FicWad

Kerrigan is the first to wake. She washes herself, dresses, and begins to prepare breakfast. She feeds the horses while breakfast is cooking and sweeps the step as she looks to the sky. It is a typical mid-April day, cold and cloudy. It will rain later. She can feel it in her bones. She turns the sausages, onions, mushrooms, and cucumbers frying over the fire and observes the bread in the tin oven. Dawn creeps slowly over Crosspoint, and the bread slowly bakes into a golden sourdough. She removes the bread from the oven and the sausages and vegetables from the skillet. Liam’s colonel arrives before either of the men wake.

“D’ye know the whereabouts o’ Captain Liam, ma’am.”

“He is in that bed, Colonel. He is staying with us for a short time. Would you like some tea?”

“That’d be lovely.”

Kerrigan takes the kettle outside to the pump and fills it. She then puts it on its hook in the fireplace and prods the logs below with the poker. Liam, who is a lighter sleeper than his father, wakes to the smell of breakfast, and, spotting his superior officer, jumps up to salute, this time using the correct hand. He then realizes that he is not wearing pants. Kerrigan hands him his trousers, and he scrambles into them before saluting again.

“So. What’re ye doin’ here…not that ‘tis a bad thing ye’re here, but ‘tis jus’…I didn’t expect ye-”

“Enough, Captain. Ye’re in no trouble. One o’ your lieutenants is leavin’ on the train today. I was hopin’ ye’d come an’ see him off.”

“Lieutenant Boland?”

“Aye.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Brendan Sparrow is accompanying the Lieutenant home, but he will return tomorrow morning. Doctor Sparrow will be staying with us as a civilian for some time to help our tiny medical staff. He’ll be staying in your tent until Boland returns. Boland will be promoted to Captain upon his return.”

“I’ll be there after breakfast. I wouldn’t miss the chance to see Boland off for anythin’.”

“Colonel, would you like to stay for breakfast?” asks Kerrigan.

“I shouldn’t, ma’am, but I’ve never been one to refuse free food.”

“As soon as Jack wakes, we shall have breakfast. Until then, is there anything in which I might interest you?”

“No, ma’am. I can wait. An’ to think, he used to be an early riser.”

“Either that, or he jus’ ne’er went to bed, sor,” says Liam.

“How d’ye figure, Captain?”

“Well, he was poor back then, an’ the Revolutionary Army wasn’t exactly legal. He drank a lot, as Miss Kerrigan mentioned, so he probably spent most o’ his money on drink, an’ he’d be off lookin’ for food real early when the bakers get rid o’ day-old bread an’ fruit an’ vegetable salesmen get rid o’ the ones that were dropped.”

“I could’ve told ye he’d’ve been lookin’ for food, Captain. We all knew it, but I’ve seen him sleep. He don’t jus’ drink at night. Where he goes, the drink follows.”

“How d’ye know him, sor?”

“Ye know the Generals’ names, right?”

“Aye.”

“An’ I’m Owen Callahan. Ye knew that.”

“Aye.”

“The five Southern Army Generals are McMahon, a very old friend o’ your da’ an’ an original member o’ the Thirteenth; O’Casey, son of a Revolutionary General; Malone, another original member o’ the Thirteenth an’ son of a Revolutionary General; Flannigan, the son of an original member o’ the Thirteenth; an’-”

“General Callahan.”

“Aye. Me father. I’m the oldest o’ seven boys, Liam. Four are at home wi’ ma’. Me parents married the day the Senate was founded, an’ I was born nine months later. I’m younger than most o’ me men. I’ve a wife an’ son o’ me own in Bridgeton, Kathleen an’ Lochlan. I’ve a brother, Brendan, who’s a Major. He’s a wife, Deirdre, an’ two boys, Sean an’ Aiden. I’ve another brother, Kian, who’s a Lieutenant. He’s only twenty. Conan’s sixteen, Devon, ten, Brian four, an’ Killian two. They’ll all serve in this unit some day. I forget ye aren’t Bridgeton-born, Liam. Most o’ the big families know each other well. The O’Sheas, the Malones, the O’Caseys, the Vaughans, the McNamaras, the Ó Seachnsaighs, an’ me own family, the Callahans, to name a few.”

