by Julianne Lee
“What are you up to?” Ruth’s voice had a wariness to it that meant she’d come to know Shelby well enough to be afraid.
“Here.” In the bedroom, Shelby took her sewing basket from beside the hearth and pulled the large shears from it. “Help me cut my hair.”
“No!” Ruth recoiled and drew her hands up to her chest as if afraid the scissors would leap into them and cut Shelby’s hair of their own accord.
“Yes. You’re right, it’s too dangerous a trip for a woman to make by herself. Some men would consider it a point of honor to treat me well, but there are too many men who would equally make a point of taking advantage of a woman daring to venture out on her own. They’d all think I was a whore in any case. Or at least unbalanced.”
“You are unbalanced!”
Shelby ignored that and continued, “But as a boy, I could bluff my way through. If I were a boy, I could point a gun and not have to actually fire it in order to convince someone I would be willing to pull the trigger. I’m small and thin, but as a boy I could be seen as wiry and tough. I can get away with this.”
Doubt still showed in Ruth’s eyes, but at least her voice was less strident as she said, “Please don’t do this.”
“I’ve got to.”
“Lucas won’t be convinced to come home. He’s got an obligation to the Army. And to his country.”
“He’ll come.”
“No, he won’t. It’s his duty to stay there and fight. He won’t desert. He’s not got it in him.”
Shelby looked Ruth straight in the eye. “It’s his duty to protect his family. He’s left us here to carry on by ourselves, but we need him. We need him a lot more than that army does. To them he’s just one man to die in a battle with thousands of other men. But to us, he’s everything. Everything, Ruth.” She took Ruth by the hand and put the scissors in it. “Come, Ruth. Help me save my husband’s life. Don’t make me go through the same grief you are.”
Tears rose silently to Ruth’s eyes. For a long moment she gazed at Shelby, thinking hard. When she blinked the tears spilled, one line down each cheek. Finally she took a deep breath and accepted the scissors. “Turn around.”
Let down from its pins, Shelby’s hair was nearly to her waist. Ruth carefully cut the long, golden locks and they fell to the floor in a heap. Then she trimmed the remainder to collar length, as neatly as she’d trimmed Lucas’s hair for his photograph. Shelby’s head felt as if it were floating, and she shook it. No hair. It had been nearly three years since she’d had it this short.
“All right, then.” She began to undress. “Take some of that calico and cut me a few strips about yea wide.” She indicated with her fingers nine or ten inches. “Long enough to wrap around me.” She stripped naked as she spoke, then went to Lucas’s trunk in search of a pair of his old drawers. They were awfully big when she put them up next to her, but they were held up by a drawstring and would at least stay put.
Trousers were another matter. She put on a pair over the drawers, and found herself standing on the calves of the legs. “Scissors,” she said. Ruth handed her the shears, and she bent to cut the legs off at the tops of Shelby’s feet. The pants were still large, and a mite too long, but she could get around in them okay. On the plus side was that the extreme bagginess would disguise her lack of male parts. She wouldn’t need to stuff the drawers with a rolled-up pair of socks.
“Here. Now, help me with these strips.” With the calico strips she bound her breasts as flat as they would go, which was plenty flat. Before Matthew she might have gotten away with not binding them at all, but now she had a bust line of sorts that might show even in a baggy shirt. For this trip she didn’t want to show the slightest bulge or jiggle at her chest. Over the binding she put an undershirt, then a red calico shirt of Lucas’s. She tucked it in then rolled up the sleeves. Again, way too large for her, but hardly anyone these days, especially a teenage boy, had clothing that wasn’t handed down from someone. She went to the mirror and decided she looked like a boy wearing his father’s old clothes, not even old enough to fight. A kid of no consequence. Completely forgettable.
“What about shoes? Amos’s boots won’t fit you, and neither will Clyde’s nor Father’s.”
“I’ll go barefoot.”
“Oh, Mary Beth....” Ruth could be mellow about some things, but could never bear to see a family member shoeless.
