Hunger on the Chisholm Trail

by M Ennenbach

  Kenzie didn’t lose. You may not be aware she was winning. But rest assured, by her tally, she came out ahead. She owned the bar, the brothel, and the hotel. Everyone in town gave her a portion of their money. She had wanted to be a writer. By all accounts, she was damn talented at it. But the boys’ club back East didn’t take to women climbing the ranks. So she spat in the dirt by their polished leather shoes and took her inheritance and moved away. She hated it. She grew up all over the place but had settled in Florida.

  Now she was in the middle of nowhere, writing stories in a town of near-illiterates that would never appreciate her genius. One day, she would earn enough to own the whole town. She imagined it growing into a bustling community. She wanted to start a newspaper. Tell the world the truth about the not so wild west. Expose the strong women that fight alongside their husbands. Maybe use the press to put out a few of her own stories. It was just a matter of biding her time.

  “I could mix in some white. Make it pink instead,” Bradley hollered.

  “No. It’s fine. I’ll get with Tracey and see if we can’t get a different shade next time. Maybe a lavender or lilac. Hurry up, now. It’s nearly time to open. The guests will be awake soon.”

  They made a sour face at each other as Bradley did one last coat of paint on the Z. Late last night, a stagecoach had rolled into town. A group of sightseers on their way to California. Fools, every last one of them. Seeking to pan for gold and make their fortunes at the ass edge of America. Too cheap or stupid to take the train. Dazzled by the stories of the lawless West, they hoped to cut down the Chisholm Trail and venture across Texas through the untamed Native lands. The two couples riding in the coach were alright for city slickers from New York. They seemed taken aback by the brothel and bar being attached to the hotel itself. The idea of one stop for all their needs must have been foreign in the big cities.

  They weren’t the main cause of concern, though. It was the last that rode in beside the coach that gave them both a shiver of worry. Mary Jo was her name. Rumors and tall tales had been floating around the last couple years about her. Foul mouthed and ready for a fight wherever she showed up. As dangerous with her tongue as she was with the pistols that hung on her belt. A painter of some renown that had run afoul of the sheriff of Abilene, the known drunkard and gambler ‘Wild Bill’ Hickok. Kenzie had heard the tale from some of the cattle drivers on their way back to Texas. Mary Jo was very drunk and wearing nothing but her birthday suit while attempting paint a self portrait on the hotel room wall. Hickok was heard saying as she fled town that he had fought two bears in his life and would gladly fight a third rather than tangle with her again.

  And now, she had stumbled into Duncan. The Good Lord himself only knew what kind of trouble she would bring with her.

  “We need to only sell her the special batch.” Kenzie stared into space as she spoke. “And hide the rest of that paint when you finish. No need to give her ideas.”

  Bradley grunted. And climbed down the rickety wooden ladder. “She didn’t seem all that bad to me. In fact, she was rather pleasant. I think she may have been a little sweet on me.”

  Kenzie laughed and stomped her foot on dusty ground. “Ain’t no way she found your goofy smile something to be sweet over. And that soup strainer on your lip there. You look like one of those police dogs from up North. What are they called again?”

  “A schnauzer. Regal dogs.”

  She slapped her thigh and tears rolled down her cheeks. “You got it! A schnauzer! You look as regal as a one dicked weasel!”

  “For someone so fancy with words, you are spiteful and uncultured sometimes, Kenzie. Hurtful, too.”

  “Awww. Don’t you fret none, Bradley. I’ll get you one of the soup bones to gnaw on until your naked outlaw comes down to paint your portrait. Maybe she’ll scratch behind your ears as well.”

  He tried to glare at her but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. “I do believe you are jealous, Ms. Kenzie. Afraid she will sweep me off my feet and take me out of this two-horse town?”

  “I will gladly give her both of the horses if she does.”

  “And then who would serve drinks to the patrons of your fine establishment?”

  “Marie. Tara. Tina. The mule out by the Indians. Lana. Bella. Amber. Teddy.”

  “Now hold your horses one second. Teddy is a known drunk and thief.”

