Good glorious morning, daughter.
-Dad. -Yes.
You're up!
You're dressed.
You have color in your face again.
I know. I feel 100% better.
It turns out all I needed was a few days' rest, and now I feel fine.
However, I have come out of my illness with an important realization.
-What's that? -That I'm going to die.
-What? -No tears, no tears.
No, it's just a simple fact. I'm not long for this world.
Yes. Life is fleeting, a brief candle…
Bye, Eddy.
Before you know it, I'll be gone,
which means I have a lot of paperwork to get to.
Paperwork?
Yes. The situation is urgent.
No, I have to get my entire estate in order.
Oh, I have to redraft my will, notarize my deeds,
and send my collected essays to the copyist,
not to mention donating respectable sums of money
to New England's most enriching institutions.
Emily, the clock is ticking.
I have to solidify my footprint on the town of Amherst,
not to mention the world.
I may be dead within a month,
but people will never forget the name Edward Dickinson.
Okay. Well, Dad, I'm so glad you're feeling better.
There's something I wanna talk about.
Speak quickly, please. I have some major benefactions to arrange.
Right.
It's just this rift between you and Austin.
What rift?
I mean, how Austin got drunk and said all of those terrible things,
and then your heart literally stopped.
Oh, all that.
Listen, I would honestly understand if you never wanted to speak to him again,
but I am begging you, with all my heart, please forgive him.
Oh, my dear, dramatic child.
I'm not the slightest bit angry with your brother.
-You're not? -No.
If there's one thing my brush with mortality has taught me,
it's that life is too short to hold a grudge against my one and only son.
Dad, I expected you to be so upset.
Emily, it's obvious that Austin is going through something right now.
I don't want to hold that against him.
I want to support him in any way that I can,
and if that means he's not gonna speak to me for a while, then… so be it.
It's not like I'm going to write him out of my will.
Oh, Father. That is fantastic. I can't tell you how happy that makes me.
We can have peace. Peace in this family at last.
Dickinson
The Soul has Bandaged moments
-Thought you were gonna add more ruffles. -It's a mourning dress.
I know. And whereas other women are only in mourning for one dead husband,
I am in mourning for the infinite number of husbands I never even get to meet.
So we're gonna need to kick this up a notch.
You know, in my opinion, ruffles don't really say ''grief.''
Really? Do you think a little more cleavage would help?
Vinnie. Vinnie. Hi, Betty.
Great news. Dad's not mad at Austin.
The Dickinson war is over.
Except, meanwhile the actual war rages on, which is why I'm gonna need your help.
Help with what?
I'm hosting one of our sewing circles tonight.
Only I've renamed it "The Amherst Ladies' Aid Society,"
and we'll be making bandages for soldiers.
Look at you, Vinnie. Doing your part.
Yeah, so it is time to get your whipstitch on.
Ooh, I was actually gonna do some writing tonight.
I have so much poetry in my head.
With all this conflict in our family, none of it has been able to come out.
Finally, tonight I can sit in peace.
I'm sorry.
Peace is not an option right now.
This country is at war,
my ex-boyfriends are dying, and you need to help.
I can't even sew.
That's true. She really can't.
Okay. We don't need to laugh about it.
Everyone has strengths. Sewing doesn't happen to be one of mine.
Which is why Betty will be joining us tonight.
She's the best seamstress in Amherst. She'll teach us to make roller bandages
and other useful things for the soldiers.
-Even you, Emily. -That's right, but I can't stay long.
Remember, I have a-- Oh, excuse me.
I have a-- a houseguest. I am just exhausted.
I didn't sleep last night.
This houseguest of mine, she keeps me up all night.
-Who is this houseguest? -Does she snore?
No, she talks. I'm helping her write her life story.
She's an incredible woman, and she's lived an extraordinary life,
but she can't read or write, so I'm helping her get it all down.
We've been going for three nights straight now,
and she just doesn't stop.
It's just story after story. I can barely keep up.
That's amazing, Betty. What a wonderful thing to do for someone.
-Help them write their truth. -Well, at least it gets my mind off Henry.
No word from him yet?
Oh, my God. What happened to Henry?
Oh, we don't know.
We haven't had a letter from him for over a month now.
-Are you two still even together? -Vinnie, please. Be sensitive.
Listen, Betty. I completely get it.
I know what it's like to lose someone I loved,
or, like, hooked up with once at a party.
Henry is not lost.
He is out there somewhere, and he's gonna write to Betty very soon.
I hope so for Helen's sake, at least.
He's out there. Betty, he is. I'm not giving up hope.
Thanks, Emily.
That… That helps.
Well, that's all I want to do.
-Find ways to help. -Great.
Sounds like you will be joining the women of Amherst sewing tonight.
Vinnie, Betty, you inspire me.
We can all pitch in.
