Powder River by S.K. Salzer Page B

and pools of bloody vomit.
    Odalie’s smile faded at his mention of the war. “Yes, well, it’s all quite different now,” she said bitterly, “thanks to the Yankee beast Butler, a vile pig.” Her eyes clouded as the specter of General Benjamin F. Butler entered the candlelit room.
    Lord Faucett cleared his throat. “Yes, well . . .” He searched for a change of topic. “I am by no means expert in these matters, but I like to think I have a keen ear for language. Are you, Dr. Dixon, by any chance a child of Dixie, like my wife?”
    Dixon smiled. “I grew up in Lexington, Kentucky, though I haven’t been back to the Bluegrass Country for many years. I hope you won’t hold it against me, Lady Faucett, but I fought with the Union during the late war. My family and I disagreed on the subject of slavery, and it caused a rupture that has yet to heal. Someday, I hope to change this, but so far, I have not found an opening.”
    Odalie sighed, abandoning her previous gaiety. “Yes, a story that’s all-too-common, I’m afraid. No, Doctor, I don’t fault you for your wartime allegiance. What’s done is done, though I do hope you can heal the rift. Family is so important.”
    She smiled sadly at him and, again, Dixon felt a throb of powerful emotion. Other than the eerie similarity about the eyes, Odalie Faucett did not resemble Rose in any way. Still, in some strange way, Dixon felt his departed wife’s presence in the room. He had almost forgotten how much he loved her, until this lovely woman reminded him.

Billy Sun
    When Dixon returned to his house on Sunday morning, Mrs. MacGill ran out to meet him, breathless and disheveled.
    â€œThey’re gone,” she said. “They’ve run off, Caleb and Lorna.”
    â€œRun off?” he said, sliding to the ground. “Why? When? How long have they been gone?”
    â€œOh, Doctor, I don’t know,” she said, twisting her apron in her work-roughened hands. “I haven’t seen them since last night. They went out to do their chores, like always, but when I got up this morning they were gone. They took the pony and the blankets off their beds.”
    Dixon looked north, toward the snow-covered mountains. Though the February afternoon was uncharacteristically warm, the weather was preparing to turn. Dark clouds were moving toward them, like crouching bears. “Where’s Harry?”
    â€œIn town,” Mrs. MacGill said, “staying with the Donahues. Remember?”
    Dixon nodded absently. He’d forgotten Harry was spending the week in town with a friend’s family, and now he was sorry he’d agreed to it. He could use his help.
    â€œI think I know where they’re headed,” Dixon said, “and I have to go after them now, before the snow comes. Is there anything else you can tell me? Did something happen to upset them?”
    Mrs. MacGill put her hand to her white head; her topknot had loosened and was listing to one side. “Well, I scolded ’em, I did. I told them to muck out the horses’ stalls, and when they were done there to fill the barrels in the kitchen and upstairs. Cal would’ve done it—and Lorna’s share, too—but she commenced to complaining and so he started in. So I switched ’em, the both, on the backside. But I didn’t expect the two to take off. I’ve switched ’em before.”
    Dixon frowned. He did not hit his children and did not want anyone else to strike them, either. “I thought we had an understanding about that,” he said.
    â€œYes, Doctor, but they need discipline! Lorna won’t make old bones without someone to take her in hand. She’ll find trouble, and sure enough. Save her and you’ll save the boy, too, the way she owns him. Anyhow, like I said, I don’t think ’twas the switchin’ made ’em take off.”
    Dixon did not argue. What Mrs.