“Oh, Cora.” Maybe heading home really would be the best. This war had managed to devour yet another life.
“What are your plans?” I asked her the first thought that I could catch racing through my mind.
She didn’t say anything at first, and I began to wonder if she’d even heard, but then she shook her head.
“I’m not sure. I’ve been having trouble organizing my thoughts lately. I’ll probably stay with my uncle for a few days. After I return to Boston, I’ll have my father’s estate to sort through; that will keep me busy for a while. After that…” She lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
I nodded, understanding. Sometimes life became too overwhelming to think about more than a few moments at a time.
We fell into a comfortable silence, and before long, we forded a small river, the cold water splashing up and soaking through the legs of my britches. I barely noticed; every muscle and nerve focused twenty-five miles north at Belle Isle Prison and Robert. He lived, and by tomorrow I’d be looking at him with my own eyes. It took all of my self control to keep from galloping my horse north, beware to anyone standing in my path. But I knew my horse wouldn’t make it at breakneck speed, and neither would Cora. My friends never abandoned me, and I wouldn’t them, at any cost. Robert would just have to keep himself alive for a bit longer. And if he didn’t, he’d have me to contend with, and he knew better than anyone what that would entail.
At our current pace, steady and focused, not meeting any unforeseen barriers, we would arrive in Manchester by midmorning tomorrow. We’d drop Cora off at her uncle’s and then change into our disguises.
We set up camp near a small creek with Toby offering to keep watch near the fire, leaving the small tent to me and Cora. Nobody spoke much during our brief dinner preparation, and soon afterwards, we climbed into our bed rolls. I expected sleep to elude me for hours, but exhaustion overtook and I dropped into a deep slumber. The night crept slowly by, interrupted at least three times with Cora crying out with nightmares. I wondered if I looked as hollow-eyed as she did the next morning.
Not far from Manchester, we began catching glimpse of the James River to the east of us. Up ahead, the James River’s path would jog to the west, running between the cities of Manchester and Richmond, before turning north again. Belle Isle squatted in the James right between the two cities. Despite the cool day, I felt nervous sweat trickling down my back. Almost there…
Cora directed us through the busy streets of Manchester to her uncle’s house. Expecting us, he had a meal waiting on the stove in his cozy kitchen.
“It’s good to see you again, Cora.” A booming voice greeted us, radiating out of a small, skinny frame. Cora’s uncle looked nothing like his brother.
“And you, Uncle,” Cora moved in to warmly embrace the man, something I’d never seen her do to her pa.
He pushed her out to arm’s length to examine her. “You look tired, girl. And pale. Come in and get warmed up.”
“Uncle, these are my friends, Toby and Bobbi.”
Mr. Davis grabbed both of our hands in an almost painful handshake, accompanied with an inviting grin that took away the sting. After stabling the horses in her uncle’s barn, we reentered the warm, welcoming home. I slid into a chair, stomach growling at the scents wafting from the table. It felt strange sitting down at a table after so many meals in front of a campfire.
Mr. Davis led us in grace, and then we ravenously attacked the food.
After the initial hunger had been satisfied, conversation began easing back into the room.
“I sure appreciate your escorting my niece up here.”
“Our pleasure, sir,” Toby replied, reaching for a third biscuit. “We’re happy it coincided with our orders.”
Mr. Davis sat back in his chair with a steaming cup of coffee. “And just what are your orders? Or is that top secret?”
Cora smiles reassuringly at us. “Don’t worry; despite living in the south, Uncle doesn’t hold well with the Confederate’s views. In fact,” she dropped her voice, “right below this room is a hidden chamber for runaway slaves escaping on the underground railroad.”
I turned back to Mr. Davis with a growing respect. Assisting the underground railroad took a lot of guts.
“We don’t want to divulge too much for your own safety,” Toby said, finally pushing back from the table. “However, I can’t see it hurt anything to mention Belle Isle Prison.”
