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American women serving on the front lines in wartime is not as new as one might think. Remember Molly Pitcher (most likely Mary Ludwig Hays McCauley) who took over for her husband when he fell at the Battle of Monmouth. Or what about Deborah Sampson, the young farmwoman who disguised herself as a man and joined the Continental Army to fight in the American Revolution. An article on the American Battlefield Trust website entitled “Female Soldiers in the Civil War” claims a conservative estimate of between 400 and 750 disguised female soldiers fighting on both sides. A few also served as spies. According to the article women had a variety of reasons for taking on the hardships of camp life and risking injury or death including patriotism, the desire to remain with loved ones, a sense of adventure, and the promise of a reliable income.
Eileen
Charbonneau’s new release, Seven Aprils,
draws the reader into the life of one young woman who disguises herself as a
man to serve in the Union’s newly formed medical unit for reasons quite
different and even more compelling than those listed above. To save her own life, Tess becomes Tom Boyde,
assistant to Dr. Ryder Cole, and later takes on a third role as Diana, Dr. Cole’s
prostitute lover. How she manages to
keep all her personas separate, adroitly recover and tend to the wounded even
in the midst of frontline battle, and just as skillfully satisfy Dr. Cole’s
lust for her makes for an adventurous, addictive tale.
Charbonneau’s
adept handling of the changes from Tess to Tom to Diana never leave the reader
confused. The story, thoroughly
engaging and totally believable, is filled with heart stopping adventure and smokin' hot romance. If you’re looking for a fresh take on a Civil
War novel, Seven Aprils more that
fits the bill!
In this excerpt from Seven Aprils Tess, who has become Tom, now becomes Diana:
In this excerpt from Seven Aprils Tess, who has become Tom, now becomes Diana:
Tess turned. Madame Lanier stood in
one of the room’s three doorways. Dress and hoops gone, she was still imposing
in her silk dressing down. Tess felt more trapped inside her uniform than when
the boys first teased her for not joining them at the swimming hole.
“Would you loosen my corset strings,
love?”
Tess swallowed. “Sure.”
Madame Lanier’s dressing gown sang as
it slid off her shoulders and to the ground. Tess released the back tie that
held in the cinch at Madame Lanier’s waist. She watched the ties slip through
their grommets as she waited the space of a few of the woman’s deep breaths. “Is
that all right?”
“Perfect.”
Tess secured the ties in the new
position.
“You have done that many times before,
cheri," Madame Lanier said. “Now. Would you not like to do the same?”
“Ma’am?”
“Shed your uniform for one night?
Remember who you are underneath those handsome shades of blue?” The woman eased
Tess down before the dressing table with a gentle press at her shoulders. “They
suit you, the blues. Did you wear the color in your other life?”
Tess took in a careful breath. “Wore
mostly homespun, back then. Browns from walnut casings, yellows from onion
skins. A little green cloth from sage.” She was babbling. The truth, of course,
and in detail. “I do admire the shade of blue. Made a mix of milk and blue
pokeberry for my sleeping place in the loft once. Never got to paint it,
though.”
“Why not?”
“My pa said I was putting on airs.
Said plain board’s good enough for the menfolk of the family, and it was good
enough…for—for…”
“For you?”
“Yes, Ma’am, for me.”
What was she doing, talking like a
magpie to this woman, and almost giving herself clean away besides? She heard
Ryder Cole’s laugh from the room beside Madame Lanier’s. Her head hurt. If they
discovered her a woman, would the army think he knew all along? Would they blame
him?
“You are a chemist, Private Boyde,
with the making of your paints! Perhaps you’d like to investigate my beauty
concoctions?” Madame Lanier gave out a short, throaty laugh. “Purely in the
interest of scientific study, of course?”
“I’d like that fine, Ma’am,” Tess
said, turning her attention to the lace-covered table.
“Good. Sit.”
She reached over Tess’s shoulder and
picked up a brush with an ivory handle as fine as those on Doctor Cole’s
French-made surgical instruments. “We will do only what you like tonight, I
promise.”
“Thank you,” Tess whispered, hearing
the relieved crack in her voice’s low tone.
