Alice Williamson's Diary

A Historical Fiction short story.

“Alice,” my sweet and nervous friend Mary whispered, “You aren’t supposed to be writing!” 

Her eyes were large and her tone urgent. I merely smiled in return.  Mrs. Cage might’ve caught me, of course, but I had yet to sit on the disgrace bench with the dunce cap.  She enjoyed me as a student far too much to do anything more than slap a ruler onto my desk as a warning.  I could handle that.  Poor Mary, on the other hand, would be near tears if Mrs. Cage simply gave her a look.

           “Alice!” Mary whispered again, her pitch rising, “You’re going to get in trouble!”

          “Miss Davis!” came the sharp voice of our teacher, “What exactly are you chatting about back there?”

         Mary’s eyes grew wide, and I could see tears starting to form. “I-I-I was… I was just…” The poor girl couldn’t get the words out.  Guilt shot through me, as I watched my friend dissolve.

        “She was telling me not to write in my diary,” I spoke up, “And rightly so.” I kept my eyes steady with Mrs. Cage’s, daring her to send me to the disgrace bench.

        “Mary, return to your mathematics. Alice, put away your diary and do your work. And everyone else,” she looked around the classroom, and I noticed for the first time that the other eleven students were all staring at Mary and me, “Eyes on your own desks.”

            And with that, everyone went back to their own work.  I begrudgingly shoved my diary into my rucksack, and retrieved my multiplication tables from the compartment in my desk.  I could feel Mary’s eyes on me, so I turned to look at her.  She silently mouthed “sorry” and shrugged.  I thought about scowling at her for ruining my very important entry, but I couldn’t do it.  The poor girl looked so embarrassed. I smiled and shook my head, my hair spilling over my shoulders.  I loved her dearly, but she could be so naïve.

 

April 5^th[1]. My hours for writing are few and far between. Mrs. C. is so very strict that we are obliged to study from morning till night to please her. The weather is pleasant. Thunder cloud[2] is very mild. Every one is lowspirited[3] because he is in a good humor: they think he has heard good news and it must be very good to spread a smile over Thunder Storm.

 

***

 

         “It’s not fair!” I heard my mother shriek from the dining room, “He can’t just " just take people and shoot them whenever he feels peckish!” The soft murmuring of my father could be heard, and I imagined him stroking her shoulder gently. 

            I sat alone in my room, stitching up a dress I had ripped two days prior.  Actually, Nicholas, a classmate, had ripped it by stepping on it, but he certainly wasn’t going to help me sew.  I was so angry when I saw the damage he’d done! I was ready to slap him.          

 

        But, of course, that is not ladylike behavior. Instead I glared at him as he snickered.  Honestly, I don’t understand why anyone marries.  Boys are awful.

       “The poor boy was on his way to Nashville. Nashville! He wasn’t a spy,” my mother was still shrill, which was good for me, since it made it easy for me to eavesdrop.

        “Elizabeth, you’re likely right. But there is very little we can do. General Paine will do as he will, and we will turn a blind eye,” my father said softly, cooing my mother into remission.

          “We cannot simply turn a ‘blind eye’, Robert! Something must be done!”

         “The war. The war is what needs to be done, dear,” I could hear my father becoming exasperated, “The Union will not last.  The South will rise, and all will be as it should.  Paine will get what he deserves.”

          “God will see to it,” mother agreed.

I heard them rise from their chairs and return to their chores, and I continued to sew, becoming angrier and angrier.  I put my sewing to rest for a moment, and retrieved my diary from underneath my bed.  This diary was my world.  It was everything.  Everything that happened during the Union occupation of Gallatin, Tennessee I made sure was documented.  I knew one day the diary would be found, and all the horrible injustices done to us would be known.

 

April 6th. Payne[4] is himself again. A few days ago he went to Mrs. Princes with a young gentleman of elegant appearance and demanded said gentleman's baggage. Mrs. Prince told him it was not there and that she had never seen the man before. The stranger vowed he had never seen the house or lady before. Payne said he would carry the 'feller' back to jail and he should share the fate of 107[5]. He has never been seen since. It originated from a lie that a contraband had told of Mrs. Prince: the gentleman was found walking on the railroad in the direction of Nashville and because he was alone he was taken for a spy.

 

***

 

         Before I said a word, Mary knew I was upset. “Alice? You don’t look happy.”

