Honor Unbound

By Kristoffer Gair

Co-authors Diane Abbott and Kristoffer Gair present the fresh and daring journey of Sarah "Emma" Edmonds, the first woman in American history to receive a Civil War pension. Biographical in nature and written in narrative form, Honor Unbound details Emma's traumatic childhood in Canada, her harrowing escape to the United States and the injustices she witnessed that forced her to disguise herself as Franklin Thompson. She enlisted in the Civil War posing as a man and served as soldier, nurse, and spy for the Union army. Researched thoroughly in two countries, this book reveals the true, kindred spirit of a woman who lived and fought for what she believed in throughout her passionate and often shrouded life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristoffer Gair
• Release date: Apr 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463846346

Kristoffer Gair

Kristoffer Gair grew up in Fraser, MI and is a graduate of Grand Valley State University. He currently lives with his husband in a suburb of Detroit.

Book preview

Honor Unbound

By

Diane L. Abbott

& Kristoffer Gair

Dedication

From Diane:

To C. Richard Abbott (1935-2003) My Renaissance Man Husband, whose life was full, but unfortunately short for us. For La Bohème and beautiful memories.

And

Lillian Vorgitch (1912-1998) My wonderful Serbian Mother who inspired and believed in me.

I will always remember your voice singing Tama Daleko.

From Kristoffer:

For my mother. You taught me strength, tolerance, and to embrace life with passion.

I couldn’t have asked for a better role model.

My love always…

Original Preface

Her story needs to be told, was my first reaction after hearing about Sarah Emma Edmonds from a Flint, Michigan historian. My enthusiasm then led me to three years of historical research, ending with a trip to Princeton University for verification and approval of the research from Professor James McPherson.

When Emma’s story began taking form, however, my ambition reflected my 31 years of classroom teaching; I had produced a pedantic biography.

Upon reflection of my Fraser (Michigan) High School writing students, I immediately remembered Kristoffer Gair, an excellent dialogue writer. I reconnected with Kris and found my memory served me correctly.

We combined our skills and Kristoffer breathed life into Emma’s story. Honor Unbound became the first adult-level book told through Sarah Emma Edmonds’ eyes.

Emma was an amazing woman—an equal-rights fighter before it was popular—sustained by her ever-constant religious faith and her devotion to duty and honor.

Herein is the true story of Emma.

Diane Lillian Abbott (Diane L. Montgomery)

February 25, 2004

In 1993, a few months after I graduated from Grand Valley State University, one of my favorite teachers, Diane Abbott, from Fraser High School, gave me a call. She was working on a project she had hopes of turning into a book, but wasn’t quite sure how to begin the story or develop it. I acted as a consultant for a couple of days, gave her some ideas, then she went on her way. Diane returned two weeks later with an offer for me to put into story form what she was researching. That, in a nutshell, is how Honor Unbound was born, at least from a writing standpoint.

While I enjoy history, I usually do so from a distance. I don’t go out of my way to avoid the genre, but I don’t go out of my way toward it, either. The story must capture my attention and offer me something I’ve not already seen a hundred times before. This is how I approached Honor Unbound.

Because there are already a number of existing biographies about Emma, I naturally wanted to say something unique about her, in a unique way—something that would satisfy history buffs, yet attract others who simply enjoy a well-told story. This is when the decision was made to use all the information Diane had researched, plus what she continued to discover, in order to create a non-fiction novel.

Honor Unbound is based on a true story that attempts to get into the mind of the character through reading her autobiography, following actual troop movements of the time, and by tracing as much of her journey as we could. In order to understand the choices she makes later in her life, it is necessary to understand the ones she makes early on. Hopefully, if we’ve done our job, we will have added a new dimension to this historical figure and paid honor to this woman—who gave up more than many of us ever have.

Kristoffer Gair

February 22, 2004

New Preface

I never thought I'd be revisiting Honor Unbound, reediting the story, and giving the book a new polish. Our original publisher neglected to mention they were slapping a $40 price tag on our soft cover book until after we signed the contract. Lesson learned. And since publication in 2004—we wrote the book between 1993 and 1996—I believe we sold a hundred copies. Per our contract, we only needed to sell nine hundred more in order to begin earning royalties.

I imagine you just figured out why we requested the rights back and are now self-publishing the book.

