The Other Side of Life

by Andy Kutler

  “You didn’t?”

  “I did. The ambassador’s daughter. True to my reputation, n’est ce pas?” But it was more than that, monsieur. Much more. There was a bond between us; I had never felt anything like that before.”

  Kelsey was mesmerized. “How long did this go on?”

  “More than a year. We had to be very discreet about our relationship, of course. A French officer and the daughter of a prominent British diplomat? I’m not sure which of our mother countries would have executed us faster.

  “A few months after our liaison began, I was summoned by my superiors. I was informed that one of our intelligence officers believed that a French officer was selling military secrets to England through their embassy in Paris.”

  “And they thought it was you?” asked Kelsey.

  “No, they suspected someone higher ranking than me. They knew I held no such secrets. Perhaps someone on the general staff. But they asked that while they investigated the matter further, I quietly watch over the ambassador and his staff to determine how the English were acquiring this information.

  “One night the ambassador was away at a reception in Versailles. During such times, the ambassador asked that I remain with his family at the diplomatic residence. I was asleep in my quarters when there was a frantic knock at my door. It was the ambassador’s youngest child, Eloise, who had been awakened by a commotion in the corridor. The little girl, who was just twelve or so, said she had seen Halloren, the ambassador’s secretary, pulling Catherine into his chamber with his hand over her mouth.

  “After hearing this, I ran down the long corridor until I reached Halloren’s door. It was locked. I was standing there, half-naked, and I pounded on the frame as I heard Catherine crying for help. Then I heard Halloren’s voice, threatening to strike her if she did not cease her cries. She didn’t, and I heard a sharp slap. I put my shoulder into the door and broke through.

  “I saw Catherine on the floor near the bed. Her nightgown was torn and her face was wet with tears. Her lip was split open and bleeding. Halloren was clearly drunk. When he saw me, he reached into a drawer from the bureau and pulled out a pistol.

  “Catherine jumped to her feet and began running towards me and the door. Halloren turned and fired his weapon at me.”

  Terrell’s eyes grew distant for a moment, his face cold. He took a deep breath and continued.

  “I shouted at Catherine, but I was too late. The bullet entered just below the shoulder blade. It pushed her into my arms.”

  There were tears in his eyes now, but Terrell composed himself, hardening his voice. “I eased her to the floor, and saw Halloren pulling a second pistol from the drawer. I stood and charged the man. We fell to the floor, but by this time, the ambassador’s house guard, English Grenadiers of course, had entered the room and were pulling me off of Halloren.

  “That was when I saw Catherine lying on the floor. Her back was covered in blood, her head turned to one side, her eyes seemed to be staring right at me. I wanted to go to her, to hold her, to bring her back. But the guards pulled me out of the room and then clubbed me with their rifles. Apparently, others were fond of the ambassador and his family as well.”

  Kelsey stared off into the distance, Terrell’s story triggering painful memories that he had labored to push away for so long.

  Terrell did not notice. “Halloren was a murderer and a coward, but he was no fool. His story was that I had offered to sell him military information. He refused, and when he threatened to report me, I attacked him. Catherine heard the fighting, came to investigate, and I shot her, intending to shoot Halloren.”

  “How did he know your government was looking for a traitor?” asked Kelsey, turning back to his friend.

  “There is only one possible answer to that question, monsieur.” He waited until he was sure Kelsey understood and then continued. “Of course, my government was only too happy to uncover a traitor, especially one with an English mother. And the English demanded retribution against the French spy who murdered the daughter of one of their most renowned statesman. They did not bother to determine the ownership of the weapon that had killed Catherine. They could not talk to Eloise, who was so traumatized by her sister’s murder she was no longer speaking. They did not ask the household staff in the chateau if they had seen Halloren accost Catherine, or heard her cries for help.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, Monsieur Kelsey, I was the solution to both the British and French problems.”

  “So you were arrested.”

  “Yes. I was turned over to the French authorities and taken back to Paris. They imprisoned me there and I was sentenced to be shot by a firing squad.”