“There’s nothing I can do about it. There aren’t any men’s boots that wouldn’t be so big I’d be stepping out of them. I’ve got to go barefoot.”
“Mary Beth....”
“The weather is warm enough. And I’ll get used to it.” How long that would take, she didn’t know. But there was nothing else to do. They just didn’t have men’s boots to fit her.
It was time to go—now or never. She turned to Matthew in his crib, only nineteen months old. Her heart tore, and for one insane moment she wanted to take him with her. Leaving him for even one night was something she’d never considered before, and now she would be gone for a couple of months. She might not be able to come back at all. She picked him up and held him, smelled his sweet baby hair, whispered to him to be good for his Aunt Ruth. Ruth seemed utterly lost in the enormity of what was happening, her eyes wide and unfocused.
“I’ll be back, Matthew,” whispered Shelby to her son. “I’m going to bring your father home, if I have to hogtie him.” Then she handed the baby off to his aunt, who kissed him and held him close as if to protect him from the insane thing his mother was about to do.
Shelby hurried back downstairs with Ruth following. The bedroll she slung over her shoulder, and the saddlebags she carried out to the stable, with Ruth right behind. There was no goodbye for Dad Brosnahan, for he would only try to talk her into staying and blame himself for anything that might happen to her after he failed. This way was better. In the stable she saddled and bridled the roan, then mounted.
Ruth, finally accepting she was going, said, “Cross the river at Station Camp. There’s a good ford there, and it’ll get you over to friendly territory quickest. Stay away from bridges if you can, ’cause they’ll be watched. Keep out of sight of everyone. Are you sure you know where to go?”
Shelby shrugged. “To Chattanooga, turn right. Follow Chickamauga Creek until I hear gunfire. Simple enough.” What she didn’t tell Ruth was that by the time she could make it all the way to Chattanooga it would be crawling with Yankees.
“Mary Beth, please don’t go.”
“Ruth, if I don’t go and Lucas doesn’t come home, I’ll blame myself for the rest of my life.”
Ruth sighed and nodded. “God be with you, then. And come home safely, with Lucas tied to the back of this here horse if need be.”
Shelby grinned, and kicked the roan into motion.
Chapter 18
December 2004
Jason watched Mary Beth’s face as she approached his car in the driveway. “This thing is yours?” Her eyes were wide, in awe.
“All mine.” He opened the door for her, and she slipped into the leather front seat of his SUV. “And the bank’s.” As he pulled her seatbelt across and secured it, her nose crinkled, and she laid her fingers over her mouth and nose.
“Oh. The smell is strong. Sharp.” Her tone conveyed it was also displeasing.
He came around to slide into the driver seat, crank the starter, and throw the car into gear. “New car smell; it’s only five months old. Some folks buy air freshener to make their cars smell like this.”
She didn’t reply, but only knitted her eyebrows at him in doubt. Then they began to move, and the doubt turned to fear. Her face paled, and Jason guessed she was struggling to keep her composure in this fast-moving horseless carriage. They weren’t going all that fast, either. Jason himself was not entirely happy about the slick road that had frozen over in today’s snow.
Shelby’s apartment wasn’t far. Only the other side of the tracks from his place. The complex was large and new, building after identical building in gray c
lapboard, all angles and jutting rooms to lend a semblance of privacy to the tightly packed living spaces. Jason pulled up in front of her building and hopped out. He was nearly to her door when he realized he wasn’t being followed, and turned around to find Mary Beth still sitting in the car.
“Oh. Yeah.” He returned to open the door for her, and apologized for his lapse in manners. She declined to reply as she slid from the seat and stepped out onto the icy sidewalk to look around.
Her face was so pale as to be nearly green. Jason held her elbow to steady her, and felt her trembling.
“The car goes fast,” he admitted.
Her reply was only a nod.
“It’s safe. Usually. Accidents happen, but they’re not as common as you might think.”
“I’ll accept your word on that.” Her voice was trembling as badly as her arm.
“This way,” he said. “Got your keys?”
