[June 2022]
Chapters: 1
Word Count: 10,089
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Warnings: Angst
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BLINDSIDED
by
Eleanor Ward
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Heyes receives some unexpected news that turns his life upside down.
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* * *
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Denver, CO, September, 1910.
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“Judge Heyes, there’s a telephone call for you.”
Hannibal Heyes looked up from his desk as the young clerk tapped on the door and poked his head around it to impart this information.
Heyes’ brow creased in puzzlement, wondering who was calling him here at his chambers at the Denver courthouse.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Judge, I was just asked to fetch you.”
With a sigh, Heyes closed the file he’d been reading and rose from his desk to follow the young clerk to the front office.
There, the receptionist nodded towards the one private phone booth sited in the building and prepared to switch the call there.
Heyes stepped inside the booth and closed the door. Even though they’d had telephones for a few years now, he still found it odd, talking into a metal tube, and the delay between speaking and receiving a reply made even simple conversations quite frustrating.
He glanced through the glass at the receptionist, who nodded for him to pick up the telephone.
Putting it to his ear he said, “Hello?”
After the usual delay a voice said, “Heyes, is that you?”
“Who’s that?”
“It’s me, Lom.”
“Oh, sorry.” Heyes said, apologetically, “I can’t get used to the way people sound on these things. How are you, Lom?”
“I’m fine. You?”
“Yeah, good, thanks. Is something wrong? It’s not often you call me here at the Courthouse.”
“Well, when I call you at home you’re usually there at the Courthouse so I thought it would be simpler to call you there.”
Heyes laughed.
“The reason I’m calling,” Lom continued, “is because I’ve had a visit from a lawyer, from Santa Fe, looking to get in touch with you.”
“Couldn’t he have just contacted me direct?” Heyes asked, puzzledly.
“It seems he didn’t know you were the same Hannibal Heyes he was instructed to contact. His client, who he wasn’t at liberty to name, had listed my name as someone who could get hold of you.”
“But you explained?”
“I did.” said Lom, “He seemed a bit bemused to know you were now a Judge, and he asked me to contact you to tell you that his employer has been instructed to pass on some documents to you. I suggested he mail them to you, in Denver, but he said he has strict instructions that they are to be personally hand delivered by him, to you and you only.”
“I see.”
“So, do you want him to come to Denver, or do you want to come over here?”
Heyes sighed. “Much as I’d like to pay you a visit, Lom, I have too much on here to be able to get up to Porterville any time soon so, if he’s happy to travel to Denver, he can bring them here, to the Courthouse. I’d rather him not go to the ranch.” he added, not wanting the man to know where he lived. Even though he’d been legally pardoned twenty-six years ago, old habits, about not revealing too much about himself in case it led to his capture, died hard.
“O.K. He’s staying at the hotel in town so I’ll let him know. Do you want me to come along with him, to act as a witness or whatever?”
“There’s no need.” replied Heyes, knowing that, at seventy-five, the long journey from Wyoming would be a struggle for Lom.
“I don’t mind. I’ve got plenty of time on my hands since I retired, and it would give me an excuse for a visit.”
“Thanks for offering but there’s no need for you to travel all that way. Just tell him to let me know when he’ll be arriving, and I’ll have Kid be here with me.”
“Alright. How is Kid by the way?
“He’s good. Busy with the ranch.”
“Good. Well give him my best. You two must get over here for a visit one of these days. It’s been too long.”
“I will. And when I find out what this lawyer has for me, I’ll let you know.”
Lom Laughed. “I must admit, I am a mite curious.”
“Me too,” chuckled Heyes, “Thanks for calling, Lom. Take care and we’ll get together soon.”
Heyes hung up the phone and pushed his way out of the booth to head back to his chambers, trying to work out how long it had been since they’d last seen Lom. Not since he became a Judge certainly, so that had to be before 1906, more than four years ago, although since the development of the telephone network they were able to keep in touch with periodic phone calls.
He sat down at his desk, his thoughts wandering back through time and their quest to gain amnesty. After three years of living like gypsies, afraid to settle anywhere or put down roots lest they be recognized by the law and arrested, they’d finally been granted amnesty in 1884. He smiled to himself as he remembered that day and the celebrations that followed. It had taken them some time to decide what to do with their new found freedom but, eventually, Heyes had decided to study law and Curry had decided he would like to try his hand at breeding horses.
They’d bought a small ranch, between them, just outside Denver, and Curry had set about obtaining breeding stock while Heyes pursued his studies. It had taken Curry almost as long to turn a profit with the business as it had taken Heyes to qualify as a lawyer. But after seven years Curry had built a decent reputation as a breeder and Heyes had secured himself a good paying job as a lawyer for a legal firm before becoming a Judge 15 years later. Neither had ever married, not from a conscious choice not to but neither had met a woman who had touched them enough to make them want to spend the rest of their lives with them and so had been content to satisfy their physical needs with the local saloon girls.
Curry had made idle conversation, when they’d first got the amnesty, about going to New Orleans to seek out Michelle Monet, for whom he’d fallen deeply during their journey from San Juan, but had never done so, and Heyes had fleetingly considered a trip to Boston to look up the lovely Julia but then decided against it. She’d only known him as Joshua Smith and he didn’t think she would take kindly to knowing he’d been an outlaw, and leader of the infamous Devil’s Hole Gang, so he’d let the idea go. But, as the years rolled by, regrets, about not having made more of an effort to find a mate, had nagged at his subconsciousness. Although he’d forged out a successful legal career, he lamented not having a wife, to share his successes with, and children, perhaps even grandchildren, to leave a legacy to. He wasn’t sure if Curry had those same regrets – he’d never discussed it with him – but he suspected he too felt the same way. They’d been together most of their lives - best friends, sharing good times and bad, brothers in all except blood - but even that closeness couldn’t replace the one element missing from their lives – family. Heyes supposed that losing their own families while still children had amplified his feelings of regret for not having had a family of his own. But, at age sixty, he thought it was unlikely he would remedy that now.
