The train ride was less enjoyable. Rattles and screeches assailed my ears and bones the whole distance. It was a marvel the carriage stayed on the track. Further, the rank smell of the unwashed and cheap tobacco assailed the nose, while opening the widows admitted plentiful quantities of smoke and cinders. Such is modern travel.

The steam line ended at 32nd St. I descended to the platform wearier than I had anticipated. So, I determined to hasten to Waverly House to refresh myself.

I had looked forward to seeing the city, but it was not the jewel I anticipated. Never had I seen so many people in one place – half a million I was told. Each was set upon their course in virtual oblivion of the others. None exchanged greetings or returned mine. Gentlemen did not smile or tip their hats, though a number fixed their gaze upon my bosom. The women, though fewer, were more noticeable. The veritable rainbow of their garb and narrow waists minded me of my dull grey frock and want of corseting. (The Asylum Elders frowned on luxuries.) My figure was quite mannish in comparison.

While a sulfurous haze perfused the station, beyond its portals I was greeted by the rank odor of excrement. I marked several men whose sole occupation seemed to be the removal of horse offal. As a ward against this foulness, I purchased a rose from a young girl. Near her, two doxies, scandalously clad, plied their trade with passing men. A nearby policeman was oblivious. Meanwhile, my ears rang with the clatter of wagons on cobbles, punctuated by steam whistles and the curses of teamsters. I recalled the Sergeant’s advice, assumed an air of confidence, and made my way to the horsecar line.

As the Elder said, innumerable mercantile establishments, selling every imaginable ware (and a few I would never have imagined) lined the way. The other women in the car exhibited a complete indifference to the more egregious displays. I affected to do the same.

A few stops down a petite lady of striking delicacy boarded and chose to sit next to me. She could not have been five feet tall. I said “Good day,” with no expectation of a reply.

To my mild surprise, she responded. “Good day to you, my dear.”

I smiled back.

“I wish to compliment you on your eschewal of feminine convention. So many women dress to attract the gaze of men. You do not. Still, you cut a handsome figure.”

I was unsure what response to make. I had never been called “pretty.” I supposed “handsome” to be a complement. Doing so warmed me. “Thank you. You are possessed of an admirable beauty. Your golden curls are particularly fetching,” I said, responding in kind.

“You are very gallant. I am Caroline Bloome, lady’s companion.”

“Nancy Winston, governess,” I said, extending my larger hand.

We chatted of weather and the shops we passed until we neared her stop.

“Perhaps you would like to share lunch?”

“I would, but my schedule is full. Could we arrange another time? I expect to be free on Saturdays. If you give me your address, I will dispatch a note.”

“I look forward to it.” Caroline gave me her card and got off at the next stop.

After registering at the hotel, I refreshed myself with coffee and cold mutton – at an exorbitant price – in an dining saloon reserved for the fairer sex. I then asked the concierge to recommend a reputable establishment for women’s apparel. He directed me to a nearby seamstress. On my way out, a charwoman stopped me, saying he was paid to refer me there. Better prices were to be had at Mrs. O’Malley’s in the next street, and, if I did not mind used goods, I could find serviceable items some blocks further. I gave her a penny for her help.

In passing the shop recommended by the concierge, I saw a satin and lace gown in the window. It was neither to my taste nor budget. The shop recommended by the charwoman was better suited to my needs and means. I would have missed it but for a small sign above its door: “Mary O’Malley, Seamstress.” Upon entering I was greeted by a middle aged woman. She was red-headed and had a tape measure draped around her neck.

“G’day, may I be of assistance?”

“I am to be a governess and need a Sunday dress and at least one other for daily wear, of sturdy fabric and moderate cost.”

“Of course, but I note that you do not follow the fashion of wearing a corset. Did your mother not start you?”

“Unfortunately, I am an orphan. My mother died when I was but 8.”

“I am so sorry, darlin’! That explains it. Most train their daughters to the corset beginning at 11 or 12. We must begin with a corset, or my measurements will be useless. Fortunately, you are still young enough to train your figure.”

“Must we?” I said, recalling Mrs. van Hoff’s and Miss Wright’s complaints regarding their corsets.

“’Tis the fashion, darlin’.”

“Very well.”

Ten minutes later I was laced so tight I could not breath and still had two or three inches to go.

“This is intolerable! I refuse to do it!”

“But, darlin’, I can’t make you a fashionable dress if you don’t wear a corset.”

“I’d rather endure a lack of fashion than a lack of breath. Some think me quite handsome as I stand,” I said, recalling Miss Bloome’s compliment.

For some reason a strange look crossed Mrs. O’Malley’s face. “If that is what you want, darlin’ … but the gentlemen prefer a tiny waist,” she said in a last effort.

I wanted out of the infernal contraption. “I care not for gentlemen or what they prefer!”

She got a look I did not quite understand, but gave me my head. “Very well. Let’s get you unlaced, and I’ll measure you as God made you.”

“I am sure the Lord will appreciate that.”

She chuckled and her mood changed. The rest of our business went easily. I ordered two dresses for $12.00 -- $7.00 for the Sunday dress and $5.00 for the everyday dress. I would pick them up Friday.

I proceeded to a district crowded with second-hand shops. I found a decent pair of lady’s boots for $1.00, but, given my height and lack of corset, no dress to fit me. I was returning to the hotel when I saw a sign in a narrow street, “The Special Woman, Larger Sizes, Alice Cunningham, Prop.” Racks of larger dresses, none with wasp waists, lined its walls. Hearing the bell, the shopkeeper came from the back where she had been helping another patron. Both were large of stature. As she came into the light of the shop window, I was astonished to see that, despite her hair and dress, Alice was a man – a two spirit, I supposed.

