Full Circle

 

 

- 5 -

 

As Heyes and Curry got ready for the burial the following morning the atmosphere between them was tense. Both were on edge as they struggled with their emotions, wanting, needing, to reach out to the other for comfort and support but frustrations and resentments, on both sides, over the events of the past six days, preventing them from doing so.

 

By the time they left for the undertakers at 10.30am they had barely exchanged a dozen words between them.

 

Dressed in their Sunday best – a brown suit for Heyes, with a black bow tie, and a grey suit for Curry, with a dark grey bow tie - they walked the short distance from the hotel to the undertaker’s office in a sombre silence. Outside, a carriage was waiting to transport Veronica and Jack’s bodies to the cemetery. Flowers had been placed inside it, sent by friends and other townsfolk who knew her and Jack.

 

Heyes paused to look at the flowers while Curry went on into the undertaker’s office without casting a glance at them.  Heyes knew it was because if he stopped to look he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together, but, after people had taken the trouble to send them, he felt it only right that he should take the trouble to look.  He spent a few minutes admiring the flowers and reading the various messages attached to them, his heart breaking afresh as he read some of the poignant words that people had written, before turning away and going inside the undertaker’s office, blinking back tears and struggling to swallow down the lump that had risen in his throat.

 

As he stepped inside, Curry was standing at the foot of Jack’s coffin, which was laid on a trestle near the door, his hands clasped in front of him, head bowed as though in prayer, silent tears sliding down his cheeks.

 

Heyes felt a stab of pain for his loss but, as he moved past him and saw Veronica’s coffin laid out at the side of Jack’s, Curry was forgotten as he stood looking down at it, picturing her body inside, grief bubbling up inside him. Gritting his teeth he forced back his emotions, wanting to retain some semblance of dignity for the ceremony.

 

After a few moments the undertaker approached them.

 

“Are you ready, gentlemen?” he enquired gently.

 

Heyes nodded, too choked to speak.

​

They stood aside, to allow the coffins to be carried outside and placed inside the flower decked carriage, before climbing onto a wagon that had been provided for them to travel out to the cemetery.

​

Neither spoke as they followed the carriage, both feeling totally alone despite their close proximity, their eyes fixed on the coffins, their hearts full of grief.  Although seated only inches apart, emotionally a huge gulf had somehow opened up between them that neither had any idea how to bridge.

 

The carriage entered the cemetery and drove down to a freshly dug grave under the shade of a pretty tree with delicate pinkish-red blossom. A crowd of people stood by, awaiting their arrival, amongst them the Sheriff, Patrick Sweeney and several members of the party who had gone out to investigate the ambush, as well as Veronica’s neighbour, Jenny Hamilton, and her husband.

 

Heyes and Curry climbed down off the wagon and stood silently watching the coffins being lifted out of the carriage and placed by the graveside. 

 

The preacher moved forward and began to speak.

 

“I am the resurrection and the life,' saith the Lord; 'he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die'. We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the Name of the Lord.”

 

A few muttered Amens rippled through the assembled crowd as Heyes and Curry moved to stand in front of the other mourners at the foot of the open grave.  Curry's head was bowed, silent tears once more sliding from his eyes, while Heyes stared straight ahead, his teeth gritted and his face set like a stone carving as he fought to contain his emotions.

 

The preacher opened his bible and began to read the the twenty third psalm, after which he spoke about Veronica’s life - in as  much as he had been able to gleen from those who had known her - and about Jack, and about their tragic demise at a time when she had just found happiness with her new fiance, Thaddeus, but Heyes and Curry barely took in any of what he said, each lost in their own thoughts and memories.

 

Then the coffins were lowered into the grave.  Veronica’s first, and then Jack’s on top, as the vicar made the sign of the cross over them, uttering the words, "We therefore commit their bodies to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life…”

 

With the lowering of Veronica’s coffin into the grave, so also went the façade of composure that Heyes had managed to maintain for the past forty eight hours since her death.  As it disappeared from view he was no longer able to contain his grief, sinking to his knees, one arm outstretched as though in a last attempt to make contact with it, before dropping his face into his hands, shaking his head in despair, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

 

Curry was only vaguely aware of Heyes’ distress as he watched Jack’s tiny coffin being placed on top of his Mother’s, his silent tears turning into choking sobs.

