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Desperate Measures By Annie James James Johnson (Jr.) sat in his chair, staring at the faded picture which had fallen from the envelope he had received earlier in the day from his mother's solicitor. The envelope had been tightly sealed, and the instructions written on the front directed that it be given to him privately by the attorney, only after his mother's death. The instructions further advised him not to open it until he could do so alone and in private. The photo was of a rather slight youth, standing in front of a painted background of the type which was popular in photographers' studios at the turn of the century. The young man was dressed in cowboy fashion, including neckerchief and spurs, and with a holstered gun slung at his thigh. Jim was reminded of moving pictures he had seen, starring 'Billy the Kid'. An outside observer might have seen a remarkable resemblance to Jim, himself. On the back of the photo he found the words, 'James Johnson, age 17, August 1898'. "That's strange," he thought. "That doesn't look anything like my father, at least not as I remember him." As he pulled the remaining papers from the envelope, two other pictures fell to the surface of the table. He picked up each and studied it in turn. The first was of a young lady, evidently dressed in her Sunday best. She wore a high-necked satin dress, with wrist-length leg-of-mutton sleeves, and voluminous skirt reaching to her ankles. Her luxuriant hair was plaited in long braids which hung down to her waist. This picture had been taken in the same studio as that of James Johnson, while the writing on the back identified her as Jane Westbrook, and gave the date as summer 1898. The last picture was of a young couple, whom he recognized as his parents. Both were obviously dressed in their Sunday best, but their faces were grim and unsmiling. His father, with close-cropped hair and high collar, wore an expression of determination as he held the hand of his companion and looked toward her. His mother, wearing a white lace dress, and with her face framed by a flowered hat and shoulder-length hair, stared into the camera with sullen resignation, as if to say, "This is all a hateful bore, but I guess I"ll have to endure it for the sake of peace in the family." Jim wondered if this was a wedding photograph. He had never ever seen a picture of either of his parents taken before he himself was about ten years old. Even then, pictures were rarely taken, because home cameras were barely coming into use, and a trip to the photographers was both inconvenient and expensive. He still remembered how, each year on or near his birthday, his mother would insist on all members of the family dressing in their best for the buggy ride to town to have a new portrait made to sit atop the family piano in the parlour. The handwriting on the back of the picture confirmed his supposition. This was a wedding portrait of Mr. and Mrs. James Johnson. He was shocked though to read the date, August 15, 1902. Jim knew that his own birthday was June 1, 1900. So..., he was about to learn about some great family secret concerning himself, which had been carefully kept from him until after the death of both parents. He spread open the folded foolscap and began to read the words which were written in black ink in his mother's neat and precise hand. My Story In one sense my fate was probably sealed on the day I first met Jane Westbrook. I was smitten, and devoted the next six months of my life to convincing her that we were meant for each other. My efforts were rewarded insofar as we took long rides together on the prairie, even though she insisted that we could never be married unless I was prepared to forego my wild ways and settle down at a respectable job. Perhaps that might have happened in time, but fate took a hand in our destiny. "She must have been writing this for my father," surmised Jim, "but I can't imagine why he wouldn't have written this himself. He certainly could write very legibly." Jane was a robust girl, taller than me, and quite athletic. In retrospect, though she did not flaunt her strength, I am certain that, in any test of our relative vigour, she could have pinned me. Not that we engaged in arm wrestling or any other physical competition. Perhaps she even took pains to conceal from me how strong she was, just as I tried to conceal from her how involved I was with less than desirable companions when not in her company. As we became better acquainted, I eventually concluded that she would sooner or later consent to be my wife, and I made less and less effort to reform my wayward ways. "This is sounding more and more strange," thought Jim. "Mother was obviously not as big as Dad. Surely he didn't imagine she was." Being both slight of stature and somewhat quarrelsome, I had at a very young age, taken to carrying a gun, the great equalizer, or so I thought. I practised daily with it, and developed a reputation that saved me from beatings which I might otherwise have suffered. Most other men were intimidated, and tended to let me have things my own way. Arrogance became a dominant strain in my personality. As happens to all such personalities, when bluster failed, I eventually found myself in a situation where it was a case of put up or shut up, and was compelled to match my gun skills with those of an itinerant card sharp. I won the confrontation, but was forced to leave town to avoid arrest and a trial for murder. Overnight, at age eighteen, I became a drifter and hired gun at a time when such skills were no longer valued as in the heyday of the wild west. My only regret was that I had no chance to say good bye to Jane. For almost two years I drifted from town to town trying to make a living at the card table. I did improve with practice, but I made only enough to feed myself, and was finally reduced to selling my horse. That left me stranded in a small town where the inevitable finally happened. The sheriff stopped me as I was leaving the saloon after winning just enough at poker to pay for my supper. "You, James Johnson?" he asked. "Yeah, I'm Jim Johnson," I replied. "What's it to you, Sheriff?" It was the question I had been expecting and I was preparing to pull my gun when a deputy spoke from behind me. "He's the one in the picture all right, just like the other one said." Realizing that the odds were stacked against me, I decided to try to bluff it out. "What picture?" I demanded. "This here one. That other James Johnson got arrested and sent back, but he was the wrong man so the Sheriff back there stamped the back of this picture and put his mark on it to show that this is the James Johnson he has a warrant for. For murder that is. There's a reward, too. We two's gonna share that." The sheriff lifted my gun from its holster and I was escorted to the local jail. It could have been some comfort that I might expect free meals for the next while, but, though I was convinced in my own mind that my actions had been justified in that confrontation with the gambler, I had good reason to feel that a jury of my peers would not agree. I realized that most of people back there disliked me. I could only think of one real friend, my girl, Jane, and in those days women did not serve on juries. It was the next day, while I languished in jail, that the other James Johnson showed up at the sheriff's office to reclaim my picture. He claimed that he needed it in case other sheriffs still had the same wanted poster and might attempt to arrest him. From my cell I could not see into the main part of the sheriff's office, so the only glimpse I got of my namesake was of his back as he walked away down the street past my cell window. That night, sometime after midnight, I wakened from a deep sleep to the muffled sound of something scraping at the mortar around the bars of my window. When I moved, a voice from outside whispered, "Are you awake, Jimmy?" "Yes, but who are you?" I