“I’ve lived in Bridgeton a good long time, sor. I know some o’ those men, but what about Fitzmaurice, or Sparrow, or Crane?”

“Fitzmaurice is from a new family, Anglo-Irish. On’y a few generations in Bridgeton, though some o’ his distant cousins are rich an’ live on the other side o’ the city, not that they give a shite about him or his brothers. Sparrow is a fairly small family originally from Ulster. Crane was jus’ two brothers from Cranfield Point. The older one ne’er found his wife or childer when they died. His brother died in his arms durin’ the Revolution, an’ it ruined him. He married Brian an’ Kelly Sparrow’s girl, that’d be Brendan’s sister, about a dozen years back.”

“Murphy? McMahon?”

“The Murphy ye know had sisters what went to Heaven. Murphy an’ McMahon came alone. They came to be wi’ your da’, since they were good friends o’ his since they was knee-high. McMahon died in battle. Then your da’ froze to death. Murphy died o’ the plague not long after, but there are plenty Murphys an’ McMahons that aren’t related to them in Bridgeton. I’m ramblin’ on again. Ye’ll have to excuse me. I’m a wee bit drunk this mornin’. Me da’ stopped by wi’ a bloody big barrel o’ poitín last night. Next barrel comes wi’ Conan. He’ll be here soon. We was all sixteen ‘cept da’. Anyhow, me, an’ Brendan, an’ Kian, an’ da’ had a big party last night, an’ this mornin’ I had a beer or six to chase it.”

“Someone said, ‘poitín.’ Where is it?” asks Jack, still in bed. The Colonel salutes as Jack sits and yawns. “At ease. Why’re ye here?”

“To find Liam. Lieutenant Boland is leaving today to recover from a broken leg at home. He will return as a Captain an’ a married man in two months’ time, provided his leg heals right.”

“Ye’re like your da’. Too lenient.”

“They obey because I’m kind. Jus’ ask Liam what I’m like when I find a man out o’ uniform or a messy tent.”

“Floggin’…an’ he really takes it out o’ ye in blood. He’s real strict ‘til ye’re hurt, kind if ye are, an’ he’ll drink wi’ ye anytime,” says Liam.

“Your father’s son, through and through. Your ma’s eyes, though.”

“An’ Liam’s definitely your son.”

“He’s his ma’s chin an’ hands.”

“Breakfast is getting cold,” Kerrigan says, handing each man a pile of sausage and vegetables on a piece of sourdough but taking nothing for herself except tea. She stands apart from the men. Jack sits on his bed while he eats so Colonel Callahan and Liam can sit at the table.

“I’d like to be there when ye send Boland off.”

“He leaves wi’ the train, so ye’d best dress now, sor.”

“Right, so.” Jack jumps up after breakfast and goes into the alley to wash himself and change into uniform. When he returns, the men leave so that Liam and Owen can do the same.

The Senatorial General, the Colonel, and the Captain, all in dress uniform, stand at attention as Doctor Sparrow loads Lieutenant Boland onto the train. The doctor will return the next morning with a few more of his things. He will be staying in an inn in Crosspoint in order to aid the few doctors available. Lieutenant Boland, his broken leg in a plaster cast, waves to his Captain and Colonel. He does not mind the broken leg, as the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry was the first combat unit to arrive in Crosspoint, and, unlike Jack, Lieutenant Boland was unable to marry his fiancée before he left.

When the train leaves, Liam, Jack, and Colonel Callahan find themselves wandering around Crosspoint aimlessly. There is a fairly large market where one can buy almost anything form vegetables and pies to jewels, furs, and cloth. All of the local stores have a booth, as do most of the neighboring farms. Crosspoint, being a small city surrounded by farmland, is an important trading center. Many of the stalls are empty because there is no market town nearby on the other side of the border, so many of the merchants in the past were Werewolves. Before hostilities began, the marketplace was heavily guarded to prevent violence, as relations have been tense for many years. Local farmers bring live animals for people to butcher themselves. Those that are not sold by the end of the season will be brought to butchers and salted or made into sausages. The butchers’ stalls contain animals slaughtered that morning.

Colonel Callahan turns to Jack and asks, “Have ye ever bribed your men, sor?”

