by Andy Kutler
“Kelsey saved your life. Had the sense to put tourniquets on your legs.”
TJ laughed, but there was no humor. “Then damn that man. Saved my life? What life? I’m done for the Army, Ethan.”
“Yes. But you’ll go back home when you’re able.”
“What the hell am I going to do in Wisconsin?”
“You have Belinda.”
“Hell, Ethan, you think she’s going to marry a cripple? You think I’d let her?”
A soldier appeared at Ethan’s side. “Major, General Merritt has summoned you to his headquarters.”
“A minute, Private.” He turned back to TJ and gripped his hand again. “Kelsey is somewhere around here, I need to find him. I’ll be back, TJ, as soon as I can. Anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”
He saw the tears forming in TJ’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Ethan,” he whispered, as a tear streaked across his face.
“Sorry? For Pete’s sake, what for?”
“For letting you down. For letting Father down. I’m worthless now.”
“Damn it, TJ, that is nonsense. We’ll talk about this when I return.” He squeezed his hand one last time. “I’m coming back shortly. Get some rest.” TJ nodded, and Ethan pulled away. But he stopped as TJ clutched his shirt sleeve and raised his head from his cot.
“More than anyone, Ethan, I wanted you to be proud of me. I wanted you to think I belonged here. Not because Father pulled some string in Washington. But because I was a good officer.”
Ethan leaned down and whispered in his brother’s ear. “You’re my best officer, TJ. You always belonged here. A hell of a lot more than me.”
***
Lillian stood beside the surgeon, using her full weight to hold down the soldier’s leg. His torso had been riddled by shrapnel, and Dr. Mendel was struggling to get the iron out of the writhing man’s chest and stomach. Lillian and two orderlies were trying their best to keep the man still while he howled in pain and thrashed wildly on the table.
After hours of such work she felt the soreness in her own arms. Having absorbed countless blows from both hands and feet, she was expert now on how to effectively keep a limb immobilized on the surgical table.
As blood spilled out of the man and onto the table, the exposed flesh of his legs became slick with blood and Lillian struggled to keep her grip. And from vomiting.
Even through the man’s screams, the sharp noise made her jump. Lillian had heard gunfire before. But the crack of the gunshot came from close by, startling nearly every soul as it rang through the schoolhouse. They looked around, trying to identify where the shot came from. Several men ran to the far side of the structure where the wounded officers lay, and a scream soon followed from one of the other nurses.
Her mind was racing. Was there an accidental discharge? Had someone failed to disarm a wounded Confederate? Her curiosity got the best of her and she could not turn back toward the wounded man on the table anyway. Lillian wiped her hands on her apron and stepped tentatively toward the throng of onlookers.
“Miss Harper!” cried Mendel. “I need you here!”
But she knew he didn’t need her there any longer. The man’s legs had stopped jerking, and as she glanced back, she saw the surgeon, in a rare burst of emotion, throwing a blood-soaked instrument on the floor in frustration. He had come to the same conclusion.
She edged through the rows of medical staff and wounded soldiers who had gathered. A haze of gun smoke remained, but she could now see the others were looking down at a body lying prone on the floor. She peered between the shoulders of two others, but could not recognize the victim. No one could.
A corpse now, his face was indiscernible and covered in fresh blood. But she recognized the bandages on the severed legs, knew it was the young captain who had been brought in earlier, a face once more youthful than even her own. A nickel-plated revolver, still smoking, rested in his lifeless hand and a large pool of blood spread across the floor. Lillian covered her mouth with her hand, but it was too late and she threw up what was left in her stomach. She fled from the hospital tent and ran as fast as she could in no particular direction.
CHAPTER 21
“Commander? Commander Kelsey?”
He heard the voice repeating his name, but all he could see was the face of TJ Townes, before his head was blown open by the impact of a .44 caliber ball, shot from a weapon designed by Samuel Colt to be powerful enough to take down an enemy’s horse.