         “I’m not.”

          She was silent for a moment, unsure whether or not to continue a conversation during class.  “Well, are you going to tell me why not?”

I glanced up to see if Mrs. C was paying attention. She was too busy helping Martha with arithmetic to care about Mary and me.

           “It’s just not fair!” I hissed, whipping my head around to look directly at my friend.

           “What’s not fair?” Mary’s eyes widened at my outburst.

           “Paine cannot merely shoot people whenever he wants! It’s not right in the eyes of the Lord.”

            Mary blinked a couple times before answering, “There’s nothing we can do.”  And with that, she returned to her schoolwork, and I remained furious.

 

***

 

          “Hello Mister Morgan!” I chirped as I entered the town bookstore. 

Sometimes after school I visited Mr. Morgan and bought a book or two.  Mother hated it since she would much rather I spent my time at home doing chores.  But for Heaven’s sake, a sixteen-year-old girl should have some time to herself.  After all, Mr. Morgan was never afraid to tell me stories of General Paine.  In his eyes, I was not a simple schoolgirl; I was a young woman old enough to understand her surroundings.

          “Oh, Alice. It’s wonderful to see you,” Mr. Morgan said, but I’m afraid I have nothing but sad news.”

            My smile left my lips, “What did Old Paine do this time? Break a kitten’s neck?”

         “Alice!” Mr. Morgan scolded, “A young lady should not speak in such a way.”

          I could feel myself blush. “I’m sorry. Please tell me what you have heard. I need it for my entry tonight.”

            Mr. Morgan knew all about my diary.  In fact, he supported my endeavors.  He thought it was a brilliant idea to keep track of the horrible general.  That is why he always told me what he heard.

           He looked around the shop, uneasy, “Another soldier was shot today not two hours ago.”

        My mouth fell open, “He will never stop, will he? He just killed yesterday!”

        “They picked him out of their jail and gave him a horse.  They told him that if he could escape on the mangy, broken-down horse, then he may.”

       “But he didn’t.” It wasn’t a question.

        He shook his head slowly and solemnly, “No. They took pleasure in hunting him down and killing him like an animal.”

        I kept my gaze steady, “He was worse before.”

 

***

 

April 7th. Another soldier was shot yesterday. The yankees went to jail and brought him while a citizen was standing near. He said the soldier was very poorly clad but his countenance was that of a gentleman. When the guard brought his horse to him (a broken down one from the camp) he asked what they were going to do with them. On being told to "Mount that horse and say no more . . ." he did so remarking that he supposed they were going to shoot him. They took him to the river to shoot him but finding some gentleman there - Mr. H. & M. they said they had gone in a hornet's nest to shoot and went somewhere else. When they carry them out to shoot them they given them a worn out horse and tell them if they can escape they may: they say they "have fine fun chasing the boy with fresh horses" I am sorry I did not commence my journal when old Payne first came; he was worse then than now.

 

***

 

            “Alice!” I heard my mother call from the kitchen. “Why aren’t you doing your chores?” 

I sighed, frustrated, and called back from my bedroom, “I’ll be a second, mother!” 

I slammed my diary shut, stood up from my desk, smoothed my dress, and exited my room.  My house was certainly not large at all, for my father was a farmer, and not a particularly wealthy one at that.  My room was only a few steps away from the kitchen.

“Sorry, mother.”

“Alice, you need to keep your nose out of that journal of yours, and help me.”

“But it’s important!” I protested.  Of course she wouldn’t understand.  She couldn’t even write!

“I know. I know that you’re recording all of the awful things the Yankees are doing to us, but,” she hesitated for a moment, “But we must live life as normally as we can.  This includes chores.”

With a reassuring smile, mother went back to washing dishes, and I grabbed the gloomy broom and started to sweep.  Sweeping was my favorite, because it was mindless.  I could think about anything I wanted, while doing a good job.  I thought about the way my mother spoke to my father the other day.  She was so passionate!  Why couldn’t she share that passion with me?  Why must I always feel left out and odd?

 

***

 

After I finished the bulk of my chores, I was itching to get out of the house.  I had been inside for nearly half the day, and I wanted to visit Mr. Morgan.  Even if nothing was new with the General, at least I could have some company outside of my family.

“Alice? Where are you going?” My mother inquired from her clothesline next to our house. 