“Aye, back when I was in your shoes commandin’ the Thirteenth. ‘Twas more ragtag then, but I’m sure your da’s told ye that. Anyhow, when I was Colonel ‘twas the middle o’ the Revolution. I hate to admit it, but I drink far more now than I did then. I promised me men poitín by the gallon an’ whores if they’d jus’ do me proud an’ take a few simple orders so we’d not be the one gang in a Revolutionary Army made o’ proper units. Liam, I told ye I’d tell ye what was so funny about salutin’ wi’ the wrong hand, well, me men did that to spite me when I was a Colonel. They arranged to do it when the Brigadier came to inspect. ‘Tis why I bribed ‘em in the first place. Since then, a backwards salute meant to disrespect your superior officer has been called the ‘Thirteenth Bridgeton Salute’ or the ‘Bridgeton Salute’ for short. Ye probably didn’t see too many policemen in Bridgeton, but the few there are usually get a Bridgeton Salute when they walk by.”

“I promised the boys a real feast,” Colonel Callahan says. “Told ‘em I’d slaughter the cows meself an’ buy a few kegs o’ beer an’ we’d have women an’ music if they’d hold the line. Many o’ me boys died for that promise.”

“’Tis the curse o’ command. Ye’ve not been a Colonel that long. I’d wait ‘till the survivors are out o’ hospital, though. No sense in’ havin’ a feast if so many’ll miss it.”

“I’ll have to explain to me wife why I can’t send home the usual. She’ll not be happy. I drink enough o’ me pay. I’ve the child an’ her to care for at home.”

“She’ll live.”

“Every time she writes me ‘tis about money. ‘Owen, send me more money.’ ‘Owen, your son needs new shoes.’ ‘Owen, the roof needs a mend.’ ‘Owen, how much have ye been drinkin’?’ She manages to nag me while I’m here an’ she’s in Bridgeton. To her, I make more there, even though combat pay is more than reserve pay, for when I’m there, I make me reserve pay as a Colonel, an’, like the rest o’ the Thirteenth, I does odd jobs. I’m a docker, an’ I fix houses. Plus, she knows when I’m to be home, an’ she keeps me on a short rope. There’s none o’ the drink, save what I make out back, since I’ve been married.”

“Ye don’t realize how much ye sound like your father. Your ma’ took him in a rough soldier, his clothes in rags, his face unshaven, his hair in knots, ne’er once without a drink in hand, an’ she made him a new dress uniform, made him bathe, trim his beard, an’ comb his hair, married him, an’, nine months later, put yourself in place o’ the bottle. He loved your ma’ more’n anythin’, so he let her change him. He was no better off than yourself, though. He was a colonel when ye were born. I remember visitin’ him when Brendan was born. Ye were a wee lad then, an’ ye were marchin’ about in his uniform, coat sleeves trailin’ two feet behind ye on the floor. By the way, when’s Conan joinin’?”

“As soon as he’s done wi’ school. She’ll put him on the train the next mornin’ wi’ the new uniform she just finished, a good coat, a blanket, an’ a barrel o’ poitín.”

“No doubt your da’s changed her, too.”

“What d’ye mean?”

“When ye were a little boy, she swore no son o’ hers’d follow his da’ to the army. She’d not even let ye play war games at first. She didn’t like us much. Me, Murphy, McMahon, Eamon an’ Ardal Malone, the whole lot o’ the O’Caseys, Sparrow, O’Shea, Crane, an’ Aiden Flannigan’d crowd into the little front room at your da’s house an’ drink ‘til his still was dry. She’d not let him go out to drink. ’Tis many a night ye was sung to sleep on drinkin’ songs. Once ye an’ Brendan were runnin’ about, she let him come to the pubs again.”

“As they meander through the market, Jack sees a man selling horses and inquires about a young stallion. “He’s a beautiful horse, sor.”

“That he is. Pride o’ me heart, his father is. Brought his father all the way to Bridgeton to the races once.”

“How’d he place?”

“First, but I on’y brought him there the once. He was real popular ‘round here, though.”

“What’s his name?”

“Eastern Star.”

“I bet on him. Won me a fortune. Who jockeyed?”

“Me son. He was jus’ a lad then. Now he’s taller’n me.”

Jack inspects the horse, and, finding it satisfactory, calls Liam over. “Liam, what d’ye think o’ him?”

