The Other Side of Life

by Andy Kutler

  Garrity chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a fast learner, Kelsey. I won an argument with her once. Three years ago. I actually got the last word in.”

  “You didn’t win,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I simply grew tired of the conversation.”

  Cal pretended not to hear. “We’re going to make a stop at the infirmary,” he said to Kelsey. “Doc Peters wants to check you out now that you’re conscious. Then we’ll see about finding you some clothes that fit a might better. Then the Captain.”

  The two men headed to the entryway. Kelsey stopped and turned back to Emily. “My apologies, ma’am, for before.”

  She flashed a smile at him that would stagger any man. “Forgiven. Like I said, Mr. Kelsey, you seem like a spirited man. That is how we like them in the Second Dragoons.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Captain Ethan Royston sat behind the oblong dining table that doubled as a desk, just as his personal quarters doubled as an office. Though he shared both with the other company commander at Camp Chance, he was savoring some rare solitude as he waded through the sea of administrative minutia that the War Department required of him.

  Paperwork was hardly what he had in mind when he was awarded his first command. He loathed being penned up in camp; the clerical work just twisted the knife. He wanted to be out in the rough-hewn desert, braving the unforgiving elements while fighting off Navajos, occasionally tipping his hat to the pretty homestead girls. But here he sat, with ink-stained fingers and his frock coat draped over the back of his chair, finishing a report on an altercation between two of his men over a ration of licorice.

  Licorice. Grown men, fighting over candy.

  He needed a break. He stood and put his coat on, fastening each of the brass buttons while glimpsing his reflection in the small mirror hooked to the wall. He wasn’t a vain man but he liked how he looked in uniform. He had a lean build and square shoulders, and though he didn’t have the height of Cal Garrity, he cut a nice figure in the saddle. His fair skin had burnt to a crisp his first week in New Mexico but had darkened quite a bit since. His brown hair matched his almond-shaped eyes, and a thick mustache covered his upper lip, giving him what he hoped was an appearance older than his twenty-three years.

  He squinted at the calendar tacked to the far wall. Two more days until their next patrol. His company hadn’t left camp in nearly three weeks, the restlessness evident by the scrape over licorice. Tempers had been short among the mostly-idle dragoons, already on edge amid the political tensions that were rippling across the United States and throughout the Army. There was always some scuffling at an Army post, particularly on the frontier. But ever since the cable had arrived with the news of Fort Sumter, the fisticuffs had taken on a heightened intensity. Clubs and knives were even coming out and the small stockade was chock-full now.

  Thursday could not arrive soon enough. The company would embark on a week-long patrol of the settlements that skirted the Southern border. The homesteaders there were subject to constant thievery, assaults, and even occasional kidnappings. Sometimes by the Indians, sometimes by other white men. Their proximity to the border made them susceptible to Mexican outlaws and rustlers as well. Showing the flag intermittently was a strong deterrent out here, reminding all parties of the nearby presence of the soldiers. As routine as those patrols had become, they served as a welcome distraction to his soldiers.

  There was a knock on the door. Or at least, what passed for a door. The slate of boards nailed together would barely hold back a stiff breeze. Like the other structures in camp, the dwelling in which he and Harris Rudman lived and worked had been hastily constructed from mud bricks, reinforced by whatever surplus lumber could be pilfered from Fort Pierce.

  Ethan wasn’t complaining. Though it was certainly a step down from their winter quarters at Pierce, some seventy-five miles to the north and permanent home to another squadron from the 2nd, a door meant some privacy, much more than he ever had as an enlisted man. And that door, as feeble as it was, managed to hold back at least some of the unpredictable New Mexico weather.

  “Enter!”

  Cal Garrity came in, stooping over to fit his head and shoulders under the door frame. He was followed by another, unfamiliar figure.

  Ethan stood, extending his hand to the stranger. “You must be the mystery guest that Whit picked up. Ethan Royston.”

  “Sir,” the visitor replied, returning the handshake.

  Ethan studied him closely. Though the man’s face was coated with stubble, he had no beard or mustache, somewhat rare these days for a man his age. His head was wrapped in a cotton bandage but his eyes were alert, seeming to absorb every detail in the small room. He was wearing a blue uniform blouse and trousers, without insignia, and a pair of cowhide boots that were in need of some care.

