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in the Union’s defense.
    But it is not the Union which is being attacked. It is my home. And my home is Tennessee. I cannot stand by and let my home be invaded, not even by the government of the Union that I hold so dear.
    My beloved, I wish I could have told you all this last night. But God forgive me, Cora, I could not. I so feared you might guess my intent. I wanted my last sight of you—if it is to be my last sight—to be of your smiling courage, not of pleas that would lacerate my heart without altering it.
    I will write to you when I can, and I beg you to understand why I must do as I do. My only regret is the cowardice that shut my lips on this final lie; that, and the anguish I know you will feel.
    I love you to the last drop of blood in my heart.
    Forever,
Your Emory
    Susanna Ashford, Nashville Female
Academy
Nashville, Tennessee
To
Cora Poole, Southeast Harbor
Deer Isle, Maine
T UESDAY , N OVEMBER 12, 1861
    Dear Cora,
    Your letter of October first was waiting when I reached Nashville this evening, the one written before Emory’s departure, warning me against Mr. Poole.
    I wasn’t even born when Patsy Poole went over that cliff. I’ve seen the cliff—it’s called Spaniard’s Leap and it’s really quite high—and one of the first things Emory told me about his Pa, was, “He killed my Ma.” When I first met Mr. Poole, I was five, Payne was seven, Emory twelve. Justin Poole was still living in the woods then and sleeping up in Skull Cave most nights, tho’ he’d work the farm in the daytimes, with his hair all down his back and twigs in his beard. I think I was the only person he would talk to. After Emory went to Yale Mr. Poole did start coming into town sometimes, and dressing in regular clothes. Tho’ he still sleeps on the ground with the dogs. The big one’s Sulla and the ugly one’s Argus. I knew he was crazy when first I met him, but I never was afraid of him, so please don’t credit all the terrible stories they tell of him.
    The night of Payne’s funeral, the Lincolnites burned the bridges all along the railroad line. All the mountain counties rose instantly in revolt against the Secesh government in Nashville. There was supposed to be a Federal Army invading, too, only they never showed up. Pa not only sent me back to Nashville, but packed off Julia and Henriette and all the children here, too, to stay with Henriette’s mother and sisters, whom Henriette
hates
. She keeps asking, Why can’t Pa write to Aunt Sally in Vicksburg, and they go stay there? Because Aunt Sally has a big house and six plantations and a
lot
of money. I guess Pa doesn’t feel up to telling Henriette that Aunt Sally
despises
children and won’t have Leonella and Tristan in her house.
    Would you have gone on with your education, Cora, if women were allowed to go to college? I know people say a woman isn’t suited for any of the professions because she has to take care of her children, but what about all the women whose husbands [
leave them to go to war
—heavily crossed out] turn out to be drunkards or gamblers or wastrels? They
have
to take care of children
and
do something to earn money, don’t they? And every slave woman works in the fields and takes care of her children, too. What’s the difference between hoeing tobacco all day and seeing your children only at night, and teaching or mixing medicines all day and seeing your children only at night?
M ONDAY , N OV . 18
    Sunday dinner yesterday with the Russells, Henriette’s family. I didn’t really want to go. Since Payne’s death I find myself getting angry very suddenly at little things that didn’t used to bother me at all, like Julia’s chattering, but Julia sent a note begging me to come, “so we can comfort each other.” But talking about Payne
doesn’t
comfort me, much less listening to what Julia would do if Tom were to be killed. (Die, too, she vows. She and Henriette spent a tedious hour planning their mutual tomb.) And all Henriette’s