Homeland by Barbara Hambly

you, now, counting Baby Tommy—to living on charity.
    And yes, charity or not, poverty or not, you
will
find a way to get into the art academy. And then you can put your Pa’s face in paintings, say, of King Charles the Simple being forced to give up his land to the Normans, or of Nero falling off his couch in an orgy while good Christians sneer at him from the doorway. Please paint me in as a Christian.
    Yes, a thousand times, and thank you, a thousand times: there will be a pact between us, that no matter what anger either of us expresses, it is understood that I love Elinor, and Emory, that you love Julia and your Pa. We feel what we feel, and pretending otherwise can only lead us—and the people around us—to grief. But, we are responsible for what we do, and for what we say in public. We can change the focus of our thoughts, until our feelings cool, or change, or pass.
    This is the magic that I have discovered this winter: the secret blessing of being buried under a mountain of snow with a trunk full of forbidden novels.
L ATER
    You are quite right. My mother always cautioned me that it was improper to consider the physical relations between husband and wife. Only in reading of the natural rights of women have I come to the belief that it is not only a young woman’s right to know the workings of her own body, it is her duty. Surely to let her remain in ignorance is like sending a young soldier into battle only half-armed? I thank Heaven for my sister-in-law Betsy, who, as soon as I knew I was with child, explained to me exactly what I would have to face, and how best to get through it.
T HURSDAY , A PRIL 24
    Sunlight at last! The snow has melted from the ground. The early saxifrages have bloomed in the woods—in a week, the world will be carpeted in flowers.
    We begin spring-cleaning tomorrow—such a relief, to finally scrub away the greasy soot of winter, throw open every window to the air, to beat every rug and re-stuff every bed-tick and wash every curtain in the house! When Papa comes on Saturday, we will begin our garden. The fishing-fleet has gone out, and Ollie and Isaiah have just come home, with two weaner pigs whose bacon and hams will see us through next winter’s dreary cold.
    All my love,
C
    Susanna Ashford, Vicksburg, Mississippi
To
Cora Poole, Deer Isle, Maine
c/o Eliza Johnson, Elizabethton, Tennessee
F RIDAY , A PRIL 4, 1862
    Dearest Cora,
    This is in the nature of a trial-balloon, sent up to see if Eliza is in fact able to get letters to “people who know people” and so across to where they can be mailed to you. I understand there is a woman in Sullivan County who operates a regular mail-service via the bush-whackers: every week she goes about to all her Unionist friends with a mail-pouch of letters from their husbands and sons in the Federal ranks.
    Aunt Sally ordered us to dress in our best on Sunday, and took us visiting to all her friends, to introduce us to Polite Society here.Julia agreed earnestly with everyone we took tea with, that in fact there are
not
hundreds of men fleeing Tennessee rather than fight for the Confederacy, but “only a few white-trash troublemakers.” I keep my mouth shut like the she-traitor spy that I am, firstly because these are Aunt Sally’s friends and I am Aunt Sally’s guest and secondly, because disagreeing wouldn’t change their opinions one whit! When I confront Julia with the fact that she
knows
that thousands in our State are riding in arms against Confederate rule, she widens her eyes at me and scolds, “Now, you know that isn’t true, Babygirl.” In any case, she is so taken up with Baby Tommy that it’s difficult to converse with her about any subject but how many times Tommy has needed his diaper changed today. I think Aunt Sally would have left Tommy under a bench in the depot if she thought she could get away with it.
    Aunt Sally’s house is on China Street, at the top of a hill. In addition to being set on the bluffs above the river,