Honor Unbound is the first novel I wrote after graduating college. I've since gone on to write several others under a different name and in a different genre, but this one started my career as an author. Diane Abbott brought the project to me, and, for this, I will always be grateful. Diane took a chance on a historical figure, and a chance on us being able to bring this figure to life.

I may still not be the biggest fan of history—I was raised on science fiction and horror—but I am a fan of Diane's passion for wanting to bring the story of Sarah Emma Edmonds to the attention of readers who will appreciate it. Should we, dear reader, ever meet in person, remind me to tell you about the film production company we nearly worked with. Nearly. They wanted to turn Emma into a female Civil War Rambo.

But that is another story.

Kristoffer Gair

January 11, 2018

Acknowledgements

James M. McPherson, The George Henry Davis Professor of American History at Princeton, New Jersey

Bernice Mistrot and Governor Clements of the Washington Cemetery Historic Trust, Houston, Texas

Judy Willison, Provincial Archives, Fredericton, New Brunswick, Canada

Bentley Library (Michigan Historical Collection) University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Michigan

Boston Public Library, Archives, Boston, Massachusetts

Burton Historical Library, Detroit, Michigan

Clark Library, Archives, Central Michigan University, Mt. Pleasant, Michigan

Flint Public Library, Genealogy Department, Flint, Michigan

Fondren Library, Woodson Research Center, Rice University, Houston, Texas

National Archives, Washington DC

Windsor Public Library, Windsor, Ontario Canada

Prologue

They didn’t recognize me. The sound of Emma’s own voice awakened her from the slumber she experienced more and more frequent as of late. The conversations took place in her head most of the time, but sometimes they broke out into the real world.

The real world indeed!

Emma coughed out loud—her own way of laughing at the irony of those words. Even laughing seemed a distant dream, as much as the real world anyway, with the effects of malaria ravaging her body. This, along with the chills, made her cough again. But with the rheumatism in her hands, even her fingers betrayed her bidding, and she was ashamed she couldn’t cover her mouth as a lady should.

And when had I become a lady?

Certainly not on her father’s farm all those years ago or during the Civil War when she fought on the battlefields and behind enemy lines. Those things may have made her a human being, or at least more of one, but they didn’t make her a lady. No. Becoming a lady was apparently something that came with age, wisdom, and grace. Age she definitely had, wisdom was yet to be determined, and grace something withheld from her because of her condition.

Her condition… As with so much else in life, there were even rumors about what ailed her.

Emma surely would have succumbed to the almost superstitious belief the townspeople shared about malaria and the ague that accompanied the disease if not for her medical background—and common sense. Why most folks believed chopping down trees and dragging out the stumps released evil spirits from the soil, which then infected the recent settlers on fresh land, was beyond her. Emma was hardly a new settler in the area, and the surrounding land wasn’t freshly cleared. Believing superstitions like those was akin to believing impure thoughts caused sickness or overall bad health. Were that the case, Emma knew a certain old suitor of hers who would have keeled over long before he had attempted to wed her.

POP!

One of the logs in the fireplace briefly took on a life of its own. Emma confused the sound at first with a Harpers Ferry Rifle she’d used years ago, then realized what the sound really was. What an unpleasant sight she must be: hair graying, old beyond her 57 years, feeble in mind—or so she thought she was becoming—and constantly shivering and sweating at the same time. Men always talked about dying with dignity. Of course, men talked about quite a number of things, but dying with dignity was something she desired as well. Despite whatever they thought, dignity wasn’t simply a male thing.

Emma wasn’t always feeble like this, and even though she had seen death and the horrors of man, she never expected her own end would be so agonizing. Could the healer not heal herself? After all she’d been through, these were the times when she wanted to lash out the most. Yet, was she lashing out at life or herself? Emma rarely lost her temper. She’d seen too much in life to be so easily set-off.

One day at a time. Just take it one day at a time, Lucy, her daughter-in-law, soothed her.

Where had this voice come from? Was Lucy really here with her? Ah, Lucy who sounded so much like Emma herself when she was younger. She listened carefully for a time, but the fire was the only thing in the room with her making any noise. Where had the voice gone?

So much for company, she muttered to herself. Even though she loved Lucy like a true daughter, the girl had a life with her husband, Emma and Linus’s adopted son, Frederick. Everybody had their own lives—all but she and Linus, that is.