  “Coffee?” Ethan offered, sitting back in his chair while nodding toward a pot resting on a small stove.

  “No, thank you.”

  “A wise choice. My bunkmate made it, and he thinks it’s not coffee unless it’s thick enough to stand a candle in.”

  Ethan gestured for the man to sit in the chair across from him. “I see the quartermaster took care of you.”

  The visitor lowered himself into the chair. “He did. I woke up in my underwear.”

  “There wasn’t much point to leaving you in these,” Ethan said, pointing to the tattered remains of the man’s original clothing that sat on the edge of his desk. It had been a white jacket of some sort, torn throughout and smudged with dried blood and soot. Ethan held up the inside collar and pointed to the stenciled lettering. “M. Kelsey. Is that you?”

  A shrug. “Must be if those belong to me.”

  “Michael, or Matthew perhaps.”

  “Kelsey,” the man said to himself. He seemed to be searching his memory, finally shaking his head.

  “You recognize none of this?”

  Another shake of the head. Ethan ran his fingers across the gold shoulder boards. “That makes two of us. I assume this is a uniform of some sort. I don’t recognize it, nor am I familiar with the practice of printing one’s name on our collars. If it’s a foreign uniform, you speak the cleanest damned English I’ve ever heard. I thought it might be a naval uniform, but there are two problems with that theory.”

  “What’s that?”

  “First, I am informed that though our naval officers do indeed wear white trousers as part of their dress uniforms, their coats are blue.”

  “And the second?”

  Ethan smiled. “I’m not aware of any frigates in the Territory of New Mexico.”

  “Maybe we should have Terrell look at it,” offered Garrity.

  “Good idea.” Ethan held up a single sheet of paper. “Here is your medical report from our post surgeon. He doesn’t believe you have any internal head injuries and he’s given you a fairly clean bill of health. Based on his interview with you, he has concluded that you indeed have suffered some sort of memory loss. Almost unheard of in his field, but a possibility given the direct blow to your skull. Your memory may clear up in a matter of days. Or never return. That is what the Doc says. My apologies for being so direct.”

  “He said that to me as well,” Kelsey replied.

  Ethan raised his eyebrows and sat back in his chair. “You seem to be taking this quite well. Hell, I’d be climbing out of my skin if I couldn’t remember who I was. So, what do we do with you? Perhaps—”

  His next words were cut off as another man pushed through the door, his eyes burning with hostility.

  Winston Thatch had a perpetual frown on his owl-like face, but the man appeared even more agitated than usual. He had arrived just two weeks ago as their new adjutant, replacing a South Carolinian who had resigned after Fort Sumter. Though both were staunch Union men, Colonel Gaylord, the squadron commander here, and his new underling Thatch clashed immediately, a contrast in styles and temperament. Among other peculiarities, Thatch’s open contempt for officers who were not trained at West
Point was well-known, straining his relationship with men like Ethan and Tyler Whitaker from the outset.

  Ethan rose from behind his desk. “Major?”

  “Captain, two of your men, Donatelli and Rosso, were just caught brawling with Lieutenant Fielding’s men. One of whom is now in the infirmary. Dock their pay for two months and put them on restricted duty.”

  Ethan looked past Thatch to Cal, whose face registered a mix of astonishment and contempt. He mouthed the question to Ethan. Two months?

  “Sir, Troopers Donatelli and Rosso barely speak a word of English. This isn’t the first time Fielding’s boys have picked on the foreigners. Do we know who was at fault here? How this started?”

  “I don’t give a damn who was at fault, Royston” snapped Thatch. “We have rules for decorum, even at this dirt-water, forsaken post. I expect much more from our dragoons than I do the garrison troops.”

  Ethan resisted the impulse to strangle the man. Barely.

  “Sir,” Cal interjected, “Donatelli and Rosso are in my platoon. They are my responsibility.”

  “I agree, Lieutenant, and I would have expected more from you, a man who finished in the top half of his Academy class.”

  Cal didn’t flinch. “Sixth, to be precise, Major.”

