The Other Side of Life

by Andy Kutler

  If true, they could not have assigned him a better command to revive his reputation. The 3rd Brigade was comprised of veteran cavalry regiments and had amassed a bullish reputation the last few years. One of the few exceptions had been the rout of Ethan’s regiment in Pennsylvania two summers ago, a debacle that Ethan had been exonerated for; his regiment deemed the victim of poor planning and communication by one of Powell’s predecessors.

  Powell was not alone in the tent. Another man, short and squat and wearing a rumpled suit, sat across from the general’s desk. He was older, nearly bald, and his pencil mustache was a contrast to Powell’s long, heavy beard. A black stovepipe hat rested in his lap, the kind that had been favored by Abe Lincoln.

  Powell continued to keep his two visitors waiting while he dispensed with his paperwork. Their host finished with a sigh, gesturing for Ethan to take the remaining empty chair facing the desk. Kelsey quietly slipped to the back of the tent.

  “Colonel Royston, this is Mr. Lars Dahlquist.”

  Ethan extended his hand and the older man grasped it quickly. While the man’s outer appearance was quite disheveled, there was a warmth and brightness in the man’s eyes. He studied Ethan, as if in recognition, and Ethan too felt a vague familiarity.

  He gave Ethan a small smile. “It has been many years, but we have met before. You were a very young man at the time. I was your father’s personal attorney, and in his service for more than twenty years.”

  “Yes, Mr. Dahlquist. Of course. My father thought quite well of you. Said he would have taken his ‘little lawyer’ to Mexico over a company of infantry any day of the week.”

  Dahlquist chuckled. “That sounds exactly like your father.” He became more somber. “I offer you my profound condolences for your loss. And the loss of your brother as well. This war has taken a dreadful toll on so many families.”

  “I take it you are here about my father’s estate.”

  Ethan knew it was not the warmest of responses and immediately regretted his tone. It was unfair to begrudge Dahlquist simply because the man had the misfortune of being employed by Ethan’s father.

  Dahlquist seemed unfazed, however. “Indeed. I know it has been several months and I apologize for not finding you sooner. But as directed by your father’s will, there was much to put in order, and of course, locating your regiment was no small feat. Shall we?”

  Dahlquist reached into a satchel resting at his feet and removed a sheath of documents. “Your father was a wise investor, both before and during the war. You probably have some idea of his holdings. Most notably, he had three factories outside Madison, each of which has prospered considerably from the production of war goods. Everything from canvas tents to canned foods. He persistently expanded production, selling one of those plants for a tidy sum last year. The other two factories remain in operation today, though I expect sales to sharply decline with the war ending. If they are to continue to profit, they will need to convert to commercial production and overseas markets will need to be explored.”

  “Do I inherit those?”

  “Not exactly. Before I go any further, he asked that you read this. The letter was written weeks ago. The handwriting is that of his secretary. By this time he was too sapped from the stroke to even hold a pen. But it was dictated in my presence, and I assure you it is authentic.”

  Dahlquist handed Ethan an envelope, sealed with wax. Ethan broke the seal and removed the letter.

  Dear Ethan,

  I hope this letter finds you well. If you are reading this, Dahlquist has been busy administering the terms of my estate. Dahlquist is a credit to his trade and, as I am sure you will conclude for yourself, wholly trustworthy.

  As you know, my father was a successful merchant in Philadelphia. When he passed, he bestowed the vast majority of his savings and investments to the orphanage in Maryland where he was raised. He also left each of his three sons a cash inheritance of $1000.00. At that time, I thought I had inherited a small fortune. Your Uncle Frank and Uncle Roland squandered their shares, mostly on land speculation and gambling. I used my inheritance to build a new life in Madison when I retired from the Army.

  The wealth I have accumulated today is many times more than that of your grandfather. My intention is not to boast. On the contrary, our family’s prosperity could not have been possible were it not for the $1000.00 my father gave to me. From a single acorn did a mighty oak grow.

  I always told you and your brother that material wealth is no measure of a man. I did so because as you now surely understand, I have led an imperfect life. I cannot say I was the most ethical of businessmen or the most faithful of husbands. Nor can I say, as I am sure you would attest, that I was the most attentive of fathers. But if there is any one aspect of my life that I look back on with pride, it is my military service to our state. My failures elsewhere belong to me, and somewhere, someday, I shall answer for them.

  Like my father, I have directed Dahlquist to leave my heir with a modest sum of cash. Thomas would have received the same. The rest, a vast sum as you can imagine, is to be placed in a trust with Dahlquist as the controlling officer, to be used to assist the injured soldiers returning to our state. It took me too long to recognize the responsibility I have to others, but I hope this can be considered a meaningful contribution to the Union, and all those who served honorably.

  You, Ethan, of course, are among them. I have far less influence in Washington and the Army than you would likely believe, but I did inquire about your well-being from time to time, both before and during the war. By all accounts, you have grown into an exceptional, capable senior officer. My only wish had been that your mother could have heard how the incorrigible, directionless boy she once knew is now described as gallant and iron-willed by those in the highest reaches of the Army. She would have been so very proud, as I am. You have always been a born leader. Both she and I saw that, even if you never did.