“Down the street to the bookstore, mother!  I’ll be back in a little while,” I called back, already opening the waist-high gate blocking off our house from the main road.

“I want you back before sundown!”

“I will be!”

And with that, I was on my way to the bookstore.  The main road wasn’t particularly wide, perhaps six people across.  Only three horses could walk side-by-side.  It widened slightly towards town, but it still remained somewhat narrow.  When I was a child, before my life was bogged down by chores and responsibilities, I used to race Mary into town and back to my house.  I always won, of course, and Mary would undoubtedly fall down and cry.  Why she was always up for another round, I never quite understood.

“Hello, Mister Morgan!” I greeted happily as I entered the store, but then I froze.  The usual customers were old men with graying hair and young men in fancy clothes.  However, the man standing at the front of the store talking with Mr. Morgan was neither of those.  He was a tall man in military clothing: a Yankee.  I immediately regretted speaking so loudly, because just as I entered, the man turned around to look at me.  I recognized his face immediately, and I wished I could just run out the door, but I was stuck.

“Hello, girl,” General Paine smiled lightheartedly, like he didn’t have innocent blood on his hands, like he didn’t ruin the lives of everyone in an entire town.

I couldn’t say a word, or move.  Of course I’d seen him trot around town, but I never had to speak to him.  There were so many things my brain wanted me to scream.

“Hello,” I finally managed to squeak.

Paine chuckled warmly, “What’s your name?” I wondered if he ever considered being a father.  He had the voice for it.

“Alice,” I said, looking down at my feet.  I wanted to shout every obscenity I knew at him, I wanted to punish him for every wrong he ever committed in Gallatin and everywhere else.  But I was powerless.  I was just a girl; a girl who realized she was a coward.

---

[1] The year was 1864.

[2] Alice has many nicknames for General Paine, one of which is “Thunder cloud.”

[3] These entries remain exactly how they were written, misspellings and all.

[4] Alice never spells General Paine’s name correctly.  One can assume she never saw the proper spelling and is therefore going off of the phonetic spelling.

[5] There is never further explanation of what she is referring to.

Reviews

[Sarah J. Kelleher]

I really enjoyed reading this, i have to say! The Civil War genre of it caught my attention, it's one of my favorite things to read about. Also, I like the name Alice. :) One thing that threw me for a loop though; (I have problems with this all the time in my own writing, it just feels like a filler sentence...) In the seventh section, when you say "And with that, i was off to the bookstore." It sounds redundant because we just heard her talking to her mother about it. If it were to be omitted, I think the paragraph would flow more smoothly. When I finished reading this, I left wanting more! :) I hope you can continue this someday, I'd be very interested to read on! Great job!

[Laughing-Bear]

My Dear Writing Friend,
I enjoyed the window you opened for viewing into the past. I grew up with the Civil War being called the War of Northern Aggression. My tribe sided with the South and fought along side with hopes that they would be able to regain their lands and freedom. You write I mused for hours, very thought provoking. I would enjoy reading more of this write.

Blessings, Laughing-Bear

[Becky C Strukamp]

You compose a story quite well...Good conversation...

I enjoy reading your stories...Good Luck..I'll see you in print!

[Amit Parmessur]

You write well friend.

Far from the world of rejections, we are ready to help maximum people get published, as an incentive to them and also a way for our small team to feel pleased about doing what they wish to, that is help those who have a passion for writing.
I do suggest you submit a couple of your best poems to Golden Apple Ezine. We'll certainly publish you for issue 3 in January 2011 if you are interested to submit on any theme.
We are looking for and considering submissions right now for a special December issue too on Christmas.

Regards,
Golden Apple Ezine Team

Visit us at:
http://goldenappleezine.blogspot.com/

[Taylor H.]

P.s. You should continue this lol

[The Analog Kid]

Good descriptive stlye. I enjoyed the historical angle. Also, I know where these places are so it made it more real to me.

[India Brooks]

I really loved this, I always love your writing (:
I was left wanting more though, interested in what would have happened to Mister Morgan and Alice! Were these real diary entries??
xx

[Sunflower/Sara Kendrick]

Interesting write from a different approach..Sara

[Taylor H.]

I loved this! This was wonderfully written and very thought out :) great job!

[Short.Nerd]

I love this but I hate how youo ended it.. It seems like it was left at a very important part but now we are just left to wonder about it.