False Dawn (Max and Mae's Final Appearance)

Have any of you seen the Blair house in the light of false dawn? If you have, you may have seen the light that appears in the tower. The story behind this starts with the turn of the last century, an actress appearing at the opera house next door, a Vaudeville magician, and a lost skeleton key. The telegraph wires in front of the opera house hummed in anticipation, as the latest troop of players arrived on the afternoon train. Passengers stepped out and porters converged on baggage cars for their two bits for cartage to the hotel downtown. The actress and the magician were known nation-wide for their shows and they were double billed throughout the coming summer. They weren't personal car famous, but they were a good draw wherever they played. If they had known that this would be their last stop, would they have got off the train that afternoon?

Mae held the hand of the conductor, as he helped her off the westbound afternoon special from Chicago. She opened up here parasol against the hard afternoon sun; it wouldn't do to swoon right here on the platform in Hickland. These goobers would fill the local house tonight and there would be that much more coin for the end of the line in San Francisco. She smiled vaguely at the crowd and looked for her manager. Fred would deal with the trunks and transport to the hotel, she would retire to her room and attempt to cool off with a bit of rye she kept with her for new town arrivals. Fred would find her something cooler long before she had to be at the theater.

Max stepped off the train and felt the dark wool of his suit soak up the unmerciful sun. Being a magician required that you lived the part day and night; black suits were just part of the ruse and you just got used to it. Max tapped his ebony walking stick against the platform and a puff of smoke rose from the brick cobbles. There were intakes of breath scattered throughout the crowd. Rubes, he thought, it always works. A porter dragging a handcar asked if he could help with Max's luggage.

Max swept his arm across the crowd, "My good man the Great Maxwell needs no help with mere objects in this mortal realm." He had the crowd's attention now. He walked, no strode, to the growing stack of trunks and bags by the baggage car. With the tip of of his stick he traced a figure eight in the air over the bags and in a stentorian voice said, "Luggage is no burden for the Great Maxwell." He tapped his large black stream trunk and laughed. Impossibly he scooped it up under his arm and headed toward the hotel...to be continued.

Thanks for your support and twitters @cjswft