  I pray that the sum I have left for you will serve you as it did me once.

  Father

  Ethan folded the letter and placed it carefully back in the envelope. Dahlquist reached again into his satchel, this time removing two bundles of currency, each wrapped with a single piece of twine. He placed them on the desk in front of Ethan.

  “Count those if you wish. You may keep them, or I can deposit them for you at a bank when I return to Washington. I’ll provide you with a legal receipt that can substitute as a bank draft.”

  Ethan leaned forward and thumbed through one of the stacks. “Is that a thousand dollars?”

  Dahlquist smiled. “It is five thousand dollars. Your father’s wealth was considerable, and pursuant to his wishes, the balance will be put to a very fine and noble use. I do have some papers for you to sign.”

  The attorney proceeded to place several documents in front of Ethan, providing a brief explanation as Ethan added his signature to each one, only half listening to the legal jargon. His mind wandered, distracted by the piles of money sitting before him. When he finished with the legal documents, he informed Dahlquist that he would keep the cash with him. Dahlquist indicated his understanding and extended his hand again to Ethan, who shook it more amiably this time.

  The attorney expressed his sympathies once more before departing the tent.

  Powell sat back in his chair and carefully stroked his beard. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said, “but you have my condolences as well. Your father sounded like a great man, and an American patriot.”

  Ethan looked at his superior. The man’s face exhibited concern and he had delivered his words with the same sincerity as Dahlquist had. Yet he was, after all, a politician, and Ethan sensed a hollowness to his sentiments. He would keep that to himself. He still needed Powell.

  “Thank you, General, that is very good of you.”

  Powell picked up another thick report, a sign that it was time for Ethan to go. But Ethan lingered and Powell looked at him impatiently. “Is there anything else, Colonel? I have much work to att
end to.”

  “I thought you had summoned me here to discuss my request for leave.”

  “What request for leave?”

  Ethan cursed to himself, realizing that his request had likely become lost in the usual tangle of Army bureaucracy. He turned to Kelsey, gesturing for the sergeant to wait for him outside.

  “Sir, I had requested extended leave days ago. There are personal matters I would like to attend to.”

  “I am sure we can arrange a day of furlough for you.”

  “No, Sir, I need more time than that. It is why I had hoped to speak to you in person.”

  Powell folded his hands, looking puzzled. “I’m somewhat lost here. Your father passed away some time ago, no?”

  “This isn’t about my father, Sir. I need time to travel to the Shenandoah Valley.”

  “For what purpose?”

  Ethan hesitated. “I cannot say.”

  “You wish for me to grant you leave so you can journey nearly a hundred miles from here, and you cannot say for what purpose?”

  “Yes, Sir. It is a highly personal matter. And I hope that my service record speaks to my credibility. I would not ask if I had any other alternative.”

  “Perhaps you ought to tell me just what this is about, and what business you have in the Shenandoah.”

  “My apologies, General, but it is a confidential matter.” Ethan took a breath. “And it is of such importance that I am willing to resign my commission if necessary.”

  Powell steepled his fingers and sat back in his chair, frowning. “Is that some sort of ultimatum?”

  “No, Sir, I did not intend it to be. But I have a matter I must attend to. It is a question of personal honor.”

  “Without further information, I cannot help you. If resignation is your only course of action, then Lieutenant Ricks outside can help you with the processing. In deference to your years of service, I will share with you that the corps commander had intended to reassign you to post duty in the Colorado Territory. If it hasn’t occurred to you, that is a very favorable assignment and reflects the impression your service record has made on your superiors. Your brevet rank was to be reduced back to captain and you were to travel by train to Washington and then Missouri, leaving on Friday.”

  Ethan’s eyes widened. “Colorado? In three days?”

  “Indeed. Congratulations, man. You must feel some pride, knowing the Army wishes to retain your services when so many others will be shown the door. That is, if you choose to remain in the Army.”

  One last try.

  “General, if I remain, could I have some time to complete my business here? This is customary when traveling such a long distance to a new permanent station.”

  “I can give you a day. I will detach you from your duties here immediately so you can attend to your personal affairs.”

  “I need a month, Sir.”

  Powell had clearly had enough. “You have a day. Or you can resign and take all the time you need. You are dismissed.” He lifted another report for his review.

  Ethan was tempted to scribble out his resignation right here and stuff it down the man’s throat.

  But he knew Colorado was both a reward and opportunity. There were scores of ambitious officers out there who would trade their wives and children for such a posting. He could not refuse it.

  “Sir, my sergeant major, can you arrange for him to accompany me? He’s a good man, and I’m sure—”

  “Your sergeant will be provided no favorable treatment, Colonel. I am sure he will learn his fate in due course. The clock is ticking on your day of leave.”

  Ethan hesitated for a moment as the other man returned to his report. Ethan took a deep breath and retrieved the two bundles from Powell’s desk, tucking one inside his frock coat. He then peeled off a one-hundred dollar note and placed it in front of Powell.

  Powell slowly lowered the report and stared at the money.

  “Royston,” he said quietly, without looking up. “I could have you in irons for that.”

