Name: Elizabeth "Bethie" Bishop<br/>Sex: Female<br/>Height: 5'6"<br/>Weight: 125 lbs<br/>Hair Color/Style: Blonde, often worn straight and long or in a full braid.<br/>Originally from Memphis, Tennessee. Daughter of a hired farmhand and sister to three brothers, all killed in the war fighting for the South.<br/>(http://24.media.tumblr.com/a3e4296cdc8e86b38395cd78c799e1f0/tumblr_mp7x0zOtvV1rw1vgeo1_1280.jpg)<br/><br/><hr/><em><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">May, 1863 - A letter sent to Mrs. Eleanor Hardy<br/><br/>Auntie Eleanor,<br/><br/>It has been some time since I last saw you. I believe it was 1860 at great-uncle Joseph's funeral. I hope you have been well.<br/><br/>Father always told me that the Lord watches over us the most in dark times. After living through the recent months, I must say that I do believe he was right.<br/><br/>As you may have heard, father was killed in the war. Robert and Danny too. The tragedy struck mother and I quite hard. In January, the damn Yankees made it to Memphis. They raided the whole city, burning most of it. They came to the plantation. Mother and I were still staying there, helping out as much as we could. Mr. Wilkes was mighty kind to us. They ransacked the whole place, and they took mother. She returned a few days later, but she was never the same. She never spoke about what happened, and she died about a month later. The doctor says it was the flu, but I think she was just too sad to keep on going.<br/><br/>Mr. Wilkes let me stay for a while. The Yankees set all the Negros free, and his estate was torn up badly. Eventually, he decided to pack up and head to South Carolina where he had a brother. I moved in with Mrs. Davis, a neighbor. She let me stay for a few months, but she says she can't afford me much longer.<br/><br/>There ain't no jobs around here. Not anymore, at least.<br/><br/>Father always told me I could turn to you for help. I simply ask for a place to stay. I can cook and clean, and I've heard there are more jobs in Missouri than here. I've grown a lot since we last saw each other. Working on the farm has made me strong.<br/><br/>With an overabundance of love,<br/><br/>Bethie</span></em><br/><hr/><br/><hr/><em><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">April, 1866 - Bethie's diary<br/><br/>The Lord is my witness.<br/><br/>It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not fail you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed. Deuteronomy 31:8<br/><br/>I pray that nobody reads these pages, for within them is written the confession of my guilt and sin. Today, I killed a man.<br/><br/>I know not his name, but I shall never forget his face. He was a regular. In the past, he paid up. I heard he lost his job in the next town, but he kept coming around. He didn't just see me, but he saw me the most, I think. From what I was told, he was close friends with Mr. Barber, the owner. So, after he missed a few payments, he let it slide.<br/><br/>He began to approach me when I was shopping. I shrugged him off. It hadn't been the first time. But, my Lord, he was persistent. Yesterday, he came upon me. It was late, and he was drunk. Fearing for my life, I shot him. My auntie always had me carry my father's Colt. As I write, my hands shake. I will never forget his final words, which I shall never record or utter.<br/><br/>Fearing the consequences and scorn, I fled. I knew there was a wagon train leaving town soon. I had heard some men talking about it in the tavern. With determination and swiftness, I moved to secure myself a spot on the train. I was told that women were unable to travel alone. After speaking with some other ladies that were stuck in a similar situation, we agreed to enact a ruse to grant us passage out west on the wagon train. I would play the role of the wife. I am excited, and I have tried to find God's light in these circumstances.<br/><br/>I have many regrets, but the biggest is thank I will be unable to thank Auntie in person. I could not bring myself to see her and tell her of my deed. I wrote a letter to her, telling her that I was heading out west. I shall write a longer thank you once I am safely away.</span></em><br/><hr/><br/>Being the third of four children had taught Bethie to not be stubborn. She always tried to remain optimistic and cooperative. When the opportunity to align with the other girls presented itself, she spoke her mind.<br/><br/>Sitting at the front of the wagon did not change that side of her. It was not yet summer, and so the sun was soothingly warm. Bethie was mostly silent, and she found herself staving off sleep on multiple occasions. She tried to amuse herself by watching the scenery, but the pace was too slow to make it enjoyable.<br/><br/>She found some solace by watching her new companions. The first was an educated southerner. Bethie had been around a plantation for most of her life, and she reminded her of some of the plantation owner's daughters. She seemed quite cold, but Bethie couldn't decipher if that was merely an act.<br/><br/>The other woman was a Yankee. Bethie wasn't fond of Yankees before the war, and she hated them after it. This woman, Penelope, seemed just like the rest to Bethie. She had a loud accent and a foul mouth.<br/><br/>Still, the woman made for moderate entertainment as she scurried around the inside of the wagon. All of Bethie's belongings were in a single suitcase. Simple dresses, her father's Colt, and a few books made up most of her belongings.<br/><br/>She looked back toward Jess and wondered if she should say anything. After some consideration, she turned back and continued to watch the treeline.