answered in a low voice. "Never mind that now! Is the deputy still asleep? This bar is just about ready to pull loose." "I can hear him snoring." "Good. Now you put on your boots and be ready to climb through the window as soon as I get the bar out." A moment later I could see two hands seize the bar and pull it out and down. The way looked clear for my escape. "Here. Take this chisel and leave it in the cell. We don't want them to know you had a helper. Let them think you had it hidden on you when they brought you in." I climbed through between the remaining bars and stood beside my rescuer. "Where did you hide the horses?" I asked. "There are no horses," I was told. "In that case, let's go and steal some." "There'll be no horse stealing. You're going to hide right here in town. Don't worry. I have a safe place picked out for you. Come on. Let's get walking." The stranger, who was taller than me, started away, taking long strides. I hurried to keep up. It was not until we had entered a small bungalow about two blocks away, and had lit an oil lamp, that I was able to get a clear look at the face of my rescuer. As he turned toward me after bending over the lamp, I was shocked to realize that this was no man. This was my Jane. So natural did she look in her masculine clothes, I could hardly believe it was she. The incongruity of it all was only emphasized when she removed her hat to let her long braids hang down. "Well," she asked, "don't I get a kiss for getting you out of jail?" After that first kiss of gratitude, she rebuffed any further intimacies, but willingly sat beside me on the couch while we unwound from the excitement of the escape. We must have talked for nearly an hour about how she had learned where I was and had come looking for me, only to find me locked in the local jail. Finally, she pointed me toward a bedroom and ordered me to bed. I obeyed with alacrity, hoping she would follow me into the room. Instead she closed the door after handing me the lamp. I was left to sleep alone. Not Free Yet The blind had been raised and daylight was streaming through the lace curtains of the window when I awoke. I sat up and looked around for my clothes, which were nowhere in sight. Naked, I hopped out of bed to check the wardrobe. It contained only a woman's dress and petticoats. The drawers of the chiffonier contained only women's underclothing. "This must be Jane's room," I thought as I climbed back into bed. "She must have taken my clothes to wash them up. They were pretty grubby after being slept in for a week." I pulled the covers up around my neck as I heard footsteps approaching the room door. The door cracked open and a woman's head peaked in. I recognized her as a close friend of Jane from back home. "Hello, Martha," I greeted her, "Where did Jane put my clothes? It feels like time to get up." "There's no rush," was her answer. "Jane said you were to take a bath first. I've been heating the water. Stay where you are while I bring in the tub." "Where's Jane?" "She went out to see what's going on, now that they have discovered your escape." I continued to lie in the bed while Martha brought in the large tin bathtub and carried pails of hot water from the kitchen range to fill it. She left two pails beside it, one hot and one cold, so I could adjust the temperature. After setting out a washcloth, towel, and soap, she left the room, leaving me the admonishment to, "Be sure and wash thoroughly, including your hair." I climbed out of bed again and took the pot from its place in the wash stand to relieve myself. Then I tested the water with my foot and stepped into the bath. The hot water felt good though I thought how much nicer it would be if Jane were there to wash my back. I did manage however, with the help of a long-handled brush. I would not ordinarily have washed my hair, but as a special concession in honour of Jane's work in rescuing me, I did struggle to do so by standing at the wash stand and bending my head over into the bowl. When all was completed I dried myself thoroughly and climbed back into bed to await either Martha's or Jane's return. Five minutes later there was a knock on the door and Martha's voice called out. "Have you finished yet?" "Yes. But where are my clothes?" "They're in the cupboard." "I can only find women's' clothes there." "What did you expect? Didn't Jane tell you you would have to be disguised? You'll never get out of this town dressed as James Johnson. The sheriff has seen your picture." "There's no reason why I can't dress in my own clothes here in the house?" "And what if someone came to visit? We can't take a chance on any of your things even being in the house. You're not the only one who would be in difficulty if you got caught again, you know. Even after we're gone, if they found anything of yours here, Jane would be in trouble because they know her." "Well, we haven't left yet." "In any case, you can't put on your old clothes, because Jane had me burn them in the kitchen range. And I buried your boots in the garden. You have a choice. Either get up and dress in the clothes Jane left for you, or stay in bed. You can make up your own mind, but my advice is that the sooner you learn to be a presentable woman, the sooner we'll all be able to leave this town." "In that case you'll have to show me what to put on," I grumbled. "I'm in bed so you can come in and get something from the wardrobe." She entered the room and quickly found a pair of underdrawers and a chemise type undershirt which she lay on the bed. "Here you are. After you put these on I'll come back to help you with your corset." I said nothing and she was almost out the door again when she turned to add, "By the way there's a razor on the counter, You can use it to remove the scraggly hairs from your face. They wouldn't look appealing on a woman." As the door closed behind her, I rose again to don the underwear, not at all pleased by the thought of myself wearing delicate underclothes and skirts. The silken bloomers extended from my waist to mid-thigh. Involuntarily I felt an erection building as I drew them up. I was forced to sit down for several seconds until I could bring myself under control. Then I pulled the undershirt on over my head and stood to attend to shaving. As I lathered up and drew the blade across my face, I was continually conscious of the lace trim about the neck of the chemise which was reflected back at me by the mirror. At last, after putting away the shaving gear, and totally embarrassed at the thought of being seen by anyone, while so dressed, I sat on the edge of the bed and called out to Martha to return. I kept my eyes on the floor as she bustled into the room and over to the wardrobe to take a white garment from the drawer. "Stand up and face the wall." Reluctantly, my face reddening, I stood to do her bidding. She made no comment about my appearance, but reached from behind to slip my arms into the shoulder straps and to wrap the corset around me. "Fasten those hooks down the front," she commanded. Slowly I complied, having to tug very hard to bring the double rows of hooks together. "Don't you think this is too small a size?" I asked, as I continued to struggle with the fastenings. "Not at all. This was one of Jane's, so it's already stretched a bit, and besides, she's bigger than you are." "I don't believe it. That she's bigger than me, I mean. After all she's only a girl." "Have it your way if you want, but for now, put your hands on the wall and lean forward while I tighten your laces." In front the garment reached from about the level of the nipples on my chest down to my crotch, though shaped in a sort of vee at the bottom edge, so that it would be practical to bend my legs at the hip. It did act however, to prevent an incipient erection from jutting forward, when I felt Martha's hands adjusting the bottom edge of the corset just above my thinly-covered backside. "Straighten your hips," she commanded while grasping them