 

The undertaker then whispered to Curry, offering him a platter on which was piled a few handfuls of earth from the grave.

 

Curry picked up a handful of earth and tossed it down onto Jack’s coffin before turning away with a choked sob, unable to bear the sight any more. 

 

The undertaker then moved to Heyes’ side, bending to offer him the platter of earth as he spoke softly to him.

 

Heyes picked up a handful of earth and tossed it down onto Veronica’s coffin, before dropping his face into his hands once more as the undertaker moved to offer the platter to the other mourners.

 

For once in his life, Curry felt completely at a loss. Not since the murder of his family had he felt so alone.  Whenever he’d needed someone it was always Heyes that had been there for him. But, as he turned towards him now, his feelings were confused. He couldn’t ever recall seeing Heyes so distraught; even when their families had been murdered Heyes had hidden his tears, so as not to upset him further, and comforted him in his grief, and seeing him now, on his knees on the ground, sobbing into his hands, tore at his heart and filled him with concern and a desire to comfort him. But, at the same time, a huge wave of rage rose up in him at the sight. Veronica wasn’t Heyes’ flesh and blood, what right did he have to make out his loss was as severe as Curry, who had lost his only son?  There was no comparison in his eyes, especially since, in his opinion, what had happened was mostly Heyes’ fault and, as he looked at him now, an irrational anger rose up in him at what he felt was an unjustified display of grief on Heyes’ part.

 

A hand on his arm drew his attention.  Turning, he saw Veronica’s friend Jenny Hamilton at his side.

 

“I didn’t realise you and your friend were so close to Veronica.” she said quietly,  “I’m so sorry.”

 

Curry  nodded, too choked to reply.

 

Others came over to speak to him, offering their condolences, but he was barely aware of them as he stood a short distance away, waiting, for what he wasn’t sure.  He had no idea where to go, or what to do next.

 

At the graveside, Heyes, still on his knees, felt a hand on his shoulder, and a voice in his ear said, “Come along, son.”

 

Lifting his head, Heyes saw Patrick Sweeney bending over him.

 

“Come along.” Sweeney repeated, in his gentle brogue.

 

Heyes shook his head, opening his mouth to speak but unable to voice any words.

 

“It’s alright, son.” said Sweeney, looking into Heyes’ anguished, tear filled eyes, “They’re at peace now.  You’ve said your goodbyes, it’s time to leave now.”

 

Heyes said nothing, but allowed himself to be helped to his feet and shephered across to Sweeny's wagon, barely aware of the muttered condolences of the assembled mourners, his mind full of the image of Veronica’s body lying in that coffin down in the ground. As they reached the wagon, Heyes paused, turning to look at Curry, a few yards away, who was watching the grave diggers with anguished eyes as they began to shovel the earth back into the grave, while the other mourners slowly dispersed.

 

“Thaddeus…?” Heyes called, hoarsely.

 

Curry turned his head to look at him.

 

Heyes inclined his head towards the wagon in a silent question for him to come with them.

 

Curry eyed him, momentarily, with an expression almost of disdain, before shaking his head and returning his gaze to the gravediggers.  Heyes knew he wanted to stay and watch them put up the grave marker, but he couldn’t face seeing that and so he climbed up onto the wagon and allowed Patrick Sweeney to drive him back to town.

 

“It’s been a difficult day for you and your friend.” Sweeney said presently.

 

Heyes nodded, wiping tears off his face with the back of his hand.

 

“You could use a drink, I’m sure?” said Sweeney.

 

“Yes.” Heyes replied hoarsely.

 

Rather than go to the saloon, Sweeney, sensing that  Mr. Smith needed time for quiet contemplation, drove him to his home, a small farm on the outskirts of San Elizario.  It had once been fairly profitable, giving him a decent living, but in recent years he had barely managed to make enough from it to survive.

 

Heyes hadn’t been paying much attention to where they were going, his mind elsewhere, and he looked around in confusion when the wagon finally came to a halt.