TJ was to turn twenty-four the next day. Kelsey himself had chipped in a few dollars for the engraved saber the squadron had purchased for him. He had formed an attachment to TJ these last two years, perhaps because he reminded Kelsey so much of Bryce Daniels. Brash but short of arrogant, and somehow damned likable. And behind all the bravado, TJ had proven to be a conscientious officer who day after day demonstrated that most important quality—the want to be a better leader. Just like his older brother. Now the young man was dead by his own hand, his remains barely recognizable.
Then there was Terrell. The closest thing to a friend Kelsey had, other than Ethan Royston. They had bonded, the two men so clearly out of place here. And now, with the snap of a finger, Terrell, like so many others, was gone, leaving Kelsey with nothing more than the haunting memory of his grisly death.
Kelsey was aware he had lost consciousness on the surgeon’s table. He remembered the halting conversation with the girl, Lilly, as the surgeon dug into his shoulder with all the tenderness of a grease monkey attacking a carburetor, muttering something about the ball nicking the clavicle. He awakened sometime later, lying under a shade tree with other wounded men, a folded blanket underneath his head. His shoulder ached, and despite having shelter from the blazing sun, the heat and stench from the other men nearby was unbearable. He fell in and out of sleep, mostly to tune out the chorus of muffled cries from the nearby schoolhouse and soft sobbing from the men alongside him.
Royston had found him out here and delivered the news about TJ. He had never seen Royston so distraught, worse even than when he lost Lieutenant Garrity back in New Mexico.
He felt a tap on his hand. “Commander.”
Kelsey blinked his eyes. The sounds and pungency of death and human suffering were gone, replaced by the aroma of brewing coffee and soft music piped through a public address system. He was seated at a small table in what appeared to be a cafeteria. The man addressing Kelsey, youthful and serious, was seated opposite him. He wore a charcoal business suit and held a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. A thick folder rested in front of him.
“We only have ten minutes,” the stranger informed him.
Kelsey looked at his sleeves and trousers. He was back in his naval uniform. His service khakis to be exact, down to the black necktie and oxfords with the high gloss shine. His fingers went to his collar, caressing the familiar gold oak leaves. There was no dressing tied to his shoulder, and not even a speck of blood on his uniform.
He cleared his throat; he was dry as a bone. “Who are you? And where the hell am I?”
“First things first, Commander. I am Advocate 429 and I have been assigned to represent you. We will be appearing before the High Council in ten minutes so I must ask you some questions first. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
The man certainly looked and sounded like a lawyer. He was tall with an athletic build and wide shoulders. His thick dark hair was close-cropped and his teeth looked as if they had been coated with whitewash.
Kelsey shook his head. “I don’t have a fucking clue what you are telling me.”
The man sighed, sympathetic and unoffended. “I know you have many questions, but our time is limited and we must discuss certain matters before the inquiry begins.”
“Questions? A minute ago I was lying in a field with a bullet hole in my shoulder. What was left of my uniform—my Army uniform and not this get-up—was covered in dirt and blood, probably even lice. I hadn’t shaved in a month. And now I’m here, clean as a whistle, smelling like
a bottle of Aqua Velva, wearing my working khakis as if I’m about to stand a deck watch on my battlewagon. In 1941.”
The man sighed and put his pad down. “Perhaps we should start over. I am Advocate 429 and I have been—”
“I know, I know. You’ve been assigned to my case. Look kid, I was jerked around by the last guy I met who spoke like you and—”
“The last guy?”
“Yeah, Leavitt. Know him? Told me if I chose this path I wouldn’t have any memory. That was a nice little fib. Not only did he stick me in the middle of the god damned Civil War, he made me suffer through that hell thinking about my dead daughter each and every day.”
The Advocate could not mask his surprise. “Mr. Leavitt was your Guide. How is it possible you remember him?”
“Oh, I remember him. I remember everything about him, down to the ridiculous little conductor’s hat that made him look like a Pan American stewardess.”
