Winning Hands

By William Thrash

Samuel Simmons is a former Confederate artillery officer making his way through the Reconstruction South. A gambling man, he has resisted the lure of the frontier West. But trouble seems to find Sam with ease and he finds himself on the move from one mishap to the next.

At the end of his rope in Louisiana, he finally determines to head out West. But he receives a letter from his dead brother's wife pleading for his aid against a Reconstruction evil preying upon her and her neighbors.

Caroline Simmons, widow and schoolteacher, has watched her life crumble around her. When her schoolhouse is burned to the ground after she asks one too many questions, she turns to her only remaining living relative: her brother-in-law.

Together they must overcome the obstacles facing them and restore dignity to a once proud people. Dealt unfair and unjust hands during Reconstruction, their struggle against corruption ends in blood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Thrash
• Release date: Apr 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781386116363

Book preview

And when they had brought them, they set them before the council: and the high priest asked them,

Saying, Did not we straitly command you that ye should not teach in this name? and, behold, ye have filled Jerusalem with your doctrine, and intend to bring this man's blood upon us.

Then Peter and the other apostles answered and said, We ought to obey God rather than men.

~ Acts 5:27-29

Dedicated to my wife,

Cheryl Lynn (Richardson) Thrash

CHAPTER 1

The oily man seated across from Sam Simmons had three seconds left to live.

The steady thrump of the paddlewheel on the steamer echoed Sam's heartbeat. The smoke in the room from the cigars and pipes created a menacing haze as the oily man dealt the cards. His grip was stiff and crabbed over the deck – a sure sign to Sam that he was prepared to deal from the bottom.

Cheating bastard.

Already, the grizzled man to his right had been dealt from the bottom. The slick man gripped the deck to deal and his hand covered the deck. He could be pulling from the top or bottom.

This is why I like card shoes.

A flip of the man's fingers from the lower edge of the deck indicated the bottom deal.

Sam jerked his left-hand holstered Remington 44 conversion.

His card, flicked from the deck held in oily man's cramped hand, drifted down expertly in front of him onto his other four cards.

Sam's shot rang out before the card stopped settling onto his pile. A dark hole appeared on oily man's forehead and his hand dropped the deck to the table with a clump. Slowly at first, but gaining speed, he toppled backward into his chair. A cloud of black powder gunsmoke swirled through the haze over the table.

Two security men converged on the table, short scatterguns at the ready. With a single, simple spin, Sam holstered his pistol. The two men at the table, on either side of him, pushed back their chairs.

Sam! one of the security men said. Dammit, why did you go and shoot that man?

*  *  *

Caroline Simmons twisted a scrap of lace in her hands as she counted the schoolchildren once more. But she didn't need to; Matthew Jackson was missing and she had a gut feeling that little Matthew would never be seen again.

The carpetbaggers had been cruel in expropriating all the personal property they could in Louisiana's parishes. The post-war poverty in the once wealthy state was now crushing. All their wealth had gone north, funneled through the hands of the baggers.

Perhaps the South deserved such a fate. Caroline was beyond caring. But the institution of schools across the South had resulted in a better education, especially in light of the fact that the previous private schooling would now be unaffordable to the stripped families living here.

With the withdrawal of the Union's Fifth Military District, the discontented elements of white Southerners began to take revenge. But not only former Confederates and victims of northern theft, but also the very carpetbaggers themselves.  The baggers here in Grant Parish found that without having to face military investigations, they could commit almost any crime and not be held accountable.

Dark rumors were whispered in some circles about children gone missing – sold to the overseas sex-slave trade. But the families also disappeared. With no family to report an abducted child, everyone assumed the entire household had just picked up and moved. Without warning. Without telling neighbors. Leaving all their belongings. Sometimes, their houses burned.

With no proof, little could be done.

But with the democrats gaining popularity across the South and Reconstruction facing its dying gasp, Caroline had no doubt that the baggers would perform the worst of outrages to glean the very last drop of profit before they were sent back north.

Did Matthew tell anyone he was leaving?

A frail chorus of No, ma'ams answered her.

Tears welled in her eyes. This would be the fourth disappearance this month.

I'll have to talk to the sheriff. Resigning herself to trying, she turned to the chalkboard to order her thoughts for the reading lesson.

But deciding to approach the sheriff was the worst decision of her life.

*  *  *

Both security men decocked their scattergun hammers and stopped at the table. Silence had descended on the room as the couple of dozen patrons got up to come witness.

He was bottom-dealing, said Sam. He must have switched out decks.

And just how do you know that? the security man named Frank said.

He gestured to his right. The spread of a five card stud hand sat before the man. I wager right now he has a straight. I have a flush and I have not yet seen my last card.

The man on his right jerked in surprise.

Sam gestured to his left. Another straight there and he hasn't seen his card yet.

The small man on his left blinked. I was betting on a straight.

Frank switched his shotgun to his left hand and turned over Sam's cards. Spread there was a heart flush. His eyebrow quirked up. Flipping over the cards to the man on the right, he exposed an eight-high straight.

Sheeeit, Frank said.

The man on his left turned over his cards without waiting. He exposed another eight-high straight.

What are the odds of that? Sam said. His drawl oozed sarcasm. Then he pointed at the dead man. I will bet you my privileges on this ship right here and right now that flower-food over there has a straight-flush.

The crowd of bystanders moved in tighter to see the results.

The other security man, Thomas, slowly reached across the table and flipped over the hole card of the dead dealer. Showing were the nine, ten, jack, and king of clubs.

Murmurs and chuckles from the crowd.

Sam pointed at the dropped deck. His inside straight flush will be filled right there by the queen of clubs.

The gambling room fell totally silent, except for the low thrum of the paddlewheels. The only other sound was the inhalation of the security man as he reached and flipped over the top card of the deck.

Queen of clubs.

Thomas exhaled loudly.

Frank said, Alright, you know the rules. Take the evening off and come back tomorrow.

Sam nodded. He reached in and collected his bets and ante from the pot. Pocketing the rest of his stake, he smiled at each of his fellow players. Gentlemen.

Let's get this cleaned up, Frank said.

Sam got to his feet and the crowd slowly parted for him. They were still intent on seeing the dead man and his hand. Worming his way through the crowd, he plucked his black gambler's hat off the hat rack and left the room.

He would probably have to face Douglas Culpepper, the ship's owner, in the morning over the shooting. Douglas did not like untidiness on his ship. With much of the Mississippi riverboat gambling having dried up due to