by L. E. Waters
Suddenly he swats at the piece of wood in my hands and shoves me back on the ground. My head hits the ground hard and catches me off guard. He must be losing his mind. I’d heard of soldiers being pushed to their limit before and going crazy like this. He rolls over me and pulls me by my shirt back into the lean-to. I try my best to knock him off and we wrestle for a few minutes with each one gaining ground in turn. Finally, I push him off me and manage to pull myself up to run out of the tent, but he pulls me by the waist and swings me to the dirt ground.
As he jumps on my back, I curse, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He then throws me over and jumps on top of me, punching me in the gut. Bringing his knee up, he hits me in the groin, hard. I keep swatting him in the face and suddenly he draws back, his face perplexed. “You didn’t even flinch when I kneed you.”
I realize what he means and can’t think of an excuse quick enough. He pulls my face close, looks at my jaw and puts his hands up to feel the lack of even the thinnest fuzz. The lightning flares with an immediate and deafening thunderous response. I see the realization in his eyes and he pushes me away angrily and stares across the small space of the lean-to in shock. In his confusion, he mumbles gibberish I can’t understand.
Finally, grabbing his hair with both his hands, he says, “A girl, this whole time.” Then his confusion turns to relief. “And I thought I was turning…” he says with snicker, his head lifted to the close fabric above us.
I just stare back at him, afraid of who he is going to tell now. I try to search his eyes for any sympathy for my situation but, when his gaze connects with mine, it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking.
He swallows hard and starts to move slowly back toward me, not breaking our connection. He reaches for my face again and strokes my cheek, then removes my hat with his other hand. He smiles when he touches the ragged, knife-cut hair and I look away, embarrassed by how close he is to me. He puts his hand under my chin to bring my eyes back up to his and smiles once again. He bends down and kisses my lips, slowly at first, and then tries to kiss me deeper. James presses me back on the ground gently and this time I don’t fight him. I forget about the storm.
As I look into his expectant face, all of the hardness I’ve grown used to seeing there disappears, as relief wipes away all his pain for the instant. His blue-grey eyes sparkle brilliantly whenever the lightning illuminates our tent. His hated confusion is relieved, his self-esteem restored. As he looks into my eyes, I can’t imagine a more beautiful man or one I would rather have this moment with. He has my shirt off now, sees my bandage and laughs as he realizes its true purpose. He reaches for my small knife on the ground and, in one quick motion, cuts the bandage in two, freeing me. He cups both his hands to my chest and I pull him in close and keep him tight against me. He slips effortlessly between my legs but checks with me before proceeding further. I lift my hips in permission and he responds gently. We roll together as he holds my gaze and kisses my smiling lips, until his eagerness peaks and he grabs my body to his in a desperate embrace.
James falls, panting, on top of me and rests his damp head on my chest. I finally can touch the hair I so wanted to touch all along and, in the midst of this tragic camp, we find heaven. His breathing slows and I relax to his familiar snoring. The storm retreats and the dark clouds give way to a red sunset, just before a periwinkle twilight sets in. I don’t move for fear of breaking the peace of this moment. I feel beautiful and perfect and fall asleep to his rhythmic breathing, under the blanket of his warm body.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
We walk out beneath an arbor of climbing pink roses and through a gate that leads us to an old cemetery. The lichen-covered old angels pray in somber melancholy, while crows and songbirds perch on solace stones and little marble lambs lay where tiny souls were lost. The ground becomes spongy under our feet, covered in well-fed moss and shaded with sticky pine.
“You couldn’t have picked a more beautiful place.” She smiles widely.
“I knew you’d love it here.”
The small graveyard rolls pleasantly down a few knolls, with two wooden benches facing each other beside a grand family plot, allowing for one of the best spots to watch a sunset. I bring her to the bench and sit as close as I can across from her.
“Your parents are hard to please.” I take my handkerchief out to wipe the beads of sweat that cling to my mustache.
“Good thing I care little of their approval.” She lifts the coffin necklace up. “She threatens to rip this off and nearly faints when she hears of the séances I hold in her parlor.”
“No wonder you enjoy my writing so.” I smile upon her; the statues and mausoleums frame her heavenly face. “Graveyards and mournful angels become you.”
“You become me.” She grants a coy smile that surges through my veins.
I take her hand, and turn the pretty thing in my palm a few times. The birds sing to us, happy in their birdbaths. “I know it is sudden, and I’ve only known you a short while, but I have never been more sure that you are a missing piece in my life.” I go down to bended knee and she fumbles for her handkerchief, gulping in clouds of ether. “There is something common under all of this, something familiar and comfortable. I sense that I have known you longer than a few days. Something stronger that connects us in the greater cosmos.”
I remove the handkerchief from beneath her nose and kiss her softly, focusing all my attention on her thick bottom lip. As I pull a way, I’ve never seen such a healthy blush to her face.
“Will you save me, and make me your husband?”
She huffs, forgetting her ether. “Immediately.”
