Seated in the parlor, William's mother glanced up from her needlepoint as he walked by, his dress flouncing softly about his long legs. "My dear, where are you going?"
William tried to contain his irritation. "Out," he replied sharply.
"It's far too dangerous for a young woman to go into town without an escort."
He bristled. Forcing him to dress as a girl for the duration of the war was bad enough, but did he really have to play this charade all the time? What's more, the new lace-up corset he was wearing made his chest ache. Still, he knew the best way to appease her. With a sigh, William adopted the demure and girlish voice he'd been using since the breakout of war had forced him to leave Harvard in only his first year and return to his family's ancestral home in Virginia. "I'm only going for a walk, mother. It is a lovely spring day."
"Indeed. But, please, I don't want to catch you in the woods again. I know you like to study the birds, but the Yankees could be hiding anywhere."
A tremor of fear flashed through William at the reminder of the Union troops less than ten miles away. Having spent time among the Northerners, he knew they were amiable enough, in general. And yet the idea of running into one of the soldiers, especially dressed like this... He swallowed and looked down. "I shall not go into the woods."
"That's a good girl." She stopped stitching for a moment and looked over her shoulder. "You do look nice, dear. I think my pearl earrings look particularly lovely on you."
William lowered his head, lifted his skirt, and left the house with a sigh.
Although the day was overcast, a mild breeze rustled the branches of the trees and brushed his face with an almost refreshing caress.
William tried to recall when he'd last worn a pair of trousers. 1861? So, nearly four years now. The nonsense began after the war claimed his brother Lawrence, who had followed their father into the Confederate Army after his death in a skirmish in Pennsylvania. Now, William was the only male left alive in the family, and his mother insisted he continue to dress as a woman to avoid any chance he might be conscripted.
"You've never been very large, dear," she'd mused when they had been discussing the matter. "And you have a pretty face with hardly any beard. I have lost almost every man I've loved to this damn war. I'd much rather have you doing needlepoint at home than marching off with a rifle."
William's mother had a point. At just five feet six inches and a slim one hundred and thirty pounds, he was hardly what one would call a strapping specimen of physicality. In fact, he'd often been mistaken for a "boyish" young woman even before the war.
The worse part? His body seemed to be changing to match his female persona. Perhaps it was the tight corset, but a few months ago, his nipples began to ache. That had been followed by the most horrible itching, to the point where he had to resist the urge to claw at his chest to stop it. There was little doubt, he'd developed breasts, which now jutted out from his chest.
William sighed to himself. "I don't care who wins anymore. I just want this damn war to end so I can go back to being a man."
Sadly, for William, that day would never come. Although the war ended in 1865, he never returned to his old life. His mother could not bear to see him in masculine attire ever again, reminded as she was of the loss of her husband and oldest son. And so, as the herbs and tinctures she was secretly giving him continued to change his body, William spent his days surrounded by the trappings of a woman’s life. Eventually, he gave up any hope of returning to the world of men and settled into the role of a Southern belle.