  Thatch narrowed his eyes, and Ethan looked uneasily from Thatch to his friend.

  Easy, Cal.

  But the lieutenant pressed on. “That punishment is excessive considering the circumstances. Rosso has a family back East and those men—”

  Thatch ignored him and turned back to Ethan. “Captain, this is the end of the discussion. Two months’ pay, and if it happens again, they go to the stockade. These aren’t the type of men we want in this regiment.”

  “What, fighting men?”

  The room became still as Thatch, Garrity and Ethan all turned to Kelsey in surprise.

  “What did you say?” fumed Thatch, slowly enunciating each word.

  “Sir, this man is a civilian and has no—”

  Thatch held up his hand, cutting Ethan off. “No, Captain, I want to hear what he has to say.”

  Kelsey folded his arms. “The punishment should fit the offense. I don’t know these men, but I’m willing to bet that two months’ pay is a fortune to them. Stick with the restricted duty. Put them on pots and pans.”

  “Pots and—?” Thatch turned to Ethan. “Who is this man?”

  Ethan had a trace of a smile on his lips. “This is Mr. Kelsey. A civilian…visiting us.”

  Thatch gazed at Kelsey with disdain. “Let us hope it will be a short visit. You have anything else to add, Mr. Kelsey?”

  “Yeah. Who won?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The brawl. Who won?”

  “What the devil does that matter?” Thatch was red-faced now, clearly rattled.

  “It matters a great deal. They aren’t just Captain Royston’s men. If you have the authority to punish them, they’re clearly your men too. Have some pride, Major.”

  Thatch’s eyes widened for a moment and the words sputtered from his mouth. “Royston, I suggest you have this impertinent dilettante escorted off the post immediately.”

  In for a penny.

  “Actually sir, I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Kelsey. Who won?”

  “I suggest you reconsider who you cast your lot with,” Thatch said. “I assure you that Mr. Kelsey doesn’t know the first thing about being a gentleman soldier.”

  “Bet your ass on that,” Kelsey muttered.

  Thatch blinked, and even Ethan’s jaw fell slightly. Cal dropped his head, coughing into his fist, but Ethan could see his shoulders shaking as he tried to stifle his laughter.

  The major turned to leave, irate now. “See to my orders, Captain,” he barked, storming from the structure.

  Ethan dropped back into his chair, scratching his head. “Well Kelsey, you certainly make a lasting first impression. You have a problem with authority?”

  “I have a problem with assholes.”

  This time Cal guffawed and even Ethan could no longer suppress a smile. “Yes, well, Major Thatch can be quite unbending and…unpleasant. But he also has a reputation as a first-rate officer in the field, and that is something we should not take lightly. Trust me, I don’t enjoy admitting that.”

  He didn’t, but Gaylord himself was the source of this and the colonel was not one to offer cursory accolades.

  Ethan took a moment to regard Kelsey. He was a reserved man, no question, but he was also quite observant and there was a thoughtfulness to him. No niceties or wasted words, willing to speak his mind if pushed. Never met Donatelli or Rosso, but sure seemed willing to stand up for them. The man also seemed to be carrying quite a chip on his shoulder.

  I wonder…

  Ethan glanced at Cal, who was looking at him intently, nodding, as if reading his thoughts.

  He turned to Kelsey. “Can you ride?”

  “Ride?”

  “A horse. We’re dragoons, Kelsey. Cavalrymen. Outside this camp, my men are in the saddle ten, maybe twelve hours every day. Forty miles is a good day, thirty is a slow one. Can’t say we have the best horse flesh out here, but it’s better than the runty ponies the Navajos ride. Terrain is lousy with rocks and snakes. Our company blacksmith goes through three crates of iron shoes every week. But we make do.”

  Ethan caught the look on Cal’s face. “You have something to add, Lieutenant?”

  Cal cleared his throat. “Those runty ponies of the Navajos have managed to make this squadron appear quite inept from time to time.”

  Ethan gave him a look of annoyance, though clearly in good humor. “Just the First Platoon.”

  “I’ve been maligned.”

  “Only by the Navajos.”

  Cal laughed.

  He turned back to Kelsey, serious now. “We make do.”