 

“This is my house.” Sweeney told him, “I thought you might prefer a little privacy rather than be gawped at in the saloon.”

 

“Thank you.” Heyes said quietly.

 

Sweeney got down from the wagon and Heyes followed suit, following him into the small house.

 

“Please, sit down.” Sweeney waved him through to a small room at the front of the house.

 

Heyes went into the room and sat down in one of two well worn, but comfortable, armchairs placed either side of a large fireplace.

 

Pouring two large glasses of scotch, Sweeney handed one to Heyes and then moved to sit down in the other chair.

 

Heyes accepted the glass, staring pensively into the gold coloured liquid.

 

“I travelled a lot after my family died.” Sweeney told him,  “My son would have been about your age now, I guess.” he added, glancing across at Heyes, “In fact, you remind me a lot of him.” he said thoughtfully. As a child, his son had had the same kind of luminescent brown eyes and floppy brown hair and that had drawn him to Mr. Smith when he’d come upon him at the ambush site.  “Eventually I ended up here, in San Elizario.” he continued presently,  “It was a prosperous little place then and I decided to stay here and bought this farm.  Made a decent income from it in the early years, but not so much these days. The salt war, back in ’77, took a lot of the population away from here, and then the railroad bypassed here four or five years ago and more of the population left, to go to El Paso and other places, but those that are left are pretty decent folks.”

 

Heyes nodded, “Everyone here has been very kind to us…” he muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

 

“What do you and your friend plan to do next?” Sweeney asked presently.

 

Heyes gave a deep sigh, and shook his head, “I don’t know.” he said quietly, his tone beleaguered.

 

Sweeney nodded, understanding their feelings of helplessness in the face of their loss.

 

“How old were you when your family was killed?” Sweeney asked presently.

 

“Nine.” said Heyes, “And Thaddeus was seven.”

 

“You grew up together?”

 

Heyes nodded, explaining how their families had lived on neighbouring farms and how they had been friends pretty much right from when they’d first learned to walk and talk.

 

“Since our families were killed, we’ve travelled a lot.” Heyes told him,  “We take work where we can find it.”

 

“Mrs. Browning was Thaddeus’ fiance, wasn’t she?” Sweeney asked presently,  “I don’t recall seeing either of you in town before, how did they come to be engaged?  From what you said the other day, I had the impression that it was you and she that were engaged.”

 

Heyes thought for a moment, realising he was gettting into dangrous territory and trying to think of a suitable explanation that wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

 

“We actually met Veronica a few years ago, after her busband’s death.” he said presently,  “To be truthful, we both fell for her and it caused a falling out between us, so we all parted company.  But we ran into her again recently, and found out that she’d had a child. It was fairly obvious who his father was once we saw him and so Thaddeus wanted to do the right thing and marry her.  Although the child is his, because they weren’t married yet, and because she had led everyone to believe that her late husband was Jack’s father, Thaddeus decided it would  be better for things to remain that way and have them buried under her late husband’s name rather than cause a scandal, you understand?” he eyed Sweeney anxiously, hoping he wouldn’t ask any more awkward questions about their relationship. Although he disapproved of the way Curry had gone about organising for Veronica and Jack to be buried under his name, he didn’t want to cause him any trouble over it, "She called herself Browning, but she assumed that name, after she moved here, to minimize the risk of people she knew back in El Paso finding out about her illegitimate child.  Her married name was Curry." he added, hoarsely, in an attempt to explain away the different name on the grave marker.

​

Sweeney nodded thoughtfully.

 

“I hope we can trust you not to divulge that information, Mr. Sweeney?" Heyes continued, “It’s bad enough to lose Veronica and Jack like this,” his voice faltered,  “but to have her memory tarnished by knowledge of her… indiscretions… would be tragic.  Be assured, we both loved her, and Jack, very much…” he broke off, as a sob caught in his throat, covering his face with his hand.

 

“You can trust me, Mr. Smith. I have no interest in gossiping to the townsfolk.”

 

“Thank you.” croaked Heyes, drawing in a trembling breath.  Presently he said,  “I don’t know how we’re going to move on from this.”

