The Broken Bow by Larry D. Sweazy

Author:Larry D. Sweazy [Sweazy, Larry D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2022-06-08T00:00:00+00:00

St. Louis, Missouri, September 1877

Kabbie Mae Brown sat on the kitchen stoop smoking a pipe. It was after lunch, midday, with a perfect blue sky to gaze at. A skein of geese flew overhead, drawing her attention to it. She watched the vee of flapping wings until they disappeared over the southern horizon. The tips of the maple trees were turning red, and the air was cool, promising to get colder as the autumn months began to step forward. The change of seasons was at hand, allowing the world to slow down a bit and take a breath. There were no buggies in front of the house, no horses tied to the hitching post. If a man didn’t know the place was a cathouse, he would have walked right on by it without offering it a glance or a moment of judgment.

“You’s the last person I expected to see today, Samuel Dawson,” Kabbie Mae said to Sam as he walked up to her.

“Thought I’d better come by to tell you goodbye,” he said, stopping before her.

“Where you gonna go, Mister Sam? This be your home.”

“Army. Joined up. I head out to Fort Robinson in the morning. If I never come back to this place, it’ll be too soon.” His clothes still smelled of soot and ash. He wondered if he would ever get the smell of the blacksmith shop out of his skin.

“This place ain’t so bad.” Kabbie Mae took a long draw on the pipe then exhaled wistfully. “Shore ain’t gonna be the same around here without ya. You come to tell the missus you leavin’?”

Sam nodded. “She here?”

“In the parlor last I knowed. She’s gonna be sad at the news. Me, too.” Kabbie Mae looked up to the sky where the geese were a few minutes before but were gone now. A cloud had taken their place. “You best come see me in the kitchen before you leave the house. I’ll hurry up a tin of biscuits for you to take on your travels.”

“Thanks, Kabbie Mae, I’d like that.” Sam edged his way past the Negro woman, walking through a puff of skunky sweet smoke as he went. He found Madame Duchamp where he expected to, curled up on her favorite French carved and gilt sofa, staring out the window of the turret it was situated in.

“You startled me,” she said, sitting up. She wore a long robe like she had just stepped out of a warm bath. She pulled it a little tighter. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today, Sam. Why the serious look on your face?” There was no sign of any other of the girls, seven of them at the moment as far as Sam knew. The house was quiet as a saloon on a Monday morning.

“I thought I’d better come and tell you goodbye,” Sam said. “I’ll be leavin’ out in the morning.”

Katherine Duchamp stiffened, her deep blue eyes searching Sam’s face, trying to understand what was going on. “Did you get into it with your father again?”

Sam looked down at the hard toes of his boots.

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