firmly with one hand at each side to help adjust my position. "Now, pull in your stomach," came the order as a knee was placed against the centre of my lower back. At the same time she started to pull on the laces and I could feel my body being compressed as the garment tightened. "More yet," she called out and began a second time, in order to draw the laces even tighter. "Hold on for another half moment, I think I can get just a little more before I tie off the laces." I waited without breathing before she finally said, "There. You can stand up now and feel how much we got off your waist." I started to breathe again, but as my stomach muscles tried to sag back into their usual position, it felt as if I were in the grip of a boa constrictor, slowly squeezing the life out of his helpless prey. Suddenly I felt faint and almost collapsed. Martha seized my arm and sat me on the edge of the bed. When I insisted on lying flat out on my back, she lifted my feet and placed them on top of the covers. "You'll feel better in a moment," she soothed, "after you get used to the pressure. Every woman feels faint the first time she is corseted." "I don't think I'll be able to stand it," I moaned. "I'll roll over on my stomach so you can loosen the laces a bit." "Not on your life. If you got away without being properly laced now, You'd never adjust to it. I think you're beginning to look better already. The colour is coming back into your cheeks. Here I'll help you to sit up again. It's time to put your stockings on." I was forced to bend from the hips as I leaned forward to fit a stocking to each foot and stretch it up my leg. It was totally impossible for me to bend at the waist. I stood while my stockings were fastened to the garters hanging from my corset. While still standing I accepted the silk outer drawers which Martha handed me and drew them up to my waist. They completely covered the bottom of my corset, my garters, and my stocking tops, ending at the knee with a ruffle of lace. Once more I struggled to keep an incipient erection under control. Somewhat to my relief, the physical evidence of my arousal was kept from Martha's view by the whalebone stays which extended to the lower point of the garment and pressed down against my rising tumescence. I sat again to put on the boots which were now handed to me. "I hope they fit," murmured Martha. "Jane was not sure of your size and we had to guess." Their judgement must have been sound, because the boots fitted me snugly. Martha had to teach me how to use a buttonhook so that I could fasten them securely. When I stood up again I was two inches taller, not any problem for someone used to cowboy boots, but I had some trouble learning to balance properly on the stiletto heels. Next some padding was inserted in the top of my corset before a satin camisole with a lacy bodice slid over my head and draped over my upper body. Now I began to pull on successive petticoats, alternately of brightly coloured taffeta and checked gingham. I was half way through this process when a crying sound from the other room interrupted my progress. "Oh, oh," exclaimed Martha, "I'll have to see to the baby. You finish putting your petticoats on and I will be back in just a moment." The baby must have settled quickly because Martha was back in the room just as I finished pulling the last petticoat into place. Now I lifted my arms to slide them into the armholes as the grey satin dress with its white collar and cuffs slid over my head. I buttoned the wrists, while behind me Martha did up the fastenings which extended from below my waist to the back of my neck. There was no way I would be able to remove the dress without help. "Now. The final thing is to fix your hair. Sit down again while I fasten these braids in place." "Those look like Jane's braids," I commented when I saw what she was holding. "They are," she answered. "We cut them off just this morning, when we were sure the plan was working and that Jane would have to impersonate James Johnson for more than just an hour or so. She felt really bad about losing them. Her hair was her pride and joy." As she talked, she wound the braids round and round on my head and fastened them securely in place with hairpins. Finally she pronounced herself satisfied and held a hand mirror up for me to see the effect. Truly I could scarcely believe I was looking at my own head. The effect was so startling that I almost forgot the discomfort of the corset. Again I felt stirrings in my crotch area. To my mind, Martha's handiwork had disproved the old adage that you can't create a silk purse out of a sow's ear. I followed Martha out of the room as she went to attend to the baby's needs. The Walls Close In The rustle of taffeta which accompanied my passage through the doorway served as a very definite reminder of my manner of dress. In addition the weight of my petticoats and their pressure against my knees recalled it to my mind with every step I took. "Would you like to hold the baby?" asked Martha as she lifted a small bundle from the carriage which sat near the parlour window. Not at all enthusiastic at this prospect, I stalled by asking, "Don't you think I would need an apron to protect my dress?" "Perhaps you are right. You'll find one behind the kitchen door." She led the way and I followed until she laid her bundle down on the kitchen table. I found the apron, slipped my arms in place and tied it around my narrowed waist, while she opened the blankets, lifted the baby's dress, and removed its soiled diaper. I learned without having to ask that the baby was a boy. "How old is he?" I asked. "Almost ten months." "What do you call him?" "James. Doesn't he look like a James to you?" "Perhaps. I've no idea how a James should look." Smiling, she finished changing the baby, and picked him up. Turning, she thrust him toward me so that I was forced to take him in my arms. "Not that way, Silly," she admonished. "You hold him just like a man would." She rearranged him in my arms and then instructed me to walk back and forth with him in the parlour, while she returned to my bedroom to remove the bath water and straighten the room. "If you sing a lullaby to him he'll probably go back to sleep," she suggested once, as she passed through the parlour with a pail of water. "It's strange," I thought, as I paced back and forth, "that Jane would have brought along a friend with a small baby, when she was setting out on a mission to rescue her boyfriend from jail." James did indeed fall back asleep in my arms, so when she had finished in the bed room, Martha placed him back in the carriage, and returned to the kitchen to begin preparing a meal. Dressed as I was, it seemed natural to offer my help, though I could do little that was of real assistance other than set out the dishes on the table. Martha happened to be looking out the kitchen window when she saw someone approaching the house. Turning to me she ordered, "Hurry! Untie your apron and go to the door to greet Jane." She untied the bow behind my back , pulled the apron from me, and pushed me toward the parlour. I had just reached the room when the front door opened inward, and I had the impression of a neatly dressed man in a business suit stepping inside. It took a moment for it to fully register on me that this really was my Jane. She stood staring at me for a moment, evidently equally at a loss to recognize me. Suddenly she exclaimed, "My God! You look fabulous! I can scarcely believe what I'm seeing." She spread her arms as I stepped shyly forward. Then with a rush she enfolded me in her embrace, and I felt my head forced back, as her lips met mine for a long and passionate kiss of which I was the passive, but deeply appreciative, recipient. When she broke for air, I hastened to renew the kiss, with the result that she leaned so far toward me that it was only her arms, encircling my waist and shoulders, which prevented me from falling over backwards. Thrilled to the core by the