  “I apologize, General. But I really need my sergeant major.”

  Powell raised an eyebrow. “And perhaps you didn’t listen carefully enough to your father’s attorney when he correctly pointed out that this war has taken a terrible toll on all of us.”

  Ethan picked up the money and turned to leave.

  “A terrible toll. Physical. Spiritual. And financial.”

  Ethan stopped. He turned and met Powell’s gaze. He counted out an additional two notes and added them to the first, placing the bills on the desk. Powell eyed the money for a brief moment before carefully covering the bills with the report he was reading.

  “His name?”

  “Kelsey,” said Ethan. “First initial, ‘M’.”

  “You have one day of leave. I’ll have Ricks draft up the orders for you and your sergeant major and deliver them to your tent immediately.”

  Ethan stepped back and gave the general a crisp salute. As Powell returned it, Ethan turned on his heels.

  “Royston, one last question.”

  Ethan stopped and faced the general again, seeing Powell tapping his newfound wealth with a fingertip. “Is one sergeant really worth three hundred dollars?”

  For the first time that afternoon, a smile crept across Ethan’s face. “He’s my good luck charm.”

  CHAPTER 29

  May, 1865

  The sun had nearly disappeared below the horizon and dusk was just settling in. Emily came to treasure this time of day, when she and Charlie would welcome Cal and Caldwell back from the fields. Week by week they were inching toward normalcy, putting greater distance between themselves and the war that had tormented each of them for four long years. She cherished her time in bed with Cal, and the intimacy that followed, just as she had in Texas and New Mexico years ago. Yet the two of them sprang to their feet nearly every morning, anxious to greet the new day and continue their modest progress toward the vision they shared. A vision she had become nearly as passionate about as her husband.

  Emily was sitting on the front steps, watching the scene across the yard as she always did. Cal was seated against a tree, Charlie nestled comfortably in his arm. It had become an evening ritual for those two, just after dinner. She loved watching the pair. She loved even more Cal’s determination to make up for lost time with his son. He often spoke aloud to the boy, always instructive, the child gazing back at him in wonder, or confusion, or both. She smiled. It was the essence of Cal. Always the officer, always the leader.

  Her smile faded as she reminded herself of what she had resolved earlier in the day. She knew she had to tell him. Long before they were husband and wife, they vowed absolute honesty with one another. Even if she wanted to keep the episode in Richmond a secret, she knew that was a fantasy. Virginia was simply too small of a state, the residents like a large, gossipy family. McCloskey surely told someone. Stories would spread.

  She often tried to boost her spirits by returning to the words Caldwell had shared with her months ago. He was the only person she had ever explained herself to, and after hearing her out on the long ride from the capital to the valley, Caldwell was neither judgmental nor disapproving. With an articulation Emily didn’t know the man possessed, he shared his sympathy with her, telling her he could understand the shame and humiliation she felt. But, he argued vociferously, she should never waste a single minute second-guessing her decision. That didn’t stop her from doing so, but as she looked at Cal and Charlie making silly faces at each other, a happy father holding his son, and the perfect fit of Charlie resting in the crook of Cal’s only arm, she knew everything she had endured was worth whatever the price had proven to be.

  She saw Cal suddenly holding Charlie as far from his lap as he could with his one arm, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

  “Emily Garrity! What’re you feeding this boy?”

  She laughed and started to rise to her feet but felt Sarah’s gentle hand on her shoulder as the girl stood and began moving down the steps
.

  “I’ll take care of it, Miss. The boy just needs some refreshin’.”

  She retrieved the child and returned to the inside of the house. Cal went to the well and rinsed his hand before approaching the porch.

  “I guess he didn’t like what I had to say,” he said, sitting next to Emily.

  “What’d you tell that boy that gave him the trots?” Caldwell asked with a grin, taking a break from chopping wood.

  “I was asking him if he was interested in having a baby brother.”

  “Calvin Garrity!”

  “Oh, come on, Em. Caldwell knows how babies—”

  “Who cares about Caldwell? I want to know what is wrong with a baby sister? Are you suggesting—”

  Emily stopped in mid-sentence as they all turned their heads toward the sound of horses on the gravel path. A handful of Union soldiers were cantering to the yard gate.

  “I’ll find some drinks for our guests,” said Emily, always conscious of her manners. Soldiers were frequent visitors now, and despite their omnipresence in the valley these days, there was always a part of her that fretted a bit when she saw the blue uniforms. In Texas and New Mexico, before the war, they were a comfort to her. But here, they were wildly out of place.

  She entered the house and made for the kitchen, collecting several glasses and mugs. They still had half a pitcher of lemonade, to which she added more water and a pinch of sugar.

  Through the open window Emily could hear the riders dismounting from their horses. She gave the visitors a quick glimpse from behind a shutter. They were led by a tall, thick-chested major with a wide mustache and full sideburns. He and his sergeant, a capable looking man, handed their reins to a young private.

  The visitor approached Cal, reaching into his coat and pulling out a document. “I’m Major Kendricks,” he said, his voice firm with authority. “Seconded to the Provisional Governor of the Commonwealth of Virginia. Is this the Peyton land?”