With a sigh, he locked away his files and left his chambers.
Pulling out his pocket watch he grimaced when he saw it was after five o’clock. He’d intended to get home before now but, as usual, had become engrossed in his work. No doubt Kid would chastise him for being late, again, and putting their housekeeper out in having to wait for him to arrive before she dished up supper.
He arrived at the ranch house half an hour later, to find Curry already eating. After a hard day’s work he was hungry and didn’t feel inclined to wait around until Heyes decided to pull himself away from his work.
“Sorry.” Heyes muttered, apologetically, as he entered the kitchen to a baleful look from Curry.
Mrs. Roberts, the housekeeper, appeared with food while Heyes washed up.
“Thank you,” he said, as he sat down at the table, “I’m sorry to have put you out.” He gave her his most ingratiating smile that was always guaranteed to erase any irritation on her part.
“Oh, it’s no trouble, Judge,” Mrs. Roberts’ cheeks flushed pink as his dark eyes met hers with the look of a puppy dog who knows he’s done something he shouldn’t and is trying to wriggle out of a scolding, “No trouble at all.”
Curry rolled his eyes. She fell for it every time.
“You get off home. We’ll finish up and clear away.” Heyes told her.
Mrs. Roberts looked at Curry who nodded agreement.
“Very well. I’ll see you gentlemen tomorrow.” Mrs. Roberts nodded her farewell and left the room.
“Good day?” Heyes asked, once she’d departed.
Curry nodded. “Elmore Brooks was over today. He’s interested in two mares.”
“That’s good.” Heyes continued eating, oblivious to the thoughtful look on his face, his thoughts obviously occupied elsewhere.
“Something wrong?” asked Curry.
“Hmm?” Heyes looked up at him, “Oh. No. Just something a little puzzling.”
“Oh?”
“Lom called me, at the courthouse – he said to give you his best by the way – to tell me some lawyer from Santa Fe has been looking for me. Apparently his firm has been tasked with hand delivering some documents to me.”
“Hand delivering? They can’t mail them?”
Heyes shook his head. “I asked the same question. Apparently, their client has insisted they be handed to me in person.”
“Odd.” said Curry, “And they didn’t say who the client was?”
“No. Lom said the lawyer wasn’t at liberty to disclose that.”
“What did you tell him?”
Heyes shrugged. “I told him to tell the guy he could come to Denver and deliver them to me at the courthouse. I asked that he let me know when he would be arriving.”
“You want I should be there?”
“I’d like it if you were. If you can spare the time away from here?”
“Sure, no problem. It all sounds very mysterious.”
Lom phoned again the next day to say that the lawyer would arrive in Denver the following afternoon. Heyes told Lom to advise him that he would see him at three o’clock.
* * *
At a minute to three the following afternoon, the receptionist at the courthouse knocked on the door to Heyes’ chambers.
“Come.”
The door opened and the receptionist put her head around it.
“There’s a Mr. Wilbur Watkins here to see you, from Kingman & Henderson?”
Heyes nodded. “Show him in please.”
The receptionist withdrew and Heyes exchanged glances with Curry. Both were bemused by all the secrecy and keen to find out what the lawyer was bringing.
A moment later there was another knock at the door and the receptionist ushered in a young, bespectacled man with curly brown hair, clad in a slightly too tight suit and carrying a large black bag.
“Mr. Wilbur Watkins.” she announced, before withdrawing and closing the door.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Watkins.” Heyes smiled pleasantly, rising from his desk and moving to offer his hand to the young man, while Curry stood in a corner of the room, arms folded across his chest, watching the proceedings closely.
“Judge Heyes?” the young man looked slightly flustered as he switched his case to his left hand in order to shake hands.
“That is correct.”
“Judge Hannibal Heyes?”
Heyes nodded, “And this is Mr. Curry.” Heyes indicated Curry who stepped forward to shake Watkins’ hand before returning to his position in the corner.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Curry.” Watkins nodded to him before turning his attention back to Heyes.
“Please, sit down.” Heyes indicated a chair he had placed in front of his desk and seated himself in his own chair behind it.
“Thank you… Judge.” Watkins seated himself and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small card which he proffered to Heyes. “My card.”
Heyes took it and gave it a cursory glance before putting it on the desk.
“I understand you have some documents to deliver to me?” Heyes’ dark eyes fixed intently on Watkins, seeming to make him even more nervous.
“Yes,” he nodded, “Firstly, I just need to clarify… You are the same Hannibal Heyes - former outlaw and leader of The Devil’s Hole Gang?”
“One and the same.” Heyes smiled, “But I was given amnesty twenty-six years ago – as was my friend here” he waved a hand towards Curry, “- and I decided to study law. Since I knew so much about being on the wrong side of it, I thought I could put that knowledge to good use on the other side – in terms of understanding the criminal mind so to speak. It’s all on record should you need further verification.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Watkins muttered, nervously. Unbeknown to Heyes, his identity had already been verified by Kingman & Henderson before despatching Watkins to Denver, but he was required to obtain a verbal confirmation, as an additional security measure, before proceeding further. He, like everyone else, knew of the infamous Hannibal Heyes, even though he’d only just been born when he and his partner, Kid Curry, were pardoned.
He tossed an anxious look in Curry’s direction having only just realized that the unassuming man in the corner was none other than Jed ‘Kid’ Curry, famed for his fast draw, a sheen of perspiration coming to his forehead at being in the same room with the two infamous reformed outlaws.
Curry, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Watkins and appeared, to him, like a snake about to pounce on its victim, gave him a polite smile, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Watkins turned his attention back to Heyes, all the time feeling Curry’s eyes boring into him.
“So, what’s so important about these documents you have that you couldn’t have just mailed them to me?” Heyes asked now.
The mention of the reason for his visit calmed Watkins somewhat, and he opened his bag and took out a wrapped package about eighteen inches in length by twelve inches wide and four inches deep. The package had been sealed with a wax seal.
