by Ginny Dye
Matthew returned to the topic he had started with. “Hearing about Dr. Barry makes me want to learn about women passing as soldiers even more.” He shook his head. “I wish I could sit down and talk with even one of them,” he murmured.
George hesitated before he spoke. “What do you think you would learn?”
“What made them do it? What it was like? What are they doing now that the war is over?” Matthew shook his head. “Right now all I have to work on is speculations and rumor. I don’t do that kind of journalism, even though there are plenty of reporters that do.” He took a sip of the hot tea Janie set down in front of him.
George cocked his head. “Why do you believe their story should be told?”
Matthew considered the question as he took another sip of tea and nibbled on a cookie plucked from the platter Janie had placed on the table. “I suppose I believe that anything that reveals the equality of men and women should be revealed,” he said. “As long as men’s perception of women is not challenged, it will be difficult to force any kind of real change.”
Janie felt a burst of pride so strong she thought it would surely swallow her. She knew how special Matthew was, but she loved that he continued to reveal it almost every day.
“As much as I want to tell the story,” he continued, “I can also understand why no woman would want to come forward, especially right now. If they have gone back to living as a woman, it would be easy for people to simply not believe them, even if they did want to tell their story. If they have continued to live as men, like Dr. Barry did, why would they want to jeopardize their identity?”
“You have a point,” George conceded, his expression thoughtful.
Matthew abruptly changed the subject. “Why did you fight in the war, George?”
Janie was curious how George would answer. He certainly couldn’t tell the truth; that he, as Georgia, had fought to be close to her brother because he was all she had.
“The same reason every man fought in the war,” George replied easily. “We had to. Whether we believed in it or not, or whether we agreed with it or not, the South had gone to war. We were being invaded by the North, so we had to fight for our homes.”
Janie watched him carefully. She was suddenly sure that was as equally important to George as his desire to be with his brother. They had never talked about it, though.
“My brother and I had our own farm. It was left to us by our parents. I was too young to fight when the war started, but I couldn’t run the farm without my brother, so I went to war with him. I wasn’t going to let the Yankees come down and destroy our home without fighting.”
Janie gazed at George, realizing he was telling all but one piece of the truth.
“How do you feel about things now?” Matthew asked.
George considered the question for a long moment before he answered. “If it were possible to know how things would end up when you make a decision, I’m sure I wouldn’t have fought. But, since that isn’t possible, I would have made the same decision again. It’s easy to make a right decision when you have all the facts, but hardly anyone knew the facts back then. We just had to fight. I don’t agree with what any of the vigilantes are doing, but I can understand some of what they are feeling.” He hesitated. “Most of what they are feeling,” he added. “They lost everything defending their homes. Now they’re about to lose everything all over again.” He shook his head sadly. “I wish there were a way to make things right for everyone, but there has been something put into motion that will probably be impossible to stop. Those men who started this war think it’s over, but it’s not.” George’s voice tightened. “I’m afraid of what is going to happen when all that hatred and rage are released.” His voice trailed off, but his words lingered in the air as if they were trapped by the intensity of his voice. “It’s going to be real bad…”
Silence held the kitchen for several minutes. The wind had died down some, creating an even deeper vacuum of quiet.
“Did Janie tell you about the book I am writing?” Matthew was the first to break the silence.
George shook his head. “I’m sure we have barely scratched the surface of things to catch up on.”
“It’s called Glimmers of Change. I am writing stories of positive change in the South. I’m also writing stories about people who have overcome challenges to make their lives better.” He paused. “I don’t believe I’m ready to write an article for the paper about women who passed as soldiers, but I would certainly love to interview one of them for the book.”
Janie understood when she saw George’s eyes darken with alarmed suspicion. Why had Matthew brought the subject back up again? He explained it in his next statement.
“I believe the North might handle things a little differently if they could truly understand how people in the South feel, especially now that the war is over. It would be fascinating for them to understand what a woman felt so passionately about that she was willing to fight as a man.”
George cocked his head. “Anyone who might be willing to do that would surely not be willing to be exposed.”
Matthew shrugged, but it was immediately evident to Janie that there was something in George’s voice that had caught his attention. “Revealing someone’s identity for this story would not be necessary. It would be entirely possible for them to remain anonymous.” His eyes locked on George’s face. “Do you actually know someone?”
“I might,” George said noncommittally. “Suppose I did? How could they be sure they would remain anonymous?”
“I’m hoping you could assure them, from what you know, that my integrity would never allow me to betray them. You could also mention that my wife would probably kill me if I did anything to betray her relationship with a friend,” Matthew added dryly.
George chuckled, but his eyes remained serious.
Janie watched closely, certain she recognized yearning in George’s eyes. She fought to keep a naturally curious expression on her face. She knew Matthew would remain silent while George thought about his last comments.
“I do trust your integrity,” George finally murmured, but caution still flared in his eyes.