∞
Perotto comes. My heart jumps into my throat, so I can barely breathe when I see his slight but tall frame and youthful, happy face. I run to him while he’s trying to take off his satchel, and he smiles as he sees the effect his absence had on me. My maid, Pantasilea, comes in to announce the messenger but, seeing us, she quickly looks to the floor and leaves. We’re both wrestling to free each other of our clothes. Perotto, getting impatient, lifts me onto my bed, pulls up my skirts, and climbs on top of me in a sea of down pillows.
∞
I go back to the dugout and tell Una that I’ll be leaving. Then she starts crying. I try to console her as I have done with Thora, but this time I can’t promise that I’ll always be beside her. “We’ll come back, and Inga will make sure you’re safe here. She’ll need you more than ever to help run things.”
Una sniffles, and her blue-grey eyes blaze with a sparkle of tears. “I’ll be alone here, though.”
I nod but then remember. “No, you won’t.” I reach around, pull the honking Borga off my blanket, and say, “I will have to leave her here, and she’ll be good company until I come back.”
Una smiles. “Will you really come back?”
“If Thora comes back, then I’ll come back too.” I look toward where Erna died and say, “And she won’t ever leave this place for long.”
She nods, wipes away her tears, and begins helping me get ready for the journey. We walk back, hands clasped, to the wagon being loaded, and Inga looks on, seemingly pleased that she’ll have the farm to herself now. Rolf claps for Thora to come, and I know that means me too. I turn to Una, who’s wringing her hands. I feel sick to leave her. The air warms between us as she brings her eyes up to mine, her tanned skin glowing, and something comes over me. I reach out and touch the ends of her dark brown hair as she smiles nervously. Leaning in to smell the lock wound around my hand, it brings memories of sleeping next to her. We draw together for a soft kiss, and when we pull away, we have no words.
∞
I fight back useless tears since I know he’s leaving and I will never see him again. Spartans are never supposed to have such silly attachments anyway.
Lying next to me under the thick, woolen blanket under cool fall stars, he reaches out to pluck one of the last hardy wildflowers left in
the fading field. “These wildflowers are so beautiful and appear so fragile, but see how well they survive the frosts and keep coming up with the sunshine.” He tucks it into my hair with a steady, warm hand.
I brush a weak tear away quickly as he pulls his coarse tunic over his head before he turns back to me.
In his most cheerful voice, he tries, “Look on the bright side—if you aren’t with child, you’ll get to hand-pick another fine helot.”
I hit his arm, angry he would joke about such things.
He stands up and brushes himself off. “It was the happiest three weeks I’ve ever had.” He kisses my forehead. “Either I’ll die happy or I’ll come back to claim you.”
He removes the worn dog-skin hat and crowns my head with it, then, with a sad smile and glistening eyes, he turns and walks out of my life.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
I awake to James carelessly throwing my uniform on my bare body. I squint at the pre-dawn light and realize most in the camp are still asleep.
“Get dressed,” he says with none of the emotion he showed last night, not even a look my way. He already has his trousers on.
What happened? I hurry to cover myself, immediately feeling dirty and ashamed. I turn my back to him and button up my shirt—which now barely closes due to my lack of bandaging. The dingy cotton bandages lie shredded on the ground. What was I going to do now with no bandages? I hadn’t thought of how much I depended on them. He barely looks at me.
“What’s wrong?” I say, thinking of all of the whores he has been with, embarrassed of my inexperience.
He turns with his eyes burning and shouts, “How could you have done this? Do you know where you are?”
I steel myself. “Of course I know where I am.”
“I think now of all the things you’ve seen. All the risks you’ve taken. All the things you’ve done! War is no place for a girl.”
“I think I’ve handled myself very well and proved myself in every way.”
I begin to shake in anger and worry that I might not be able to control my tears. How could he be saying these things to me now? After all we had been through. After last night.
“Proved yourself? You have only proven that you must be insane,” he spits back with obvious disdain.
I spit back, “If I am insane, then it’s insanity that saved your life!”
He gets closer to me. “I never should have—” but steps back, runs his fingers through his hair and leaves the tent. The tent door flaps in his wake.
As if only to make me hate my sex more, I can’t keep from crying and once I start, I can’t stop. I know he cared about me. He couldn’t fake the way he looked into my eyes. This is not how he really feels. Finally, I pull myself together and leave the tent, looking for him. Some of the men have ventured out to use the ‘latrines’ which are only ditches dug on the outskirts of the camp. My heart seems to stop beating when I spot him over by the prison guard tower, yelling up to the guard at his post. The guard laughs and James, seeing me, points in my direction as I approach and I catch the end of their conversation.
“This soldier needs to be removed from this camp. This private should not be here. It’s a mistake!”
As I reach him the overseer says, “Yeah, I’ve heard this before. Why is this private better than any of you?” He picks at something in his teeth. “If he’s sick, well, hell, most of the men here are dyin’ of somethin’.”
“No, this private has been…mistaken,” James says, frustrated.
“Mistaken! What do you mean? Are you tellin’ me he’s the son of some high rankin’ Yankee? Will he fetch us a high trade or somethin’?”
“His sex is misunderstood,” James exclaims louder than he should, catching the attention of everyone within earshot.
