Where the Bullets Fly

by Terrence McCauley

  He humored him by returning it. “You’re a good man, sergeant. Carry on. I’ll swing by after the dance gets started.”

  “Be good to see you when you do, sir.” Wilkes resumed his sweeping. “Don’t forget to give your pa my regards. Good man, your pa. Served with him under Sherman, you know?”

  “I know, sergeant. I know.”

  Mackey gave Adair her head and let her lope at her own pace toward the jailhouse.

  * * *

  After making sure Billy and Underhill got the Boudreauxs squared away at the jailhouse, Mackey felt a pang of hunger—his first in weeks—and decided to head home for an early supper. He knew it would be a late night for him. Veterans Gala dances always lasted most of the night, with the town jail filled to capacity. If he was going to eat at all, he decided it was best to eat early.

  He knew Mary had been cooking all day for the dance and usually made extra. She would most likely already be at the hall helping the ladies set up, allowing him to eat in peace in his own house for once.

  He usually put Adair in the livery when he didn’t expect to need her again, but today, he decided to ride her the short distance up the street to his house.

  He knew why, though he didn’t like to admit it. Not even to himself.

  The sight of all the men in their uniforms for the Veterans Gala had been an annual happening since he had been a boy. He’d grown up dreaming of the day he’d be able to attend in full uniform. Most of the men on the Union side had been sergeants and lower. Doc Ridley had been a captain in the Confederacy and, by rank, had always been the most senior old officer in attendance. Pappy was glad the day his son had finally matched the old rebel in rank.

  But when Mackey had been drummed out of the cavalry, he swore he’d never wear the uniform again. The town may have given him a hero’s welcome, but the burn of dismissal still stung.

  He’d been dismissed because he’d kept a lieutenant from beating a captured Apache to death. Mackey had hit the young officer too hard, scrambling the man’s brains in the process. The assault was justified, but the lieutenant was the son of a prominent southern senator. The army had refused the senator’s demands that Mackey be court-martialed, as they had no intention of disgracing the man they’d built up as the Hero of Adobe Flat. They quietly dismissed him from the service instead.

  He’d never attended the gala since he’d come back and been elected sheriff, choosing instead to stay in the jail or on patrol while most of the town drank and danced and ate. He’d grown to hate the gala and what it represented. A bunch of old men indulging in old glories. He had no time for that.

  But as he rode past the men in old uniforms— some blue and some gray—and the ladies in their finery, Mackey allowed himself to remember what it had been like on nights such as this one, back on the forts he’d served. Men in uniform, united in a common purpose and common danger. God had had little to do with it. Love of country even less. They served for the man next to them. They served to keep each other alive.

  He admitted that he missed that. He missed being in command and having the authority to deal with threats in his own way. Threats like the men he’d killed at the Tin Horn. Threats like Darabont. He began to wonder if the dance was less of an indulgence and more of a celebration of survival and life. A celebration that pushed away the horrors of a time gone by. A celebration of clarity. The same kind of clarity he had longed for as he watched the sunrise at the station earlier that morning.

  He also wondered if his bout of pneumonia had made him sentimental. He knew what Katherine had said about Mary had been true. Maybe Mary had fallen in love with a uniform and not the man in it. Maybe Mary was right to resent him for rejecting who and what he had once been. Until his dismissal, his years in the cavalry had been a simpler, happier time before mayors and investors and drunkards and men like Darabont were on the loose.

  Perhaps his resentment about his dismissal was softening just a bit. Fighting Mary for so long hadn’t gotten him anywhere. Seeing things from her point of view might.

  The waves and salutes he drew from the happy old men in their old uniforms as he rode home made him reconsider his position. And for the first time in five years, he thought about putting on the uniform again. If only for one night.

  He hitched Adair to the post in front of his house and began to walk inside.