  “Are you offering me a job?”

  Ethan thought he saw a glint of amusement on Kelsey’ face.

  “A job? This isn’t a shoe factory, Kelsey. We’re on the edge of the frontier here. I know this camp ain’t much to look at. This territory can be the most god-awful, mundane speck of nothing one day, and the next, the most breathtakingly beautiful and peaceful land you’ll ever set eyes on. I’m not offering you a job, Kelsey, I’m offering you a life.”

  “A life?”

  “Yeah. A hard one. Those men in the barracks will ride from dawn to dusk and aren’t exactly out here getting rich. You’ll be bored to tears on some days and risking life and limb the next. Some of us believe it’s worth every minute we spend in the blazing summer heat out here, not to mention the trail dust that would choke an elephant. If you have somewhere else to go, by all means do so. But we have some good men here and I’m offering you the opportunity to join us. None of this is worth a buffalo chip if you’re some sort of city dweller without any semblance of horsemanship, who doesn’t know a horse’s flank from a forelock.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “So how about it?”

  Kelsey closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

  Ethan exchanged a look with Cal.

  Am I going to regret this?

  “Mr. Kelsey?”

  The man opened his eyes. “I can ride. Been riding since I was a kid.”

  “I’ll let Lieutenant Garrity be the judge of that, if you’re feeling up to it. If you rate, I’ll sign you as a civilian scout for now, pays ten dollars a month. We’ll give you a mount and a sidearm. It’s not much, but you’ll have a roof over your head and a plate of over-salted stew with boiled turnips every night. I’ve got the best scout in the squadron and he’ll show you the ropes. Just don’t make any wisecracks about Napoleon. If you take to soldiering, we’ll send you to Jefferson Barracks, Missouri. You’ll be mustered in as a private and complete the required training. After that, with luck, you’ll re-join the company here.”

  Cal looked at Ethan skeptically. “Is that realistic? Perhaps you have heard about this minor affair going on back East?”

/>   Ethan shrugged. “We’ll plan for today, and worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. How about it, Kelsey?”

  The man considered it. “Any other options?”

  Oh yes, I am regretting this.

  “Sure. You can get yourself a bottle to keep you company until you remember who you are. But this is a military post and I can’t keep you here. No civilians, unless you are a blacksmith or a beautiful Virginia belle that seems to paralyze every senior Army officer in this territory. We can get you to Fort Pierce in a few days, and from there you can hitch a ride to Santa Fe. In the meantime, you’re welcome to billet in the First Platoon barracks. That’s the most we can do for you.”

  Kelsey stared off, weighing his options. “Confederates for Japs,” he mumbled.

  “What’s that?”

  Kelsey looked up at him. “Sergeant Travers.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s in this company?”

  “You could say that. He’s the first sergeant. Pretty much runs the outfit.”

  The man went quiet again, brooding, and Ethan cleared his throat, loudly.

  “Mr. Kelsey?”

  Kelsey finally looked up. “I guess I’m your new scout, Captain.”

  Ethan gave him an approving nod despite the misgivings he was now harboring. “Very well. Provided you can show Lieutenant Garrity that you can keep up with the company, I’ll speak to the post commander. There shouldn’t be any objection. But know this, Kelsey. War is coming. And no matter what sort of crowing you hear in the barracks, this army will likely need every able-bodied man it can muster. You join us, and you may be in the thick of whatever happens.”

  “Understood.”

  Ethan looked at him pointedly. “Sir.”

  “Sir,” Kelsey repeated.

  “Good.” Ethan rose from his chair and gave Kelsey a firm handshake. “Find Travers, he’ll get your papers signed and find you a horse.”

  Kelsey and Cal turned to leave, but Ethan was not finished.

  “One last item,” Ethan said. “Hopefully your memory will return, and soon. The regiment will do what it can to help you figure out who you are. You seem like an honest man, Kelsey. But as a precaution, we’ve sent word to every marshal and sheriff in the Territory. Should we discover this to be some sort of ruse, that you are a wanted man hiding from the law, or a debt maybe, it will become very hard for you. I, and the Army, will not be made fools. Is that understood?”