Heyes eyed the package curiously as Watkins balanced it across his lap before bending to place his bag on the floor.
“Our client – whose identity I’m not privy to - left the items contained in this package to be hand delivered to you – Hannibal Heyes – upon their death. It was specifically stipulated that the package remained sealed, and that should you yourself have passed on by the time delivery was to be executed it should be destroyed without being opened.”
Heyes exchanged puzzled glances with Curry before saying, “How long has your employer had the package in its possession?”
“I believe since 1899, sir.”
“And you have no idea who it was who made this request?”
“None, sir.”
“Well then, I guess you’d better hand it over.”
“Yes, sir. But first, I just need to get you to sign a couple of forms, just for our records you understand, to show that you received the package as per the client’s terms.”
Heyes sighed, impatiently, keen now to see what was in the package. “Very well.”
Watkins delved in his bag for a folder and handed over a form.
“If you can read, and sign to confirm?”
The form stated that the lawyer had completely explained the terms of the client’s behest and that the package was still sealed and hadn’t been tampered with in any way.
Heyes signed it and handed it back.
“And this one please.” Watkins handed him another form to sign to confirm that he had indeed been handed the package in person.
“Thank you.” Watkins dropped the forms into his bag and then proffered the package which Heyes took, surprised to find it quite heavy.
Watkins got to his feet. “Well, it’s nice to have met you both. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch.” He extended his hand to Heyes, who rose from his chair and reached out to shake it, and then to Curry, who again stepped forward to return the handshake.
“Have a safe journey.” said Heyes, his eyes on the package, while Curry moved to open the door for Watkins who scurried out of the room.
Closing the door, Curry moved to sit in the chair Watkins had just vacated.
“So, they’ve had that package for eleven years?” he said, joining Heyes in contemplating the package.
“Seems so. I just can’t imagine who would go to so much trouble to make sure nobody but me sees what’s inside.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” said Curry, reaching over to pick up a paperknife from a pot on the edge of the desk, and offering it to him.
Heyes took the knife and regarded Curry with a ‘here goes’ look before slicing through the seal and the very thick waxed paper the package was wrapped in.
Inside was a large envelope with what felt like a book inside, another large envelope with what appeared to be a wad of paperwork in it, and a third, slimmer envelope.
Ripping open the large envelope revealed a thick, leatherbound book.
On opening the cover, he was shocked to find the book full of newspaper cuttings, obviously collected over a number of years and carefully pasted in place, detailing the robberies he and the Devil’s Hole gang had undertaken, the earliest being dated from early 1876.
“What the…?” gasped Heyes, as he turned the pages.
The cuttings traced virtually their whole ‘career’ as outlaws and even contained articles, from several different newspapers, from the day they’d been granted amnesty, all neatly clipped and lovingly compiled in date order.
“Who on earth collected all of these?” Heyes asked, as he reached the end of the book, “And, more to the point, why?”
“Look in the other envelopes.” suggested Curry, “Maybe there’s a note.”
Heyes picked up the thinnest of the other two envelopes and took out two sheets of paper.
He began to read, silently, the colour beginning to drain from his face as he read the words, while Curry watched, anxiously.
On reaching the end, Heyes tossed the papers aside and snatched up the other envelope, ripping it open and hastily tipping the contents onto the desk. He picked up the first paper, and then the second, and third, a distraught expression on his face.
“What is it?” Curry asked, worriedly, but Heyes ignored him as he feverishly scanned the documents.
On reaching the last one, he dropped them on the desk and putting his elbows on top of them dropped his face into his hands with a groaned “Oh my God.”
Reaching over, Curry picked up the two sheets of paper that Heyes had tossed aside, on which was a handwritten letter, and began to read.
To my darling Heyes (Hannibal)
If you’re reading this it means I’ve passed on to my final reward. But I didn’t want to leave this world without letting you know what you were entitled to know years ago but, for many reasons, I decided it was better that you didn’t.
I hope you remember me - Alice Nicholson - I was your regular girl when you and the Devil’s Hole gang would come into Kaycee to hurrah the town after pulling off some robbery. We had some good times back then, didn’t we? You never knew it but I was in love with you, pretty much from the first time I saw you. I would have liked nothing more than to be your wife, but with you being on the run from the law, and me being a saloon girl, I knew it was impossible.
Well, after the last time I saw you, in the fall of 1878, I discovered I was pregnant, with your child. You’ll probably wonder how I could know for sure it was yours, but the day after you all left town I fell ill and didn’t work for three weeks and I’d already missed my time of the month when I went back, so I knew he was yours. Yes, a son, Jacob William (after my father) Nicholson, born Saturday, May 17th, 1879. I decided not to give him your name, not because I didn’t want to - there’s nothing I would have liked more - but I didn’t want anyone to associate him with an outlaw and whatever trouble that might bring us.
Once he was born I quit the saloon and moved away. I managed to find a respectable job and eventually married a nice man who worked as an executive for the railroad. He took on Jacob as his own and raised him right. We moved around a fair bit with his work but eventually settled in Santa Fe.
Jacob was a wonderful child. Bright and clever and enthusiastic for life. He looked so like you, with his dark eyes and cheeky smile. I would look at him and feel guilty for not having told you, or him, that you were his father. I always kept up with what you were up to, as you can see from the scrapbook enclosed with this letter. When you got amnesty, I toyed with the idea of contacting you, to tell you about him, but decided not to. I didn’t want to hurt my husband, Charles, who had raised him as his own son without ever once asking about his background, and nor did I want to break it to Jacob that his father had been an outlaw. Foolishly I decided that things were best left alone and that what you never knew about you’d never miss, and I put it to the back of my mind.
When Jacob turned eighteen, in 1897, he enlisted in the army. He was so proud to be a soldier. I’m sure you would have been proud too, to see him in his uniform. I certainly was.