I used to have a life, Emma chuckled dryly. Before I became a lady, I fought in the Civil War disguised as a man. Her life had not only taken on new forms and identities, it also set milestones for how far an individual will go to uphold a belief or achieve a dream. Unfortunately, few would take lasting notice.

Could you expect them to? Linus’s voice whispered.

Ah, what more could Linus say to her than ask that simple question to her complex statement? Recognition was an old conversation the two had been mulling over for years, ever since the reunion was held in 1884, some fourteen years earlier for the infantry unit she’d served in. What she had done was anything but typical. Walking up to someone she had known and fought with on the battlefield and saying Hello, I’m Emma Seelye, but you knew me as Frank Thompson. So good to see you again. You do remember me, don’t you? didn’t exactly evoke the once strong camaraderie the group used to share. Some of the responses were less than flattering, but what a story the whole experience would make.

Tell me a story, mother.

Alice... Tears welled up in Emma’s eyes. Oh, Alice Louise.

Most would never know the real Emma, but her daughter would. Alice had innocence, something precious every boy and girl lost when they became adults. Such a shame Alice never lived to see her seventh birthday.

Several of Linus’s friends brought up the old saw of the years of life not mattering, but rather the life in those years. Men! What did they know about having something growing inside themselves or giving birth? With the exception of parasites and philosophies leading to war, they didn’t understand the true value of a life. At least, this was the case with Linus’s house-building comrades.

Emma prayed, though few would ever believe she did, and even fewer would accept she did. A few townspeople had probably even said she deserved what she got because God had little room in His kingdom for those who did not attend church. An educated person would understand one didn’t have to be physically inside a church to worship God or say one believed in Him. Going to church did play a prominent role in unifying the people of an area, but attending wasn’t a maintain a public show of faith or go to Hell conflict. Emma believed in God and prayed to Him right in her own home. Others might think the act to be a lazy convenience, but not her. There lay no idleness in her spirit, mind, or body.

Unfortunately, no one else seemed to share this knowledge of praying from home, and their lack of acceptance resulted in her experiencing a loneliness so pure and deep, few would ever have the misfortune to know it themselves. Some solace could be found in their two adopted sons, Frederick and Charles. Her devotion and love for them drowned out the deafening silence for a time. Despite the brief reprieve, her mental prison with invisible jailers always managed to reappear like a septic thought long gone. Frederick and Charles, once so young like her own three children, had been allowed to journey into manhood. They left home too, though.

I don’t remember them very well, Alice spoke up again.

That’s because you were only six when you died, and… The rest of the morbid statement went unspoken as a new coughing fit shook her. Whatever burning force or light used to emanate from her soul was now dim and sputtering. It was only a matter of time before her illness would steal the life right out of her body. Maybe thinking her words instead of speaking would help. After all, who was really around to hear them anyway? Jack, the dog? As if he’d heard Emma’s thought, Jack, their Collie, let out a woof! There seemed to be something uncertain in the dog’s voice.

Perhaps, Alice Louise, you are lucky to have not lived to adulthood, she decided, because you would have had so many disappointments ahead of you.

Life was always so much easier being a child, dreaming about what you wanted to be when you grew up, than reaching the age of reality and having to deal with that reality. Well, being a child was easier for other people. Not her. And the age of reality? Dealing was exactly what Emma would have been forced to do had she stayed at home so long ago. Home then was a trap, like the mold of domestication in a marriage. One either did what was expected or suffered the consequences. What kind of life was that? Once in a while, one was required to make a stand, and it was a good thing to know the what for and the why one made such a stand.

Some fought in the Civil War because the South had dared to secede from the Union, while others fought to free the slaves. Yet, the war sparked the beginning of another new train of thought: How could one pick out a slave so he knew whom to free? That was easy! Their skin was black and everybody saw the difference as clear as night and day, but mention there was another kind of slave and you received a puzzled expression. Oh, yes. There was another category of slaves and its name was women.

Our little woman, a man whispered.

Oh, you are tricky, she thought. You almost had me with that one. Nowhere did the Bible state He couldn’t have a little fun at your expense once in a while. Besides, anyone who believed God didn’t have a sense of humor probably never had a one-on-one relationship with Him. Not that He’d just spoken to her. One of the ghosts of her past did.

I never knew, another voice spoke.

She knew this ghost very well.

Yes, you did. Deep down inside you must have, she answered him in her mind. For everything, there was a beginning and an end. Emma knew her time was close. Some priests and ministers were fond of shouting the end was near, but whatever happened to beginnings? Whatever happened to those who helped one to achieve greatness later in life?