  “That’s why he was my last choice.”

  “And the mule being before most of the girls?”

  “That is just logical.”

  “Maybe you’re a little right on that. I’ll send you a letter once we settle into our chateau. Somewhere by the water. I can bury my toes in the sand and watch the waves.”

  Kenzie gave him a serious look. “You may be drifting a little too far into the fairy tale.”

  He grinned his lopsided grin at her. “See? I knew you couldn’t bare the idea of being without me.”

  She clapped him on the back and laughed. “C’mon in. We got to get the ladies up. Our guests will be down and expecting breakfast, I imagine.”

  Bradley stopped and looked up at the fresh paint. He grimaced as he saw the cheap red was running a bit down the wood. It really did look like blood, he thought to himself. A crow cawed and sent a chill down his spine. He wasn’t a religious man, nor superstitious. But he made the sign of the cross, anyway. Just to be safe. Then he followed Kenzie in and got himself resigned to making eggs and bacon for the five guests and the wagon driver. And the girls would expect something as well. He sighed with contentment. After so long traveling from place to place, it was nice to have somewhere to call home. And maybe if he played his cards right, an outlaw artist to spend a few hours with in private.

  ***

  Tracey woke with a start and grabbed the gun off of the bedside table. She pulled back the hammer and waved it slowly around the room. Her eyes were slits as she warily searched the shadows. A dream. It was just a dream, she told herself before easing the hammer back. Another nightmare. She felt the layer of sweat that coated her body under the sleep dress. As much a sign of the nightmare as the oppressive heat that already permeated the small attic room above her shop. Her Shop. The thought of it was nearly enough to erase the dream from her mind. It was all hers. Bought and paid for her with the money left to her by her parents she had managed to hide away before making her escape across the ocean.

  Her mind went back to home for a moment. The gray skies over the churning waves. Orchids filling the air. The chilly wind carrying the taste of salt throughout her room. She missed it sometimes. Until thoughts of Him intruded. His drunken rage, the smell of cheap liquor and whore perfume clinging to his clothes as he bellowed for dinner. His heavy hands as he raised them in anger.

  No. This was home. Far from everything she knew and loved. Far from the man she hated enough to disappear into the trail dust and sweat of nowhere. But that didn’t stop the dreams. Didn’t stop the terror of the last night in her childhood home. The sound of glass shattering. Of fine China in ruins as the thickly pooling blood came closer and closer to where she stood.

  She shook her head to clear the thoughts, saw the glass on the table and reached for it. It sat peacefully, with little swirls of the thicker solution catching the light as it came through the small window above her bed. The promise of nothing lay in that glass. Yet, she stopped herself. It was too early for numbing. Even if the urge was too strong. The temptation calling from her every cell to just take a sip and let the past slide into shadows beneath her bed. She couldn’t. The store had to be tidied, even though no one had come for the last couple days. Except the Sheriff and Mr. Beck.

  He was a curious one. She had heard the rumors. Everyone had. Arrested for trying to conjure demons at Kenzie’s his first night in town. A scholar of some sort, traveling around in search of mystery.

  And handsome.

  Not classically handsome, but appealing. She caught herself thinking of him in such a way and blushed. He would be gone soon, and she would st
ill be here. No time for silly fantasy. The cattle drives would be here soon. She could forget her past, stop daydreaming and focus on the present. That’s all that mattered. The here and now. She was unaware she had picked up the glass and taken a long drink until she tasted the sourness of the Laudanum as it hit her tongue. She felt disappointed in herself for a moment. A brief moment. Then she shrugged and drained the rest of the glass. No sense in wasting it.

  It took a few moments for the feeling of abandon to travel down her legs, to ease the tension she was not aware of in her back and neck. But once it did, she found herself floating on a cloud. Sure, it made thinking harder, but it made remembering near impossible. That was enough for her as she slowly made her way down the stairs to her shop. She raised the blind on the door and caught a view of Mr. Beck, Karl, sitting alone in the sheriff’s office. She watched him sip coffee and shuffle through the books spread out in front of him. He was curious, wearing a nice suit with his bald head catching the light. He looked up and waved at her and she nearly jumped. She had lost track of time in her musing. She sheepishly raised a hand back and then scurried away. Her face was nearly the same shade as the fresh paint dripping slowly down the front of the bar.