We can all do our part and make this world a better place
and fill this country with love and kindness.
That bitch won't let me hold the baby!
Okay, this seems like a good time for me to leave.
See you later. Don't forget to bring an extra thimble.
Who on God's green earth does she think she is?
What is all this racket?
Oh, Edward! You're out of bed!
Yes. I started feeling better,
so I thought I'd pop down and revise my will.
Well, you better not be leaving anything to Sue.
-What did she do? -She won't let me hold my own grandson.
I am that child's only living grandmother.
Where is the respect?
Not to mention the fact that it was me who brought him into this world.
Well, technically speaking, that was Sue, wasn't it?
Oh, please. All she did was lie there and push a little bit.
Meanwhile, I used my time-honored Norcross midwifery skills
to guide its skull into the light, and this is how she thanks me?
She won't even let me in the room.
Okay, you know what? Honestly, I've always disliked her.
Emily, I need your help.
Me? What can I do?
You're the only one she'll listen to.
She was asking for you specifically just now.
She said, "Only Emily can enter the bedroom."
You need to go and talk some sense into her.
Right. I was just about to go upstairs and collect my thoughts.
Emily, we don't have time for your thoughts.
This family is being torn apart, and if we don't act quickly,
that child may never get to know his own grandparents.
Oh, don't be absurd.
The child is just a week old. Have some patience.
Patience? What am I supposed to do, wait until he's all grown up?
-Yeah. -Bonding starts immediately.
I need him to know my scent.
Edward, you've never even laid eyes on this child.
I don't need to meet him. I already know he's gonna carry on the Dickinson name,
and that's good enough for me.
Speaking of which, I have to get back to my bequeathing,
and I can't work in the midst of this hysteria.
So please clear out, will you, please?
I will go as soon as Emily agrees to talk to Sue.
All right.
Okay. I… I'll try.
Emily, don't forget about the sewing circle tonight.
Emily, this family is depending on you.
Yes, Emily. Please go. Go.
Emily, do something.
Don't worry, everyone. Emily Dickinson is here to help.
Is it true, dear Sue?
Are there two?
Go away.
Sue, it's me.
Emily? Come in, please. Come in.
Come here. We have room for you here.
He just nursed. Now he's sleeping.
Do you want to hold him?
Me? Oh, no, that's okay. That's-- I'd probably drop him.
Great.
You don't even want to touch the baby, and your mother refuses to give him back.
Yeah, so, about that…
Wait a minute. Did she send you over here?
Maybe.
-Can you just tell me what happened? -You know your mother.
I swear she would try to nurse this baby herself
if I gave her half a chance.
When she's over here, all she does is criticize me,
boss me around and give me advice that I don't need or want.
She just…
She just needs to respect my boundaries.
I hear you. I totally hear you,
but she is so desperate to bond with her first grandchild.
Could you just cut her a little slack? Please?
I need more time with him first.
This baby will be a Dickinson soon enough.
Just…
let him be a Gilbert for now.
All right. Let's see this little Gilbert.
Say something to him.
I want him to learn your voice.
Hey, little one.
It's your uncle Emily.
Uncle Emily knows a man who drives a coach like a thimble.
Turns the wheel all day with his heel.
His name is…
Do you know the answer?
-Go on. Give me a guess. -Come on, baby.
Okay, I'll tell you. His name is Bumblebee.
Imagine the child we could raise together.
He'd be a genius.
A prodigy.
Sue, that's impossible.
Is it impossible?
Or is it just not… what you want?
Where's Austin?
Out with George.
They went to jump in Puffer's Pond. They got drunk on homemade whiskey.
The pond? It's freezing. It's not even noon.
Well, your brother is a child.
He probably won't even be home for dinner. He's always out so late.
Emily. You could come.
We could have a little meal together by the fireside, with the baby.
Wouldn't that be nice?
I can't.
Why not?
I promised Lavinia I would go to her sewing circle tonight.
We're making bandages for the soldiers.
Damn it.
Why do you always do this?
Do what?
Choose your family over me?
I never-- That's not fair, Sue.
-I'm not choosing anyone. -Shh.
Maybe that is the problem.
Sometimes, I would like to feel chosen.
I would choose you over anyone, anytime, anyplace.
My family is on the verge of tearing itself apart.
All I wanna do is just make sure that everyone is okay.
I'm just trying to help, Sue. I'm--
There are so many ways that you could be helping me.
You know, I didn't even want to go to the sewing circle tonight.
What I want is to be writing poems, but life keeps getting in the way.
Yeah. Yeah, life is messy like that.
There are poems that I wanna write for you.
Okay, Emily.
But--
But what if I need more than your poems?
What if right now I need all of you?
Babysitters club at your service.
-Hey, look at that. You have help. -Yeah.
'Cause nothing says "free domestic labor" like "adopted cousins."
