MERCENARY
by David Gaughran
Editor: Karin Cox
Cover Design: Kate Gaughran
Published June 2014 by Arriba Arriba Books
Copyright © 2014 David Gaughran
Cover photos © 2014 Shutterstock.com
Kindle Edition
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For Mark Spellman, whose adventures ended too soon.
1
Leon Winfield Christmas had a habit of tapping his leg right before he did something impulsive.
“Lock the door!” his mother would shout. “Lee’s legs are trying to catch up with his mind again!”
When his legs did catch up, he was a sight to behold. Darting between the ruined outhouses that dotted the dead fields. Shooting Yankee invaders with a cedar branch. And taking General Grant’s unconditional surrender at the bank of the Amite river—the natural border of his father’s old cotton plantation, before the war took it all away.
Lee’s family had been spared the worst of the fighting. A few months before he was born, a Yankee scouting party had torched his father’s holdings, but at least the homestead had been spared. His mother, heavily pregnant and peering out the upstairs window at the men whooping and hollering, had counted her blessings. After Lee came into the world and grew in size, his parents fought to keep him close, fearful of what the woods contained. Twenty miles east, Union soldiers had set Baton Rouge ablaze, but not before emptying the jails. Prisoners had melted into the dense woodlands all along the Amite River, giving quarter to neither friend nor foe.
The war was eventually settled, and the South began the slow process of rebuilding. By the time Lee was twelve, his father moved the family deeper into the swamps of Livingston Parish, hoping to find peace and prosperity in one of the sawmill towns springing up all over Louisiana. His new home wasn’t on any map. It didn’t even have a name—not at first. The woods were known as Benfield’s Cut, and the mill workers began referring to home as Benfield, but no one knew its provenance, or cared, to be frank. There was enough to be getting on with. The settlement had started as a few rudimentary buildings—the sawmill itself, stables for the workhorses, shotgun houses for the young couples, dormitories for the unmarried men, a saloon, and the company store. But it soon grew as the lumber concern expanded to meet demand and more labor arrived. The first children born there necessitated the trappings of society: larger houses, a lawman, and a place of worship. There was even talk of a school. Mostly, though, the children were free to roam the woods by day, sharing tales of pirates and bandits when they gathered in the evening. And it was there, in the dirt clearing that formed the center of Benfield, away from the noise of the mill, that Lee Christmas first met Mamie Reid, the foreman’s daughter.
It was a friendship born of necessity, at least on Mamie’s part. Most of the other children in Benfield were either several years their junior or were old enough to have jobs themselves. Lee, on the other hand, was immediately besotted. He would sneak out of his parents’ house at night, tiptoe carefully across the creaking porch, and hurry over to Mamie’s place to slip love letters under her kitchen door.
At first, Mamie didn’t respond to his affections. She would see him the next morning and wave, and when they got to talking, she wouldn’t mention anything about the letters. Lee wondered if she felt the same way or whether she was just shy, but he persisted nonetheless. Soon, it became clear that Mamie’s mother, the indomitable Mrs. Reid, had clocked his intentions from the get-go. She had been intercepting his letters, fearful of the intentions of a rough kid with no prospects. It was only when Mamie had trouble sleeping one night and came to the kitchen to sate her thirst that she discovered a letter: its contents making clear both Lee’s feelings and her mother’s deception.
It all changed one summer morning as Lee sat on his porch, staying as still as possible in the breezeless humidity. His father had been up half the night, coughing. His mother wasn’t saying much, but he could tell she was worried. He had followed his father to the mill that morning, watching him take a docket from Mr. Reid and head up to the company doctor, out near the stables. On the way home, his blood pumping with the determination to confront his mother about his father’s illness, Lee ran into Mamie. Instead of her usual smile, her face was drawn, her eyes narrowed.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw the letter she gripped. He stammered a greeting as he wiped his brow. “Mamie, hi. I didn’t … I wasn’t…”
Her face scrunched even tighter. “You’re an idiot, Lee Christmas. You know that?”
“Um, I, uh…”
“And my eyes are green.” She stepped closer to him, nostrils flaring. “Not blue.”
Lee’s leg started tapping. With one swift movement, he encircled Mamie with his left arm, put his hand on the small of her back, and leaned in. Then he kissed her.
A moment later, Mamie wriggled away. “Not here,” she said, glancing around. “Meet me behind the sawmill in an hour. And don’t let Pa see you. You know the spot?”
He knew the spot, all right.
Soon they were arranging secret rendezvous, and stealing kisses in the woods behind the mill where Mamie’s father supervised and Lee’s father toiled. For most of their courtship, however, Lee’s father was unwell. He had to assume familial responsibility as his father’s condition deteriorated, working the schooners of Lake Pontchartrain as a ship’s cook.