excitement she engendered, I allowed her to lead me to the sofa, where she seated me, before taking refuge from my charms in a chair across the room. In a sitting position now for the first time since being fully dressed, I became acutely aware of how my corset forced me to maintain an erect posture. Nevertheless I paid close attention as Jane enthused about how my newly-discovered talent as a pseudo-woman would guarantee the success of her scheme for my escape. I pressed her for details of the plan. In her words it was simple. "We'll just ride out of town on the train. People here know me as James Johnson. You'll travel with me as my wife, Jane." "You can't be serious. I can manage to impersonate a woman while people can only catch a glimpse of me through the window curtains, but I'd never manage out in public. Besides I could never stand wearing a corset for more than an hour at a time." "It won't be any problem. You'll have plenty of time to practise so that you get your part down perfectly. It will be at least a month and probably longer before we can go. For one thing I don't have any money left. Everything I had saved went to buy women's clothes for you and men's clothes for me. I just had enough left to buy train tickets for Martha and me to get here with the baby." He/she paused for a moment, but before I could frame my next question she called out to Martha in the kitchen. Her disguise was so effective that it was difficult to realize it was really Jane speaking. "You'll be pleased to know that I got the job. I'll be starting work tomorrow morning in the bank." "That's great," the latter called in reply and continued with her cooking. "And what am I going to be doing while you are away at work?" I questioned with an edge in my voice." "You, my sweet Mrs.James Johnson, will be at home here with Martha, learning how to take care of James Junior." "And why should I look after Martha's baby?" "He is not Martha's baby. He is mine and yours. He is the main reason I decided to come here to find you. After all, without a husband, it wouldn't be respectable for me to take him back home. We are going to get legally married, even if you turn and run away from your responsibilities right after the ceremony. I've already had him baptized James Johnson, Junior. I call him Jamie for short." I gasped from the sudden realization that Jane had been pregnant at the time I got into trouble. I really cared for her and would never knowingly have left her in such a fix, had I had any choice in the matter. "Do you think I would abandon you?" "You already did. You left town without even telling me you were going." "You know I had no chance to see you before I left. I was wanted for murder. I still am, in case you have forgotten." "I haven't forgotten, nor have I forgotten that you didn't even send me a letter." "I did too." "Well I never got it. Maybe you don't realize what it feels like for a girl to have to leave home to have her baby in secret because she doesn't have a husband." "If you didn't get my letter, then how did you find me." "My mother said in one of her letters that she had heard you were here. She also said she thought I was better off without you, but you can tell I didn't agree with that." The realization that I had been sprung from jail only to face a new form of imprisonment made me feel quite peevish. "There's no way I'm going to masquerade as a woman for more than another day or two," I pouted. "We'll see," smiled Jane cheerfully. "You'll have to face it day by day as it comes." Our discussion was interrupted by Martha's call for us to come for the meal she had prepared. Jane immediately came across the room to offer me assistance in rising and took my arm to guide me to dining area. She held a chair for me and I was reseated in ladylike splendour at one side of the table while she took the master's place at the end. The meal began formally with a blessing pronounced by Jane, as the presiding male. While we ate I learned that I was expected to address her formally at all times as James, so as to forestall any possible later slip in public. Inwardly I was still determined that there would never be an occasion for a public display of my acting ability. I was still surprised each time, and there was hesitation before my reply, whenever either of them addressed me as Jane. I took little part in the conversation between Jane and Martha, which was largely about the commotion in town over the discovery of my escape. They both suggested that it would be wise for me to limit the size of the servings I took, if I wanted to avoid later discomfort under my snug corset. After the meal I realized that they both spoke from the wisdom of personal experience. I wished then I had taken their advice more to heart. Following the dessert, Jane returned to the parlour, while I was expected to don my apron and help Martha to clear the table and wash the dishes. While we were in the midst of this activity, Jane evidently took the baby into one of the bedrooms for his feeding. When we returned to the parlour she was fully dressed again in vest and suitcoat, and was dandling him on her lap. I indignantly refused her suggestion that we should take Jamie outdoors in his carriage for an evening stroll, so his dress was removed, and he was allowed to creep around on the floor. When he fell asleep in the corner, it fell to me to lift him and change him for bed. I learned then, that I could only reach the floor by bending at the knees and hips since the corset held my spine rigidly erect. I grumbled about being required to change his diaper, but managed the task successfully with guidance from Martha. I had to agree with the others that he looked angelic when he had been dressed again in his night dress, and lain in the carriage. As dusk settled in, Jane brought out and filled three lamps, then proceeded to light them. As she handed me the first lighted one she said, "There you are, Jane. You know which is your bedroom, so you can go to bed as soon as you are ready. Don't forget that you should wear your cotton dress in the morning. There will be lots of housework to do and this silk dress should be kept for special occasions." "Are you going to undo the buttons on my back. I'll never be able to reach them myself." "I'll come in in a moment to do that for you," she responded. I bade Martha, "Good Night," before going directly to the bedroom, where I sat for a moment to loosen my boots, all the while anticipating what a pleasure it would be to have Jane share my bed. I was undoing my cuffs when she arrived to keep her promise about my rear buttons. As I dropped my dress and stepped out of it, she offered another piece of advice. "Be sure to have Martha tighten the laces on your corset in the morning. I am sure your waist could be slimmer than it is." "Really!" I answered, sarcasm dripping from my voice. "Yes, and I understand what you are going through, so you have my sympathy, but we all have to suffer a little bit in this life. It will make you feel good when you compare your waistline to that of other women." "Men don't have to suffer this, and I don't care if my waist is not as small as other women." "Cheer up. This is only a temporary situation which you'll be able to look back on and smile about for the rest of your life. Now hang up your dress and then come over here so I can give you a good night kiss." My excitement began to rise as the kiss was delivered, but my hopes were dashed when she drew back and said, "Well good night Jane, my pet. I must be going now." "You mean your not going to sleep with me?" I demanded. "You're supposed to be my husband." "That's just it. We aren't really married, and I'm not going to take a chance on getting pregnant again until we are. Night, night. I'll see you in the morning." She was gone before I could find further words to express my disappointment. Slowly I proceeded to remove the camisole, and the layers of petticoats. When my stockings had