked.

  He nodded. “A handful. Captain Morse was with us on the train—he’s come to fill up the vacancies. Perhaps one of them can use that,” he said, gesturing to the Testament.

  “We will see that it goes to a soldier,” said Mr. Joslin. “Thank you for returning it.”

  “I am only sorry…it is not that I am afraid,” said Mr. Prentiss in a strained voice.

  “Of course not.”

  Mr. Joslin laid a hand on his shoulder and escorted him out, talking in soothing tones. Emma looked at Mrs. Joslin, quietly knitting in her chair.

  The mantel clock began to strike the hour. Seven o’clock. The chimes fell heavily into the quiet evening; it seemed to Emma they were tolling a change. As the last of them faded, she stood.

  She heard Mr. Joslin’s returning step behind her. Mrs. Joslin glanced up. Emma turned to face them both.

  “If you will excuse me,” she said, her voice sounding hoarse in her ears, “I have just thought of a call I would like to pay.”

  Mr. Joslin, returning to his chair, raised an eyebrow. He laid the Testament on the table beside him, next to the paper from which Emma had been reading. Emma’s gaze rested on the gilt letters on its binding.

  “I will bid you good night, in case you have retired by the time I return.”

  “Good night, then, Mr. Thompson.”

  Mr. Joslin’s gaze was steady, and showed curiosity, though Emma knew he would never pry. She shrank from telling him where she meant to go—she was as yet uncertain what would pass. With a slight bow, she hastened from the room.