“May I help you?” she said in a passably feminine voice.

I now understood that, with my mannish shape, I had stumbled upon a shop for two spirits. I reflected that Little Edward and possibly my new charge might one day patronize it.

“Why, yes … thank you, madam. As you can see, I have an unusual figure. I am looking for one or two dresses. Do you have anything suited to my occupation of governess?”

“I am not sure what is suitable to a governess.”

“I am,” said the refined voice of the other patron. “I was raised by a governess. She was the only one who accepted me as God made me, Alice.” This patron was a two spirit as well, but far more feminine than Alice. “Would you like me to show you a few?”

“Yes, I would. Thank you very much. I am Nancy Winston,” I said, extending my hand.

“Paula van de Graaf, nee Paul Anderson,” she said, shaking my hand in the feminine manner. A wedding ring adorned her left hand.

Paula found a lavender and a rose dress. They were not of a style I had seen in the torn copy of Peterson’s Magazine Margaret and I shared, but they fit me well enough. Alice asked $3.25 each, but after a dour stare from Paula, said $5.00 would do for the pair. Another $2.50 went for small clothes.

After paying, we exited and I thanked Paula for her assistance. “Paula, I wonder if you might be willing to help me further?”

“In what manner, Nancy?”

“This is my first service as governess, and my case is rather unusual. My charge is said to be particularly epicene. He is such an embarrassment that he is to be sent away. As an alternative to a boarding school, I am to take him to Yonkers. You said you were raised by an understanding governess. I beg your advice.”

“Then our meeting is providential, for I would do anything to spare a child the suffering I endured. Would you be comfortable accompanying me to public house frequented by androgenes such as myself? It is in the Village. I assure you, you will be safe.”

I paused to reflect on the dangers I had been warned to avoid. Trust in so singular a stranger would be high among them. Against this was duty to my prospective charge and a profound sense that Paula was a kind and honorable person. “I trust your judgement, Paula.”

To my surprise, Paula whistled shrilly once and, after an interval, again. Shortly, a cab appeared. The cabbie hardly gave us a second glance. As we entered, Paula gave the driver an address and we were off.

The shop was in a tenement basement, but surprisingly well-appointed. In late afternoon, there were few other patrons. At one table was woman of about 30 in a shirt and trousers chatting with a stylish older woman. At another was a well-dressed man of affairs holding the hand of an androgene like Paula.

I ordered coffee and Paula a pint of stout. She began by asking what I thought of “the city” (as though there we none other – and perhaps there is not its like in the world). I recounted my experiences and impressions, many of which caused a chuckle. When I described my encounter with Caroline, Paula asked my how I felt about it. I said I was glad to make a friend, and she made me feel special.

“Did you have an intimate friend at the Asylum?”

“No, I always felt plain compared to the other girls and shared not their obsession with boys.”

“I see. Well, Nancy, Caroline may see you as a potential beau. You would as be handsome in a shirt and trousers as our friend yonder,” she said glancing at the woman so dressed. “The disciples of Sappho often call strong women such as yourself ‘handsome’ or ‘gallant.’ Heaven knows, there is nothing wrong in being so desired or enjoying such attention. Still, it is good to know what one is about.”

I blushed. “Thank you for telling me. I am not sure what to think now.”

“Did you enjoy her attention?”

“Frankly, I did.”

“Would you like to kiss her?”

I felt a strange stirring. Caroline was beautiful and made me feel esteemed. “Perhaps. I do not know.”

“In time you will know yourself better. Just take care not to break her heart if there is no chance with you.”

“I will.” It had not occurred to me to place myself in Caroline’s position.

“So, Nancy, have you had experience with an epicene boy.”

“I think so, but I am uncertain.” I described my experience with Little Edward.

“Well, Edward probably a strong streak of lavender.”

“A streak of lavender?”

“You, know a womanly inclination – like me.”

We turned then to Paula’s history.

“I always felt unlike the other boys. I did not like their rough games. I preferred playing family with my sister. We took turns playing mother as it was the role we both liked best. Mother accepted our play, but father beat me, and sometimes mother, whenever he caught me. When I was 14, I told mother I was a girl. She told father and I was beaten and banished from our home.”

My eyes filled with tears on hearing her sufferings.

Paula went on, her eyes directed at the table. “After that, I starved on the street until I discovered that certain men would pay for my favors. In time, I was taken into a Molly house. All this was in Albany. That is where I met John. He took me back to New York with him and introduced me as his secretary.” At this point he looked up and saw my tears. “Don’t cry Nancy, for all ended well. Last year I married John.”

“Really?” I was stunned.

“Yes, in church before a priest of John’s faith. I wore a lovely dress and had three bridesmaids. My sister was Matron of honor. Our marriage is even registered at the Hall of Records.”

“I am so happy for you. How was it arranged?”

“The priest is also an androgene. As for the registration, John is a well-connected. So he made me an
honest woman at last!” she said with a wry smile.

I leaned across and hugged her to my bosom. “I am so happy for you!”

“Thank you Nancy. I feel a true friend in you.”

“I feel the same.”

“I should see you back to your hotel. Here is my card, should you wish to correspond.” It read “Paul Anderson, Confidential Secretary to John van de Graaf, Esq.”

I looked a bit puzzled, for I had come to regard Paula as fully a woman.

“Such is how the world knows us, dear. Usually I dress as you see me, but in business, I wear male garb.”
“I understand.”

I had a light repast at the hotel, and retired to the lady’s lounge, where worn copies of Godey’s Lady’s Book and Peterson’s Magazine were to be found laying on a sideboard. Finding nothing of interest in them, I climbed the stairs to my small chamber, made my ablutions and went to bed.