Janie was watching Matthew now. She recognized the moment he realized the truth. His eyes widened slightly before he composed himself. A glance at George’s face revealed he had seen the same thing. George turned to Janie and gazed into her eyes, obviously looking for confirmation. She smiled sympathetically, and nodded slightly. “You can trust him,” she said. She was certain it would be a huge relief for George to tell the truth, as long as he didn’t have to give up the life he had so carefully crafted.
“I will do your interview,” George said, his voice halting as he spoke around the fears clogging his throat.
********
Matthew pulled Janie close to his side when he finally came to bed. “You will never cease to amaze me,” he said quietly.
Janie smiled, but merely cocked her head.
“I thought you were incapable of keeping a secret from me because your face always seems to give you away.”
“There are secrets, and then there are critical life issues that deserve to remain hidden,” Janie replied.
“Carrie discovered it at the hospital?”
Janie relaxed, realizing George had told the whole truth. Nothing she could say would reveal more than he wished to reveal. “Yes. That’s why she brought Georgia home with her. It was the only way to keep the secret.”
Matthew shook his head. “Amazing. Simply amazing.”
“That we kept his secret?”
“All of it,” Matthew answered. “Georgia deciding to fight as a man to be near her brother. Carrie and you keeping her—or his—secret. But mostly, I suppose, his decision to live as a man for the rest of his life.”
“I don’t find that amazing,” Janie said. “Actually, I feel rather jealous.”
Now it was Matthew’s turn to cock his head. “Jealous?”
“It would be so freeing to live as a m
an,” Janie said. “I would never do it because I couldn’t live without you, but everything else…” Her voice trailed away as she allowed herself to envision it. “Being able to vote? Knowing I could own a business without anyone questioning it? Never having to fight through people’s perception of women in order to become a doctor? If I were George, I feel certain I would have done the same thing.”
Matthew listened carefully. “That would be a huge sacrifice,” he responded after a long moment of thought.
“Not more than what every woman is sacrificing right now,” Janie retorted. “I had someone tell me the other day that I shouldn’t even be thinking about having the right to vote because it was far more important for blacks to have the vote now.” She scowled as she thought of the conversation. “I told them that one wasn’t more important than the other. Black men should have the vote, and all women should have the vote. This silly argument about blacks getting the vote first is simply another way for Congress to put off doing the right thing about woman suffrage. And not only have they put it off, they have actually changed the Constitution to say that only men are equal in this country.” The more she thought about it, the angrier she got, until she looked up and saw Matthew’s face. She managed a small laugh. “I know… I know… it’s like preaching to the converts. I know you agree with me.”
“It’s going to take this much passion, from so many women, to ever turn the tide,” Matthew observed. “I’m glad you are passionate. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
Janie looked up and saw the tender light in his eyes. And she saw something else that melted her anger and shifted her passion. She smiled softly and reached over to turn down the lantern light. “Come here,” she invited.
Chapter Thirteen
Hobbs was already tired when he reported for work at the factory that morning. Living with the Cromwells was proving more difficult than he had anticipated, but working at the factory stretched him to his limits in every single area. He was enduring it, though. Somehow he had managed to swallow every angry comment that surged to his lips every time he had to engage with a black worker, but he could feel himself reaching the end of his tolerance. Some days it was impossible to even remember the young man who had so willingly driven Carrie to the black hospital to work. He frowned now as he thought about it. He wished he could pinpoint the exact time he had finally realized how dangerous black people were. As he approached the door of the factory, he acknowledged it wasn’t really black people that were dangerous—it was black equality. The crazy people pushing for it were going to destroy the little that was left of anything good in the South.
Every day he spent in Richmond he felt a little more of himself dying. Being back in the city after returning home to the mountains seemed to suck a little more out of him each day. Things had been tough in the mountains, but at least he had fresh air to breathe and open spaces to explore. Richmond grew more crowded every day. He tried to appreciate the glowing dogwoods and the myriad colors of the azaleas that bloomed through the city now that spring had taken a firm hold, but every breath included smoke from the train station and fumes from the factories that now clogged the riverfront. Richmond was fighting to come back from the destruction of the war, and he had to admit they had come a long way, but evidence of the four-year struggle still remained almost everywhere you looked.
“Good morning, Hobbs.”
Hobbs looked up, fighting to control his scowl, but he was sure his feelings blazed in his eyes. If he could get away with it, he would just ignore Marcus’ greeting, but he knew the rules about getting along with each other in the Cromwell Factory. Somehow he managed to summon a pleasant look as he nodded at Marcus. Every black person bothered him, but Marcus bothered him more than most. His tall, muscular body made Hobbs feel diminutive in comparison. The fact that Marcus had been a free man who worked as a blacksmith before serving in the Union Army made Hobbs hate him. And fear him…
Hobbs watched Marcus disappear into the factory and then took a final breath of real air, however inadequate, before he followed him. He was making money for the first time in a long while, but that wasn’t the real reason he stayed. The crinkle of the letter in his pocket reminded him of his true purpose. He set his lips and went inside to do his job.
