Sitting in Rome waiting for the rain to stop, I thought I pen my own ASJ story a la Brian Fox to pass the time. Here is chapter one. The trail to Oregon 1 New Orleans of 1880s lacked much of being a great modern city like Chicago or San Francisco. It was, in fact, a provincial town, just struggling to its feet after an experience of war and the consequences of war which would have destroyed a less vital community. Yet this town retained a feisty spirit which could not be found anywhere else. The boys had never been to New Orleans before and their arrival, just after sundown and after days on the trail was marked by the distinct smell of open sewers running alongside the paved walkways and the sound of strange high pitched music coming from various sources. Heyes stopped his horse in front of what appeared to be a commercial building and politely stopped the first person that walked by. He showed a name and address written on a piece of paper to a dark man dressed in tweed, a bowler hat and a large red kerchief across is neck. Dubois the man read. Can you point us in the direction of this address Heyes asked politely. The man eyed the two riders carefully before formulating an answer. You wont find this house here he said in a suspicious tone. The Dubois live, west, in the garden district. And at this he briskly walked off. Heyes looked at the Kid who had joined him on the broad walk. Neither of them was sure what just happened but at least they had a direction. What did it mean we cannot find this house here? The Kid asked. But Heyes just shrugged with an half smile and returned to his horse. The address and name had been given to them by their old friend and mentor, the sheriff of Porterville, Lom Trevors. He had told them that he had arranged for a significant job for them that will pay well and keep them out of trouble, or at least out to the area. All they had to do is to get themselves to New Orleans. They had both heard stories about this town reputation, before and after the war. The found the idea exciting but were also conscious of the distance from Colorado to Luisiana. But Lom could be persuasive when he wanted to and one month later they had made it. All to do now was finding the Duboiss mansion. Further they moved West, away from the French quarter, friendlier the direction offering became. St. Charles Street, you need to turn left towards the river. If you get to Magazine, youd gone too far. Three quarters of an hour later Curry was becoming impatient and wanted to find a hotel before his horse gave under him. But Heyes persisted, partly because his curiosity was piqued and partly because they only has two dollars and 75 cents between them. He was curious to see who Lom knew in this town and why he though it was a good idea for them to go there. He was also pretty sure that two dollars would not go far in any hotel here. The next passers by were more helpful. The two young ladies smiled at them coqui shyly and pointed with their closed sun umbrellas down a wide and leafy road. Curry begun to take notice of his surroundings. Gone were the narrow streets, noise and smells, replaced by wide thoroughfares, large houses with elaborate gardens and elegant people strolling under gas lights. Both boys begun to feel positive about this venture. Their search finally ended in front of a large colonial house with a golden gate with a sign above reading Dubois. Heyes, who had been walking on foot, gently pushed the gate open to let the horses though, half expecting guard dogs to be awaken from their slumber and chase after them, but there was nothing but a gentle squeak from the metal joint. They walked their horses to the the front door leaving them at the bottom of the steps. Heyes rapped at the door before taking his Stetson off and using it as a brush in the futile attempt to remove some of the trail dust. Curry just watched him with a smirk. The door was opened the a middle age black man dressed in a black suit and a white shirt. He stood at the door eyeing the two boys up an down, not attempting to conceal an air of disdain. It is a late hour for peddling and you should have used.... We have been sent by Lom Trevors Heyes interrupted. I am Joshua Smith and this is Thaddeus Jones he pointed at the Kid with his hat. The butler, or what Heyes assumed was the butler, gave a soft sigh of recognition and open the door further. You were expected some days ago. We travel a long way. Quiet. You may leave the horses there. I will send the boy to tend to them. Please follow me. At this he turned and moved away from the door. The partners followed him. This time Curry also took his hat off. The entrance was elegant but not too overstated. They were flowers on a table in the centre and decoration of flowers and birds on the wall. It all spoke money to Heyes, and this was his favourite language. The butler open another door and gestured for the boys to enter. I will inform Miss Dubois that you are here. Please wait in the study. The boys entered a circular room with the walls covered in books, there was a piano and a desk and a table at opposite ends of an opened glass door. More to the point there was a series of crystal bottles and glasses on the table. As soon as the door closed Curry dived for the bottles and begun sniffing them. Will you try and behave. This could be good for us Heyes whispered. Im only checking out the drinks. Curry replied, not whispering. You can tell a good house by their good whiskey. As far as we know this could be a sting operation. He gestured at their surrounding with the glass top of one of the bottles, what I am doing here is research! tasty research but someone has to sacrifice. A this he poured a glass, swigged it between checks in an over exaggerated manner and swallowed. Heyes sighted and turned his attention to the leather bounded books. He had always loved to read and his one regret was that a life on the road did not allowed for this. Even when he was in Devils Hole he refrained from being seen with a book or risk being teased by the guys. He picked a book and read the cover: The Grandissimes: A Story of Creole Life by George W. Cable. He put the book back before someone asked him what it meant. The next book had a more colourful cover. Life on the Mississippi by Mark... Hey, I read this! He exclaimed delighted at this. It is a lovely book, maybe a bit to romanticised and loose on real truths. The voice was rich and deep, with a thick French accent that made it the more appealing. The boys both turned startled towards the now open door. There stood a young attractive woman with dark hair and blue eyes, strong cheekbones and a warm smile. She wore a richly braided white dress and her hair was up and pulled back as was the fashion at the time. Curry swallowed hard and Heyes snapped the book closed. My apologies Messieurs, let me introduce myself: I am Johanna Dubois and I bid you welcome to my home.
Posted on: Fri, 12 Sep 2014 17:04:45 +0000
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