The Bridge

4

“Boudreaux?” Virgil said, looking at me.

“A tiger?” I said.

“Yes,” Allie said. “Isn’t that the awfulest thing? He was the tamer, and the tiger got mad or hungry or something and attacked him, chewed him up.”

Allie focused on the lead horseman and smiled.

“That must be Beauregard,” Allie said, as she worked pieces of her hair back into place.

At that moment somebody scurried from one of the wagons and handed the rider a long megaphone.

He moved his horse on into town. The band followed, playing as they marched behind him. He called out into the megaphone.

“Hello, Appaloosa. My name is Beauregard Beauchamp.”

“You were right, Allie,” Virgil said.

“We are the Beauchamp Brothers Theatrical Extravaganza and we will be in your fair city of Appaloosa for a full week. Offering you nightly entertainment. A new and exciting show every night. The whole family is invited, young and old alike will find something that will make them laugh, warm their hearts, and tickle their innards.”

Beauregard’s mount was a spirited white horse with black socks, mane, and tail. Beauregard himself was handsome. He sat upright in his shiny black saddle, wearing a sharp blue striped suit, gray shirt, red tie, and a wide-brim white hat that turned skyward at its edges. He sported a full black mustache and long, shiny hair.

More people came out to see the theatrical parade as it made its way into town.

“Oh, my,” Allie said. “Oh, my, oh, my.”

A few young children scurried out to walk along with the members of the troupe as Beauregard carried on with his ballyhoo.

“Aaaappaloosa,” he shouted, as the group continued into town. “We are pleased to announce we will be bringing you the finest entertainment this side of the Mississippi to your splendid township. We have a large tent we will pitch, and starting tomorrow evening, there will be a seat inside that tent for everyone to enjoy the Beauchamp Brothers Theatrical Extravaganza. So come one, come all. We have special prices for our opening night tomorrow night, so don’t miss out.”

He rode directly by our front porch and smiled at us, tipping his hat. Allie turned, looking to Virgil and me, and beamed like a little girl.

“Isn’t he just the most glorious?” Allie said, as she looked back to Beauregard riding by. “Just glorious.”

Virgil looked at me and nodded a little.

“He sure is, Allie,” Virgil said.

“Glorious,” I said.

The band members followed Beauregard as they moved through town. We watched as each of the brightly colored wood-topped wagon trailers passed by. Painted across the side of each trailer, colorful lettering boasted the variety of acts: Exciting Dramatic Plays! — The Darndest Dancing! — Heavenly Singing! — Sharpshooting! — Majestic Music! — Dr. Longfellow’s Magic Show! (The doctor will gladly cut you in half!)

A few of the show’s players waved from the wagon windows as they passed by.

“Only thing missing in this outfit is one of those Indian flute-blowing snake charmers,” Virgil said.

Last in line came a red-painted trailer with fancy gold lettering: Peek-a-Boo Madame Leroux ~ Fortune-Teller. (Futures Told & Your Legendary Afterlife Adventures Revealed!)

I noticed a very attractive lady with ivory skin and black hair looking out from a window. Her gaze was off in the distance, but suddenly her focus shifted directly toward me. She didn’t smile or wave, but I was certain she was looking at me.

There was something mysterious and haunting about her gaze.

Must be Madame Leroux, I thought. She remained looking at me and I looked at her until her trailer passed.

“Beauregard ought to put his brother to rest,” Virgil said. “Change the troupe’s name.”

“Change the troupe’s name?” Allie said.

Virgil nodded.

“Beauchamp’s Theatrical Extravaganza,” Virgil said. “Less of a mouthful.”

“Oh, Virgil, don’t be silly,” Allie said. “Clearly you don’t know the first thing about showmanship and advertising. You don’t go and spoil a name brand just because a brother got gobbled up by a tiger, for land’s sake. There’s a business to advertising. Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup, for instance... Ol’ Mrs. Winslow’s been dead and gone forever and a day, and it’s a good thing they haven’t changed the name to... to deceased and six-feet-under Mrs. Winslow’s Syrup. They wouldn’t sell nothing.”

Allie uncocked her scorn as quickly as she’d cocked it, then turned her attention back on the passing troupe as if Virgil had said nothing.

Virgil looked at me and smiled a little, then glanced up to the dark clouds in the far distance that were slowly rolling in behind the Beauchamp Brothers Theatrical Extravaganza, headed for Appaloosa.

“Regardless of what it’s called,” Virgil said, “I don’t suspect the weather’s gonna be too favorable for opening night.”