“He’s beautiful.”

“He been broken?” asks Jack.

“Aye, sor,” replies the salesman.

“What d’ye want for him?”

“Two hundred gold.”

“Fair enough, I’ll jus’-”

Liam pulls Jack aside and interrupts, “I can’t afford a horse.”

“I’ll buy him for ye.”

“I mean I can’t afford tack an’ a saddle, an’ I can’t afford to feed one.”

“Most captains manage a family an’ a horse on their salary.”

“I owe the Colonel. I’d some serious debts in Bridgeton when I joined. He squared off me debts so’s I could leave Bridgeton, an’ I owe him that, plus five percent, as per regulation, which means I’m paid nothin’ ‘till me debt’s paid off. I owed two thousand gold. Add interest, ‘tis twenty-one hundred. I joined in mid-December. A captain makes two-hundred gold a month for combat pay. I made half that in December. I’ll not be paid off ‘til November, but I’ll still owe half a month’s pay for me uniform. I’ll get a horse when I can bloody well afford one.”

“I’ll tell ye what, I’ve the need to raise a horse for John anyway, so I’ll jus’ mate Spectre twice next time. In a year, ye’ll be able to afford a horse. By the way, how’d ye end up in so much debt?”

“Cards, horse-races, prize fights, far too much to drink…”

“I was the same way ‘cept I borrowed from me brothers when I could. I suppose ye didn’t have that chance. Brothers don’t charge interest.”

Jack turns to the farmer, and the farmer asks, “Do we have a deal?”

“Not today. Keep him aside for me for two months, an’ I’ll pay ye twice what ye asked.”

“Then we’ve a deal, sor.”

“I’ve a fine stallion o’ me own, an’ I’m wonderin’, have ye a chestnut mare?”

“I’ve several. What’re ye askin’?”

“I know ‘tis usually the stallion what’s paid to breed, but me son Liam needs a horse, but can’t afford to keep one now. He’ll be able to in a year, an’ we like to keep the family’s horses in the same bloodline. I’ve a wee son John as well, an’ he’ll soon need a horse to ride upon. I’d be willin’ to pay ye whatever ye ask if ye wouldn’t mid letting’ me stallion to pasture wi’ two chestnut mares. I’ll want the foals when they’re old enough to ride.”

“How’s three-hundred each? Two for the foals themselves an’ one for the board ‘til they’re old enough. I’ll break ‘em, too.”

“Fair enough. I’ll pay ye four-hundred in two months for this one, the other six-hundred in a year an’ a half when I get the foals, be they colt or filly. I’ll see ye tomorrow wi’ me stallion.”

They walk away from the horse salesman and move onto a clothier’s stall. Jack looks over the fabrics, which are mostly rough and heavy and intended for a long period of heavy use by laborers, not for a lady. Crosspoint is one of the major points of import of fur and leather. He seeks a tanner with no particular ambition to buy anything until he sees an embossed green leather bodice, which, in his opinion, would be perfect for his wife to wear to the annual Southern Army Command Ball in September. He buys the bodice for Lynn and looks at Liam.

“What’s on your feet, boy?”

“Boots.”

“Ye do know that the word ‘boot’ implies that it covers your whole foot, don’t ye?”

“They’re old boots.”

“They’re dead boots. Ye need new boots.”

Boots are not considered uniforms in the Southern Army largely because of its origins as a confederation of gangs of revolutionaries. The uniforms of the Central, Northern, and Eastern Armies include boots because the Central Army was once the Palace Guard, and the Northern and Eastern Armies were once imperial, though they turned against their master during the Revolution. The original Western Army was so decimated by revolutionaries and foreign sympathizers that it was disbanded and rebuilt. Initially, wearing shoes in the Western Army was optional, since, despite the locations where they are stationed, the majority of the Western Army comes from other areas of the country, and many arrived on foot, being too poor to afford transportation and having been turned down from the other armies or seeking to escape a variety of circumstances. Since Liam is in the Southern Army, he was not assigned boots. The only regulation is that he must wear brown or black shoes or boots.

Liam looks at his boots. “They’re not too bad,” he says, though the right boot has a hole in the toe, and the left heel is nearly detached, some of the lacing holes have been ripped through, and the soles are worn completely through in places.

“Nonsense. Sure, ye can barely walk.”

