Chapter 3

MAY 15, 1861

NEW YORK CITY

“Mr. Avery, I’m happy to report that I have received the proper permission from our Union commanders, as well as President Lincoln himself. The adventure to document war pictures will go forward.”

Gabe stood before Mathew Brady, feeling as if he ought to pinch himself. It was truly happening.

Brady plucked his spectacles off his nose, his face thoughtful. “As I previously mentioned, each photographer will be required to complete a month’s training with either myself or my esteemed assistant Mr. Gardner.” He gestured to the bushy-bearded Scot in the corner of the studio.

Gabe offered a polite nod, which Gardner returned.

Brady smiled. “I trust you were able to acquire the proper lens and tripod?”

“Yes, sir. I have the necessary equipment and am ready to begin my training anytime.”

Gabe squelched the guilt gnawing his middle. His elderly neighbor Jacob had insisted on the loan when he heard about Gabe’s lack of funds. Since the deaths of Gabe’s parents, he and Jacob had shared many evenings together in their crowded tenement building—playing checkers, drinking coffee, and sharing lighthearted conversation. Jacob was the grandfather he’d always longed for, which was why, when the elderly man had thrust a wad of bills at him with his blue-veined fingers, Gabe had initially refused.

“I couldn’t possibly. This must be your whole life savings!”

“Ach!” Jacob waved an impatient hand. “You’re like my own boy. Right proud of you I am. You have a talent with your magic box. You’ll not see an opportunity like this come again. Take it.”

He shook his head. “I’ll not take your money. You need it.”

“If you won’t take it because of your stubborn pride, then consider it a loan.”

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. It could be a few months. Maybe longer if the fight drags out. I wouldn’t be able to check on you, see how you’re faring.”

Jacob had cackled. “I got a whole building full of nosy neighbors to check on me. You’ll write, I’m sure.”

Still Gabe had balked. “What if I fail? What if nobody buys my photographs? You will have lost all that money because of my inadequacy. And my job. It’s taken me years to work my way up from unloading ship cargo and being a dock rat. Sullivan has me keeping inventory of the freight and managing the new workers.” He cupped the back of his neck. “Tossing away that opportunity after all those years of work might be the most foolish thing I’ve ever done.” He stood and paced the length of the room. “That job won’t be waiting if I mess up this chance. With all the Irish and German immigrants roaming the docks, Sullivan will replace me like that.” He snapped his fingers with a frown.

Jacob arched a white brow. “Planning to fail, then, are you?”

“No, of course not. But—”

“You’ll succeed. I have no doubt. If it makes you feel better, you can pay me back with interest. If you fail, it’s only money. I can’t take it to glory with me anyway.”

Gabe pushed back the memory and focused on Mr. Brady, his head flooded with dizzying excitement. “I’m ready, sir.”

Brady nodded. “Let’s get started, then.”

Following the photographer into the preparation room lined with chemicals and glass plates, he inhaled a shaky breath.

I’ll not fail you, Jacob. I promise I will not.

DETROIT, MICHIGAN

Cassie’s heart thumped like a thousand trampling feet.

She stood in line at Fort Wayne, awaiting her turn with the medical evaluator.

Thus far, escape from the farm had been easy. She’d snuck away in the early morning hours while the night was still black as tar. Binding her chest and donning Father’s trousers and shirt had been strange, but at least the baggy clothes were comfortable. She had to wear her own boots since none her size were to be had, but the worn shoes were roughened from farmwork. No one would think they were ladies’ boots.

The hard part had been cutting off her mane of brown hair. Before she could back out of the plan, she’d grabbed a razor and shorn off the thick tresses.

Cassie’s fingers instinctively rose to feel the sudden lack of sleek weight. Below the brim of her cap, only a few inches of her hair emerged, not even long enough to brush her shoulders.

What did it matter? Mourning the locks would be less misery than life bound to Erastus Leeds.

She’d left on foot and, hungry and exhausted, had arrived at Fort Wayne several days later and dutifully enlisted to fight for the Union. The commanders told her that until enough soldiers were mustered to fill her military company, the newly arrived soldiers were free to become acquainted with the fort while they waited. So she’d lingered, feeling lost among the swarm of new faces, curt words, and cold buildings.

Until now, no one had questioned her disguise, but when one stern-faced commander told her the US War Department dictated all recruits must undergo a thorough physical examination, she had nearly retched.

Would she be required to undress? The thought almost made her bolt from the line of chattering men. Surely the physician would know she was a woman, even without disrobing. Doctors could tell such things just by looking, couldn’t they?

Please, God, don’t let him find out.

Her heart pounded until she grew dizzy.

“Next!”

The bark made her jump. Realizing it was her turn, she walked into the small medical building on quivering legs. The structure was nothing more than a shed. She shut the door behind her and fought the urge to cast up her accounts. Running her clammy hands down her trousers, she took a deep breath of the stale air. The physician was scribbling something in a ledger.

“Name?”

She cleared her throat, afraid her nerves would emit nothing more than a tiny squeak. “Thomas Turner.”

The physician scribbled some more. “Height?”

“Five feet, six inches.”

“You’re thin.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m only eighteen. I reckon I’ll fill out.”

The man lifted her wrist and turned it over, examining it. She held her breath. Could he tell?

“A few calluses. What sort of living has this hand earned?”

She resisted the urge to yank her hand away. “Until recently, I’ve been chiefly engaged in receiving an education and working a farm.”

The physician shrugged and dropped her wrist, scribbling some more, the scratching sound scraping her nerves raw.

“I don’t suppose your size matters much as long as you have a trigger finger, can carry a gun, and have enough teeth to tear open powder cartridges. At least three, to be precise.” The doctor frowned and narrowed his eyes at her. “You do have your teeth, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” She opened her mouth to prove it.

He grunted. “Are you in good health?”

“Yes, sir.”

The doctor nodded and waved her away in dismissal. “You’re fit to serve.” He scrawled something on a clean sheet of paper, thrust it into Cassie’s hands, and yelled for the next recruit.

As she stumbled out of the medical building, Cassie found herself trembling, a surge of giddiness pouring through her. She’d passed.

Glancing down at the stiff paper clutched in her hand, she read the doctor’s hasty note.

Thomas Turner: fit to serve as private for Company F, 2nd Michigan Infantry.

Cassie relished her moment of triumph. Finally the tide was turning in her favor. All that remained was to take her oath of allegiance to the United States and she could disappear into the mass of soldiers streaming into the heart of the conflict.

A niggling guilt gnawed at the edges of her heart. Mother. Granny. Surely they must think she’d abandoned them.

She pushed the black thought away. No, not any more than the thousands of other soldiers had abandoned their families upon enlisting. Like them, she could defend the Union while she was here. The abolitionists who’d flooded Michigan had imparted the cruelties of slavery to her at a young age, and she planned to do her part for the cause.

Or was she hiding behind it? Unease crept over her like a humid mist.

She sobered. The coming months would determine her fortitude in nearly every way, but surely nothing could be as horrid as marriage to Erastus Leeds . . . or her father’s foul temper.