  She froze at the back of the store, remembering the dinner this evening at Mikhail and Jia-Li’s home. She could just beg off due to a headache. The entire town knew about her headaches, after all. But she let herself imagine sitting around the table. Laughing with the others as they told tales of time before Duncan. Perhaps Karl would walk her home. A kiss upon her hand for having shared the evening.

  She laughed at herself.

  No. She would decline this evening’s festivities. But she grabbed the finest bottle of whiskey off of the shelf for them. She took a knife and marred the label slightly. Just enough. She could tell him it was free due to damage. She smiled at that. She may not be there physically, but she could be there in spirit. Or spirits, as the case may be.

  Even as she smiled, a flash of sorrow swept through her eyes. She blinked it away. Dreams were just that. Silly things. She had a business to run. If she desired the company of a man so badly, well, she could take one of the riders upstairs when the herds started pouring into town. No strings attached to one of those free roaming idiots. No curiosity, either. Just a few moments of sweat filled action.

  ***

  Josiah knelt on the hardwood before the cross on the back wall of the church. His fevered words drifted softly through the large room.

  “Father, grant me the strength to stay away from the bottle. The courage to face my demons and stand tall as they claw in my belly. I am weak, but steadfast in your teachings. I shall play your words upon the flock, tending to their spiritual distress and guiding them toward the promise of heaven. Amen.”

  He rose slowly, his knees not what they had been in his youth. He could feel the scar where the arrow had pierced his leg throb as he stood. One of many pains caused by the red skinned bastards. He knew it was wrong to be filled with hatred. That it went against the gospels. But try as he may, the memories of good Christians being slaughtered by the heathens tore through his mind. He would gladly have gone back to Illinois after the fighting. Returned to his family and friends. But he felt the call of the Lord draw him to Duncan. Perhaps it was also due to the shame he felt. It was not just his knee that had been injured in the fighting. But his soul, as well. He had done, seen, been party to and turned a blind eye from atrocities. He told himself what had been done had been for the greater glory. But the drink called as well. And when he fell into the cups, he wondered if it all hadn’t been one big lie.

  He felt shame burn through him. Heard the whispers of doubt. The urge to fall back to his knees and seek forgiveness like waves of the sea splashed through him. But the ache in his knees screamed just as loud. He limped toward the doorway. He saw Bradley climb down from the ladder. Saw the blood red paint on the whorehouse mocking him. He would go there and give them a piece of his mind. Drawing more attention to the depravities of man in a town that should stand as a beacon. It was disgusting. And maybe a slug or two of whiskey. No more. Just enough to ease the ache.

  ***

  Teddy woke in a panic. The world was dark, yet he heard the chickens and roosters raising a fuss somewhere. He sat up and felt an intense pain as his head hit something hard. Coupled with the nausea of his insides feeling like they were liquefied from too much rot gut, the sudden hammering of nails into his skull was more than he could handle. He rolled to his side and vomited bile and acid onto the hay covered floor. When the purge ended, he rolled carefully back on to his back and stared up in sick confusion.

  Slowly, the world regained definition as his guts rolled. He was in the barn out behind the hotel. Blurry images of stumbling from the bar. No. Being tossed out of the bar by Bradley at Kenzie’s behest. Staggering into the barn and seeing the stagecoach parked inside. He had rifled through it, but anything of value must have gone inside with the guests. The lockbox on the back had been secured from ne’er-do-wells such as himself. He tried to sleep on the cushions inside the coach but was unable to get comfortable on the threadbare seats. He recalled stepping. No. Falling out of the coach and rolling underneath to avoid being caught by Bradley or one of the girls.