been ungartered and rolled off it was time to release myself from the stricture of the corset. Oh, what relief I felt as the garment parted when its front fastenings were unhooked! Wearing a long-sleeved and high-necked nightgown with an embroidered bodice, I climbed into bed, feeling very sorry for myself. Here I was making all these sacrifices to please Jane, and I was not even to be rewarded with her presence in my bed. Tears of frustration, which would have seemed out of place if produced by the male James, seemed to come quite naturally to the pretended Jane. My pillow was quite damp as I dropped off to sleep. Prisoner's Day I wakened early next morning, but it took several seconds to recognize my surroundings and remember the events of the previous day. Subsequently, while I lay on my back I pondered my circumstances. I had escaped from jail, only to find myself confined in a different kind of prison. "Am I really any better off?" I wondered. I concluded that on balance the answer had to be yes. My life was at risk if I had remained in the hands of the law. At least now I had the promise of future release. Perhaps I should just try to make the best of a bad situation. The sounds of movement elsewhere in the house prompted me to slip out of bed and begin dressing. "Perhaps," I thought, "if I get dressed quickly enough I can avoid the ordeal of having my laces drawn even tighter." Remembering the difficulties I had experienced yesterday in trying to relieve my full bladder, I chose a long silk undershirt and omitted the bloomers. I managed to hook my corset in place and had advanced to the stage of having my stockings fastened and my outer drawers in place when Martha called from outside my door. "Are you dressed yet, Jane?" "Almost. You can help fix my braids in place in a couple of moments." The door opened, but it was Jane, dressed in trousers and in her shirtsleeves, who entered the room with a tape measure in her hand. "Good morning, Jane," she greeted me. "Did you sleep well?" She slipped the tape around my waist and checked the measure. "Twenty- eight inches," she announced. "I do better than that and I am bigger than you. Stand over there and put your hands against the wall." Jane, who, I now realized for the first time, actually was bigger than me, was also stronger than Martha. She managed to tighten my laces to the point where I thought she would cut me completely in half. When she was satisfied she ordered me to stand again for another measurement. She expressed pleasure that an additional inch had been squeezed from my girth, but promised that another inch or so would be gone by the following week. She added that I could make it easier on myself by limiting my intake of food. With my face scraped clean, my braids in place, and wearing the prescribed cotton dress over my numerous petticoats, I sat at the breakfast table carefully studying this female master of the household. She had already given the baby his meal and had tied in her breasts and padded her waist, so there was not the slightest sign that, under her shirt and vest, was hidden the body about which I had dreamed over the past two years. Her hair had been cut even shorter than I had habitually worn mine. There was just barely enough remaining to allow it to be parted on the left side. Her fingernails, too, had been cut short, as befits a masculine hand. She ate hurriedly, and when she stood up to check the time on the watch which she kept in a vest pocket, I was reminded of a railway conductor. She appeared pleased that I accompanied her to the front door and handed her hat to her before she departed. My reward was a gentle touch of her lips to my forehead before she stepped outside. She turned on the step to say, "Bye now, sweetheart. You can look for me home at twelve for lunch." "Good bye, James " I called out in my sweetest voice, partly for the benefit of a man who was just walking past our gate. It wasn't until after I had closed the door that I realized I had actually permitted a stranger to see me in my disguised state. That morning my introduction to housework began in earnest. If anyone thinks a woman's day is spent only in lightly passing a feather duster over the furniture, and in sitting while she knits or does handwork, I can assure them that it also includes both hard physical work and distinctly unpleasant tasks. The bedroom pots had to be carried out to the little house out back to be emptied, then brought back in, to be washed and returned to their places for the next night. Water had to be pumped and full pails carried into the kitchen. Of course there was the fire to be maintained in the kitchen range, for heating, for cooking, and for warming the wash water. I smiled to myself to think that splitting the wood beside the back stoop would now be Jane's chore. Nevertheless it had to be carried inside as needed and thrust into the firebox. Martha cautioned me that one of the hazzards a woman faced was the possibility of setting her voluminous skirts on fire from too close a contact with the stove. The cooking had to be done for each meal, the beds had to be made, the floors swept, and the dishes washed. In the midst of all this activity, the baby could not be ignored. He had to be changed regularly, given an opportunity to play on the floor, and watched like a hawk to see that he not hurt himself or get into mischief. Everything stopped when he had to be picked up in one's arms to be cuddled when he pinched a finger or toe under the rocking chair. He was also the cause of the most disagreeable task which had to be faced daily, washing his diapers and hanging them out to dry. After four hours of labour, made easier on that first morning by the fact that there were two of us to share it, and aching from the pressure of my corset, I was certainly ready to sit quietly at the table when Jane arrived for lunch. She, who had spent the morning perched on a stool in the bank, could sit comfortably for her meal, while Martha and I bounced up and down to bring serving bowls to the table, and to carry away empty plates and dirty cutlery. Jane ate quickly and hurried into her bedroom with the baby, to give him a quick feeding, while we worked at clearing up the lunch dishes. Once more I saw her to the door and smiled my sweetest smile as I called her James. The afternoon chores were no less arduous, especially for someone unused to the constant pressure of a corset, so I was ready for a rest when Martha announced about four o'clock that the housework for the day was completed, that the stew simmering on the stove would require no more attention until time to serve it at six o'clock, and that we could turn our attentions to more personal matters. For myself I wanted those more personal matters to include a session of sitting in the little house out back, followed by an afternoon nap. Martha okayed the trip out back, but vetoed the afternoon nap. "After you finish your business," she said, "it will be time to get ready for your husband's return home. You will have to wash your face and hands thoroughly, fix your hair, file your fingernails, rub lotion into your hands, pluck some of those hairs from your thick eyebrows, and pat some powder onto your cheeks and nose. I'd suggest some lip gloss and rouge, also, but James might think that too forward for the wife of a bank clerk." "When you have completed those things, you can change to your silk dress and we will sit in the parlour while I teach you some embroidery. You must appear fresh and relaxed while you listen to your husband's troubles from his long day at work." As you can imagine, I was totally exhausted when Jane arrived home a few minutes after six. I did struggle to greet her cheerfully though, received a more perfunctory kiss than on the day before, and made a point of asking how her first day at work had gone. Supper proceeded as on the previous day, with Jane again giving the blessing and being served first. Afterwards Martha and I cleared the table and washed the dishes while Jane fed the baby. As I hung up the last tea towel I was looking forward to the luxury of sitting peacefully in the parlour for the balance of the evening. Jane had other ideas. "Jane," she instructed me mildly, "Please put a fresh dress on the baby. We are going to take him for a walk around the block in his carriage." 