That’s the story! Alice spoke up triumphantly. Damned if she didn’t sound as if she was really in the room too. That’s the story I want to hear!

Emma wanted to grant her daughter this request. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough time to allow this sickly old woman the luxury of telling such a tale.

We have the day, Alice announced in a calm, soothing tone.

Her daughter was an angel for wanting to give her the assurance she needed, but was storytelling what Emma really wanted to do? Everything that happened to her in the beginning dictated a course of action she had to take and could never stray from, no matter what the consequences. The ends justified the means, or did they? Had she any right to ask that last question? Where was her faith? Questions again.

Slowly, the light from the fireplace grew brighter and brighter. This is how it is in the beginning after the dark. Light. Blinding light...

1

Sunlight danced in front of Emma’s eyes, reflecting off the water pump to her right. She squinted, turned around, and continued feeding their livestock. The light actually hurt her, but specifically in what way she couldn’t say. Many of the older farmers in the area wouldn’t think twice about irritating sunlight. They continued letting the light bother them, citing it made their labors all the more satisfying to know they could tolerate little annoyances. One could call such stupidity pride or arrogance, but Emma called it downright stubbornness. Those same farmers never changed their position on any number of things in life, so what was one more going to matter?

Still, something didn’t seem quite right.

Am I really only thirteen?

The thought struck her as extremely odd, but why? There was something just beyond her memory, yet every time she tried to reach out and grasp whatever that something was, it disappeared. Kinda like the damn rabbit that eluded her for several days while she endlessly hunted it with her father’s shotgun.

Emma sighed as everything around her appeared to fall back into place once more.

* * * * *

Emma! Mary Jane! Hurry up, your father’s going to be home soon and the table isn’t set yet. Betsy Edmonson sincerely doubted her daughters would actually hurry along any faster than they were already going. After a full day of chores ranging from taking care of the animals to working in the potato fields and getting ten of their one hundred acres ready for the upcoming season, setting the table was probably the last thing in the world they cared about. She listened for a response, but none came. You know how he is if the table isn’t waiting for him as it should be.

* * * * *

Coming! Mary Jane hollered instantly from behind the log house. Obedience and attention only required those magic words from her mother to demonstrate the seriousness of the situation. She quickly finished stacking the firewood into a neat pile and peered around for her sister, who was, in turn, eyeing her intently and surrounded by chickens.

Well? Come on, Emma. I don’t see why you have to spend so much bloody time with those stupid animals anyway. You’re thirteen and young, not seventy and broken. Move, girl!

Well, Emma chose her words carefully, "I don’t see why you have to spend so much time putting the wood into such a neat pile. It’s only wood. Stack it and be done with it. As for the animals, they’re living breathing creatures of God, with feelings, and deserve a little attention." Amen! Too bad the same couldn’t be said about their father.

Mary Jane shook her head in disbelief. Emma knew this physical expression all too well. Older sisters thrived on believing they knew more than their younger siblings. They also loved to make them think they were doing or saying something ignorant a great deal of the time, especially when the family’s attention was on them. Speaking of attention, there was a rumor Henry Davidson, a shopkeeper from Woodstock some twenty-five miles to the north, had taken an interest in Mary Jane. If the two had their way, they would be married in a year, and this made Mary Jane all the more a pain in the bottom.

Well, Mary Jane mimicked Emma in exaggerated gestures, I spend so much time with the wood because, first, stacking is a chore I have been asked to do and, second, a lady never leaves a mess. A deep set of lines appeared on her forehead and she frowned. Besides, you know what Father will say if it isn’t done to his satisfaction.

It won’t matter, Emma stated matter-of-factly, since he won’t be satisfied anyway. He never is.

Sarah Emma Evelyn! Mary Jane stomped her foot on the ground and kicked up a small cloud of dust. I hope for your sake he never hears those words come out of your mouth. It’s bad enough you’re so...odd about certain things, but talking that way about our ogre... She gasped at her own mistake. The conversations and free exchange of feelings shared between the two sisters were beginning to take their toll. Ooh!