Sadly, I have to tell you, his time in the army was short lived. He fought in the battle for San Juan Hill and was one of more than two hundred and fifty men killed, on both sides, that day, July 1st, 1898. We were devastated by the loss. My beautiful boy, taken so young, it was unbearable. My husband, who was several years older than I, succumbed from the grief of it less than a year later. That was when I decided that, upon my death, if you were still alive, you should know the truth, and compiled this package, which I have had sealed, to be hand delivered to you. If you are no longer alive I have instructed for it to be destroyed without ever being opened. I’m so sorry you never got to know your son. To the best of my knowledge you are not married and so don’t have any other children of your own, which grieves me even more that you have not known the joy of parenthood. I kept it from you for honourable reasons but it is my greatest regret that my son never got to meet his wonderful father and you never got to meet your wonderful son. I pray you, and God, will forgive me.
Alice
Curry put down the papers and looked across at Heyes, who was still sitting with his head in his hands, struggling to think of something to say to him.
“Eventually, he said, “I’m sorry, Heyes.” unable to think of anything more meaningful.
Heyes dropped his hands and slumped back in his chair to stare out of the window, shaking his head to himself, his expression anguished as he tried to comprehend what he’d just read. A son! For nearly twenty years his offspring had walked the earth and he’d had no idea. As if that wasn’t difficult enough to fathom, to then know that he had been killed, without ever having a chance to meet him – He had no idea how to begin to process that.
And what of Alice? He did remember her – very well – and had been very fond of her. If he hadn’t been an outlaw and she a saloon girl possibly they might have had a future together, and the fact that she too was now gone, after keeping this secret for more than thirty years, was hard to take. It wasn’t too long after their final meeting that he and Curry had decided to try for amnesty and had left the Devil’s Hole gang and their old haunts behind them. If they’d continued with their outlaw life it was likely he would have seen Alice again and would have found out about the baby. A brief rush of anger washed over him at the knowledge of what going straight had cost him.
“Heyes?” Curry’s voice broke into his thoughts. Dragging his gaze from the window he turned to look at him.
“Are you O.K?” Curry asked, his expression concerned. He too had often had regrets about not finding a woman to settle down with, and perhaps raise a family, although he’d never voiced them out loud. Now, he found himself wondering what he himself would be feeling if he’d just been given the news that Heyes had. Shock, definitely, but what else? Anger, for being misled? Bitterness, at what he’d missed out on? Grief, at losing something he hadn’t even known he had? All of those and probably more.
“I…” Heyes gave a vague shrug. Then, shaking his head, “I can’t believe it…”
“It must be a shock.” Curry acknowledged.
“I… don’t know what to think… what to feel…” Heyes continued.
“You need to take some time to process it.” said Curry, “Come on, let’s go home.”
“But… I have work to do…” Heyes muttered weakly.
“It’ll wait.”
At Heyes’ reproachful look, Curry continued, “Your secretary can cancel your sessions for the next couple of days. We’ll say you’re not feeling well. Come on.” He took Heyes’ arm and encouraged him to his feet, picking up all the papers and the scrapbook and putting them back in the envelopes, tucking them under his arm as he steered Heyes out of the room.
“The Judge isn’t feeling well,” he told the receptionist, “Would you ask his secretary to cancel everything in his calendar for the next couple of days?”
The receptionist nodded, eyeing Heyes anxiously as Curry steered him outside. He’d seemed well enough earlier, she noted. What could be wrong with him?
* * *​
Later, back at the ranch, when the initial shock had worn off, Heyes once again took out all the documents and began to re-read them.
“What are those?” Curry pointed to the wad off official looking papers Heyes had placed on top of the scrapbook.
“His army records and death certificate.” said Heyes, his attention focussed on the letter that Alice had written.
Curry’s mouth formed an O as Heyes put down the letter and picked them up. He began scanning through them but Curry could tell he wasn’t really absorbing the contents, his mind still in a whirl at what he’d learned.
“What are you feeling?” Curry asked presently.
Heyes slapped down the papers and raked a hand through his hair. At sixty there were a touch of grey hair at his temples and the lines on his face deepened, but otherwise he hadn’t changed a great deal. Curry’s hair also bore a few silvery streaks and wasn’t as curly as in his youth, and his skin was darkened by years of working under the sun, but he could still have passed for much younger than his fifty-eight years.
“Do you regret not marrying and having a family of your own?” Heyes asked suddenly, causing Curry’s eyebrows to rise in surprise at the unexpected question.
“Sometimes.” he admitted, “But I’m not unhappy with the way my life has gone.”
Heyes nodded, thoughtfully.
“What about you?” Curry asked.
Heyes sighed. “We’ve turned our lives around real good, been successful in business, and I’m proud of that… But, my biggest regret has been not having had a family of my own to share those successes with… leave a legacy to...”
Curry nodded, sympathetically.
“I mean, I consider you my family.” he added, apologetically, “I think of you as my brother even though we aren’t blood relatives… But,” he sighed, “it’s not the same as having your own flesh and blood family…” He shook his head, “To know that I could have had… did have… a child, a family of my own, and never knew… “he trailed off, unable to find words to express his feelings.
Curry didn’t reply but sat, waiting for him to continue.
“To read that I had a child… for a brief moment I was… overjoyed…” Heyes continued, a few moments later, “To then read that he was gone… without me ever knowing he existed…” He gave a helpless shrug, “It was like… going from the peak of ecstasy straight to a pit of despair…”
“That’s understandable.”
“And Alice… I don’t know how to feel about her… Sad that she’s gone? Angry because she kept this from me?” He sighed, “One part of me can understand her reasons but the rest of me hates her for depriving me of my son.” He shook his head despairingly.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Curry told him now, “Your feelings are perfectly natural. It’s going to take you a while to work through them.
“I guess.” muttered Heyes.
“Want some coffee? Or a whisky?” Curry suggested, but Heyes shook his head.
“I think I’ll turn in.”