 

“It won’t be easy, admittedly.” said Sweeney,  “I was very bitter, for a lot of years, after my family were killed.  But you and your friend obviously have a deep bond between you. Just give yourselves time, and space, to grieve.”

 

Heyes nodded, pensively.

 

Sweeney poured them another drink and they sat talking, Sweeney distracting Heyes from his grief with stories about the history of the town, including a local legend concerning the town’s jail.

 

“They say that Billy the Kid was the only man to ever break into the jail house here, to free a friend of his that he thought  was mistakenly imprisoned.” he told him.

 

“I have heard that claim made by other towns too.” said Heyes.

 

Sweeney smiled,  “So have I.  I guess they all like to add a bit of colour to their history.”

 

Heyes stayed at Sweeney’s house until mid afternoon, glad of the company and the distraction from the emotional anguish of the last few days.  But, finally, he decided he should head back to town, even though he wasn’t looking forward to having to face Curry.

 

“I’ll give you a ride.” said Sweeney, getting to his feet.

 

“I can walk, there’s no need.” Heyes began to protest, but Sweeney cut him off.

 

“It’s quite a walk from here, and I often go into town, to the saloon, in the evenings, for some company, so its no problem.”

 

“Very well.”

 

Leaving the house, they climbed back up on the wagon and headed back into town.

 

“Thank you. You’ve been a great help this past couple of days.” Heyes told him as he climbed down off the wagon outside the hotel.

 

“If there’s anything you need, you know where to find me.” Sweeney told him.

 

“You’ve done more than enough already.” Heyes told him, “But thank you anyway.” 

 

Sweeney pulled away and Heyes turned towards the hotel, taking a deep breath as he went inside.

 

In a reversal of the previous evening, Curry was seated in the armchair, staring vacantly out of the window as Heyes entered the room

 

“Where’ve you been?” he muttered, as Heyes closed the door, his tone accusing, resentful at Heyes going off and leaving him alone at the cemetery.

 

Heyes opened his mouth and then closed it again, not sure what to say, lifting his shoulders in a shrug.

 

“You should have stayed til they’d put up the marker.” Curry told him.

 

Heyes shook his head, “I couldn’t.”

 

Curry gave a faint snort.

 

“Kid…”

 

“You should be ashamed, the way you behaved today.” Curry spoke over him.

 

Heyes’ eyebrows rose in confusion, “I don’t know what you mean…”

 

“The way you were carrying on this morning… Veronica was nothing to you.  Jack was my flesh and blood…”

 

Heyes looked stunned, “Are you saying that, because Veronica wasn’t my blood kin, I’m not allowed to feel as upset as you?” he asked incredulously.

 

Curry’s silence confirmed his answer.

 

Heyes shook his head, at a loss for words.

 

“Jack was your kin, yes, but just because Veronica wasn’t mine doesn’t mean I care any less. ” he said presently.

 

Curry grunted, “Oh, sure!” he said sarcastically,  “You cared so much about her you dropped her because you couldn’t handle the idea that she liked me too.”

 

“That’s not fair, Kid.  You know how hard it was for me to do that.”

 

“In fact,” Curry continued bitterly, ignoring his words,  “all of this is your fault. If you hadn’t got on your high horse and made such a big deal over me asking her to marry me we wouldn’t have been arguing about it and she would never have overheard us and run away.”

 

“Do you think I don’t know that?” snapped Heyes, his voice trembling with emotion, “But I’m not the only one at fault here.  If you’d listened to me in the first place, about just sending her money towards Jack’s keep rather than staying here and marrying her, we would have just left town, like we planned, and none of this would have happened.”

 

“Don’t try and turn it back on me.” Curry retaliated, “You gave her up, and gave me your blessing to see her.  If you loved her as much as you say you wouldn’t have done that. And then, when we found out about Jack, you wanted us both to leave and have me just send them money. You didn’t care about her then, or Jack, or me…” he shook his head disgustedly,  “and then you have the nerve to stand there, this morning, acting like you’re broken hearted.”