Emma couldn’t suppress a small giggle as her frustrated sister stormed away toward the house. Mary Jane wasn’t really angry with her, but rather the situation. Perhaps angry was too strong a word or the wrong word altogether. None of them liked the way things were with their father, but they tolerated the situation and even accepted it to a point. Even Emma didn’t exactly hate her home life, only the way she was treated by their father. Their mother tried to make things livable as best she could for her children, especially Emma and Thomas, but, unfortunately, the task was getting harder and harder all the time.

When her two other sisters Eliza and Frances still lived at home, there was time for going off alone for a spell, and gossiping, and generally enjoying each other’s company. Then their father saw fit to marry his daughters off and get rid of two curses in his life. Eliza married John Miller, a farmer from the village, and Frances married Jim Saunders, a neighbor. With the two of them gone, their absence meant more work for those who were left and less time for anything else. Things would change again, though, if Mary Jane was to be married off. Who would be left to help her?

Frances visited when she could, but she did have her own life and husband to take care of. Who else could help? Thomas? Hardly. Her brother’s spells were too serious at times for him to be much help. That and his slow mind and body tended to get all the children into trouble when he did help out.

Things could always be worse, their mother was fond of saying.

Yes, the family could have lived somewhere where nothing grew for people or animals, or where a war raged on, or where they lived under the harsh domination of a king, working on a king’s land. Yes, Emma knew her mother believed those words and belief was what sustained Betsy, yet Emma couldn’t bring herself to reconcile her life now as ‘happy’ the way her sisters and mother appeared to. Emma knew she was different from them because Isaac treated her like a boy, and didn’t show love to her no matter how hard she tried to be a strong farmhand.

Devil to it, Betsy! Isaac’s roar had shaken the ground for miles around when he learned another daughter had been born instead of a son. The one he had was worthless, and all who remained were girls. Emma did surprise him, however, but he would never admit it. All watched in amazement as she was able to plow as fast and straight a furrow, or chop as neat a stack of wood as any boy, all by the young age of ten. She also had a way with animals that even spurred a rare compliment from her father.

I believe the cows give more milk for Emma.

A cow was having an extremely rough time calving one evening. Concerned, Isaac took a lantern with him out to the barn and found Emma on her knees beside the beast. She eased the delivery almost instinctively while her father watched. Later the same year, Betsy and the older sisters caught a fever and became too ill to leave their beds. Emma could be seen padding around and around the garret room, dampening cloths in a pitcher of cool water to lay on each feverish brow. Isaac saw her as a strange combination of both efficient and womanly, but would never openly admit it. They lived under his roof, and this was his land. He therefore didn’t have to admit anything.

We have food to eat and a big log cabin on a hundred acres, but we are all ruled by King Isaac, Emma mumbled to herself, giving the chickens one last look. Why can’t anyone else see the truth?

It was true Emma grew up in the thriving area of New Brunswick, Canada, but while the land was attracting new settlers, the attitudes and beliefs remained old. In the settlement of Magaguadavic, there was plenty of green land, fresh air, and a huge highlight to the inhabitants—Magaguadavic Lake. She loved being outside where everything was free to frolic to and fro, and where the open land held no threats of impending marriages, tyrannical fathers, or frustrating social graces.

Her father did have an understanding of nature, but not the same one she did. To him, Nature was something to master, to control, to let slide between his fingers on a whim in a field, or what helped put food on the table. She knew he saw no beauty, no freedom, and no peace. Emma experienced all of these and was thought of as odd because of her views.

None of the other girls in the surrounding area climbed trees, chopped wood or rolled around in the tall grasses on a lazy summer’s day. They were too wrapped up acting like nice young ladies and keeping their dresses clean. Except for her Sunday dress for church and the petticoats and skirts her mother made her wear to school, she couldn’t remember if she’d ever worn a dress out in public other than for those specific occasions. Better to forget that sort of thing anyway, since Father would raise hell if he saw her in one instead of the usual coveralls.

Maybe her father was as odd as she was since most other fathers would torment their overall-clad daughters, at least in the wealthier families. It was probably lucky for her she fit into Thomas’s clothes. The family had accepted Emma’s position as her father’s helper, but she knew her mother never could resign herself to the men’s pants or cropped hair that made her daughter look too much like a boy.

Betsy got her way for a little while out of the year, though. There was a short school session in Magaguadavic when the crops were ready for harvest and the winter wood was cut and stacked. School time was when Betsy made her daughter grow her hair back out, and wear her ladylike clothes to learn the three Rs with the other children.

Isaac openly scorned the idea of