'I don't feel like going out in public." I responded. "Besides I'm tired from a long hard day." A storm cloud seemed to sweep across Jane's face, but she said nothing to me. Instead she spoke in a quiet voice to Martha. "Do you remember where the baby's newest blanket was put?" At Martha's nod, she added, "Would you mind getting it for me?" When Martha stepped out of the room, she turned to me with a grim look on her face. Through narrowed lips she stated in a low but clear voice. "Mistress Jane! As your husband I am the head of this household and I will not tolerate disobedience. I will not discipline you in the presence of another woman, but mark my words, you are going to do as I order, or you will suffer the consequences. Now find the baby's clean dress and put it on him." I recoiled hastily from her fierce stare. When Martha returned with the new blanket, I was busily engaged in dressing James Junior. After Jane had manoeuvred it through the door, it was left for me to push the carriage, while she walked at my side. Wearing a flowered hat and silk gloves, and with a crocheted shawl draped over my shoulders, I certainly looked the part of a young mother, out for an evening stroll with her baby and husband. Although Jane touched her hat to several persons that we met in our short foray, I breathed a sigh of relief when we completed the circuit of the block and arrived back at our own door, without me having to be introduced to any of my 'husband's' acquaintances. As I undid the fastenings of my corset that night before bed, I knew that I had just spent the most physically and mentally exhausting day of my life to that point. Whoever thinks that a member of the weaker sex has an easier life than her mate should spend a day following in her footsteps! With resentment beginning to build in me, against the autocratic way in which Jane was exercising her supposed authority as head of the household, I donned my embroidered nightgown and crawled into bed. Sleep overtook me before I had time to brood over the perceived injustice of her attitude. And to think that she refused even to sleep with me! Unsympathetic Warden Over the course of the first week I learned much about the exhausting daily tasks performed by a typical housewife. In addition to the routine things I have already described, there is the weekly washing to be done, and the ironing to be completed. Linen must be changed on the beds, and there are always floors to be scrubbed. One day is usually devoted to baking. The pressure to complete household duties is ever-present and unrelenting. There are tasks, such as sewing or mending, that may be performed while seated, which might offer relaxation, were it not for the constantly erect posture dictated by one's inevitable corset. Oh, I am aware that there are women who only put on a corset when they must, to be properly dressed for a social occasion, but both Martha and Jane considered this practice beneath contempt. I would challenge any man to spend a whole morning at the scrubboard after rising extra early to carry the wood for a hot fire, as well as the pails of water to be heated on the stovetop. When the laundry has been thoroughly scrubbed, it must be rinsed twice, and wrung out, before being carried to the back stoop to be hung on the clothesline. Don't think a basket full of wet sheets is not heavy. All this must be done while the meals are prepared on time and the baby is not neglected. If the weather cooperates the laundry may be brought in dry at the end of the day. Otherwise it must be rehung on the line the following morning. Once it is finally ready, it still must be sprinkled and pressed. The whole of another day is usually spent beside the hot stove where the irons are heated to carry out this task. Had it not been for Martha's cheerful acceptance of these responsibilities, I would no doubt have rebelled within that first week. Somehow I could not allow myself, a man, to be outdone by a mere woman, so I persevered in attempting to do my share. As the week progressed though, I became steadily more fatigued and depressed. My every day began with early wakening, after which I would lie in bed waiting to hear movement elsewhere in the house. This was always my thinking period, when I would weigh my circumstances and try to decide if there was a possibility of ending my incarceration, for that is how I thought of my situation. For the first week at least I was able to think of no means by which this might be accomplished. Each day I resigned myself to another fourteen hours of torture, which would begin with Jane tightening my corset laces. Within the week she had managed to reduce my waistline by a further inch. Looking back, I can understand that things also were not easy for Jane. Besides having a responsibility three or four times daily to provide milk for her baby, from Monday to Saturday she had to carefully disguise her sex and spend nine or ten hours acting the part of a male bank employee. What bothered me most was her insistence on receiving all the prerogatives of the male head of a household, prerogatives which I felt should rightly be mine. Martha seemed to think that this power structure was quite appropriate under our circumstances. She always counseled me to obey orders without question, while undertaking to win points which I felt were important, by a mixture of subtle flattery and guile. But I was a slow learner, though on one occasion at least, when I did follow Martha's advice, I succeeded in postponing, though not avoiding completely, the inevitable fulfillment of Jane's plans. She was very anxious to have me introduced socially in this small town as her wife. This she felt was the best way to avoid suspicions about my identity. I, naturally enough, was petrified by the possibility of making a gaffe, which might not only result in my return to jail, but, perhaps even worse in my opinion at the time, might make me an object of ridicule and shame. More aware than I was myself, of my natural advantages for this role, she had every confidence that my masquerade would be totally successful. She counted on my smaller stature, very skimpy beard, and the higher than usual pitch of my voice to keep anyone from developing even a suspicion of the truth. Her confidence was bolstered too by her own successful portrayal of a member of the opposite sex. She began by insisting that we take a walk together each evening, with me wheeling the carriage. After the first time I went willingly enough, for it appeared we were likely to meet only individual men whom she had encountered at the bank. This was no problem for me because, after a perfunctory introduction I would be ignored, while any brief conversation which ensued, would be between the men only. At its conclusion a hat would be tipped to me, and we would continue on our way. Her intention of having me accompany her to church on Sunday morning truly terrified me. She announced it on Thursday evening and I spent all day Friday discussing my fears with Martha. On Saturday morning, as she tightened my laces, I confessed my terror to Jane and pleaded with her to spare me this ordeal for at least another week. It may have been the real tears which flowed from my eyes that persuaded her to grant my request. She wiped them away with her handkerchief, kissed me on the forehead, and acquiesced. "There, there! Jane, Honey," she cooed, "Put it out of your mind for the present. I'll go alone this time." I told Martha afterwards that the tears had been caused by the extreme tightness of my corset. I don't know whether she believed me or not, but she told me I should practise producing tears on demand, because they are almost always a sure-fire way of persuading a husband to surrender to his wife's request. Moreover she suggested, "Always be sure to word what you want as a request. Husbands like to feel they are being kind by yielding to a request, but will almost never yield to a demand, no matter how justified it is. A request can always be brought up again, but he will refuse to reopen discussion of a demand which has been denied." Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest for respectable families such as ours. After the breakfast dishes had been dried and put away Martha and I sat in the parlour working at our embroidery, something that would certainly have embarrassed James Johnson. As Jane Johnson, I enjoyed the relaxation, and as the pattern on the pillowcase took form, found satisfaction in my work. With my ample skirts spread over my knees, my back straight, thanks to my corset, and the long braids carefully wound around my head, I must have looked a picture of domestic femininity. Jane rewarded the care I had taken with my appearance by cutting a rose from the garden to pin in my hair. I felt absurdly flattered. She left for church alone, after asking that we be sure to have dinner ready on time, because she would have a surprise for us in the afternoon. The surprise turned out to be a rented horse and buggy. 'Mr. Johnson' waited rather impatiently while we 'womenfolk' insisted on packing a picnic basket for our afternoon excursion. Martha rode in the back with the baby, while I was perched on the front seat beside the driver. With a long duster over my silk dress, and my hair covered with a cloth hat, I was politely assisted to climb aboard. It proved to be a delightful ride in the bright sunshine. At a scenic lookout, where Martha and I were assisted to descend, we laid out a blanket on which to sit for our picnic lunch. When it was time to leave again, Jane's assistance was more than symbolic, it really was needed to help me rise gracefully from the ground. It was almost dark by the time Jane was ready to drop us at the house. She thanked me for my offer to accompany her while she returned the rig to the livery stable, but she felt that part of town was not a suitable place for a woman to walk after dark, even on a Sunday and accompanied by her husband. After we had settled Jamie for the night, I acted on my own suggestion of making a pot of tea for Jane to enjoy on her return. It was while we were sipping the tea that Jane told us we should set aside Wednesday afternoon to entertain the Minister's wife who was planning to make a call. I was not reassured by this development, but at least Martha would be present to divert some of the attention from me. At bedtime, Jane followed me into my room to tell me that she had thoroughly enjoyed her day in my company. She regretted the necessity of our present masquerade and hoped I would find it in my heart to forgive her for not having found an easier plan for my escape from jail. Her greatest regret of all was that simple common sense made it evident that she dare not sleep with me. She kissed me tenderly before leaving. That night, for the first time since my escape from jail, I was able to feel that I had spent a pleasant day. I was even becoming used to my corset and less aware of its constant pressure and ever-present insistence on erect posture. "Perhaps," I thought, "I 'll make it through this ordeal after all. It will certainly be something to remember for the rest of my life." Prison Society Monday and Tuesday were very busy days. The washing and the ironing consumed a great amount of my energy. At the same time my mind was busy trying to absorb from Martha all the details of the protocol for receiving the preacher's wife for afternoon tea. What should be served? How should she be greeted at the door? Is it permissible to use first names? Should we offer to take her hat and gloves, or only her coat? How should we arrange the furniture in the parlour? Should I wear an apron while pouring tea? Should the guest be asked to pour the tea? I pestered Martha with these, and myriad other questions of a like nature, in those two short days before my debut into local society. It was all very well for Jane to express total confidence in my ability to play my assigned role, but she seemed to have no idea just how limited was my experience of the world of women. I had been raised on a ranch, too far from the nearest neighbour for my mother to have anyone over for tea, so I had never even witnessed a gathering of women. By the time Wednesday morning rolled around I could fairly be described as a nervous wreck. Even Martha was beginning to wonder if I might crack under the strain. If there had been any alcohol in the house I would surely have taken refuge in the bottle. Martha kept me as busy as possible Wednesday morning, trying to hold my nervousness in check. I took the parlour rug out back for a thorough beating, we scrubbed the hall and parlour floors, and we thoroughly dusted all the furniture. At eleven-thirty she sent me to take a sponge bath while she did the final kitchen preparations for both our lunch and the afternoon tea. Jane affected surprise on seeing me scrubbed and polished, and wearing my best dress, when I greeted her at the door. "You are a silly one," she laughed when she realized that I had completed my dressing a good two hours before the time of the expected visit. "I'll bet Martha will still be dressing when your guest arrives." "She had better not be! I won't answer the door if she is not in the room with me," I replied with some heat. In an effort to calm me, Martha did go straight from the table to dress, leaving me to protect my frock with an apron, while I washed and dried the dishes. Jane was most charming with her words of encouragement as she departed for work, but I placed little confidence in her evaluation of my abilities in this world so foreign to my experience and upbringing. On her return, wearing a fresh dress, (not quite as elegant as mine I thought), Martha had us seat ourselves in the parlour to work on our handwork. I hemstitched furiously for just over an hour before the arrival of our guests. "Why you must be Mrs. Giddings. I'm so glad you could come today. And your friend is Mrs. - - -? Mrs. Holden. That is a very distinguished sounding name. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Holden. Please come in ladies. I'd like you to meet my sister-in-law." I had carefully memorized those words beforehand. Martha stood to meet the guests as they entered the room and assisted me in carrying their wraps into a bedroom while they chose seats. In the conversation that followed I tried my best to ask leading questions which would keep our guests talking, but they were determined to satisfy their curiosity about the wife of the new bank employee and I was forced to add embellishments to the cover story Jane had invented about my being very ill ever since the birth of Jamie. "Yes, I am beginning to feel much better. Thank you. I do hope to get around more, now that I am able to do more than just sit up for two hours a day." "What have I been doing since we arrived in town? Well, do you know that Sunday afternoon was the first time I've even been out of the house since we arrived in town. My husband took us for a wonderful ride in the countryside." Much of the conversation went on in that vein and I duly thanked them for their words of sympathy. They showed not nearly as much diligence in questioning Martha about her background. Perhaps it was because they perceived her as only a temporary visitor to the town, here only for the duration of my illness. Jamie was trotted out to be 'oohed and aahed' over. Both Martha's and my handwork was admired. Compliments were given about the small cakes served with the tea. Almost before I realized it, the hour had passed. We helped them on with their wraps