 

“It’s not an act.” choked Heyes, “I loved Veronica… like I’ve never loved any woman... I would have given her anything and everything, and it broke my heart that she didn’t feel the same… and the reason she didn’t was because of you!” he said accusingly,  "If she hadn’t met you she would have been mine and we wouldn’t even have been in this situation… You stole her from me, and when you asked her to marry you, to give Jack your name, you stole any future I might have had with her too… And then you twisted the knife even further by having her buried with your name!” He shook his head,  “How dare you sit there and tell me my loss can’t be as intense as yours because Veronica wasn’t my blood kin.  What was it you said back then… that we were as close as any blood kin, and blood was thicker than water?  You’re not my blood kin, but do you think I’d feel it any less if you died? So why does it make losing Veronica any less painful for me  than for you losing Jack? “

 

“I meant that when I said it, but I wasn’t a parent then.” said Curry, “It’s different when it’s your own flesh and blood. You don’t understand. I’d have laid down my life for Jack.”

 

“You’re not my blood kin, but I’d do that for you.” Heyes said quietly, angrily brushing tears off his cheeks.

 

Curry shook his head sadly, as though Heyes was excluded from some kind of insider knowledge that only parents or blood relatives could have.

 

“Not if you’d had a child of your own. That would have taken priority over everything else. The only person you’d have sacrificed yourself for was that child.”

 

“No.” Heyes shook his head, “I don’t believe that.”

 

Curry nodded, “Believe it.”

 

Heyes stared at him, chilled by the resolution in his tone.

 

“So,” he said presently, his voice hoarse with emotion,  “…after all the years we’ve watched each other’s backs… and after everything you said, the other day, about fighting for those you love, and begging me not to leave because I was all the family you had… after stealing my woman and my future, and then rubbing my nose in it by burying them under your name and expecting me to accept it, in the name of ‘family’… now you’re saying that all of that counts for nothing… that if it came to a choice  between me and, lets say, some blood kin relative who’d only been in your life for five minutes and never done anything for you, that I would be the loser? Me, who’s been closer to you than a brother? Simply because they were blood kin and I’m not?”

 

Curry said nothing.

 

Heyes threw up his hands in frustration, “So all of those arguments you used to try and talk me out of leaving – about us being ‘family’ -  were a pack of lies and a complete waste of time!” he snapped,  “You should have just let me leave in the beginning, like I wanted to.  Then Veronica and Jack would still be alive…” He shook his head disgustedly, “This is all your fault!”

 

“If you’d just accepted the situation instead of wanting to run away ‘cause your pride was hurt, I wouldn’t have had to  try and talk you out of it!” Curry retorted, his tone distraught.

 

“And if you’d listened to me in the beginning when I told you that staying here and marrying Veronica was a bad idea, none of this would ever have happened!” Heyes tossed back at him, his voice hoarse with emotion.

 

They glared at each other, both knowing, deep down, that the other was right but both too raw, emotionally, to admit it, each needing someone to blame, to vent their anger and grief at what had happened on, and having no-one but each other.

 

Heyes was deeply wounded by Curry's words. After the murder of their families, it had been he who had buried the bodies, he who had protected his younger friend from the gruesome sight, he who had promised Curry he would take care of him and he who had provided for them both and pretty much raised Curry in the same way as raising a child. It had created a bond between them as strong as any blood relatives could share and Curry's refusal, now,  to accept that feelings of grief for someone who wasn’t a blood relative could  be just as powerful as for someone who was, cut him to the core.

 

For his part, Curry was confused.  Heyes had protected him from as much of the aftermath of their parents murders as he could, assuming the role of brother, father and mother, so that he had come to rely on him, physically and emotionally. His grief at Jack’s loss was all consuming and now, more than at any other time in his life, he needed that emotional support, but anger and resentment at Heyes’ actions which, coloured by grief, he saw as being ultimately responsible for Jack and Veronica’s deaths, prevented him from reaching out to him for that support,  or offering any in return.

 

“Whatever you say, Heyes.” he said presently, his tone resigned, “You always think you’re right. Well, carry on believing it if it makes you feel any better.  I’m not gonna argue with you any more.  I need some air.” he said getting to his feet.