Remember to flatten your seams
and overlap the raw edges.
Very nice, Abiah.
Good work there, Mrs. Dickinson.
The soldiers are going to appreciate that pillowcase.
Oh, thank you.
But this isn't for the soldiers. It's for my grandson.
Hopefully one day I'll be able to give it to him in person.
-Mom, I tried. Okay? -Not hard enough.
Sue isn't letting Mrs. Dickinson spend time with the baby.
Okay, I live for the hot goss I get at these sewing circles.
Do you know what I would give to hold my first and only grandson?
To hear him call me "Grandmother"?
Or maybe "Grammy."
-Or "Gigi." Or maybe "Cookie." -The baby doesn't even have a name yet.
But when they give him a name, don't you think he should call me Cookie?
-It's more youthful. -Yes.
Speaking of babies, I can't believe Jane moved to Vietnam.
-I already got a letter from her. -Oh, my God. What does it say?
She brought maple syrup to a restaurant in Saigon
and made people put it on their dumplings.
Called it "New England-Asian fusion."
She's so canceled.
Emily, what are you doing? You're wasting good muslin.
Sorry, the thread just kinda took over.
I thought you said you wanted to help.
Yeah. No soldier's going to be able to wrap their wound in that.
I told you guys. I can't sew.
Then tear the stitches out and start again.
We can't waste good muslin.
I wish I was more like a spider.
Excuse me?
A Spider sewed at Night
Without a Light
Upon an Arc of White.
That's so poetic.
Yes, because it's a poem.
-Ah… -Just keep sewing, Emily.
Beautiful edgework, Vinnie.
Where did you get that fabric? It has such a lovely sheen.
I'm tearing up my old dresses to make bandages.
Hard to believe I used to wear these dresses to look good for my suitors.
Now the closest I'll ever get to a man is
if he wraps his hemorrhaging leg wound in a piece of my silk.
Girl, that is dark.
Personally, I never thought the war would last this long.
It seems utterly endless.
I know. It's like… America was only founded 100 years ago.
Is this the end of it? Already?
Can we lighten the mood here? Does anyone have more tea?
Tea? Oh, I didn't know you wanted some.
Girls, go make some tea.
No, I mean, like, "the tea,"
the gossip, the dirt.
Here's some tea. For every three soldiers that are killed in the battlefield,
another five die of disease.
And of those five, all of them had wives, and girlfriends,
and ex-girlfriends who never stopped being attracted to them.
They just weren't in the right headspace for a relationship at the time.
This is all about Ship and Joseph Lyman.
Joseph Lyman died fighting for the Confederacy.
-We're not ready for that conversation? -Is that true?
Ow! Why are needles so sharp?
Emily, if you can't sew, then knit something.
I'm just not made for traditional feminine handicrafts.
Emily, we all need to do our part.
Yes, you need to help.
I'm trying to help!
All day I've been trying,
but nothing I do seems to be making anything any better.
We're not mending the real wounds anyway.
What do you mean by that?
I mean the pain that lies in people's hearts.
The violence, the hatred, the suffering in their souls.
That's what I want to heal.
With my poetry.
-Good luck with that. -What, you think poetry doesn't matter?
Question for the group: Who's the greatest living poet in America?
-Walt Whitman. -Correct.
And what's Walt Whitman doing these days?
He's a freaking nurse in a field hospital.
Because even Walt Whitman realizes that his words don't matter right now.
What matters are his actions,
the work he's doing on the ground to help his fellow man.
I'm not sure I agree.
We publish poetry in Drum Beat.
That's the Union newspaper my husband and I are running
under the leadership of Abraham Lincoln himself.
We get it. Your husband has met the president.
Lincoln says we're doing great things for the Union.
And soldiers love Drum Beat. They even read it on their deathbeds.
See? Poetry can bring comfort to a dying man.
Oh, and that's all you want to do? Give people comfort?
Sorry, but I think we should be making people uncomfortable.
I think we should be taking our rage to the streets.
Women deserve the right to vote. We need to explicitly demand
that the constitution invoke the rights of female persons,
and we need to not tell my husband that I am saying any of this.
You can take that kind of talk right out of my dining room.
Well, I think poetry can help.
Or least I hope it can.
Otherwise my life is pretty much meaningless.
I think Emily is right.
Betty, go on.
Uh, Henry is a writer.
I blamed him for putting his writing ahead of our family.
And it's true, it tore our family apart.
But then it…
His writing stitched us back together again.
The letters that he writes Helen, that he used to write…
They became her only source of hope.
God, I don't know what I'm gonna do
if Helen doesn't get another one of those letters.
So…
Yes, I do believe in the power of writing.
Sometimes it's all we really have.
That's right. That's right, Betty.
And writing is what I'm good at.
So what if I can't sew or knit? Or hold newborn babies?