Curry nodded. “O.K.” It was only seven o’clock and they hadn’t even had supper, but it was obvious Heyes needed some time to himself, to try and work through his feelings.
Heyes headed for his room and Curry went to the kitchen to get supper. He’d sent Mrs. Roberts home, when they’d arrived back from the courthouse, to give Heyes some privacy to absorb the events of the afternoon, and she had left their food warming in the oven.
After eating and clearing away, he returned to the table where Heyes had left the documents.
Opening the scrapbook he looked through the news cuttings, a smile coming to his face as he remembered some of the robberies detailed. Those early days outlawing had been fun, and very lucrative, until the telegraph system had begun to spread across the country allowing robberies to be reported more quickly, reducing their escape times and increasing their chances of getting captured or killed.
He paused at the news report of their amnesty, his mind going back to that day and their feelings of happiness, and relief, that it was finally over. They would no longer be hounded, no longer have to live like gypsies, afraid to stay in one place for too long in case they were recognized, no longer have to worry about the possibility of spending twenty years in jail, or of being killed.
Below the report was a photograph of himself, Heyes and Lom, standing on the steps of the Cheyenne courthouse, dressed in their Sunday best, grinning broadly. The first ‘official’ photograph that had ever been taken of them, shortly before they’d headed to the nearest saloon to celebrate their freedom. That had been a very good day, one it had taken them several more days to recover from.
With a sigh he closed the book and picked up the envelope that contained Jacob’s army paperwork, taking out the documents and looking through them. They detailed his enlistment and the regiment he’d been detailed to, along with various other papers listing medical examinations and any illnesses and other relevant notes regarding various missions and sorties, ending with a report on his final mission, at San Juan Hill, and a copy of his death certificate.
Curry sat for a long time, looking at the papers, trying to imagine what it must have been like to be in that battle, and trying to imagine how he would feel, learning all this, if Jacob had been his son. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, and he wondered how Heyes would deal with it all. Knowing him as well as he did, he guessed he would try and compartmentalise it, as he’d done when their families had been killed all those years ago, and carry on as normal. But burying his feelings about the death of his family had scarred him, emotionally, although he would never admit it and probably wasn’t even aware of it himself. Only Curry knew the changes it had wrought in his personality, the rage and the darkness it had left deep within him. The last thing he needed was to compound that with more feelings of grief, anger and bitterness.
Putting the papers back in the envelopes, he headed to bed, wondering how to help Heyes come to terms with what he’d learned.
​​
* * *
Curry was at the table eating breakfast, the next morning, when Heyes came into the room dressed in his formal suit.
He eyed him as, with a muttered “Morning”, he crossed to the stove to pour coffee from a pot that Curry had earlier made. He looked tired, presumably from a disturbed night.
“You’re going in to work?” Curry asked, his tone slightly dismayed.
Heyes nodded.
“But I asked them to clear your calendar for a day or two, so you could take some time out.”
“I have a lot of work to get through.” replied Heyes.
“I don’t think you’re in the right frame of mind to work.” Curry told him.
“I’m fine.”
Curry gave him a withering look. “No you’re not. How can you be, after what you’ve just learned?”
Heyes closed his eyes and gave a deep sigh.
“It was a shock, I’ll admit.” he said presently, “But, it’s not like either of them are still alive, that I can make contact with them or anything. It’s history, and has been for years. What’s the point in brooding on something I can’t change?”
But Curry knew that brooding on it was exactly what Heyes would do, despite his protestations. It was what he’d done as a child, after their families murders, refusing to talk about it, putting on a positive front for Curry’s benefit and making out he was fine while all the time his anger and resentment burned away inside him, changing the young, happy-go-lucky child into a moody and cynical teenager prone to violent outbursts. As he’d grown up he’d learned how to hide and control that side of him, and publicly display a charming and upbeat persona, but that darkness was still there, nearly fifty years later.
He sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to talk him out of going into work.
After Heyes had left for the courthouse, Curry headed out to see to the horses but his thoughts were occupied with Heyes’ earlier comments. “It’s history, and has been for years. What’s the point in brooding on something I can’t change? It was true he couldn’t change what had happened but he needed to be able to acknowledge and accept it, and grieve the loss, and just maybe there was a way that Curry could help him do that.
Going back into the house, he picked up the telephone to make a call.
​* * *
At the courthouse, the staff, and Heyes’ secretary, were all surprised to see him.
“I thought you were unwell, and wouldn’t be coming in for the rest of this week?” his secretary, Emily, commented, as she brought him a cup of coffee, “Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you.” said Heyes, drawing a doubtful look from Emily as she took in his drawn look and the dark shadows under his eyes.
He began to dictate letters to her but found his attention constantly wandering back to Alice’s letter.
A cough brought him back from a reverie to see Emily, pencil poised in hand, looking at him expectantly.
“Sorry… where was I?”
Emily glanced at her notepad “…and therefore I recommend…”
“Right.” Heyes continued dictation, only to trail off again a few moments later as his thoughts returned to Alice and Jacob.
“Would you prefer to do this later?” Emily’s voice brought him back to the present.
“Pardon?”
“Forgive me for saying, but your mind seems elsewhere this morning. Would you prefer to do this later? I have enough work to be going on with for now, if so.”
“Yes. I think that’s a good idea.”
Emily closed her notepad and got to her feet.
“Perhaps you should consider going home.” she told him, “I cleared your calendar until Monday and we can handle things until then. If anything important comes up, we can call you there.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” muttered Heyes.
Emily returned to her office and Heyes cleared his desk before leaving the building, but instead of returning home he headed across the street to the nearest saloon, where he downed several whiskies in an attempt to numb the feelings raging inside him.
When he arrived back at the ranch, later that afternoon, he was more than a little drunk, and tired after a mostly sleepless night the previous night.
Curry was nowhere around when he entered the house, and Mrs. Roberts had left for the evening after preparing their evening meal. Crossing, somewhat unsteadily, to the table he sat down. Folding his arms on the tabletop he laid his head on them, intending to rest just for a few moments before putting on a pot of coffee in preparation for Curry’s return from working with the horses. But, in moments, he was fast asleep.