Liam won the boots ten years earlier in a card game, having rambled shoeless for several years. They have always been two sizes too small, but having them was always better than having no shoes at all. “’Tis fine.”

“Let me at least buy ye a pair o’ boots.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t want to owe ye.”

“Would ye rather me old boots? I’d gladly give ye these an’ get new ones for meself if it’d sit better wi’ ye.”

“No. Dinner I’ll accept. Drinks I’ll accept.”

“Save last night.”

“For the first time, I drank alone wi’ a true lady last night. Work I’ll accept gladly. A bed for the night I’ll accept, but I can’t accept gifts.”

“New boots ‘tis, then,” Jack says, ignoring Liam’s arguments.

“I can’t let ye.”

“I hate to do this, but, Captain, I order ye to accept a new pair o’ boots from your father.”

“Aye, sor,” Liam says meekly, knowing that, though he can argue with his father, he cannot argue with his superior officer.

Colonel Callahan chuckles to himself, remembering his own father, newly a General, ordering him as a sixteen-year-old recruit to comb his hair and wash his uniform like his mother raised him. Jack buys Liam a pair of boots for ten silver, which is much cheaper than Liam expected. Jack is a master negotiator, and he easily talked the man down to a smaller sum. Liam humbly thanks Jack, who remarks that a son is never more stubborn than his father before him, regardless of how hard he tries to be, particularly in the Southern Army, where fathers, having been there longer, very often outrank, and, in many cases, directly command, their own sons. The Colonel remarks that he has paperwork to finish, even though the wounded are either in hospital or en route home, and the dead are packed in marked wooden boxes and shipped on the train back to Bridgeton in train cars packed with ice, their addresses nailed to the crates in which they lie.

Jack and Liam, predictably, find their way into a bar, where Jack offers to buy the drinks. Liam hesitantly accepts. He has been drinking off of charity and home distillation since he joined the Army. The bar is called The Rusty Wooden Spoon. Liam tries, for the first time ever, to read the words written on the sign above the door. After mistakenly mispronouncing the first word, he figures out, with the aid of the picture, what it says and begins to laugh at the joke. Jack slaps him on the back so hard that he almost lands face-first in a pint of bitter. Liam finally dons his new boots and finds them quite comfortable, as they are the first shoes he has ever owned that fit properly. In the evening, they return to the cabin where Kerrigan has been cooking lamb stew. Jack sits expectantly at the table while Liam, who is more inebriated than his father, attempts to reach the small, closet-like bathroom, which contains only a very crude hole with a seat, the contents of which, if one pulls a lever, are rinsed into the city sewer, and a rough wooden stool with a wash basin atop it, one towel inside the basin and another hanging from a wooden ring attached to the wall, and a bar of lye soap along with his father’s and Kerrigan’s toiletries on a shelf above it. He relives himself, washes his hands and face, examines his reflection in Kerrigan’s delicate, silver mirror, and attempts to shave by propping Kerrigan’s mirror against the wall and borrowing his father’s straight razor. He does not know why his father, who has a thick, full beard, has a razor in the bathroom when he is so obviously traveling. Jack was clean-shaven when Liam met him, but his beard conceals a recent scar on his face. Liam does not know any details about what happened while his father was away other than that he was ill for a time.

When Liam returns, the stew is cooling in bowls with cider for him and Jack and wine for Kerrigan. Kerrigan is gently applying some sort of herbal paste to the scratches on Jack’s cheek from the previous night, and Jack, being a stoic old soldier, stares straight ahead without even blinking, refusing to let anyone know how much it stings, even though both Kerrigan and Liam know that tea tree oil salve applied to one’s face stings terribly. Kerrigan goes outside to the water pump and washes the paste off of her hands. When she returns, they dine, Liam, who is almost always hungry, as always has multiple servings. After many decades of not having any predictable employment, income, or meals, Liam is always eager to eat what is offered to him. He makes interesting, but odd, company for Kerrigan and Jack, Colonel Callahan, and even his fellow captains, since he has no money to his name except for a small amount he has managed to win by betting the clothing off of his back. Jack, who made his own fortune lending money to his fellow soldiers during the Revolution, feels badly for Liam, since he was once the beggar starving on the streets himself. Liam is a much harder worker than Jack ever was, and he is far less morose, as if the many years of struggle never touched him. Liam has a fair amount of his uncle Shane’s stalwart personality in him, but he also has Jack’s rakish tendencies. Liam has no shame because of what he has been forced to do to survive. Kerrigan reads his eyes as if they were a narrative of his past. Jack recognizes Kerrigan’s calm, pensive, comforting expression as she does so, for she has done it many times in front of him, and she has done it more than once to him. Having seen it enough times, Jack can almost tell what Kerrigan is realizing as she does so, though Liam hardly notices what she is doing over his third bowl of stew.