  Mary was already hurrying toward the door, a big steaming pot of stew in her hand. She wore his favorite dress—the green one he’d bought for her as a peace offering for a long-forgotten argument the year before—and her hair was washed and straight. She smelled of rose water and perfume, like Katherine had the day before, only not as nice. No one ever smelled as nice as Katherine.

  He was about to pay Mary a compliment when she said, “There he is. The grand man coming home whenever he damned well pleases. I left a bowl of stew for you on the stove, knowing you’d think yourself too good to escort your wife to the biggest event of the year. And why should you? You’ve got more medals than the rest of ’em in there put together and here I am, your wife, sloppin’ out stew instead of havin’ the pleasure of dancin’ with my husband as is my right.”

  She shifted the pot into her left hand as she buffaloed past him and grabbed the doorknob with her right. “Selfish bastard. That’s what you are. Damned selfish.”

  And with a slam of the door, she was gone. She’d managed to fight and win the argument without Mackey even saying a word.

  He hung his hat on the peg next to the rifle rack, placed his Winchester in the rifle rack, and headed upstairs. He walked into the bedroom he had once shared with Mary before she relegated him to the smaller room down the hall over a year before.

  He opened the large chest at the foot of his bed and gently removed the blankets and quilts Mary had piled there now that the nights had grown a little warmer. The chest had been the only bit of furniture that had survived her family’s journey west.

  He found his old uniform beneath some blankets. His sword and scabbard were on top and he lifted them from the trunk. It was the same sword with which he had led the charge at Adobe Flats all those years ago.

  He gently laid the sword and scabbard at the foot of the bed and took out his tunic. He stood and held it against his chest as he looked at his reflection in Mary’s long mirror.

  He was surprised by the tall, gaunt figure looking back at him. The sunken eyes and gray specked stubble on his fallow cheeks. The years had not been kind to him, he knew, but why would they? He hadn’t been kind to himself. He had been hiding for a long time.

  And Aaron Mackey—the real Aaron Mackey—didn’t hide from any man or any thing.

  Not Darabont or his men. Not even the past.

  He rubbed his hands across the stubble on his chin. Nothing a good bath and a shave couldn’t fix.

  Chapter 14

  Two hours later, after a good scrubbing of both cloth and body, Captain Aaron Mackey stepped out onto the boardwalk of his house and pulled the door behind him.

  His boots gleamed and his sword shone in his scabbard, jingling a familiar sound as he walked. His heavy army Colt was in the holster on his belt set high on his left side, butt facing out. He had always worn it that way on patrol, making it easier to draw the pistol while mounted. It wasn’t a formal dress uniform, but the uniform of an active soldier. It was his, and it would do for the occasion.

  The black hat had required a bit of brushing, but the brim was as straight as it had ever been. It felt good to be wearing it again.

  Adair looked up from the scrub grass she’d been munching beside the hitching post. She hadn’t seen him in uniform in five years, either, and raised her snout to catch his scent. She nuzzled her face against him when he untied her from the post.

  “I know, old girl,” he said as he stroked her neck. “Been a long time.”

  For the first time in five years, Mackey swung up into the saddle in full uniform. He brought Adair around to the south and rode down Front Street to the dance hall.
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  Many of the old timers and civilians hurrying to the gala stopped on the boardwalk as Mackey rode by. Many of them had seen him grown up and none of them had seen him in uniform since the day he’d stepped off the train. He felt himself blush as they smiled up at him. The old soldiers too surprised by the sight to even salute. Some of the young boys and girls did, and he returned the favor.

  For the first time in a long time, and longer than his bout with pneumonia, Aaron Mackey felt good.

  He saw Billy Sunday leaning against a porch post on the boardwalk just up the street from the dance hall. He had never worn his uniform since leaving the army, either, choosing to leave it behind when he mustered out of the cavalry and became a scout.

  The deputy touched the brim of his hat. “Evening, captain.”

  Out of habit, Mackey offered a casual salute, then realized how ridiculous he looked. “Knock it off. Any sign of Darabont or his men?”