But she wasn’t listening. Her attention was captured by a cluster of ceramic skunk lawn ornaments arranged in the snow around a tiny snowman. They made her smile, and Jason realized he’d not seen her smile all day. It was good to see, and lightened his heart some.
“Mary Beth. Keys?”
She turned from her reverie with a start. “My keys?”
“Pocket. They’re probably in your jacket pocket. Shelby walked over to visit and didn’t bring her purse, so they’ve got to be in your jacket or the pocket of your sweat pants.”
Mary Beth stuffed a hand into the jacket pocket, and brought out a key chain she then handed to Jason. He took it and found the door key.
Jason had been in Shelby’s apartment only once before, when he’d picked her up for their date, and when he flipped on the light switch he was a little surprised to find she hadn’t progressed much in her unpacking since then. Cardboard boxes were still stacked around the living room, CD’s piled here and there, and the furniture was not so much arranged as simply set down and left there.
“My goodness!” Mary Beth seemed dismayed.
“She’s been trying to talk me into selling my house to her, so I guess she’s still hoping to move again soon.”
“How could anyone live like this?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. I’ve lived in the same house my whole life. Except for college, I’ve never lived anywhere else. I couldn’t say what it might be like to live out of boxes.”
Mary Beth reached out to touch one of them, feeling of it. “Not wood.”
“Cardboard.” He stood with his hands in his back pockets, not entirely certain what to do with them.
“It’s thick.”
“It’s corrugated.” He held the edge of a flap for her to see the rippled corrugation inside the cardboard. “Cheaper, lighter, and only slightly less durable than wood. Less brittle. It doesn’t splinter.”
She made a small, pleased sound in the back of her throat, and took a look inside the box. “Books.”
His hands returned to his pockets. “Shelby likes books. She’s an editor.”
Mary Beth turned to him. “An editor? She works?”
“Has to. Gotta pay the bills.”
“She works as an editor? Of books?”
“Yeah. Mostly history books, and fiction set in the South. I think she’s really good at it; she gave me a couple of freebies.” When she frowned, he explained, “Free books. Anything free of charge is a freebie.”
She nodded and pulled one of them out of the box, then opened it. Her jaw dropped open. “It’s beautiful. It’s the most beautiful book I’ve ever seen.” Jason looked over her shoulder and saw she had a cookbook. Southern recipes. She pulled out another, this one a coffee table picture book of southern landscapes. Paging through, she ran a finger over richly colored photographs of autumn trees and misty mountains. “Oh, my,” she breathed.
“She does good work.”
Awed, Mary Beth’s voice was low and soft. “I’ve always thought the greatest thing a man or woman could accomplish was to write a book. I have a diary I write in often. I’ve always dreamed of writing a book to be read by others.”
“I thought women in your era figured motherhood was as good as it got.”
She cut her eyes at him for only a second, then returned her attention to the book before replying, “Motherhood is a sacred duty. But to write a book...” she sighed, “...to have one’s words read and treasured, and for those words to remain for generations after, would be such...an accomplishment. This Shelby...she wears trousers and has a man’s name. Are you certain she’s not really a man?”
Jason snorted. “Yeah. Pretty sure. You can check it out yourself if you want. Bathroom’s that way.” He pointed.
“Bathroom? A room just for bathing?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Bath, toilet, sink, all the amenities. Thataway.”
The books went back into the box, and he followed her to investigate the bathroom. Being a much smaller space than the living room, it was more organized. No boxes lying around. All white porcelain and plastic, its white towel racks bore dark blue towels. The room had a strong scent of floral scented shampoo, and it reminded him of driving to Nashville with Shelby.
“Perfume,” said Mary Beth.
“Shampoo. Hair soap. That bottle right there on the bathtub.” He pointed to the pearly white bottle.
“Bathtub.”
“Yeah. You turn those knobs there, and water comes out.”
She did so. “There’s a pump inside there.”