He was still in the same position when Curry returned, half an hour later, stopping in surprise as he walked into the room and saw him there.
“Heyes?” Curry crossed to the table, the smell of alcohol reaching Curry’s nostrils from a yard away.
Leaving him to sleep a while longer, Curry headed to the stove and put on a pot of coffee.
Once it was made he poured a cup and carried it over to the table, bending to shake Heyes awake.
“Heyes?” he called, as he placed the cup on the table, “Heyes, wake up.”
“Mmm?” Heyes opened his eyes and looked around him, groggily.
“Here. Coffee.” Curry pushed the cup towards him.
Heyes sat up and raked his hands through his hair. “Must’ve dropped off.” he muttered.
“With the help of half a bottle of whisky by the looks of things,” said Curry, “I thought you were going to work?”
“I did.” said Heyes, as he sipped the coffee.
At Curry’s reproachful look, he continued, “I did go in to work, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate… Emily suggested I should go home… Said she’d cleared my calendar until Monday and they could manage without me.”
“But…?” Curry raised a questioning eyebrow.
Heyes shrugged. “I decided to go to the saloon for a drink… to clear my head…”
“Looks like that worked real well.” Curry said, sarcastically.
Heyes made no comment.
“You want some supper?” Curry enquired.
Heyes shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat, Heyes. You missed supper last night and I’m guessing you haven’t had anything today either.”
“I’m alright.” said Heyes, getting to his feet, “I’m tired. I’m gonna turn in.”
Curry watched as he headed to the bedroom. He just hoped the plan he’d set in motion would help Heyes come to terms with things.
​* * *
Heyes stayed at home for the remainder of the week but was quiet and introverted. Curry tried to shorten his working day so that he could spend more time with him but Heyes barely noticed as he moped around the house, spending long hours sitting staring vacantly out of the window.
By Monday, he was at least communicating again, although was still far from his usual animated self, and he headed back to work which allowed him to focus on something other than Alice and Jacob, at least during the daytime. Outside of work he was still subdued but insisted he was “Fine” whenever Curry tried to talk to him about it.
Curry was relieved, therefore, when, three weeks later, the details of his plan to help Heyes process his grief were finalised. He knew Heyes would be less than pleased when he found out what he’d arranged and might even refuse to participate, and so had decided on a convenient ruse to hopefully lure him into compliance. He felt a bit guilty for what he was going to do but it was in Heyes’ best interests even if he didn’t know it.
On Friday evening when Heyes returned from the courthouse, Curry initiated his plan, as they ate supper.
“I’ve organised a trip for next week,” he told him, “We’re going to Lom’s.”
“I have to work…” Heyes began, but Curry spoke over him.
“No, you don’t. I already spoke with your secretary – in secret- and arranged for her to rearrange your calendar to give you next week off. It’s Lom’s birthday and we’re going to go and celebrate it with him.”
“But…”
“No buts. We haven’t visited Lom in years and you haven’t taken a vacation in even longer.”
“Neither have you.” Heyes pointed out.
Curry nodded. “All the more reason for us to take a few days out and visit an old friend on his birthday. It’ll do us both good to have a break. I’ve arranged for Jimmy to look after the horses while we’re gone.” Jimmy was a young lad who helped Curry out with feeding and caring for the stock.
Heyes eyed him, petulantly, for a moment before giving a small nod.
“Alright. I guess we are overdue for a visit.”
Curry smiled. Stage one complete.
On Monday morning Heyes and Curry arrived at the train station in preparation for their trip.
“You wait here, I’ll go get the tickets.” said Curry, disappearing to the ticket office to return a few moments later just as a train pulled into the station.
“Come on.” Curry took his arm and steered him towards the train.
“I got a couple of newspapers.” said Curry, once they’d seated themselves on the train, “Here.” He offered Heyes one of them and then unfolded the other and pretended to read it.
Heyes habitually read the daily newspaper from cover to cover and Curry knew, once he’d been given one, that it would keep his attention for some time. Long enough for his purposes anyway.
The train pulled out and, as Curry had predicted, Heyes was absorbed in the paper. He smiled to himself as he hid behind his own.
It was some considerable time later when Heyes suddenly said. “This isn’t the train for Wyoming.”
Curry lowered his newspaper and adopted his best poker face. “No. It isn’t.”
Heyes looked at him in confusion, trying to work out what was going on.
“So where the hell are we going?” he demanded, some moments later.
“We’re going to New Mexico.”
“New Mexico? What the hell for?” Heyes asked, angrily.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
Heyes’ eyes narrowed. “Tell me, or I’m getting off this train right now.”
“You’ll have a job. It doesn’t stop for a couple of hours at least.”
Heyes glared at him. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you if you promised to calm down.”
“You make it sound like it’s something I’m not gonna like.”
“Probably not. But it’s what you need.”
“Need?”
“Closure.”
Heyes just stared at him.
“With Lom’s help, we’ve managed to find out when Alice died, and where she’s buried.”
Heyes glared at him, furious that Curry had told Lom about Alice and Jacob without his permission.
“She’s buried in Rosario Cemetery in Santa Fe and that’s where we’re going, so you can pay your respects.”
“What if I don’t want to pay my respects?” growled Heyes, “She kept my son’s existence from me all these years. Why would I want to pay respect to someone who did that?”
“Because you were fond of her. Because she was the mother of your child. Because she did what she thought was right by him. You have to respect her for that, whether you agree with what she did or not. She acted in what she believed were his best interests, as any good parent should. You were an outlaw, on the run. It was possible you would go to jail for twenty years, or get killed, in which case you wouldn’t have been around for Jacob anyway. She wanted to protect him, from getting to know you, and loving you, only to maybe lose you. In her eyes, it was better he never knew you than to have to lose you.”