Or fix all the messy relationships in my family? So what?
The best thing that I can do for the world is lock myself away and write poetry.
But what good are your poems gonna be if you do that?
What?
If you can't handle the mess of the world,
why would anyone need to hear what you have to say?
Writing that shuts real life out…
is as good as dead.
Well, maybe we should get back to sewing
because hundreds of eligible babes are out there getting their legs blown off. So--
My leg!
-Incoming. Got an injury here. -Austin?
-What's all this noise? -Are you okay?
-The bastard got me! -What happened?
We got into a teensy-tiny bar fight. There were broken bottles flying around.
-One of them cut Austin's leg. -My God. He's bleeding.
My son! My son is wounded!
Go get the bandages!
But those are for the soldiers.
-Austin, sit. -Oh, Jane.
-Sit down. -Oh! Where-- Where-- Where is Jane?
-Jane! -How much have you had to drink?
Not enough to drown my sorrows.
-Austin, listen to me. I have good news. -No.
-Good news? -Yes.
Did the boat turn around? Is Jane back?
-No. No, no, no. Shh. Listen to me. -No! Mrs. Dickinson…
-Dad forgives you. -Huh?
Yeah, I-- I talked to him, and he's not angry with you, not at all.
-He's really taking the high road. -We've been here all day.
And even though you said all of those awful things,
he's not holding a grudge.
He's totally ready to move on.
Wow.
Then he's even more of an asshole than I thought.
Austin, how can you say that?
He's just trying to deny my feelings like he always has.
Of course, Dad would love to say that there's no problem between us.
That's because the problem is him.
Well, I don't give a shit what he thinks.
I'm still seceding from this family!
-Out of my way. My son is suffering. -No.
But, Mrs. Dickinson, those are for the U--
Oh, my poor boy. Just let me nurse you.
That's right, Mama's got you now.
You call this seceding?
-Jane. -Emily, get him some water. Try to help.
Jane.
Come in.
Hey, Emily. Is it okay if I come in?
George, you're not supposed to-- Okay, cool. Cool, yep, you're in my room.
Whew. Sorry about all that ruckus.
-I did not mean to cause such a commotion. -George, it's very late. Why are you here?
I-- I wanted to give you something.
The Atlantic?
There's an article in there I thought you might like.
"Letter to a Young Contributor." It's advice for young poets.
By Thomas Wentworth Higginson.
Higginson the abolitionist?
Yeah. Dude is so cool.
Did you know he was one of the Secret Six that funded John Brown's uprising?
Now he's down south, fighting the war.
Leading the Union's very first regiment of Black soldiers.
Long journey?
Long as hell.
But I got here.
That's all that matters.
So he's out there in the heat of battle,
and he still finds time to care about poetry.
I mean… it's pretty rad.
That's amazing.
I will definitely check it out. Thank you, George.
Yeah, I mean, take it or leave it.
I'm sure no one can really give you advice anyway.
You're on a whole other level.
That's-- That's nice of you to say.
Well, you know I've always been your biggest fan.
I guess I've just been feeling like my poems don't even matter.
What? That's crazy.
With everything going on, in the world and in my family…
maybe it'd be better for everyone if I just stopped writing.
Writing is what you were put on this earth to do.
Is it, though?
Maybe I need to be doing more to really help.
All I know is this.
If I had to choose between you and your poems?
Yeah?
I'd choose your poems.
Okay, that's actually the sweetest thing you could ever say.
-George, what are you doing? George? -I-- Oh, uh.
I just thought maybe with the war going on and everything--
George, I can't.
My heart belongs to someone else.
Oh.
God, life is messy, isn't it?
Betty's back. There's my bad bitch.
Sojourner. That dress is the truth.
Oh, they're gonna know I'm a woman in this dress.
Yes, they will. They will know that you are the great Sojourner Truth,
abolitionist, evangelist, fighter for suffrage--
And famously single.
Wait. Where's your quill pen, you multitalented bad bitch?
Let's get back to work.
I do want to keep transcribing your memoir, but I'm just so tired.
Betty, if I can be the first Black woman to sue a white man in court and win,
you can stay awake one more night to write my next chapter, about how I did that.
Okay. Okay!
-Yes, you're right. -Yeah.
We gotta keep fighting. Can't give up.
-That's what Henry used to say. -That's right.
Because I'm not gonna die. No, I'm going home like a shooting star.
Watch me light up the night with my energy.
Can you believe I'm 60?
We don't know your exact birth date.
Betty, I'm roughly 66, and I look good as hell.
Now. Where were we?
They just illegally sold your five-year-old son
to a planter in Alabama.
White people are the devil. Let's narrate.
Writing that shuts real life out is as good as dead.
Mr. Higginson,
Are you too deeply occupied to say if my Verse is alive?