This catches the guard by surprise and, as he looks me up and down, he states, rather nonchalantly, “Are you sayin’ he’s a Nancy boy? Well that ain’t no damn reason to get him out of here. Hell, there’s plenty of ‘em in here and just count yourself lucky to be sharin’ a tent with one.” He ends that with a wink, which sets James off.
“This soldier is a woman!” And, with that, he pulls at the weakened buttons on my shirt, which pop open to reveal my left breast. I quickly pull the shirt closed, but not before the guard sees and responds with a smug grin. “I knew y’all Goddamn Billys fought like girls but, hell, y’all make ‘em fight fer ya too!”
He tells the guard next to him, “I’m going down. Watch my back.”
He throws the ladder down from the tower and, as he makes his way down clumsily, it gives me time to stare at James, who shows no remorse for what he’s doing. I’ve never seen him look like that, so cold and so removed. The guard smiles far too wide and walks toward me like a cat cornering a mouse. James steps to my side.
“I think I better verify this for myself.” The guard stops in front of me and hikes up the belt of his pants. “Let me see here.” He lays his coarse hands on top of mine and tries to pry my shirt open, but James shoves him back hard. The guard nearly falls but stays upright with a few quick steps. The gleam of torture disappears from his steely eyes with James’ rebuke and he marches at me. The guard’s heavy hand clutches around my arm and he pulls me with him, saying, “Ole Wirz’s gonna love this.”
I turn to look at James over my shoulder and see him staring at the ground. I shout, “How could you do this to me after all I have done for you?”
He quickly says, with choked emotion, “How could I let you die here after all you’ve done for me?”
A pained expression haunts his face. While the guard drags me, I stumble over a rock and fall to my knees, causing my shirt to reopen, inciting a cheer among some of the prisoners watching. I get back up, close my shirt again and lift my chin, masking my embarrassment.
One of the other guards yells, “Can’tcha leave her here with us a little bit? We’ll teach her a lesson she won’t never forget!”
That causes another wave of cheers among the prisoners. The guard yanks me again but I yell in James’s direction, “You better make it out of here, James, and, when you do, I’ll see you in Kansas City.”
I have to stop talking to keep my tears from spilling out. That’s all I need; James and everyone having their last image of me crying like a girl. I hold myself together and catch him walking to our tent without one glance back at me.
Chapter 12
I’m held for twelve days before they make an exception for my exchange. Which probably means somewhere a high-ranking Confederate officer will get released. After an embarrassing examination from one of the camp doctors, I’m confirmed female and they contact the Union forces to make a switch. I’m sent to a Union post, where I’m yet again examined by one of the surgeons there who signs my discharge papers, which lists my reason as “sexual incompatibility”—which makes me laugh for the first time in a week. As I’m gathering up my “female” clothes—which they’re making me wear for the exchange instead of my uniform—the doctor calls out to me, “You’re not the first one who’s done this you know.”
I certainly hadn’t seen any other woman like me in disguise and always wondered if the rumors I’d heard back in the factory were false.
“No, not the first time.” The doctor smiles. “I’ve started operating on someone come back from the field and come upon this situation. The army knows of it and it’s not that rare. Heck, I’ve even heard of women being found on the battlefield, buried right there along with the men they died next to.”
“Thank you for letting me know.” Maybe I fought right beside them too.
He just nods and walks away. I guess I don’t feel so crazy after all. I’m driven to the train station and they give me my last military payment. All I can focus on now is going west. I told James I’d be there and if he gets out or survives I know it’s where he’s always wanted to go. I buy a ticket for the train that gets me the closest to Kansas City. Then I have to take a few
carriage rides to finally get there. I’ll probably go through all the money I have on me just to reach Kansas City. It’s the only hope I cling to.
It’s terrible to be in women’s clothing again. I never noticed it before, since I’d never worn pants, but men’s clothing is much more comfortable and cooler. All my layers of undergarments, stockings and slips are stifling. I suddenly feel so foolish in these clothes I’ve worn most of my life. So vulnerable and fragile. My uniform gave me some kind of power. Being assumed male gave me strength. I hate the way some men look at me now. I feel naked and weak. I’ve changed a lot since that momentous day on the docks with Elijah. My chest is much larger than I wish it to be and it’s getting attention I don’t want. Men even reach around me to open doors, as if I can’t manage it after all I’ve done. Even though my uniform was filthy and worn, I would give just about anything to have it back again.
It takes me a while to change my walk and the way I talk. What would these people think if they knew I smoked a pipe, cursed at campfires, felled trees for bridges, spit while I marched, shot a man? I have to keep remembering what I was like before I became a whole new person. How can I go back? I sit on the train just reliving the moment I had with James. For hours freezing the image of him looking down into my eyes with that soft gaze. Traveling is much harder because of all the fighting taking place everywhere. Trains might be stopped for days due to repairs necessary after the Confederates or Union got through with the railroad tracks. The coffee habit I took with me from the war fills the time. I waste hours in the general stores, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper while waiting. After three and a half weeks of train riding, hotel stays and a long hot carriage ride, I finally reach my destination.