Liam again sleeps peacefully in Kerrigan’s bed while Jack writhes much of the night in agony. He eventually leaves to seek opium. In the morning, Kerrigan, having slept through his silent exit, discovers that he is gone. She sweeps the floor, lights the fire, feeds the horses, washes herself, dresses herself, and makes breakfast for Liam, but she has a meeting with her Generals an hour after sunrise, so she wakes Liam gently and tells him where she is going, asking him not to wander far in case Jack should return. Liam rolls over and returns to sleep.

When Kerrigan returns, Jack has not returned, and Liam is finishing his cold breakfast. Not long after she returns, Ronan O’Casey, one of Jack’s generals, comes looking for Jack for an opinion on troop movements. Kerrigan tries to help, but Ronan produces a form requiring Jack’s signature. “D’ye think he’ll be back sometime today, Ma’ Kerrigan?”

“I have no way of knowing, Ronan, but I can tell you that he is not headed to Bridgeton, and he is without his horse, so I assume he is still in Crosspoint somewhere.”

“Thankee ma’am.”

“General O’Casey?” asks Liam.

“Aye?”

“D’ye really call her ‘Ma’ Kerrigan’?”

“Aye. Who wants to know?” asks the General somewhat defensively.

“Captain Liam, Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry.”

“What’s your last name, an’ why aren’t ye in uniform?”

“I’ve no surname, an’ our unit’s so few men left, sure, we can’t fight a’ ‘tall.”

“He is Jack’s son,” explains Kerrigan, “from before he died. Liam’s mother died right after he was born, and she never knew Jack’s last name. She was from Mullingar. Liam is staying with us until his unit returns to combat.”

“Ah. ‘Tis always a pleasure to meet a relation o’ Senator Shepherd. The Thirteenth Bridgeton was where I started. Ye’re under General Callahan’s command. His son’s your commandin’ officer, right?”

“Aye, an’ another son’s a major, an’ another jus’ made Lieutenant. He was a Corporal at Yuletide.”

“That’s the Callahans for ye, but I’m not blameless either. I don’t command me brothers, though. They live in District Thirteen. Me command is District Eighteen. Now, if ye’ll excuse me, I’m behind on paperwork, so, much as I’d love to stay an’ chat, I’ve the need to finish what I can without your da’s signature.”

“Ronan, do come back around teatime. He may be here by then. If he returns sooner, either myself or Liam will come find you. Will you be at your hotel or elsewhere.”

“I will be meeting with my Brigadiers in the back room o’ me inn. I’m at the Rusty Wooden Spoon. The bartender’s name is Phelim McCarthy. Tell him ye’re there wi’ an important message for me. If ye don’t have your uniform, he’ll ask ye what Mary drinks. Tell him she drinks gin, an’ he’ll let ye through. Ma’ Kerrigan, will ye be havin’ biscuits wi’ tea?”

“We will.”

“An’ jam?”

“We will.”

“I can’t wait. Ye make the best biscuits.”

“Thank you, Ronan,” Kerrigan says, kissing him goodbye on the forehead.

Once Ronan leaves, Kerrigan sets about baking biscuits. She asks Liam to take the jam down from the shelf. She made it when she was last at home. While the biscuits bake, she roasts a Cornish game hen and makes a pot of stone soup for Liam. She contents herself with a single slice of stale sourdough, a small cup of soup, and a cup of water. After lunch, she washes the pots outside at the pump and hangs them up, then extinguishes the fire, as the interior of the small cabin is quite warm, and brings one of the chairs from the table outside the door and sits with an embroidery hoop, stitching to pass the time. Liam leans against the wall in the shade watching the local children play and reflecting upon the childhood he never had.