“Your hair has a lovely natural curl.
May I?”
“Uh… all right.”
The hostess began her task. Tess tried
to lose herself in the cut glass bottles leaking their scents, but the deep
massage of her scalp was too wonderful not to revel in. Her mother had brushed
her hair like this, so long ago. She closed her eyes, remembering.
“You have never seen yourself as
beautiful, have you?”
Her eyes opened. Tess stared at the
reflection of a stranger. Slicked down, always-pulled-behind-the-ears strands
were now soft waves framing a round, flushed face, a nose off-kilter since
Laban let the handle on the pump up too fast when she was eight and broke it.
“Beautiful?” Her laugh sounded like
dry leaves before a storm. “What would the point of that be, Ma’am?”
Madame Lanier’s brows slanted in
amusement. “Well, it’s been the point of my own existence for as long as I
remember.”
“Oh. ‘Course. Beg pardon, Ma’am.”
The light, throaty laugh came again.
It was true. This woman was not going to force her to do anything. She was not
full of meanness like the few predatory men that Ryder, Joe and Davy shielded
her from at camp. Maybe Ryder was right, maybe everything would be all right if
she could just relax in this strange, gaudy place.
Madame Lanier laid down her brush. She
swiped three fingers full of a substance that looked like butter from the
lilac-scented jewel bottle. She brought it to Tess’s temple and began kneading
it in, counterbalancing the throbbing there.
“Better?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
The skilled hands anchored her jaw
now, and continued the gentle massage of her cheekbone, sliding across the
bridge of her imperfect nose. The massage continued around her ear, down her
throat. Is this how Madame Lanier started with the men? Those jealous men who
were angry at the lady’s choice of partner-of-the-evening? It’s a wonder this
woman didn’t live in a castle with those men at her feet, Tess thought.
“Can you see it yet?” Madame Lanier
asked softly.
Tess stared at their reflections. “See,
Ma’am?”
She kissed Tess’s cheek. “That every
woman with the fire of purpose is beautiful.”
“Woman?”
“And I see your purpose as well as I
see the affection you carry for your captain.” She frowned. “As if you haven’t
got enough burdens, my darling girl.”
Suddenly, the weight of the day
crashed down, turning the bottles blurry as Tess struggled to take in gulps of
air. The woman’s long, strong fingers unbuttoned, then lifted off coat, vest
and blouse until she found Tess’s own corset: plain boned muslin, tied towards
a different purpose. She loosened the strings.
“Breathe easy now. I will not add to
your burdens. You’re safe here. You’ll always be safe here, do you understand?”
Tess looked up at the woman’s
reflection. “Will I?” she whispered
“Yes. Now, let’s get that uniform
tucked away for a few hours, shall we? Then how about a few of my night-off
girls and I help you into some silks and finery?”
Soon Tess had what she’d always
wanted, though she’d never known it before that moment—seven sisters dousing
her in lilac water, powdering her shoulders, pulling her waist tight under
corset ties. They graced her neck with amethysts, found ear bobs, painted her
lips and cheeks. She shyly pulled her braid from its secret pocket for them to
marvel at. Then they combed her shorn hair back and pinned the cascading fall
to it, even planting silk flowers where they attached it.
As her transformation continued, they
told her about picnics along the Potomac on their days off, and going to the
theater where goddesses on a gold chariot were pulled by a great mechanical
lion with real smoke coming out of his nostrils. Encouraged, Tess told them
about her mountains back home, and how cool they kept the evening breezes even
at this summer time of year, and the white birch trees with mushrooms growing
in their shade—mushrooms big enough to fry up like a steak.
When the girl in the cinnamon colored
dressing gown asked about Ryder and his scar, Tess even told them about the
first time she’d laid eyes on her captain, his doomed horse and the panther.
When she got to the panther’s death throes, the girl let out a shriek, followed
by mad giggles from others to hush up.
The door to the adjoining room swung
open.
Tess felt Madame Lanier’s hand take
her shoulder in an iron grip. She looked up into the mirror and caught sight of
Ryder Cole standing in the door frame. His eyes darted around for an instant,
then landed square on her face.
“Diana?”
It was her turn to shriek.