  “How did you get out of that one?” asked Kelsey. “You escaped?”

  Terrell smiled wryly. “In a manner of speaking. My superior in Africa, I had told you he was a connected man. He arranged my release from prison and found me passage to West Africa. From there, with a small purse of gold he had provided, I sailed to America, and enlisted in this army when I arrived in New York.”

  “But you were an officer. A captain.”

  Terrell held his head up a bit higher. “A highly decorated one.” He then shrugged. “The military is all I have ever known. This American Army, it is far different than the army I once knew. That is not a judgment, suggesting better or worse. Just very different. I have found that serving in a strange army is more comforting to me than serving in no army. What else would I do?”

  “So I assume Terrell is not your real name?”

  “Au contraire. Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all. An Englishman said that. It is funny, no?”

  He looked at Kelsey intently. “Terrell is my family name, a family that has served France proudly for six generations. But I have no living family members and I am the last to carry this name. I will carry it to my grave. I have not brought shame to my family by my actions and I will not shame myself by taking another name. Hiding my past is an unpleasantry that I am forced to live with. But I am only willing to hide so much.”

  Kelsey thought that through. He looked at Terrell. “North or South, monsieur?”

  Terrell smiled, not hesitating. “North, of course.”

  “Why?”

  “Voltaire said that we must each accept the cards that life has dealt to us. But once those cards are in our hand, it is up to each of us alone to determine how we play them to win the game. I have been dealt an unfortunate hand to be sure. I miss Catherine every day. And though I fear I will never see France again, I will play those cards to win at least one game. Liberté. America has so much to teach the Old World. But this barbaric practice of slavery, it is not just. All men should be entitled to liberté, should they not?

  “Liberté,” repeated Kelsey. “It’s a good word, monsieur. But what about this asshole Halloren? Don’t you want your revenge?”

  “Rousseau said that revenge—”

  “Knock that crap off. What does Henri Terrell say?”

  Terrell smiled. “I say, Halloren will have his justice before God. Now, perhaps we have time for your story and the tale of—”

  He was interrupted by the crash of cannon fire coming from the Confederate lines.

  “Saved by the bell,” grinned Kelsey as the two men flattened themselves on the ground. The incoming shells rained over their heads, detonating again well behind their position.

  “Christ,” Kelsey muttered, as another cannon ball crashed near him, so close he instinctively clapped his hands over his ears. More shells landed, the barrage becoming intense as the officers and sergeants screamed at their men to find cover from the explosions that shook the earth around them. Thankfully, the Confederates had only lighter field pieces, the threat coming more from a direct hit than shell fragments.

  They heard a scream nearby and Kelsey peered over the rim of the gully. A trooper was writhing on the ground, a smoldering piece of jagged shrapnel protruding from his thigh. Without thinking, Terrell l
eapt to his feet and darted to the soldier, grabbing the man by the back of his shirt collar and dragging him into a nearby shell crater.

  Kelsey rolled back over on to his other side. He could see across the road into the pasture where Captain Fraser’s men were deployed. The rolling fields filled with dismounted troopers and carnage everywhere seemed so familiar to him. The scene was almost indistinguishable from the fields they held on an overcast morning some nine months ago, less than a mile from the Antietam Creek in Maryland. The squadron was weathering a barrage similar to this one, using their bare hands to claw at the soil and give themselves some semblance of cover. At one point, Kelsey caught sight of a figure, maybe a hundred yards away, shielding himself behind the girth of a large cottonwood at the far edge of their position.

  It was Hiram Travers.

  Kelsey’s heartbeat quickened as the crashing of shells into the Maryland soil faded to the background. He was alone, the entire outfit deployed ahead of him, each of the men flattened to the ground, their hands covering their heads. The sergeant major sat motionless against that tree, confident in its protection. His arms rested easily over his knees, and his hat was pulled low over his eyes. The man was oblivious to the chaos around him, and if Kelsey didn’t know better, he’d have thought the man might be asleep.