**********
Jeremy couldn’t identify the reason for his uneasy feeling on a beautiful spring morning, but he had learned to not discount them. Grateful for the guard who rode with him every day, he was also comfortably aware of the pistol nestled against his side. He had quit having nightmares, but he doubted he would ever lose the memories of being beaten almost to death. He scanned the crowds in search of any signs of trouble, but the trip passed uneventfully.
Thomas and Abby were coming in after him. He had chosen to come in early, after dropping Marietta off at school, because they had an especially large shipment going out that day. He straightened with pride as he thought about how well the factory was doing. They were growing rapidly, and now were one of the largest employers in the city. They still received almost daily threats for their insistence on hiring equal numbers of black and white workers, but there had been no more overt action taken against them. Jeremy suspected the very people that threatened destruction were also hoping for work in the highest paying factory in Richmond. Shipments of clothing were going out every day to markets in both the South and the North, and also on boats bound for Europe.
When he arrived at the two-story brick factory, he climbed the steps to the windowed office overlooking the production area. As he did every morning, he took time to gaze out over the floor, watching the buzz of activity. He smiled and nodded when Marcus looked up and lifted a hand in greeting. Besides becoming a good friend, Marcus was now his production manager. He was also his ally in working to bring equality to blacks in the city, and had played an active role in establishing the black militias.
Jeremy turned away to hide his frown. He had received two threatening letters the day before that seemed to go beyond the usual dire predictions of what would happen if Cromwell Factory continued to employ equal numbers of blacks when so many white men needed jobs. The threats had been aimed toward him personally, and had explained in vivid language what happened to niggers who tried to pass as white. He knew that was the real reason for his uneasiness that morning, but he and Marietta had decided before they married that they would not let fear stop them from doing what they believed was right.
Jeremy pushed back his thick blond hair while he closed his vivid blue eyes for a long moment, and then pulled up the order form for the shipment going out that day. He wanted to be certain there were no mistakes because it was from an account that would increase their profits greatly if the first shipment met their satisfaction. He knew Marcus would assure the quality of the clothing, but he wanted to make sure there were no hiccups in the packing and shipping.
********
Hobbs knew he was distracted, but he couldn’t keep his mind off the letter in his pocket. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to do what was detailed in the communication, but he was fairly certain what the consequences would be if he didn’t succeed. He’d been carrying the letter around for more than a week, but he was no closer to knowing how to handle it.
“Hobbs, you’re needed in the shipping department!”
Hobbs looked up and nodded absently. He knew there was a big delivery going out that day. His leg may not support plowing fields behind a team of mules, but he did fine lifting heavy boxes and crates. He wove his way through the narrow aisles clogged with whirring sewing machines until he broke out onto the shipping dock. Big wagons were already pulled up to the loading platform. Once they were full, they would be taken to the train station at Broad Street before beginning their journey north.
Hobbs eyed the towering stack of carefully sealed wooden crates full of police uniforms headed for New York City. He thought about the conversation around the table a few weeks earlier. Abby’s connection with her old friend Nancy Stratfor
d, whose son worked on the New York Police Department, had resulted in the huge order. That thought led to his discomfort with how much he liked Abigail Cromwell. She had been nothing but kind and welcoming to him since he had arrived. It made the feel of the thick letter in his pocket even more discomfiting. He sighed and moved toward the mountain of crates.
He was reaching up for the first container when he heard a warning shout.
********
Jeremy strode onto the shipping dock just in time to hear the shout. His head swiveled until he identified the cause. His stomach tightened as he watched the heavily laden trolley, full of additional crates, pull free from the hands of the two men guiding it into position. It picked up speed as it rolled down the slightly sloped loading platform straight toward the stack of crates waiting to be loaded.
Suddenly, Jeremy realized someone was standing on the other side of the crates, his arms already filled with a heavy box. The worker couldn’t see the danger headed his way, and as Jeremy registered it was Hobbs, he realized Hobbs couldn’t get out of the way in time to escape danger with his bum leg.
“Hobbs!” Jeremy broke into a run, knowing he wouldn’t get there in time to stop the disaster he saw unfolding. “Hobbs!” he yelled more loudly, his voice almost swallowed by the cavernous room.
When he was still more than a hundred feet away, Jeremy spotted a blur of movement coming from the side. A form sprinted forward, scooped Hobbs over his shoulder, and dashed back to safety moments before the loading trolley careened into the mountain of crates, sending them crashing down to where Hobbs had been standing only moments before.
Jeremy rushed forward, praying as he ran that no one had been caught beneath the avalanche. As he neared, he saw Marcus lower Hobbs to the ground. “Is everyone all right?” he demanded.