Heyes fell quiet then, as he contemplated Curry’s words. He had a point, he had to admit. He’d been thinking about it purely from his own viewpoint in terms of what he’d missed out on, because of her actions, and what he’d lost. But, if he’d been in her shoes, would he have done the same thing? It was definitely food for thought.
The journey was long and tiring and despite napping on the train both were exhausted when they arrived in Santa Fe late that night.
They left the train and headed for the first hotel they could find, and booked a room.
The following morning, after breakfast in the hotel’s dining room, Curry headed to the livery and hired a carriage for the two-mile journey to the cemetery.
As they set off, Heyes seemed in sombre mood. He hadn’t responded to Curry’s comments, the previous day, about Alice’s reasons why she’d kept Jacob’s existence a secret, but Curry knew his words had given him pause for thought. He just hoped they had tempered his anger enough that he could pay genuine respect to her at the gravesite.
They arrived at the cemetery thirty minutes later. Curry had been given a rough plan of the layout and where Alice’s grave was. She had been buried alongside the man she had married, whose name was Charles Farnell.
With the plan in his hand, Curry steered the horse in what he hoped was the right direction and, several minutes later, they pulled up alongside a fairly ornate headstone. Obviously Charles Farnell had done alright for himself, working for the railroad, and had been able to afford the best for himself and his wife.
Curry and Heyes climbed down and stood in front of the headstone.
“With the information in the documents Alice left you, Lom was able to find out her married name, when she died and where she was buried.” Curry told him. “As you can see, she died six months ago, in April, from pneumonia apparently.”
Heyes looked at the headstone which read:
Here lies
Charles Farnell
Died June 20th 1899
Aged 59 yrs
Also
Alice Farnell
Beloved wife
Died April 15th 1910
Aged 56 yrs
Reunited.
After a few moments, Heyes said, “Can you give me a few minutes alone?”
“Sure.”
Curry walked some distance down the path and sat down on a patch of grass.
Heyes stood looking at the headstone for several minutes, his emotions in a whirl. Alice had been a few years younger than him, so it was hard to think of her gone when he was still here.
He pictured her in his mind, her brunette hair pinned up on her head, her striking green eyes sparkling as she'd looked at him, her cute, turned up nose and her infectious giggle. She had been a lovely girl and had they met under different circumstances perhaps she might one day have been his wife.
“Alice, if you can hear me, it’s me, Heyes.” he whispered, presently, “I got your package. I confess I was furious, at first, at what you did…” He sighed, “But I guess you did it in Jacob’s best interests and I can’t hold that against you… I wish you’d told me, but I can understand why you didn’t… I’m glad Charles took care of you both. Hopefully you’re all together again now… Maybe I’ll see you there one day…” he broke off as his voice caught, before saying, “So long… rest in peace.”
He stood there for a few more minutes, lost in thought, before turning away and climbing back up onto the carriage.
Getting to his feet, Curry walked back and climbed up alongside him, turning to look at him.
“Are you O.K?” he asked.
Heyes nodded, his gaze fixed in the distance.
“Does coming here help to put things to rest?”
Heyes sighed. “I guess so… I told her that I wished she’d told me, but that I didn’t hold it against her.”
Curry nodded, glad that this first part of this trip had gone to plan. Now for the next part.
“You know I told you Lom helped find Alice’s name and where she was buried?" he said now, drawing a vague nod from Heyes, “Well, he also managed to find out where Jacob’s buried.”
Heyes’ eyes snapped onto his face. “He did?” he gasped.
Curry nodded. “Charles arranged for his body to be brought back home. He’s buried here in Santa Fe too, at the National Cemetery up the road.”
Heyes’ jaw fell open.
“Do you want to go and see?”
Heyes nodded, too stunned to speak. He had assumed, given where he’d died, that Jacob’s body would probably have been buried in a mass grave somewhere. To know that he had been brought home and given a proper burial generated intense feelings of both grief and joy at the same time. Grief for his loss but joy that his body had not been lost and was somewhere he could go to visit.
Curry turned the carriage around and they headed back out of the Rosario cemetery and on to the National Cemetery a mile further up the road.
Again, Curry had been given a plot number and the general location of the grave and after ten minutes he found the spot.
Heyes looked down at the marker and then back at Curry, his throat so tight he couldn’t speak.
Curry put his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly, and nodded for him to climb down and approach.
Heyes climbed down and turned to look at the simple marker that read:
Jacob William Nicholson
6th Infantry
May 17 1879 – July 1 1898
He stood there, silently, for several minutes, while Curry watched from the carriage. Then, going down on one knee he pressed his hand to the grass in front of the marker, overwhelmed that the son he had never known was here beneath his feet. So close, and yet untouchable.
Tears misted his eyes at the thought, wishing once again that he’d known of his existence. Would he have tried to discourage him from enlisting in the army, he wondered? Probably. But if he was anything like his father he wouldn’t have taken any notice and gone his own way. Had his mother tried to discourage him? There was no way to know, but given her remarks in her letter about being proud to see him in his uniform, she probably hadn’t. But, if he hadn’t enlisted he might still be alive today and they might eventually have found each other. A wave of anger washed over him once more, for what Alice’s decision had cost him.
“Hello, son.” he whispered, softly, “I’m sorry I wasn’t around when you were growing up, but I didn’t know about you. If I had, I would have been there for you. Always…” He broke off, choked by his emotions, before sucking in a breath and adding, “Please forgive me…” bowing his head and shaking it to himself despairingly.
Curry dismounted from the carriage now, and walked around to stand at Heyes’ side. There was one more thing left for him to do. He was nervous, because he knew it would be highly emotive for Heyes, but he also felt this was the right moment for it, in order to bring everything together and, hopefully, give Heyes a focal point from where he could begin to process his grief and move forward.
Becoming aware of Curry’s presence, Heyes stood up, and said, “Nineteen. It’s no age, is it? Too young to die like that…”
“Yeah.” muttered Curry.
