Excerpt
Waltz
to the Wind
The sharp March wind swept the yellow wild flowers and tossed
them like a tempest sea. Standing before a window on the second story of Millies
House of Pleasure, she wrapped the silk duster more tightly around her body.
Poor blossoms, so mistreated by the bitter forces, she felt pained for them.
Win-Anne had come to Dodge City in the cold of winter. Anxious
to earn the easy money that others spoke of, she joined the girls at Millies
House. The days had begun to lengthen, but business remained slow.
Most of the cowboys were still in Texas gathering cattle. The
new green grass would be headed and brown before the vast herds arrived. All
the talk about riches was just thattalk.
Like the flowers, she had been tossed about with less than tenderness, and then
some day she too would shrivel and die. There was no justice for her kind. Long
ago, she had given up the notion of some gallant knight riding up and taking
her away from this place or any other parlor house where she worked.
The Texas boys were mostly young, inept, but sweet. A few were
snakes, cruel, deliberately defeating in their actions toward her. A shudder
ran up her arms at the thought of such worthless wags. She closed her eyes and
tried to shut out the past pain, like the flowers scattered across the fresh
green carpet, she too had been bent, whipped and slapped.
Three abreast, she saw them come riding. They waved their hats
in youthful excitement. Even tried to get their horses to buck and no doubt
were laughing as they approached Dodge.
Would they stop at Millies? Her heart quickened. Sometimes
boys that ageher agewere too bashful and first visited the saloons
for whiskey courage. She hurried down the stairs to be available. In anticipation,
her breath caught in her throat when their boot heels clattered on the porch.
Her heart quickened at the sound and no matter how hard she tried, there was
no way she could turn down her smile.
Within minutes, she was in the arms of Earl. Belly to belly, they
danced around the parlor to the piano players tingling melody. His firm
embrace drove away all her regrets. This was why she did what she did. His closeness,
her knowing he wanted her, idolized her and even loved her for the moment. In
this brief span of time, she was the flower out of the wind.
The
Hawks Will Miss Him
A strong breath from the far away Gulf of Mexico tossed and curled the eternal
waves of feathered bluestem. Across the endless rolling hills, ten million stalks
of tall grass waltzed without a bride. He rested his sweat stained gray pony
on the rise. Hat brim cupped in his hand, he mopped the wetness from his brow
to his sleeve. High above him, a red tail hawk soared, challenged this invasion
of his land. The birds shrill threat drew a small smile on his dark brown
lips.
Ready to go on, he booted the gray off the ridgeline. He pushed westward again.
The face of the sun grew higher; he rode down a deep draw toward a paintless
house and sheds clustered under some gnarled post oak trees. Here a dependable
spring flowed out of the mottled marble limestone that underlaid the red cherty
soil; he could recall its cool taste.
Drawing closer, he watched her clothing dance on the line like puppets on strings.
She raised up from her wash board to make out the rider. With the brown eyes
of a wary doe, she studied his approach. Soon Willy New Trees recognized him.
If his appearance pleased or shocked her, the bland expression on her smooth,
handsome face conveyed no emotion.
He dismounted heavily and then tried to restore the circulation in his numb
lower limbs by stomping his run-over boots. Deliberate like, she stripped the
suds and water from her forearms; swept the long dark hair from her face with
the sides of her hands.
I will put your horse away, she said and then she stood on her
toes as if to check his back trail. Seeing nothing, she took the reins and led
the gray toward the nearest shed.
He pulled the material of his pants away from the chafed skin on the insides
of his legs. Then he adjusted his crotch for some comfort. With a shrug of his
tight shoulders, he began to look around her place.
Hiding at the corner of the house, six coal black eyes peered at him. Suspicious
and cautious, her young children soon drew back. He heard them snicker up their
noses as if they knew this mans purpose for being there. Then the sounds
of their bare feet running away carried to his ears. Willy returned from the
shed. With a toss of her raven black hair, she led him around to the front door.
Hungry? she asked when they were inside. Not waiting for his
reply, she began to stoke up the fire in her small cast iron stove. He pushed
the hat back on his head, took a ladder back chair and seated himself. From
his place, he could study her figure. No longer a girl, her fuller body suited
him. She clanged the kettle bottoms placing them on the metal surface.
Then she straightened like a willow tree as if satisfied they would heat without
any more care.
Her thin soles shuffled on the gritty floor and she took a seat across the
paint-chipped white table from him. She rested her olive brown arms on the yellow
oil cloth; her ample breasts ready to spill out of the wash worn waist.
How far behind are they? she asked.
She meant Parkers marshals. They coursed this land of the Osage searching
for him. To arrest him, to drag him in irons back to Ft Smith, where the red
brick courthouse sat perched high on the Arkansas River bank, to force him to
look into the fierce eyes of Judge Parker and then that devil-man would stretch
his neck on the gallows for killing Charlie One-Dog.
Maybe a day or two.
Not much time?
Not much time.
She understood his predicament. Without a word, she rose to her feet and went
to stand beside the iron poster bed. Her long fingers began to undo the buttons
on her blouse, then her skirt.
She removed her clothing; next she climbed onto the mattress and pulled a feed
sack sheet over her naked form. Above the whistle of the wind at the eves, he
heard her clear her throat to summon him.
He rose, dropped his suspenders. For a long moment, he stared down at the glaring
rectangle of sunlight on the floor, framed by the door waywith effort
he walked over, closed it, shutting out the light. Then he undressed.
In bed with her, with care, his calloused hands molded her body. Her eyes began
to dance with the pleasure that he caused her. She giggled softly when his fingertips
probed her. At last, she nodded in readiness, rolled onto her back in a protest
of springs, raised her knees and spread them apart.
Together they flew like birds of preysoared as high as eagles. Swept
over the land, two alone, joined as one forever. A sheet of sweat lubricated
their bellies. The air grew thinner for both of them. Then they fell into an
abyss and drowned.
Soon she arose, dressed and went to her stove. She dished out a heaping plate
of white beans and cooked green squash, placed it on the table top, then wordless
and not looking back, she slipped outside, quietly closing the door behind her.
He sat up, combed his black hair in his fingers. Bone weary, he redressed,
then took a place at the table and ate her food. After he finished, he went
outside to find her. She was washing on the rub board again.
Must you go? she asked, avoiding his eyes.
Yes.
Then I will get your horse. She dried her hands and forearms.
Still not daring to look at him, she started for the shed. With her back turned,
he slipped five silver dollars from his pocket into the tub of gray water. Then
he went to meet her half way and took the reins from her.
You are a good woman, Willy New Trees.
She nodded that she had heard him. They stood in awkward silence, each afraid
to touch the other. Only the rush of the wind as their witness. At last, he
mounted his pony and rode away.
While the sun traveled westward, his grey horses chest parted the sea
of blue stem like the bow of a ship. He rode without thoughts. His belly full,
his groin at rest. From out of nowhere, a sharp blow struck his back. The force
of the .44/40 bullet knocked him face down from his saddle before he ever heard
the rifles blast or the distant shouts of the men behind him.
Sprawled on the ground, the rich sweet aroma of the tall grass teased his
nose, a smile crossed his drawn face, then the copper flavor of his own blood
filled his mouth. Good. He would never have to face the devil-man Parker nor
his gallows
A red tail hawk on high, heralded his death.
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