Sylvie's Cowboy (18 page)

A gray-haired lady and her plumpish daughter
sat on the wide front porch of the Lowe house, plying their
knitting needles. The sergeant and his men trooped through the
front gate, strode up the walk, climbed the porch steps, and
proceeded directly into the house. A black house servant, waiting
inside the door, swung it open just before they could crash into
it. The ladies on the porch took no notice of the procession.

“Mornin’, Miz Lowe. Miz Euphemie,” mumbled
the sergeant in passing.

On the Lowe house rooftop, feisty Caroline
Lowe stood next to an improvised flagpole wherefrom waved her
homemade Confederate flag. She watched the soldiers disappear
through the front door below her, headed her way. She began taking
down the flag with practiced speed.

The sergeant led his men, huffing and puffing
in their woolen blue jackets, up the interior stairs to the roof.
“Today’s the day, Miss Caroline,” he muttered. “Today we’ve got
you.”

Sergeant Pfifer and his men emerged onto the
widow’s walk to find Caroline waving to an admiring Bogy Sands, who
watched from the street below. No flag—and no place to hide a
flag—was anywhere in sight.

The sergeant looked at Caroline’s skirts, but
abandoned that idea for numerous reasons. He looked over the
widow’s walk railing on all four sides; nothing. He looked at
empty-handed Bogy Sands in the street below. He gave up. He turned
back and growled at his men in frustration, “Search the house!”

The men piled back downstairs, mumbling. One
said, “We searched the house yesterday.”

“We’ll search it again today and every day
until we find that blasted pennant! Good day, Miss Caroline.”

The lady answered with a thick ‘Brilander
British accent, “Always a pleasure, Sergeant.”

...

At dusk in Key West harbor, the wrecking
fleet had returned, crowding the anchorage. All around, boats were
made fast for the night and weary sailors headed homeward on
foot.

Joe left the
Lady Alyce
and was
greeted by Joseph Porter, waiting on shore. Together they turned
and looked at the empty mooring where the English schooner had been
that morning.

“They made it, Joe!” said Porter. “They got
away clean.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Now comes the hard
part.”

“Fightin’ the Yankees!”

“Telling my mother.”

End of Sample

Get your copy of Mudsills & Mooncussers, by Iris
Chacon, wherever ebooks are sold.

###