Mr. Davis nodded thoughtfully. “That there’s a bad place all around. Every now and again the Richmond Examiner prints a story on the prison, but having seen some of the Yanks being exchanged and leaving that place, I have a sneaky suspicion the articles are glorified just a bit.”
Almost afraid to ask, I forced out “The prisoners you saw, they were in bad shape?”
Mr. Davis nodded and I saw a glint of anger and a flicker of pity flash in his eyes. I shoved my chair back so fast, it clattered over backward.
“We need to get over there, now!”
Mr. Davis threw a sharp glance at me. “You’re going to the island?”
“Yes, sir,” Toby answered for me, as I had dropped down to dig through our pack we’d brought inside with us.
Cora’s uncle pulled a watch out of his pocket, the shiny chain catching a glint from the sunlight pouring through the window. “Well, you kids need to hustle! The last train leaves at 2:30. You’ve got just over an hour.”
While Mr. Davis and Cora cleaned the table, Toby ducked into the pantry to change while I hauled the pack of girly clothes into Mr. Davis’ bedroom. While fighting the urge to toss the pink satin into the fireplace, I laid the different layers out on the bed. I tossed the empty pack aside and turned to study the piles of material. A minute passed and I continued to stare, ignorant as how to precede next. Aware of the quickly passing time, I chomped down on my pride and stuck my head into the kitchen.
“Um, Cora?” I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Yes?”
“Could you, ah, give me a hand?”
She hid a smile in her dish towel and nodded. Mr. Davis shot Cora a surprised look, but never said a word.
Cora pulled the door shut behind her and turned to me, all business. “First things first, get undressed.”
Self-consciously, I began to pull off my uniform while Cora busied herself arranging the clothes on the bed.
I soon joined her. “Okay, what’s first?”
She took one look at me and snorted with mirth into her hands.
“What?” I snapped.
Cora quickly compiled herself and turned back to me with a straight face. “Um, sweetie, you need to take off your boots and underclothes as well.”
I sighed heavily, wondering if it would be less painful to throw myself under an oncoming train, but did as she directed.
“Okay, first your feminine undergarments. This cotton chemise will be pretty comfortable. Slip this on over your head.”
I took the garment with a grunt of distaste, and pulled it on over my head. To Cora’s credit, the chemise did settle comfortably. The soft cotton lay against my skin, hanging low on my shoulders, down to my knees. It reminded me of Ma’s old summer nightgown.
“Your corset is next,” Cora announced, holding out a strange, torturous-looking contraption.
“Uh, I don’t think so,” I protested, backing away. “I’ve heard of those things, and there’s no way I’m wearing one.”
“Oh, quit your whining,” Cora scolded. “Remember, you’re doing this for Robert. Besides, no proper lady, southern or otherwise goes into public without one.”
“I don’t whine,” I retorted, insulted. “And I’m no proper lady!”
“Today you’re going to be. Now buck up soldier, and put on your corset!”
I inhaled a deep breath, fixed my mind on the task at hand, saluted my commanding officer and surrendered to the women’s fashion protocol that up until now I’d managed to avoid. I pulled on the corset and then turned ar
ound so Cora could tighten the laces.
“Boy,” I muttered under my breath as the corset pulled tighter and tighter, “Robert owes me big.”
“Pardon me?” Cora asked.
“Nothing. Are you sure it has to be so snug?”
“Yes. It’s supposed to accent your figure, and looky there, you actually have one!”
I glanced down at the unfamiliar curviness, not totally displeased, but completely uncomfortable. “Why do women put up with this thing?”
“You should know by now that women have to put up with a lot of things. Now, here is your petticoat; it goes under your skirts. And now the pink satin dress, lace and all.”
I kept my mouth shut for a change, resigned to the fact.
“With this bonnet, no one will notice your cropped hair. Add the slippers and don’t forget your parasol…”
Cora stood back to examine her work. She nodded. “Not too bad. In fact, you make a rather pretty girl.”
I scowled at her. “How’s a person supposed to move under all of this? And where am I supposed to stash my Colt?” I felt suffocated and entrapped.