  Almost automatically, Kelsey raised his rifle and lined Travers up in his sights. He could not miss, the man less than a football field away.

  Kelsey had done his best to avoid Travers that first year. Didn’t even know if he had family. Yet. Would they turn out just like him? Or would they be as different as Kelsey was to his own father? He pushed those thoughts out of his mind, concentrating on the stationary target in his gun sights.

  This is why I still have my memory. To make things right.

  He pulled back the hammer on the carbine and cocked the lever. Travers was camped in his sights; the gun barrel remained still this time.

  His fingers tensed on the trigger. Just a fraction of additional pressure and the gun would roar. But no one would discern a rifle shot in this barrage, no one would see anything. They might wonder how Travers got a bullet in the temple during an artillery barrage. But this was Bloody Antietam. And Kelsey didn’t give a damn anyhow.

  “Corporal Kelsey!”

  Major Rudman’s voice, calling his name from a nearby trench, startled him as he fired the gun, the bullet tearing into the trunk a few feet over Travers’ head just as cannon shot landed twenty yards from the cottonwood, throwing more earth into the air. Travers barely flinched, unaware of the bullet that had just passed inches over his head. Kelsey cursed to himself.

  Why can’t I do this?

  Antietam was his final opportunity. By the next campaign, Travers was gone, pulled from the regiment to serve in another army fighting along the Mississippi River.

  “Kelsey!”

  He snapped back to the Pennsylvania farmland, this time hearing the voice of Ethan Royston hollering his name over the sound of exploding shells.

  He lowered his rifle and hopped out of the gully, crawling to the crater where Terrell had pulled the wounded man and was now tying off a bandage around the man’s shin. He tapped the Frenchman on the shoulder for him to follow and the two men sprinted across the orchard to Royston and Kirch.

  Kelsey crashed to the ground like he was sliding into third base, Terrell coming in more gracefully behind him.

  “Sergeant Kelsey, Sergeant Terrell, good of you to join us.”

  Kelsey chafed a bit. He was still not accustomed to the rank. He had only known one Sergeant Kelsey and he wasn’t even close to measuring up to that man.

  Royston grabbed his sleeve and pointed in the distance with an open hand. “The Rebs are softening us up while they line up their regiments there. I’m guessing they’re going to send the bulk of their forces into this orchard, where we are weakest. It’s what I’d do. You two agree?”

  He wasn’t patronizing them. Despite the confidence in his words, Kelsey could see the uncertainty on the man’s face. In this case, Kelsey agreed with his assessment. He and Terrell both gave Royston a reassuring nod, certain the enemy would hold nothing back this time.

  “Find Haase. Tell him to pull a troop out of that field, get them mounted and on the road toward town.”

  Royston gestured to the road behind them, sloping downward and leading to Fairfield. Kelsey could see some of their wounded hobbling toward the town.

  “You and Terrell take them to the base of the hill away from the shelling. When the Rebs ride into this orchard, I want that troop to charge in. Loudly. I want them to sound like an entire division. You got me?”

  “One troop?” asked Kelsey, raising his voice as another shell exploded behind them.

  “I know, but it’s all we can spare and our only gambit at this point. You understand why I’m sending you two, right?”

  “Right.” Kelsey and Terrell exchanged a look. Haase’s squadron was nearly bereft of experienced officers.

  “Once those men are in position, you get back here next to me.” Ethan allowed himself a grim smile. “We’re going to be in one hell of a fight here, and Kirch and I get a bit lonely without the two of you.”

  ***

  The carrot-topped lieutenant stared through his field glasses, watching the shells continue to fall on the Union position. He had stationed his men beyond the reach of the Confederate cannon, but it was a short enough distance their well-rested mounts could quickly cover.

  At least he had done that right, Kelsey thought to himself.

  Kelsey eyed the young officer, the man’s distress obvious to all. He was sure that Haase had chosen Lieutenant Rhodes because he was generally a well-meaning officer. But he also wasn’t known for his initiative or creative thinking.