The young couple saw less of each other. Mrs. Reid kept her daughter on a tight leash, and Lee manned the galleys of the Cileste, the Surprise, and the Lillie Simms, as they hauled charcoal across the lake to New Orleans. Separation only increased the young couple’s strength of feeling. Mamie and Lee were promised to each other, and nothing would stand in their way—a vow put to the test when Lee turned sixteen and his father succumbed to the illness that had been stealing him from the world one day at a time. His mother decided they would move to McComb, Mississippi, to be closer to her family. He begged Mamie to wait for him, fearful that her head might be turned by another, someone with money, and pledged to return with enough cash to build her a house and show Mrs. Reid he could provide for her daughter.
Despite the bluster, Lee was fearful. He didn’t know what awaited him in Mississippi, or whether he’d ever make anything of his life. He had no money, no connections, and no education, concerns that bounced around in his head as the Mississippi train pulled out of New Orleans, until a billboard caught his eye. It was map of North America, crisscrossed with railway lines both existing and planned. Some routes even went all the way up to Canada and down into Mexico. The legend made his heart skip a beat: Join The Railroad, And See The World.
Lee Christmas had no idea how true that would be.
2
While she consoled her daughter on the loss of her beau, Mrs. Reid was secretly relieved. She had hopes for a much better match for Mamie. Someone with a future. Not some rough kid working as ship’s cook. There was something wild about the boy, an untamed streak a mile wide. Mamie could do a lot better. Her mother hoped the distance would end her daughter’s romantic notions, and that the boy would find a new butterfly to chase.
Her husband’s time in the sticks was at an end, so the Reid family moved back into New Orleans, purchasing a new home on Chestnut Street—the more genteel end, past Napoleon Avenue and away from the roughness of the Irish Channel. But Mrs. Reid’s newfound peace was shattered when the first letter arrived from Mississippi; she destroyed it before her daughter could set eyes on it. From that day
on, she was ever watchful for the mailman’s morning appearance.
For all his churlish ways, she thought, that boy has one thing in his favor—he doesn’t give up easy.
As for Lee, that poster sold him. He joined the railroad in McComb before the family had even unpacked. His mother was beaming with pride when he told her. Even if it was just waiting tables in the station restaurant, it was a foot in the door. Once he turned eighteen, he trained as a brakeman until a coveted spot opened up as a fireman’s apprentice, back when those big old locomotives were still burning wood. At twenty-one, his frame considerably filled out by hard labor, he became an engineer, before being promoted to baggage master. The new role meant moving to Vicksburg, away from his family, but a friend of his by the name of Boyd Cetti was already working the yard there and promised to introduce him to all of the boys.
All through this time of restless change, one thing remained constant: Lee’s ardor for Mamie. He still wrote to her, even though it had been three years since he had received any reply. He was sure Mrs. Reid was intercepting his letters again, but the way he figured it, he was playing the long game, showing Mamie’s parents he would never give up his pursuit, no matter what obstacles they put in his way. They were promised to each other—back from when they were kids, stealing kisses in the woods behind the sawmill—and nothing was going to change that.
3
On a crisp spring morning in March 1885, the kind that banished all memory of winter, Lee turned up for work a little early. He checked in at the roundhouse, where Boyd Cetti was already warming his hands with a cup of coffee. Boyd looked up as Lee entered, and then pointed to an envelope on the table, grinning. “It’s from home.”
Lee lunged for the letter, but his friend beat him to it.
Boyd leaned back, just out of reach, holding the envelope aloft. “Do you think it could be—?”
Lee snatched it from his hand. “I don’t think anything.” He glowered at Boyd. “I ain’t read it yet.” His hands shook as he examined the writing. It had been so long since he’d heard from Mamie, but he still recognized the broad strokes of her elegant cursive script, such a contrast to his own hastily scrawled attempts. He carefully peeled it open and looked up at Boyd, smiling. “It’s Mamie, all right.”
“What does it say?”
He only read the first couple of lines before slipping the letter back in the envelope. “I’m saving this for later.”
“Oh, come on!”
Lee smiled, toying with him. “I’ve got a long ride today.” He tapped his shirt pocket. “This should help break it up.”
But Boyd could match him at these games. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.” His eyes narrowed. “I mean … what if it’s bad news.”
Lee’s face darkened. “What do you mean ‘bad news’?”
Boyd paused for effect, enjoying himself. “I mean, it’s been a while. You said she was awful pretty. Maybe she’s—”
“Don’t say it—”
“Getting married!”
With that, he chased Boyd around the other side of the desk, grabbing him in a headlock. “You good for nothing louse. Why, I oughta—”
Boyd squirmed free, rubbing his face where Lee’s uniform had chaffed him. “Come on, knucklehead. Read the darn letter.”
He chuckled. “All right.” He sat back down at the table, took the envelope from his shirt pocket with great ceremony, removed the letter, and slowly unfolded it. Every couple of lines, he looked up at Boyd with a mock-worried expression. But by the time Lee got to the end, he couldn’t hold back any longer. A huge grin spread across his face.
Boyd looked at him hopefully. “She wants to see you?”
“Yup.”
“When? What’s the plan?”
Lee’s right leg began tapping. He smiled, remembering his mother’s frequent admonitions. “I’m taking the first train down to New Orleans, I’m walking right up to her door, and I’m asking her to marry me.”
