Each Other

by Pamela Erickson

  ***

  My principles against slavery coupled with the memory of my brother were what led me to shelve all my personal plans and explore spying instead, as a personal duty. It was a natural response for me to work directly for the war effort given the thousands upon thousands who were bound to my brother in death.

  For years, I had been deeply moved by the powerful writings and speeches of William Lloyd Garrison and the optimism of young men everywhere who, when the call for troops came up, left their families and lovers, homes and fields, workshops and trades to follow their convictions. With seeds left unplanted, those men, young and old, walked away from all they’d known and all they’d loved to follow a vision for their country and join up. If seen from atop a bluff, marching together through deep valleys those brigades looked like locust driven in thick clouds to consume the next fighting field. Most of the men who joined the war effort, despite being unschooled, knew that the issues of independence or of unity divided them into Rebels or Federals. And, at the heart of it, whether spoken about or kept silent, the fiery issue of slavery divided them too.

  Indeed, back then I was a willful woman. Impulsive too. Far away from my hometown in northern Massachusetts I volunteered to live in the rolling hills of northern Virginia, a Confederate slave state, to create a safe house or station for spies who passed through the area. My vocation, working for the North, demanded that I take tremendous risks at times. Fear had its way with me, but I soon realized that it was capable of paralyzing my every action and draining me of all my reserves, exhausting all my energies. I had to purposely substitute defiance and blind hope for that paralyzing fear that tended to catch up with me in the middle of the night. I told myself that if I didn’t have hope and convictions to rid myself of my own fears of being caught or the Confederates winning, I would jeopardize myself and the others.

  Falling into bed that night, I remembered Joseph, my younger brother. He had been an early enlistment in the war and at barely sixteen years old, an early casualty of it as well. Unwilling to lie about his age, since the requirement was eighteen years, he and his buddies went to a neighboring town, and wrote ‘eighteen’ on the soles of their shoes.

  When the inspection sergeant questioned him about his age he replied, “I can assure you Sir, I am over eighteen.”

  Devastated as I was, when the news of his death came, I was even more convinced that I had to find a way to support the Union’s effort. On his behalf, I had to turn my beliefs into actions. I decided to become a spy. Spying had never been employed in any American war in a systematic way; it was a brand new role, especially for women, in a strange time when a nation was at war with itself.

  The house was quiet except for the slow breathing of Constance who lay asleep in the next room. I couldn’t sleep. An hour earlier Constance and I sat altering the hems of the uniform she had chosen and talked about our work.

  I told her about my younger brother.

  “After our Mother died following a brief illness, I had become a mother-figure to Joseph,” I told her. “He was the child with shaggy blond hair, who smelled of soap and flannel after his bath. He followed me around the house and insist that Sarah and I stay with him before sleep, reading to him, making him warm milk and honey like Mother had done and giving him small chores so he knew that he was part of the household and that we were still a family. One time he brought two chickens in a small cage through the back door and released them in the kitchen to distract the cook, just so he could get a few finger dips of chocolate cooling on the counter. Trouble though he was, I loved him dearly and his death cut me deeply.” I paused and looked up from my work. “That was the main reason I joined the war effort, to remunerate his death. That and to fight slavery.” Constance listened and nodded.

  Then I asked her, “What about you? Why did you join up as a spy?”

  Constance looked up for me, and without pausing said, “ Staying home wasn’t an option. I wanted to do something that could further the efforts of the Railroad, Underground , of course and this was the kind of thing that was needed: Gathering information and moving between the lines. Sometimes it is a bit more than I bargained for and I long for a quiet evening back at home. This comes close, Annie. Thank you.”

  While Constance enjoyed a simple supper of bread, cheese and apples along with hot tea, we whispered quietly reflecting the very late hour and the still night. Our conversation was comforting to both of us and comfort, any kind of comfort was welcomed.

  As she ate, I continued my story.

  “So, after Joseph’s death, I discovered my own purpose in this ungodly war. I decided to join the informal network of Union spies and moved where I was needed: from my home state of Massachusetts first to Washington and then through the guise of the entertainment troupe, here to northern Virginia. I don’t know about you, but I’ve learned a lot from following my nose and trusting others in the network to pass on messages from one safe house to another. We don’t exactly have any directions; our network is all too new for that.”

  “Yes, and it’s exhausting, isn’t it? I wish I could stay here with you for a few days Annie, I could really use the rest,” Constance explained. “But instead it’s best that I stay on the move and carry on the work I’m doing. Your location here between Richmond and Washington is a good one for us, you know. It’s a good strategic location, especially for women like me who have to dress as soldiers to cross the lines from time to time. I may be back again soon, if you don’t mind. It is calm here and far away from the mess of fighting and living out in the elements day after day.”

  “You’re welcome here anytime and tell the others too, “I said. “But I’ve got to find more uniforms, and soon. I’m not exactly sure how to do that. These came with me from the north.”

  Warming her hands on the porcelain pot, she poured another cup of tea for each of us. Contentedly we sat like young kids on the carpet in my bedroom, sewing and talking.

  “I feel lucky staying put for a while,” I said. “It can’t be easy or very safe traveling around everywhere like you have to do.”

  “You are lucky Annie, but what you’re doing is extremely dangerous too. One slip and your identity could be uncovered. But listen, I have to tell you something, maybe you’ve heard this?” she went on. “One gal I ran into last week in a Federal encampment told me that women had been seen fighting side by side with their husbands, disguised as men, of course.” I looked up, surprised by the news.

  “No, I hadn’t heard that, “I remarked.

  “You’ve got to wonder, do you think it was a profound love for their man or their personal convictions that led those women to choose the battle front over the home front?” she asked.

  “It must be a bit of both, don’t you think?” I said.