  “Not unless they’ve disguised themselves as fat old men in uniforms on their way to a dance.”

  “Not likely. I meant around the town.”

  “Sim Halstead and I did a patrol while you were resting. He took one end of town and I took the other. We met in the middle and found no signs of anyone lurking around.” He held up his hand. “And before you ask me, I went up to Hill House to make sure Old Wilkes and Andersson were on the lookout for Darabont’s boys, too. They’re both armed with about a hundred rounds a piece and they’ll fire off a couple of shots if they see anything strange. I’ll also start patrolling after the dance starts, so you . . .”

  “We’ll be patrolling together within the hour,” Mackey said. “I’m just going inside for a little while to . . .”

  “None of my business why you’re doing it, Aaron. I’m just glad you’re doing it. The present is hard enough without the past making it harder.”

  There were too many people milling around them on the boardwalk for them to have this kind of conversation. He heard the strains of violin music and gladly changed the subject. “The Boudreauxs inside already?”

  “Yep. Underhill didn’t like it, but he’s in there, too, keeping an eye on them. Fetched himself a new outfit from his rig just for the occasion. With all that yellow hair of his, he looks prettier than half of the ladies. He already glad-handed Mayor Mason and his investors from back east. Mr. Rice saw my star and asked me if you’d be coming by. He asked me to pass along his regards.”

  Mackey would make a point to talk to Mr. Rice once he was inside. There was something about the railroad man he liked, even if he was wealthy. Maybe it was because he seemed like the one man who’d come to town with intent instead of just words. “I’ll be out of there in an hour at the most. If I’m longer than that, come get me. One of us should ride up to Hill House to make sure the girls up there are okay come nightfall.”

  “Consider it done, captain.”

  Mackey ignored him as he rode down the street and tied Adair’s reins to the hitching post in front of the dance hall. Granderson, one of Pappy’s old comrades, snapped to attention at the doorway and offered a smart salute. “Welcome back, captain. And if I might say, you look beautiful.”

  Mackey returned the salute, then pulled off his gauntlet to shake the old man’s hand. “No need for formality, Mike. Pappy inside?”

  “Of course. The bar opened ten minutes ago.”

  Then that’s where Pappy would be. Mackey walked into the dance hall and found men in uniforms from both the north and the south already mingling with each other. The dancing part of the evening hadn’t started yet, but he was glad he had missed the formal ceremony of Gray meeting Blue in the center of the hall. He had always found the ceremony grating, even as a little boy.

  The band was already in full swing with the two Boudreaux boys working their fiddles to the delight of the crowd. Underhill was watching close by. He spotted Mackey from across the room and gave him a slight bow. Mackey returned the gesture.

  He spotted Mayor Mason on the left side of the hall talking to Mr. Rice, Mr. Van Dorn, and a few of the business owners from town. Van Dorn looked like he had recovered from the long train ride, but only just. Even in evening attire, he looked like a stiff wind might blow him over at any minute.

  The sheriff found Sergeant Brendan Mackey at his familiar station behind the bar. It had always his custom to serve the first round of punch to the guests before joining the party himself. He warned them all that it had a bit of a kick to it, but Mackey knew it had more than a bit of a kick. His old man had always had a heavy hand when it came to whiskey.

  Pappy’s old blue uniform still fit him, since he hadn’t changed much—save for the gray hair—since the day he had left Sherman’s command and come west. The medal congress had given him for his bravery under Sherman at the Battle of Smith Creek in Georgia looked as good as it had upon the morning he had received it.

  Pappy blindly attempted to hand his son a glass of punch as he came up the line. “Be careful that you mind the punch. It . . .”

  He dropped the glass back into the bowl when he realized his son was standing before him in full uniform. He looked his son up and down from head to toe. “Christ almighty, boy. You showed up. I never dreamed you’d . . .”

