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Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 26: Brown 290
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Takano 92
Derek walked with an excited and hopeful Maurice Howland. This would be the young fellow’s first music job, and he rather desperately wanted it. Vashti walked with them. Upon getting to the door, they heard ‘Henri’s’ voice, and then the front door opened, and a tall, rawboned man stepped out. He had on boots with spurs and a Stetson hat. He took it off, and stepped aside to hold the door.
“Howdy, folks. Ma’am.” He nodded at Vashti, and she smiled, and entered first. The blue jeaned cowboy looked at the trombone, and said.
“Iffen I knew there was going to be music, I’d ‘ave come later, and brought my ‘monica.”
“Well, we will be here tomorrow,” Derek said, waving his trumpet case a bit.
“Sadly, I’m heading back to West Texas tonight. The longhorns on my ranch are getting lonesome for my music.” Smiling more to himself than anyone else, he stepped on out, and began singing as he bowleggedly walked away. It was the Chisholm Trail that he sang more through his nose than helpful, and Derek and Maurice just looked at each other, and fought to hold their laughter in until they stepped inside.
Henri smiled at Derek, and nodded at Maurice.
“Young Mistah Howland. I think you should wait here for Miz Johnson. You can set up at the table, if you like Mister Brown, Mrs. Brown.”
“Please, Henri, call us Derek and Vashti. And we’ll stay with Maurice.”
“All right. Just stand to the side then. Can’t block the door.” They did, and waited. A minute later, a tough looking customer with several knives about his person nodded to them as he entered. He greeted them, and his Cajun accent was even thicker than Pierre Hunter’s was, although he was white.
Three black men in laborer’s uniforms came in, and then one black man covered in seeds and light yellow dust came up after tying his hound dog to a bit of the fence. He waited, and when Henri came back he said to ‘please get Blue Belle some water, and if you got a bone a bone.’ Henri told him that would be a penny, and it was agreed, and as Henri took the man to his seat, Missus Johnson came up to the three.
“Maurice Howland,” she said warmly. “If you’re good, and I think you will be, I will give you twenty five cents and a free meal for playing as third with the Browns here.”
Maurice nodded, gulped, and said, “I’ll tries my best, Widda Johnson.”
“I know you will, son.” She patted him on the head.
“Um,” Derek said. “I think he should make as much as me and Vashti. I can’t think of a good reason he shouldn’t, and if someone did that to you, ma’am, I’d think you’d be angry.”
She took a step back, her eyes widened, and a fist got placed on her very ample hip. Derek, recognizing the signs of a potential explosion, hurried on.
“If you’re worried about how much it costs, you can pay Vashti and me forty cents each, and Maurice forty cents, and that will save you a nickel.” Her expression softened, and she slowly shook her head.
“Well, Ah’ll be. Here I thought you was being a bossy Yankee.” She turned to Maurice. “Fifty cents, and a free lunch is the deal.” Then she turned back and walked briskly away.
Maurice looked up at Derek with something like hero worship in his face. Embarrassed, Derek mumbled something like, “Well, just earn it today,” and led the way to the side table already prepared for them. Henri got a third chair for Maurice, and the three of them started playing.
Happily for poor Derek’s stomach, that day it was country ham and turnip greens and blackeyed peas and not nearly as spicy. Around the room lots of red bottles were being shaken, and Vashti did the same while Derek looked at those bright red drops falling on her slab of ham with a sensation like horror. Even smelling the hot sauce made his insides cringe. The turnip greens were a stronger, harsher taste than cooked spinach. The dark green vegetables with the pale green stems had been well boiled with the ham juices and vinegar and water. He thought, if not for the inflammatory andouille sausage he would have liked the red beans and rice better, but with it, well almost anything was better. He finished all his plate this day, and without needing two cups each of ginger ale and root beer.
On the way back, Vashti kissed him, and it gave new meaning to the words ‘a hot kiss’.
There is a behind-the-writings look at the thoughts, influences, and ideas of this chapter, along with eleven other sequential chapters of this novel, in mark Joseph "young" web log entry #502: Character Setbacks. Given a moment, this link should take you directly to the section relevant to this chapter. It may contain spoilers of upcoming chapters.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