“Um...well, yeah, I guess so. Water pressure. Turn the knob and it’s released. Then you pull this thing right here and it stops up the drain so you can fill the tub.” He reached around her to demonstrate.
“My Lord.” She pointed to the toilet. “The commode? I’ve never seen anything like this. You fill it with water from the tub?”
“It has its own pipes.”
“Do tell?”
“Turn this handle, and it flushes.” He demonstrated that as well.
“Marvelous!” Then she turned to him to speak, but caught her reflection in the mirror over the sink. “Oh!” She stared for a moment, then stepped toward it. “That’s me?”
“Yeah.”
She leaned over the sink to gawk, and laid an arm across her chest. “Not a man.”
“I wouldn’t have thought so.”
“I’m tall.”
“Almost as tall as me, and I’m six feet.”
“I have no hair.”
“It’ll grow out.”
Turning her head to see her profile, her expression seemed guarded. “I used to have beautiful hair.”
Without thinking, Jason reached out to touch the ends of her short hair style and said, “You still do.” In an instant he retrieved his hand and sidled out of the room. “I’ll wait for you out here.”
“Thank you.” The door closed behind him, and he stood in the hallway, wondering what had gotten into him. He’d never been that way with Shelby. Mary Beth was making him think in ways that startled him. Inside the bathroom, there were sounds of her fiddling with her clothing and using the toilet. He went into the living room to give her privacy from eavesdropping, wondering dimly why she hadn’t asked to use the facilities at his house, for she obviously had needed to for a while.
Running water in the sink told him she’d figured out the basin faucet, and a few seconds later she joined him in the living room. Her face seemed even more drawn than before, and had gone a nearly translucent white.
“Want to see the kitchen?”
She shook her head. “I’m certain I couldn’t stand to see any more strange things. Surely...” Her already pale face went even whiter, and she began to sink to her knees. Jason caught her before she could slump to the floor, and helped her to a recliner. For a moment she sat with her hands pressed to her temples, then said, “What am I going to do?”
“Right now, or long term?”
Her lower lip quivered, and she pressed her fingers to it. “I can’t stay here. I must find a way home.”
; “I don’t know what to tell you, Mary Beth. I can’t figure out how you got here, let alone how to get you home.”
“This place is too odd. Too strange. Jason, you’re going to leave here in a moment, and I’ll be alone. I’ve never been alone before. Ever. We have servants at home, and I’ve never left the house without escort.” She looked around the room, her mouth open, before she could speak again. “But everyone I ever knew has been dead for a powerful long time. This place smells strange. There’s no fire. Everything seems dead. Cold. I want...” her face screwed up in grief, “...I want to see my mother. I want...I can’t...” She laid her hands over her face and wept.
Jason crouched to put an arm around her shoulders and let her cry herself out. She sobbed into his coat sleeve, clutching the heavy leather as if afraid to let him go. As his hamstrings began to cramp, he settled to his knees and slipped his other arm around her, and she continued to cry in his arms. There was a whiff of floral shampoo, and he resisted an urge to lay his face against her hair. He struggled to not be glad this woman needed him, but didn’t succeed very well. Another urge, to kiss her, arose unbidden.
“It’ll be all right,” he murmured. “Your parents probably lived long and happy lives.”
She sat back in the recliner and daubed at her face now covered entirely in tears. He gave her the handkerchief he kept in his jacket so she could dry off. “Thank you.”
He stood and looked around the room. The sofa looked comfortable enough, and she didn’t appear stable enough to leave her by herself. “Want me to stay with you?”
She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“I can sleep on the couch. Right there.” He gestured to it. “For tonight, at least, you don’t have to be alone.”
There was a flurry of flustered blinking, but at least she didn’t seem offended. “My reputation—”
“Your reputation will remain intact. Nobody cares about that sort of thing any more. I could sleep in the bed and nobody would care.”
“You’ll not be sleeping in my—”
“I know.” He held up his palms. “On the couch. It was just an example. But you don’t have to be alone tonight if you don’t want to. Or, if you want, I could head on back to the house. It’s up to you.”