  He had his pride still, what little remained. He’d been run out of better towns than this. But those had been a day or two of stumbling apart. He had barely made it from Kansas to this pockmark on the backside of the civilized world. Did the odd job for the farmers or around town. Usually just enough to earn enough rot gut to stop the shaking in his hands. His poor, worn out hands. He raised them up and stared at them. They had built great buildings. He had been in construction for years until the influenza had come to town. The last bit of good work they did was digging holes in the ground to lay his sweet Emma and Gertrude into.

  Now they shoveled shit in the stables. And were happy to do so. How far had he sunk? Spending his days near-sick with need for a drink. His evenings making up for lost time. All the while thinking of those better days. Josiah said it was them Injuns that sent the flu. Said it was payback for the Trail of Tears. Teddy didn’t agree with that. Not really. But Josiah would buy as long as he listened and didn’t argue. Only a fool could say no to free drinks. So what if Josiah was a bit off with his ramblings? His coin spent like any other. And no one else wanted to listen to him. It was very nearly a friendship. Close. Drinking partners.

  Good enough for him. Even if them uppity whores didn’t like it. Who were they, anyway? Spending the summer and fall on their backs with their legs spread for the cattlemen. None of them ever worked a day in their lives. They didn’t understand loss.

  Josiah did, though. Maybe he was done praying and would need a drink soon. It was a few days until the cattle came. Then he would have work to do. Taking care of the horses. Helping Tracey unload her deliveries. Maybe this season he could save up enough to get to the train. Buy a ticket to the coast. Either. He didn’t really care. He nodded. He would. He’d get himself dried out on the train ride. Start fresh in whatever city he got let out in. Maybe go back to construction. Just a few more months. That was all.

  He rolled out from under the coach and carefully opened the door to the barn. Everyone was probably eating breakfast. He crept out to the street where he saw Josiah leaving the church with a pained limp. He couldn’t help but smile. The only thing that helped his limp was whiskey. It’d be a damned shame to make the man drink alone.

  ***

  Cody walked down the empty main street of town, a smile on his face as he looked at the quiet world around him. He would one day have his own practice in a thriving town, he thought to himself. One of these days. The rest of the world was not ready for his particular ideas. He sat at the cutting edge of medicine. Unfortunately for him, the cutting edge was frightful to the closed-minded folks. Filled with superstitions and folk tales, they had run him out of more than one town over the years. But he would show them. Science was based on fact, not hoodo
o and the such. He experimented to further that science. And a town like Duncan was the perfect place for that. Out of view of the peering eyes of the ignorant masses.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his latest find. A small handful of mushrooms he had gotten from River and Hasse. He had sampled some the night before. Judging by his notes and the way he recalled feeling, these could be the find of the century. He could barely keep the smile from his face. These so-called savages had so many unique cures and ideas. He longed to spend a few days with the medicine man of the tribes, but River refused to even entertain the idea. The cold science went too far against their spiritual beliefs in the common thread of nature. He had tried to convince River that they were both the same. It was the understanding of the science that lay beneath the spiritual he sought.

  The mushrooms were his test. To see if he could reach his spirituality. He believed that he had. And he longed to try again. But they came with the words that ingesting too many too often reduced the strength. He theorized it built up an immunity against the powerful hallucinogenic effect. They had awoken something within him last night, though. That much was certain. What other wonders did the tribes know of that could benefit all of mankind?

  He passed the store and waved to Tracey with a grin. She smiled and waved back. He turned and saw Karl in the sheriff’s office and tipped his hat to him and received a warm smile and nod. Then he straightened up a bit as he saw Josiah limp out of the church. The two of them did not see eye to eye very often, but both brought their own value to Duncan. Though Cody failed to understand exactly what it was Josiah brought. There was no need of God in science, none he could find in any relation. But there was something to faith that seemed to accelerate the process of healing. It was a quandary that would require a better preacher than Josiah to answer. He opened his mouth to give a greeting when Teddy stumbled out from behind the brothel. He smiled, saved by the oaf racing towards the preacher. Drinking partners meeting up to begin another day of debauchery. He was not even noticed as he passed them. More the better. Though he wondered at what the mushrooms would do for one so far into the bottle as Teddy. Could they be used to wean him off of the drink? A curious idea.