  “Either that or they thought about the hardship of war without a man at home. Oh, and, Annie, I have news about a woman you know,” Constance said, a smile crossing her face. “Guess with whom I spoke last week?”

  I had no idea. “A woman, hmmm, someone who visited me here?”

  “No, do you want me to tell you?”

  “Wait, someone I went to school with?” I said.

  “No, I’ll tell you. I spoke with your sister, Sarah.” Constance replied.

  “Sarah, you saw Sarah? When? Where is she? She wasn’t injured was she?”

  “No, she’s fine and she had just heard about you being in Marsh Station. We got out a few maps, charted my course, and figured out that you would be right on my way.”

  “So it was Sarah who steered you here?” I asked.

  “Yes, and she said to tell you she’s fine. Using the old depots of the Underground Railroad for our network is going well and she wants you to know that. She also told me to tell you that she may be headed down here in a few months and oh, she asked me to give you this note. I nearly forgot I had it.”

  Reaching far into the toe of her boot, Constance brought out a piece of folded paper and handed it to me. I held it and place
d it on the bed for later reading. After our talk, the hems finished, we went to bed; Constance on the living room floor, which came with my apologies. Kate’s room was not mine to use or offer. After all, she owned the place.

  “Are you kidding?” she asked me when I apologized for the floor as guest space, “This is luxurious; warm, dry and no bugs or snakes.”

  Lying in the dark bedroom with the dimming light of the lamp, I waited until I heard Constance’s breathing change to that of sleep and then I carefully peeled apart the fragile note from Sarah. The paper was as thin as if peeled off an onion. I wanted to take my time. I’d only heard from Sarah two other times in the past four months and I missed her terribly.

  Gardener,

  I am well and pray the same for you. Our plans are moving forward and I hope this war ends soon so that I can convince you to come west with me and find land and a man for each of us. In that order. I plan to visit in your territory in the next few months, by the hot season anyway.

  Love, Cat

  She remembered. That’s why she signed the note, ‘Cat’. Growing up our mother used to describe us as two cats curled up together, sharing the same chair. We’d share a hammock on warm summer days and quilts in the clutch of winter. It was always Sarah whom I turned to when I needed comforting, and I missed her fiercely. When we both decided to join the spying effort, Sarah and I agreed that no matter what, we would look out for one another by staying in contact through notes, and through other spies, whenever possible. Certainly, such contact could have been forbidden, but the network was new and makeshift and we felt that the contact with one another was essential to keeping our sanity. Moreover, we agreed to work together, despite the distances, helping one another’s efforts so we would never feel completely alone. Who knew how long the war could last? Many had predicted ninety-days after the bloodless battle of Fort Sumter, but that time had come and was long gone.

  Sarah’s note reminded me that the two of us were from a long line of strong-willed women who repeatedly stood up for important social causes: Causes like education for women and the rights of women to own property and to be divorced. Being born to the middle-class gave us the pivotal ground that we needed to support both political and social issues that challenged the status quo. I remember how excited my mother and our Aunt Grace had been when they returned from a lecture or a rally. They’d talk in the parlor until way past bedtime while Sarah and I listened even if it meant hiding behind a couch to avoid detection. When we turned twelve and fourteen, they’d decided that Sarah and I were old enough to attend the lectures with them. Their favorite orator was the Abolitionist and former slave, Isabella Baumfree, known to most of her audiences as Sojourner Truth. She was a marvelous speaker, dynamic and confident. I never tired of those times and it gave me such pride to know that the women of my family shared strong values about the rights of people, and especially, women. My mother encouraged political discussions and the social changes taking place. I know now that Mother and Grace were clearly a few decades ahead of their time.

  In my upbringing I was well-educated but never a scholar. However, my grandmother gave me confidence any time she could. She knew that it was confidence that empowered women, and they often had to find it in themselves instead out in the world at large.

  Sitting in the kitchen shelling peas she’d say: “Annie, remember this: you’re smart and you also have common sense. You could dig yourself out of a well if you needed to. You have the talent of running a household or running a town meeting, and you’d be well-suited to both.”

  My father respected our efforts and as a young woman, when I was just eighteen, I was honored that my father had invited me into his thriving business. He had made the same offer to my brother, Jacob. Not one for shops and manufacturing, Jacob couldn’t deny his love of ships and shipyards and I couldn’t help but notice that his time in tree houses as a child were easily translated to climbing the masts of clipper ships either when they were in port for repairs or on the gray-blue seas of the Atlantic bound for distant ports around the world. A few years later while Jacob went to sea to serve the Union, I went south to do the same, and my father assured me that his offer would still hold until my return. Sarah wouldn’t have any part of our father’s business.

  From the next room, Constance’s restful breathing was evident against the backdrop of the peaceful April night.

  I often thought about life after the War. I didn’t see myself going after land in the west as Sarah had proposed, but nothing was certain. Like Father, I loved the culture of the big cities and envisioned a life in one of them. Maybe Boston, but perhaps New York or Philadelphia. If the North won, or when the North won, I would have a chance to try any new career idea that came my way, and live just about anywhere the East had to offer. Cities dotted the Atlantic seaboard like constellations fallen to the ground, but as young as I was, I never thought very specifically about where I’d settle down, and I did not think about where I would land if the South won the war. It just wasn’t possible.

  The parameters of spying and spy networks had never been tested before in any other war, but Sarah and I would test our limits of self-reliance, character, and most of all, pure will. I had to remain focused so as not to create my own demise. Or, for that matter, the demise of anyone else.

  With thoughts and memories unfolded, finally exhausted, I began to drift into a deep sleep. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. Then, except for the ticking of the clock, silence.

  CHAPTER FOUR