For a longer example check out my serial published Kindle Vella Historical Lesbian Romance Soldiers In Arms to understand just how hard being in love as a lesbian during a time when it was never mentioned as I take on the Civil War era and show the women who hid as soldiers to fight in their own way back in the 1860s during the Civil War.

In a WLW historical romance, Ester May Echols lives the truths passed down from her father; poetry and music are essential, true love is never wrong, and she must care for Bella, the family military bugle. With Bella at her side, she enlists as Private Emmit Echols, in the 4th Regiment Virginia Cavalry. She makes new friends and bitter enemies and plays her bugle. In shock, she finds an attraction toward Captain Rosco Woolman, until she discovered his secret. Can they simply abide as Soldiers in Arms? 

Sergeant Mac quickly turned to look at the last of the three lads. The fair-haired boy, Emmit Echols, was tucked into an overturned horse trough, probably tipped during a skirmish. By far, the youngest Mac had seen arrive yet, Emmit clung tightly to his leather carry pouch, features pale as his head tilted toward every twitch of a branch crackling in the breeze. The Sergeant gave an internal sigh. Just a bairn, they be send’n babes into the fray. Things must be bad… He blinked away that awful rising thought and spat a stream of black tobacco at the ground to belay the Earl O’ Hell’s trickery. With regard, Sergeant Mac recognized the good qualities. The sprat was tall, a definite plus for fightin’; tall and thin as a reed. The lad barely fit in the trough, folded like an accordion to hide his lanky limbs. Mac shook his head. The boy’s face, so guileless. He looked like maybe high born, softer than a street rat and used to the feather pillow. He was probably a runner, far too young to enter into the war but entered illegally anyhow. His Ma is prolly hav’n conniptions, Mac chewed his ‘baccie. Of the three, Emmit seemed the weakest. Mac was already fill’n out the paperwork in his head to send the boy home.

As if hearing the cynical thoughts of the war vet, young Emmit Echols turned his wide-eyed gaze toward the stocky soldier in his sleeve striped dark blue coat, his bulky figure laying down low in the nearby ditch; Sgt Mac met the curious gaze. The Sergeant was hard pressed to hide his surprise when the young lad managed a small grin. Not a shred of fear lurked in those steady pale blue eyes. The corner of Mac’s mouth curled upward with respect for the young’un but became a frown as he felt a chill of unease race over his neck. As his dear Pappy used to say, “someone twas roll’n in der grave, boy. Bes’ to keep yourn eyes crack’n, for dey roll on ov’r yous.” 

Only two times previous in his life had Stuart MacGilmicheal borne the weight of his Da’s ominous words. Once, on a night with the chill of death spoken clear in his head, when his younger brother had been shot in a hunting accident. Mac remembered the family dog break into a deep baying howl that lasted into the midnight hour. An ta other when he heared his dear auld’ Da tell’n him he was belov’d half-ways across’d the world, only to learn weeks later his elder passed in the nigh to a better place. The memories struck him wary, as did this brush of the ghoulie that tickled his bones now. Jus a git of a boy, looking upon him with such a steady gaze; he caught himself still before he shifted in his hiding place.

That sprites stare was like the devil casting an eye toward a weak soul, how the weight did lie upon him. Sgt Mac masticated a few bitter bites of his ‘baccie and narrowed his eyes at the fledgling. The boy has a smarts about em, you could tell by look’n. Maybe he was more like an angel check’n to make sure I’m doin my part in it all. And as if Emmit could hear his thoughts, he gave a wink to the Sergeant, then broke his conspirator look as he lifted his head to check beyond the edge of the trough. Mac felt the chill fade as he grinned at the youngster’s impudence. Then he shook his head at his own reaction. War was no place to smile and wink. He scowled at the backs of the three scoundrels near him and turned to see just what the lads were looking at. 

Coming down the road, on horseback, was a two-man patrol. Their gray sash waist bands knotted to the side and the dusty boot leggings with their broad cuffs folded down, were obviously southern. Holding in the spit of the nip of tobacco, Sgt Mac felt the rising flush of battle in his guts. He fought the urge down. No time to be gett’n brave. You done pretty good so far codger, Just keep yourn head on straight and take care of yon recruits. He lifted finger to lips to motion all to remain quiet and be still. The three lads made small and seemed to hold their breaths. 

The light clanking sound of field gear latched to the horses—a canteen, a haversack, eating utensils, drink cup—slowly moved up the dirt road. The wagon and the tipped trough were ignored. The soldiers never spoke and passed by to continue without pause. 

After a solid bit of wait, the foot-bound foursome slowly came out of hiding. Sergeant Mac checked them over and nodded. He pointed and motioned for Bo to lead the way south. They moved out again, to head to the main encampment of the 4th Regiment Virginia Cavalry. The First Sergeant warned them, once again, they were in for a long walk.