  “Did the major say when we are to deploy forward?” asked Rhodes, still looking through the glasses and biting his lip.

  Kelsey shook his head. “No, Sir, I think he left the timing up to you.”

  Judging by the look on Rhodes’ face, this was not the answer he wanted to hear.

  “I’d aim for when the rifle shots stop, Lieutenant.”

  “Stop?”

  “Yes, Sir,” replied Kelsey. “That means the Rebs are in close and the two sides are down to pistols and sabers. Sir, we’re going to shove off.”

  “Huh?”

  “Return to the line, Sir.”

  Rhodes’ face clouded with uncertainty. “You’ll be heading back to Major Royston, then?”

  Kelsey gripped his reins, sensing where this was heading. He looked at Terrell for help, who offered only a raised eyebrow.

  Your call, he was telling Kelsey.

  He turned again to Rhodes. The pale young man looked as if he might be on the verge of an anxiety attack. Matthew Rhodes had joined them four months ago. He had been an aide de camp in the 3rd Ohio, an infantry regiment that had seen considerable fighting since Fredericksburg. But Rhodes had never seen the elephant, as the veterans called it, and had grown impatient with his rear echelon role. He had requested a transfer to a front line mounted unit, having come from a family of cavalrymen. Kelsey knew Ethan liked young Rhodes on a personal level, but Kelsey’s impression was that of a young man driven by perhaps the wrong ambitions. Ambitions that could cloud his judgment, even place lives at risk. Just like TJ. Just like Daniels.

  Daniels.

  It was the first time in more than a year that Kelsey had thought of Ensign Bryce Daniels.

  He shook that thought from his mind, returning his attention to the overwhelmed young man before him. He couldn’t imagine being one of the poor souls waiting anxiously nearby to carry out whatever orders Rhodes came up with. Kelsey liked Royston a great deal, but the man clearly had a blind spot, unable to see the faults of those he favored. He still thought that bastard Travers was some sort of Superman. He wasn’t even Clark Kent.

  There was a cacophony of voices in Kelsey’s head, all screaming for him to ride away from this scene without turning
back.

  But then Kelsey looked past Rhodes at the forty men holding formation nearby. Many were ashen-faced. Several had never even used their sabers in close quarter combat. The veterans seemed almost resigned to their fate.

  Son of a bitch.

  He sighed. “Those aren’t our orders, Sir. We’ll be joining you if you’ll have us.”

  Terrell looked at him in dismay. But not disapproval.

  Rhodes could not hide his own surprise, giving Kelsey a relieved, toothy smile. “Your presence is most welcome, Sergeant. Perhaps you could offer me the benefit of your opinion as to when we should rejoin the line.”

  It didn’t take long. The barrage suddenly lifted and they could hear bugle calls—the enemy’s—in the distance, and the familiar sound of charging cavalry mixed with the high-pitched screams of the Confederates. The return fire from the Union men intensified for several moments before falling off.

  “What’s happening?” Rhodes said.

  Kelsey thought for a moment, and then heard the unmistakable sound of metal clashing against metal. “They’re in our lines. We have to ride now!”

  “Let me think…” Rhodes’ eyes scanned the top of the ridge. “Maybe our side is holding…”

  Jesus H. Christ, Lieutenant.

  Terrell clearly had the same thought. The Frenchman wheeled his horse and galloped up the hill, drawing his sidearm. Rhodes’ men were as skittish as their horses, but they were disciplined and held there while they awaited orders. Rhodes, however, remained frozen.

  “Sir,” Kelsey shouted at him. “We have to move now.”

  Kelsey looked at the other men. Corporal Grady, a New Mexico veteran, shook his head in disbelief.

  “Sir,” Grady added, trying to keep his tone calm, “them men in the orchard are going to get cut to pieces unless we get up there soon.”

  Rhodes still did not move, staring ahead, wide-eyed.