Boyd let out a howl. “Damn, you don’t waste any time. I suppose that’s a better idea than just replying to her. She might take another three years to respond!”
Lee swung a playful paw at him.
“All joking aside, get up to the station-master quick,” Boyd said. “He’ll leave you off today if he can get someone to replace you.”
Lee stood. “I think I’ll tell him Ma’s sick.”
“Don’t,” said Boyd. “He’ll smell a rat. Tell him the truth. Show him the letter. He’s an old romantic at heart. He won’t stand in your way.”
Lee grabbed the door handle. “I guess I’ll be seeing you.”
“Good luck in New Orleans.”
“Luck’s got nothing to do with it.” He grinned. “I ain’t taking no for an answer.”
4
Lee had been figuring out what to say all the way from Vicksburg but only started to fret when he turned the corner from Napoleon onto Chestnut Street. It had taken all his reserve not to dive into a saloon outside the train station for some liquid courage; however, the last thing he needed was to stink of whiskey when Mrs. Reid answered the door. He paused a couple of doors down from Mamie’s house and adjusted his tie.
“Your father wore this on his wedding day,” his mother had told him when he first left McComb for Vicksburg. The tie had lain in a drawer ever since, Lee unsure if he’d ever have reason to wear it.
He took a handkerchief from his pocket and bent down to wipe a speck of mud from his shoe. The sudden movement triggered a fresh round of perspiration, so he stood for a moment and let the slow breeze roll over him. Mopping his brow with the other side of the handkerchief, he ran through his speech for the final time, and then he walked up to Mamie’s door and knocked.
Lee had been so dreading the prospect of dealing with Mrs. Reid that he was taken aback when the door opened to reveal Mamie. She was four years older now, and he didn’t recognize her for a moment. When Mamie saw who it was, her eyes widened. She stepped outside and closed the door softly behind her, grabbing his hand and dragging him up Chestnut Street, away from her house. She didn’t say a word until they turned onto Bordeaux. Then she spun around, eyes flashing. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Why didn’t you tell me you were—”
He interrupted her with a long, slow kiss.
When he pulled back, Mamie looked stunned, patting her lips with the tips of her fingers. “Well,” she said, “I guess you can’t put that in the mail.”
Lee grinned. “I came as soon as I got your letter.”
“You can’t surprise me like this.” She put a hand on her heart. “You’ll put years on me with this carry-on.”
“You got no idea,” he said, still smiling.
“What do you mean? What are you up to?”
“You ready to get married?”
Mamie’s hand went to her mouth. “You can’t just … I mean…” She paused to consider his proposal.
His face fell. “You know it makes sense.”
“I know. It’s just…”
“We’re meant to be together, Mamie.”
She leaned forward and Lee closed his eyes, expecting a kiss, but instead she clasped her hands over his face. “What color are my eyes?”
He panicked. “What’s all this about?”
“What color are my eyes? Simple question.”
“Blue?”
“Darn it, Lee.” She took her hands off his face. “Green!”
He squinted. “Look blue to me.”
“You’re useless.” Mamie punched him on the shoulder.
“So what about it?” he asked, serious now. “Will you be my wife?”
She gulped. “I’ve got to talk to Ma and Pa first.”
“Nonsense,” said Lee, taking her hand and growing in confidence. “You’re old enough to make your own decisions. I know what your mother would say anyway. ‘Ship’s cook, not good enough for my daughter.’”
“Lee…”
“But I’m doing good now, Mamie. I’ll
show her. I don’t know how many of my letters you got—”
“My mother…”
“I know. She got to them before you even knew—”
“She’s very—”
“I know well what she’s like. But you’re of an age to decide your own future.” He paused, hoping to calm his heart. “I’ve a house fixed up in Vicksburg, waiting for us. Tomorrow afternoon, I’m taking you to Spanish Fort. Then we’ll go down on the evening train and be married.”
Mamie held her emotions in check. She looked at Lee. He was tall and good-looking, with a strong pair of shoulders, and he had always been kind to her, kinder than most anyone else. She felt an attachment to him she had never experienced with another. What the hell, she thought. “All right, then.”
He beamed. “You mean it? You’ll be my wife?”
She nodded.
Lee stepped forward to embrace her, but Mamie leaned back, placing a hand on his chest. “Get going before Ma gets suspicious. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. Don’t come by the house. Meet me at two, by the French Market.” She blew him a kiss and hurried back toward Chestnut Street. Lee punched the air, and then made himself scarce.
The smell of fresh beignets wafted over from Café du Monde as Lee stepped out from the arch to check the clock once more. He had arrived half-an-hour early, feeling so jittery that he needed a shot of whiskey just to get his heart to stop from jiggling around so damn much. But now it was well after two. His leg tapped as the clock ticked ever onwards. By quarter to three, he was beginning to wonder if Mamie was going to show at all; then he spotted her in the distance, waving.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she approached. “My mother was asking all sorts of questions.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing about us. Don’t worry.”
He let out a sigh of relief. “All right, well, I’m fit for a stroll if you are.”
“Why, I don’t mind if I do.” Mamie offered her arm.
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