and saw them to the door, after promising to make a return visit at some unspecified time in the future. Oh! How much more relaxed I felt when the door closed behind them. I took Martha's hands in mine and danced around her in a circle. "Well? Did I pass inspection?" I wanted to know. "I suppose you did," she laughed, "as long as they believed those whoppers you told about how sick you have been." I was still in high spirits when Jane arrived home from work, anxious to learn how my ordeal had gone. At bedtime, after our return from our evening stroll with the baby, she described me to Martha as having become quite chatty since the experience of the afternoon tea. I wasn't quite sure whether to interpret this as a compliment or not. My horizons expanded considerably after that initial introduction to feminine social practices of the time. Very soon, pushing the carriage, and in the company of Martha I was making forays to the butcher's and to the general store. Though still quite nervous, I managed to make a dignified entrance to the church on Sunday. On Jane's arm I was paraded up the centre aisle to a pew near the front, where we sat to listen to a sermon on the evils of cards and gambling, sins about which I had considerable personal knowledge. Privately I considered that the only sin in gambling was to be a loser, which I certainly knew all about, rather than a winner, about which I knew very little. At the exit door I held out my gloved hand to be shaken by the Minister while I told him that I was sure his sermon would do a lot of good. On the walk home I joked with Jane that I thought a lot of people would have stiff necks from straining to get a good glimpse of me during the service. It was on that same walk home that Jane confided that she thought I now would be able to manage alone, and that as soon as she could save enough money she would buy a train ticket so Martha could return to St. Louis where she had been working when she had received a telegram asking her to be Jane's companion during the latter's socially unacceptable confinement. She had been a loyal friend and Jane thought it only fair that she should be able to get on with her own life as soon as possible. After all, her fiancee might get tired of waiting and take up with another girl. I protested that I had thought we would all be leaving together by about the end of the month. "That's a fine idea, but where would the money come from?" asked the ever practical Jane. "You must have an exaggerated idea of the size of my salary." She laughed to herself before adding, "I suppose I should forgive you for that. Women are not supposed to have any sense of the value of money." "If it were my salary, I'd find a way for us to leave!" Once more she laughed. "Obviously you didn't pay any attention to the sermon, did you? If it was your salary we would never have enough to leave." "If you think I'll be such a poor provider, why do you want to marry me?" "Sometimes I wonder that myself," was her irreverent reply. "I guess it's because you're so decorative," she added, reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze, thus subtly disarming my verbal counterattack. She certainly knew how to use flattery to control my emotional response to her teasing remarks. It was weeks later when I finally realized that her joking words represented her real feelings, not about women in general, but specifically about me, a non-woman. That Wednesday I made my first visit to the butcher. Martha was at my side of course, but I felt quite important as I chose the roast and paid for it from my own purse out of the little money supplied to me by Jane. Being no longer so nervous in public I was able to enjoy the pleasure I experienced from the rustle of taffeta about my knees, as we pushed James' carriage along the wooden sidewalk. Martha also suggested a visit to the General Store, where we examined a bolt of plaid cloth and a dress pattern which she said would be very suitable for her next project, teaching me the rudiments of sewing. She insisted that the storekeeper set them aside for me to pick up on Saturday, "after 'my husband receives his weekly pay." I went back alone to pay for these items when the money was forthcoming after Martha spoke privately to Jane. I learned later that her winning argument was that this would be a worthwhile way of keeping my mind off my troubles. Both women seemed to believe the old adage, "The Devil makes work for idle hands." As she handed over the money Jane stressed that every penny spent now might delay our final departure. She stopped lecturing when I offered to forego the purchase, but my offer was refused. By the end of another week I had been twice to church and had attended my first afternoon tea outside our own parlour. I was beginning to take responsibility for the choice of groceries, and under Martha's supervision was learning to cook. In truth I was kept so busy that I really did not have time to brood. My proudest accomplishment was the new dress which I produced after two weeks of hand sewing. If I thought about Martha's approaching day of departure, it was as a step toward the time when my ordeal would end. With her departure Jane would be able to save a greater amount of her pay each week toward the purchase of train tickets for us. As I crawled under the covers each night my main preoccupation was my unsolved problem of persuading Jane to share my bed. Might she be persuaded after Martha was no longer present to remind her of her resolve not to take a chance on another pregnancy? Foiled Escape My developing social life led indirectly to another crisis in my relationship with Jane. Martha's departure was to be by train on the coming Monday morning. Jane had already obtained leave from her employer to be absent from work long enough to escort her 'sister-in-law' to the station. When generous Martha learned that there would be a dance in the town on the previous Saturday night, she offered to watch over the welfare of Jamie, while 'Mr. Johnson' escorted his 'young wife' to the festivities. To this end she devoted much of her spare time to teaching me the intricacies of dancing the lady's part in the Virginia Reel and other local favorites. I thoroughly enjoyed my instruction, particularly in the art of being swung round and round while clasped tightly by my partner. On the Saturday night my excitement rose to a fever pitch as I carefully dressed in my newly-completed hand-sewn plaid dress. I was so caught up with the spirit of the occasion that I even asked Jane to tighten my corset beyond what she herself considered adequate. Jane's description of me as 'bubbling over with enthusiasm' was most appropriate as we walked together along the wooden sidewalks to reach the hall. The festivities did not disappoint me. At the previous dances I had attended as a young male, my main concern had been to persuade a certain young lady that she would like to accompany me out into the darkness behind the hall. Now my attention was concentrated on the dance itself. Jane had no intention of leading me astray and the young bucks concentrated their efforts on the 'unmarried' and therefore 'available' young women. Not that I did not have much to learn about the relationship between the sexes. I was amazed at the number of partners whom I had to remind sharply that the place for their hand was at my waist, rather than below the corset on my unprotected buttocks, unprotected that is except by my numerous layers of petticoats. One man I embarrassed in Jane's presence, by publicly refusing to dance with him, because of his refusal to respect the limits I set. My enjoyment of the evening would have been complete and unreserved, had it not been for a snatch of conversation I overheard between the deputy sheriff who had helped to arrest 'James Johnson' before the latter's escape from jail and one of his cronies. It occurred while the fiddler was taking a break and I was standing waiting for Ja