  Then he remembered himself, snapped to attention and offered a salute. All the other men in uniform serving the chow did the same. “Evening, Captain . . . Mackey.”

  Mackey had always known his father had wanted him to come to the gala, but he’d never known how much until that moment. He returned the salute and said, “Evening, sergeant. At ease.”

  The old man pawed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’ve always wanted to be able to salute my boy.”

  “Knock it off and hand me some punch.”

  Pappy did, but couldn’t take his eyes off his boy as he moved toward the chow line to find Mary.

  He found his wife coming out from the back lugging a large basket of bread. She stopped short at the sight of her husband and slowly lowered the basket on the table before she dropped it.

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, she smiled at him. Not because he was her husband, he knew, but because he was in uniform. The uniform. He was once again the man she had fallen in love with, not the man he really was. Just like Katherine had said.

  “Aaron,” was all she could say. “You look . . .”

  The band began playing the first formal waltz of the evening. Mackey extended his hand to his wife. “Want to dance?”

  She took his hand and placed her hand on his shoulder as they began to glide around the dance floor with some of the other couples. She wasn’t as good a dancer as Katherine had been. Not by a long shot. But she was no longer the haggard, angry woman she’d been only a couple of hours before when she left their home.

  Now, she looked up at him with a glowing adoration that he hadn’t seen since after they’d been married. She normally looked thin and pale and close to fifty even though she wasn’t even thirty yet. But as he held her as they danced, a youthfulness came over her that Mackey found quite remarkable.

  As they danced, she ran her hand across the breadth of Mackey’s tunic and the gold captain’s bars on his shoulders. She forgot about the dance and threw both arms around his neck and held him tighter than he’d thought possible. She buried her face in his chest as she sobbed. “Where did you go, Aaron? Where did you go?”

  He stopped trying to dance with her and put his arms around her waist. He was surprised he could feel the bones of her back through the dress. She hadn’t let him hold her like this in over a year and she’d lost a lot of weight since then.

  He put his cheek against her head and held her close as she gently cried into his uniform. She wasn’t the angry, bitter woman she’d been before, but the young girl he’d fallen in love with when he’d returned home.

  He stroked her hair and whispered that he loved her and for the first time in a long time, Aaron Mackey knew true peace.

  And that’s when he smelled it.


  At first, he thought someone had left a roast on the fire too long in the kitchen.

  But as the smell grew stronger, he knew it was a richer, thicker smell than burnt food.

  He quickly picked his head up to smell the air better. He noticed Pappy had stopped doling out punch. He’d smelled it, too.

  Underhill was on his feet and the Boudreaux brothers had stopped playing, though the rest of the band played on.

  The smell wasn’t coming from the kitchen. It was coming in the front door.

  Mary protested as Mackey pulled away from her and began to walk to the door of the dance hall. When he got out to the boardwalk, there was no mistaking the nature of the smell.

  A building was on fire.

  Billy Sunday was already running down the opposite side of Front Street toward the jail. “Hill House is on fire and going up fast!”

  One name flashed before his eyes.

  Katherine.

  She was up there helping one of the whores give birth.

  Mackey ran back into the ballroom and yelled over the music, “We’ve got a fire up at Hill House. I need all available men to get up there as soon as possible.”

  Pappy bolted past him toward his store yelling, “I’ve got a flatbed and plenty of buckets at my store. Come help me load them.”

  Every man and most of the women broke into the street scrambling for horses and wagons. Mackey climbed into the saddle and swung Adair away from the fray and up the street toward the fire. He thought he heard Mary calling his name over the chaos but couldn’t be certain. He didn’t have to look behind him to his right to know Billy was already riding right behind him.

  Mackey and Billy rode at the front of the pack up Front Street, then broke right at Lincoln Avenue, riding out of town past Katie’s Place up toward Hill House. The building was a mile out of town and most of it uphill. Mackey knew Pappy’s wagon would have a hell of a time making it up the hill quickly, but he’d get there.