“But—”
“And I remember the lies he told me. Verbatim. You want me to go through them one by one?”
The man stared across the table at Kelsey, his composure giving way to puzzlement and mounting distress. He knew they were wasting precious minutes but he had to press further.
“You said he told you that you would not have any memory of your past life?
“Right.”
“That wasn’t a lie. You cannot possibly have any memory of your previous life.”
“Oh? Shall we start with Lucy? My wife Susanna? My mother, Sally Kelsey, born May third, 1888. My father, James E. Kelsey, a gunnery sergeant in the Marine Corps, middleweight boxing champion, Second Marines. Died January fourth, 1935. Or how about baseball? I was a second team All-American at UCLA. My sophomore year, I batted 360, best in the conference. Made two errors all season.”
The young man shook his head, clearly flustered. He opened the folder and began leafing through each page. “Who are you, Mr. Kelsey?”
“A special case, Advocate,” answered a voice to the side.
Both men turned in surprise. It had been a long time, but for Kelsey, not long enough. After spending so many days and nights praying for Leavitt to appear and rescue him from the insanity he was surrounded by, he now simply wanted to strangle the life out of the old man.
Leavitt approached their table. He was no longer wearing a railroad uniform, just a simple blue suit and hat, with a white shirt and crimson necktie.
Kelsey stood, his fists balled up.
The young man stood as well. “S…Sir, I beg your pardon,” he stammered. “I am Advoc…”
Leavitt took off his creased fedora and tossed it on the table. “Yes, Mr. Braxton. We have not met before but I have heard you speak on behalf of your charges many times. I am an admirer.”
“Sir, you flatter me. It is a privilege to meet you. I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“I hate to interrupt while you two make eyes at each other,” said Kelsey, “but I have a war to get back to.” He jabbed a finger at Leavitt. “And you lied to me.”
“Sir,” said Braxton, glancing at his watch. “We are due in front of the High Council in four minutes. And Commander Kelsey has told me the most fantastic story of your entry conversation with him.”
“Tell me, son, are you aware of why he has been summoned to the Council?”
“No, Sir. I assumed that when I interviewed the subject, those reasons would become apparent.”
Leavitt placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Do me a favor, Mr. Braxton. Please report to the secretary that I need some time with Commander Kelsey. I’ll return him to you and the Council shortly.”
“Of course.” Braxton leaned into Leavitt. “He remembers you, Sir,” he whispered.
“Not for long,” Leavitt whispered back, with a conspiratorial smile.
“I can hear you both,” Kelsey said, in a louder whisper.
Braxton frowned and walked away, leaving the two men alone.
“I believed you,” seethed Kelsey.
“I know.” Leavitt picked up his hat and gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”
Kelsey, with nowhere else to go, followed him through a set of double doors, the two men emerging into the bright daylight. It was a brisk afternoon and Kelsey welcomed the cool breeze in his face after baking in the Pennsylvania sun the past week. Leavitt led him to a worn dirt path that wrapped around a small lake. There was a park on the other side where Kelsey could see children playing and a handful of kites dancing in the sky.
The two men walked side by side, each with his hands clasped behind his back. Leavitt remained quiet.
Kelsey did not know where to begin. He had been waiting for this moment for so long, yet he never gave much thought to what he would actually say to Leavitt. So many questions swirled now through his mind. Questions that had weighed on him for more than two years.
His diatribe would have to wait though, as Leavitt cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence. His tone was friendly, as if the two men were old chums.
“What is old Sam Leavitt doing here, you may ask yourself. Especially after all we discussed so long ago. I’ve lost track of my clients over the years, Commander. Too many to count. I am here because not a single one of them is capable of recalling today who I am. Not one. The fact that you remember our first encounter, as Mr. Braxton noted, well, that makes your case somewhat extraordinary.”
“I believed you,” Kelsey repeated.