“I’ve seen you march twenty miles carrying a fifty-pound loaded pack. I think you can handle a simple satin dress. Just be grateful that you don’t have to wear a crinoline or hoops. Now, get moving, you have a train to catch.”
Turns out, neither Toby nor I carried a weapon, as the Reb guards would surely search us before allowing access to the prison. Somehow, even under all of the tons of pink fabric, I felt slightly naked.
Mr. Davis gave me a startled second glance as I emerged from the bedroom, but didn’t say a word at my transformation. Toby’s eyes ruptured wide open, but I glared at him with my most malicious look, just daring him to say a single word. He wisely chose to keep his mouth shut, but I kept catching him looking at me, as if I didn’t feel self-conscious enough.
We hurried to the train depot, also a Rebel office, with me carrying a basket filled with food and blankest for my supposed Yankee cousin. And after about the thousandth time catching Toby staring at me, I exploded.
“What? Just what the heck are you looking at?”
The startled Toby gave me a grin. “You. I’m looking at you! I mean, I know you’re a girl and all, but it’s different actually seeing you with all of the feminine parts—”
“Stop! Just stop, and wipe that grin off your face! You might want to paint a picture ’cause you’re never gonna see me like this ever again!” I huffed off, stomping my feet as well as I could in the flimsy slipper things someone insanely classified as shoes.
Toby, too busy laughing, fell behind, but quickly jogged up to my side.
“So,” he egged me on with a smile, “you’re saying you’ll never put on a dress again, for the rest of your life?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t hold your breath!”
“Not even when you get married?”
This brought me to an abrupt standstill. “Who says I’ll ever get married? Why would I do a crazy thing like that?”
Toby shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe someday you’ll meet a fellow who doesn’t annoy you overly much. A deranged fellow who can somehow put up with your mouth.”
I shook my head in frustration and stormed away. “If that ever happens,” I called haughtily over my shoulder, “I’ll be sure to let you know first thing.”
I pounded up the entrance steps into the Rebel office, forgetting to feel nervous about our insane plan.
“So, let me get this straight,” the gray-uniformed officer pegged us with his bespectacled eyes. “You want permission to ride the train over to Belle Isle Prison, and then roam around looking for your cousin to share a picnic basket?”
I swallowed the annoyance rising up my throat like bile, forced the sweetest, most innocent smile I could muster, and responded in my best southern accent. “If you put it that way, General—”
“I’m a captain, miss.”
“Oh, well pardon me; I could have sworn a gentleman as distinguished as yourself to be riding the top notches. But as I was saying, I had hoped you would accompany us in hopes of sharing this basket of food and blankets with my northern cousin. My poor mother is so worried for her sister. See, Auntie Annabelle married a Yank near on twenty years ago, and moved north. So her son, my cousin, grew up a Yank as well, poor fellow, and of course when the time came, he donned a blue uniform just like his papa. Now my cousin’s been captured by our brave Confederate soldiers, and my Auntie was told he’s been placed here. Just because my cousin is a Yank, doesn’t mean he’s not still kin.” I batted my eyelashes at the captain, like I’d seen the prostitutes do in our camp. I felt utterly ridiculous.
“I see,” he replied, studying me. “And who’s this fellow again?” He nodded towards Toby standing silently behind me.
“Oh, that’s just George, our farm hand. George is simple-minded; couldn’t think his way out of a feed sack, but he sure knows how to use his fists when it comes to defending me.” I leaned in close to the captain to whisper, “I think George has a little crush on me, you see.”
I dared not even think of glancing at Toby as he mumbled “Good to meet ya, sir.”
“Now, Mr. Captain, I am in a hurry to get back home to my newly war-widowed mama. My papa died valiantly in the Battle of the Crater.”
“My condolences, miss. Your father’s selfless sacrifice for the Confederacy is greatly appreciated. And I don’t suppose it would hurt to get the supplies to your cousin. If you just leave them here, I’ll make sure they get delivered. And your cousin’s name?”