“Thank you…” Heyes continued presently, “for organising this… When you said where we were going, I didn’t want to… I was too angry with Alice, for not telling me about Jacob… But, what you said, you know, about her reasons, made me look at it from her point of view…” He sighed, “I’m glad I paid my respects to her… and to be able to come here is just…” He trailed off, with a shake of his head, his gaze returning to the grave marker, whatever he’d been about to say forgotten.
“Heyes,” Curry put a hand on his shoulder, “I have one more thing to show you.”
Heyes shifted moist eyes from the grave marker to look at Curry, his expression a mixture of puzzlement and anguish.
“When Lom was checking out the army records, he managed to find a copy of a photograph of Jacob, when he joined his regiment.”
Heyes sucked in a breath. “A… photograph…?” he whispered.
Curry nodded. Reaching inside his jacket he drew out a small envelope and held it out to him.
Heyes eyed the envelope apprehensively before reaching out a trembling hand to take it from him, holding it in his hands for several moments, seeming almost afraid to look inside.
Finally, he turned the envelope over and opened it, to pull out the photograph, staring in shock at the image of the young man standing proudly in his uniform with his rifle on his shoulder and a half-smile on his face. It was almost like looking at an image of himself – the same dark eyes and hair, the half-smile on his face reminiscent of his own father.
Reaching out his index finger he tenderly stroked the face, so like his own at that age, and was hit by a wave of love for the child he’d never known, and of grief for his loss.
The strength seemed to drain from his body and he staggered and would have fallen to the ground but for Curry reaching out to grab hold of him and support him.
Then came the tears, hot on his cheeks. Leaning into Curry he buried his face in his shoulder as his body shook with gut wrenching sobs.
Curry brought his arms up around him, holding him close as he grieved, not only for the son he’d never had the chance to get to know but for the loss of his family all those years ago, feeling almost like they’d come full circle as he remembered Heyes holding him in his arms as he’d sobbed over the death of their families on that fateful day.
He didn’t know how long they stood there before Heyes finally pulled away from him, wiping his face on his sleeve.
“I’m sorry…” he muttered, embarrassed by his behaviour.
Curry put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly, “Don’t be. It was long overdue.” he told him. Nearly fifty years overdue, to be precise.
Heyes made no comment as he looked once more at Jacob’s photograph.
Curry waited, patiently, for him to collect himself.
“Thank you for this.” Heyes said, several minutes later, his voice breaking, “To be able to see him… see what he looked like… makes it… real…” He shook his head, “My son.” he muttered, gazing lovingly at the photograph.
“Lom found it, not me.” said Curry, “I just put the wheels in motion. He asked me to give you his condolences. He – we – hope it will help you find closure.”
Heyes nodded, thoughtfully.
“I’d like some time on my own,” he said, presently, “Do you mind?”
Curry shook his head. “Take all the time you need.”
He headed off to look around some of the other graves, leaving Heyes to his thoughts. He saw him sit down, cross legged, on the grass, in front of Jacob’s marker, his gaze on the photograph which he held tightly with both hands.
After half an hour, he got to his feet, and Curry headed back towards him.
“Are you alright?” he asked, anxiously.
Heyes nodded. He looked calmer, and seemed more at peace than at any time since receiving Alice’s package.
“Ready to go then?”
Heyes nodded again.
Curry turned to walk to the carriage while Heyes turned back to the grave once more. Going down on one knee he once again placed his hand on the grass and said, “I love you, son, and I hope I’ll get to see you when my time comes. Rest in peace.”
He joined Curry on the carriage and they headed out of the cemetery.
They rode in silence for some time, each alone with their thoughts.
Although Heyes hadn’t wanted to come here, he was glad now that he had.
He had regretted never marrying and having a family of his own, and to know that such a family had been there for the taking, had he only known about it, while upsetting was also kind of bittersweet. He hadn’t known Jacob, but he had existed and that was enough. Being his father was something that could never be taken away from him and, if the afterlife did exist, hopefully he would meet him there. The thought comforted him and gave him something to hope for.
“Kid,” he said, some time later.
“Yeah?”
“You know when we left Denver, you told me we were going to visit Lom…”
“Yeah.”
“I think that’s a good idea. Let’s go.”
“Now?” Curry’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Well, I didn’t mean this minute… How about tomorrow?”
“Sure. If you want to.”
Heyes nodded. “It’s been a while. He was a good friend to us. We should visit him more often than we have done. He’s a bit long in the tooth now, for travelling, so we should make more of an effort to go to him.”
“You’re right. We’ve both been so involved with our work, everything else kind of took a back seat.” agreed Curry.
“Yes, but now we’ve both established ourselves. What’s the point in being successful if you can’t take time out, to relax, to connect with friends, to appreciate life?”
“You make a good point.” said Curry. It was true that they’d been so focussed on making good on their amnesty, to live good, honest lives, have careers and be financially stable, that they’d both become slaves to it, at the expense of living and enjoying life.
Heyes nodded. “After all, we aint getting any younger.” He smiled, for the first time in weeks, “When we get back to Denver, I might even retire…” he said, drawing a raised eyebrow from Curry.
“…or at least cut back, to maybe just a day or two.” he finished, the thought coming to his mind that more free time would allow him to make further trips to Santa Fe to visit Jacob’s grave and perhaps find out more about his life growing up there, maybe trace some of his friends and talk to them about him.
“Good idea.” Curry acknowledged.
“What about you?” Heyes questioned.
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of time to think about retirement, with being that much younger than you.” Curry smirked.
Heyes gave him a withering look and Curry laughed.
“Let’s go get some supper and we’ll head to Porterville in the morning.”
Heyes smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”
Curry eyed him, pleased to see the improvement in his mood. It would take some time for him to come to terms with what he’d discovered – and lost - and no doubt it would overtake him from time to time, but today he’d taken the first step in the grieving process and Curry would be by his side to support him through the rest of it, just as he knew Heyes would do for him. Whatever life threw at them, they would handle, together.
--oo00o--