“As you should have.” Leavitt stopped and turned to him. “I didn’t lie to you, son. You were not supposed to have any memory of your previous path. It just doesn’t happen.”
“But I remembered everything. Everything. I still do.”
“I know. And I have no explanation for you.”
Kelsey was still hot but he sensed the futility of further arguing with the man. Besides, he saw something in Leavitt that he had not seen two years ago on that train; uncertainty.
“This High Court. What is it? Why do they want to see me?”
“Council. High Council. An exceptionally wise group of elders. Quite frankly, your case has left us all a bit flummoxed. Your continued memory of your previous path is unprecedented, to my knowledge. So they are left with the question of what to do with you. You are to have some say in the matter. That is why you were assigned an Advocate. Alas, your Advocate has no experience in such matters.”
“Great. I get a rookie.”
Leavitt smiled. “To be fair, none of us has experience in such matters. But since I am most familiar with your case, I will represent you.”
“You? I’d rather have that kid.”
“Why?”
“He hasn’t lied to me.”
“I haven’t—” Leavitt cut himself off, aware of his elevated voice. He inhaled deeply and appeared cross, though it was unclear if it was with Kelsey or himself.
They came to a bench and Leavitt gestured again for Kelsey to follow him. He crossed his legs as he sat, removing the fedora and dabbing his brow with a silk handkerchief.
“Trust, Commander. We must share some. I promise you that I did not deliberately mislead you. I gave you information I thought to be true and that turned out to be wrong. A first for me, I might add. And I have been at this for some time now.”
Kelsey took a moment to admire the scenery before him. There was a cluster of mountains in the distance, the peaks cutting a jagged line across the brilliant blue sky. Lush, rolling meadows carpeted the foothills at the base of the range.
“Certainly have a view here.”
“This bench is a must-stop for me each time I am out here.”
Kelsey turned to him. “Maybe you can give me some good information for a change.”
“Try me.”
“Hiram Travers.”
Leavitt nodded, the name known to him. “Yes.”
“Is it him? Is he the reason why you sent me on this…path?”
“That too, I honestly do not have an answer for.”
/> “I almost killed him.”
“I know,” said Leavitt with a raised eyebrow. “You must be a lousy shot, at that short distance.”
“Must be. So this High Council, what will they do with me?”
“Have some faith, Commander. This Council has been steering the right course for longer than you can imagine. As I see it, there are only two options. They can either send you back to the deck of the Nevada, or, they can send you back to that beautiful maple tree in Pennsylvania.”
“So my options are a skull fracture or a hole in my shoulder?”
Leavitt gave him a tight smile. “That is one way of looking at it.”
“What if I refuse to leave here?”
“Here?” Leavitt gave him a long look. “This place is not for you.”
“Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it is.”
“Tsk, tsk, Commander. I think not. I told you once before. You are a fighter.”
“A fighter?” Kelsey said, his voice sharp. “Fighting for what? I have nothing left to fight for. I’ve lost my daughter, my wife, shipmates, and now so many of these men I’ve ridden with for two years now. What do I have left? Misery, Leavitt. That’s all. And you’ve made it worse. You’ve made me a killer.”
“We didn’t make you anything. Had you stayed on the Nevada, as a naval officer, surely your actions would have eventually led to the taking of other lives?”
“That’s different. I’m using my own hands here. Fourteen, Leavitt. That is how many men I have killed. Twelve of them shot with my Colt. One today with my knife, and another, I smashed his skull in with a rock. Do you know what it feels like to crush a man’s skull?”
“Leonard Edmunds.”
“What?”
“Leonard Edmunds. The Confederate soldier you killed today with that rock. He was twenty-three years old, from a little town called Luray, Virginia. He has a wife named Emma, a baby boy named Tuck. He was an apprentice to a master carpenter. He joined the Page County militia in September of 1861. Killed in action on July third, 1863. His wife won’t hear about it for three more months. Tuck will die of fever in 1868. Emma will fall into depression and spend the rest of her days in a sanitarium.”