I almost leapt out of my seat, but managed to grab onto the hard edge at the last second. “Oh, no, Mr. Captain, I must personally hand over the supplies. My Auntie is expecting a full account of his condition, plus a message for me to mail home, something only he and she would know so that she’s positive he received the goods. Besides, you wouldn’t know who my cousin is; the basket might go to the wrong man. And though I’m all in favor of helping kin, I don’t want Mama’s homemade biscuits to go to any old foolish Yank. So you see, I’ll have to go to the prison and give it to my cousin personally.”
The captain sighed impatiently. “You do know that Belle Isle Prison is no place for a proper lady like yourself.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
“There is disease and sickness and filth—”
“I’m no innocent when it comes to war, Mr. Captain; I volunteered back home to roll bandages and knit woolen socks for our boys. Besides, I’ll have you to protect me.”
The captain sighed again, but began rustling through some papers. “Your cousin’s name, miss?”
“Robert Rivers.”
Toby and I had decided to use Robert’s name, since it would be easier to find him with some help. I knew if Robert were his usual self, he’d be quick-witted enough to play along; he’d know something brewed strange if his sister showed up in a dress. As for how to get Robert out…well, we’d decided to worry about that later. In reality, neither of us had a clue on how to get him out, and we decided to rely on instinct when the time arrived.
“Ah, yes, we do have a Robert Rivers listed on the prison roster. Very well, you and your hired hand may have permission to go across. In fact, I’ll accompany you myself. But we best hurry; the last train comes through in about five minutes.”
I risked a second of eye contact with Toby before he dropped his empty gaze back to the grungy floor of the rocking train. Buoyed up with renewed courage from his warm eyes, I peered through the train’s soot-encrusted window at the track curving around to cross the James River. Prickling excitement crawled through my veins at the same time as a sickening puddle of fear pooled in the pit of my stomach. We’ve found my brother, zeroing in closer every second, attempting to break him out of an armed prison, isolated on an island, without an escape plan! It didn’t get much better than this!
I had to keep reminding myself of our orders, to make mental notes of every detail. I decide
d to play the part of curious tourist to learn everything I could.
“So, Mr. Captain, did our army install this bridge over the James to transport the prisoners?”
“Oh, no, miss, the island is host to a nail factory, built before the war began. And then the Confederacy used the island as a training site before it became a prison. The rails connect the factory with Manchester, and the Confederacy just lucked out with the arrangements. We do transport the prisoners by rail, but our guards also commute to their posts via the train as well.”
“Is the train the only connection to the outside then?”
The captain nodded. “We have the one rail bridge to the island, but sometimes boats are used as well.”
“That must make the opportunities of escape very slim.”
He nodded. “We’ve only had a few even attempt it, but of course they failed.” The captain’s eyes gleamed with pride. “About six acres are enclosed on the southeast end of the island by an embankment and ditch arrangement. We have two gates, one on the northeast side and one on the southeast. The gates are opened during the day to allow the prisoners access to the river for latrine, bathing and drinking—”
“All three?” I gasped, not feigning my horror. “In the same spot?”
“Oh,” he chuckled. “We’re not monsters, miss. We have the river sectioned off, the top section up river for drinking, mid section for bathing, and bottom, down river for the latrine. The gates used to be open all of the time, but then a few fools tried to swim for freedom. Now we close the gates at night.”
“And what if a prisoner needs a drink or, uh, something else, in the middle of the night?”
“He just has to wait, or find a friendly tree. We are a prison, miss, not a fancy hotel. But then, I really shouldn’t be discussing latrine habits with a lady. I’m sure your mother wouldn’t approve.”
I tried to force myself to blush over the mention of latrines, but I’d just had too many intimate relationships with them over the past months, mainly digging them, to even spark a spot of color in my cheeks, so I ducked my head with a nervous giggle instead. I don’t think I’ve giggled before in my entire life. I quickly changed the subject.
Echoes of Dark and Light Page 29
