The block of hickory he'd stumbled on during his afternoon walk had something to say to him. It was always like that, when he had the urge to do some carving. He'd learned that he couldn't choose the wood; it had to choose him. That was how he did his best carving. Sometimes Heyes would bring him a block of wood that he thought Curry might like; Curry would say thank you, and put it aside. He'd never told Heyes exactly why some wood was wrong and some was right. He had to hold it, feel it, and wait for it to tell him when to pull out his pocket knife and start cutting away the pieces that didn't belong. As active as Heyes' imagination was, he couldn't understand that each block of wood had a perfect plan for itself. He never talked about any of this, though. As close as he and Heyes were, he still kept some things to himself.
He held the hickory in both hands, feeling it out. Only when he felt the wood was ready did he methodically start scratching his knife back and forth over the hard surface. If his hands were busy, it was easier for him to think through problems. He smiled to himself, remembering how his mother always kept her children busy. "Idle hands are the devil's workshop," she used to say. Funny how the things you hear as a child stay with you your whole life. He hadn't thought of his mother much lately, but with his knife slowly chipping away the splinters, her voice came to him clearly.
"Mr. Jones. Mr. JONES!" That was not his mother's voice! He looked up into a pair of imposing breasts.
"Mr. Jones! I've been talking to you! Lands' sakes, young man, where is your mind?"
He stood up slowly, cursing himself for his lack of attention. It was never good to lose sight of what was happening around him. Luckily it was only Mrs. Wilberforce, the hotel manager's wife, and not some bounty hunter.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, guess I was preoccupied."
The woman stood with her hands on her wide hips. "I dare say you were! You didn't hear a word I was saying!"
"Yes ma'am. Sorry ma'am. I'm listening now." With his mother, abject apology worked better than argument. The same approach worked now with Mrs. Wilberforce.
"Well!" She seemed a little calmer. "I just came to tell you that dinner will be a little late this evening. I hope that's not a problem." Her stance dared him to complain.
"No problem for me, ma'am. My mother used to say, good things come to those who wait. I reckon that's especially true with the fine meals you serve here." He gave her his best shy blue-eyed look. She harrumphed.
"Your mother sounds like a wise woman. I hope you paid her good mind."
"Probably as much as any other boy, ma'am. If I didn't, she had ways of getting my attention. Usually through my backside." He smiled, encouraging her to share his small joke. He thought he saw a muscle twitch in her jaw. That seemed to be about as much smiling as she ever did. Having met Mr. Wilberforce, he figured she hadn't done a lot of smiling in her life."When do you want me to come in for dinner, ma'am?"
"Just after dark. You can come in just after Mr. Elliott comes around with his torch to set up the streetlights."
"I'll surely do that, ma'am. And thank you." She suddenly noticed the small pile of wood shavings at his feet.
"Are you planning to clean that up anytime soon?"
"I'll be happy to do that, ma'am, once I'm finished here. That probably won't be for some time yet."
"Well. I suppose that will have to do. Don't be late for dinner."
"I'm never late for a meal, ma'am." Heyes always teased him about his appetite. She frowned once more and went back inside, her heels clicking. Settling back in his chair, he looked around to make sure he hadn't missed anything important. There wasn't a whole lot of activity in the late afternoon. Only a few people were passing by, and none of them seemed to be paying any special attention to him. He put his knife to the wood again and let himself relax and think.
His knife moved at a even rhythm. The scrapings released to the floor gave off a pleasant aroma. It smelled like the forest. He thought back to sleeping in the woods. Oh, he complained a lot about sleeping on the hard ground instead of a bed, but truth was, there were plenty of things he liked about it. The smell of these piney woods in Wyoming was the sweetest perfume he knew. When he and Heyes camped out there, on the pleasant nights, he'd stare up through the trees and watch the sky. Sometimes he'd see one of those shooting stars streak across the sky, and he'd wonder where it fell from and did it make a sound when it landed? How did stars fall anyhow? And why did it seem sometimes that lots of them did? In August, you'd see hundreds of them streaking through the sky.
When he was a small boy, his mother would rouse him and his brothers and sisters out of bed, in the middle of a warm night, to watch all the bright lights burning across the night sky. "Look at that!" she'd say, her warm Irish voice like a caress. "Have you ever seen the like?" And he'd look skyward for a moment, just to please her, but then, he'd turn and watch the subtle play of the night lights dancing on her upturned face full of joy and wonder. His child's heart had nearly burst open with love for her. He felt his eyes become moist.
That wouldn't do. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed. He took his handkerchief out from a pocket and wiped his eyes. If he did it right, it'd look like he was wiping away sweat, instead of the tears that had come. That day so long ago, he thought he'd cried out every tear he could ever have. Tears hadn't come to him easy since then. It took a lot. It took thoughts of his mother. She had always been there for him, until the day she wasn't. And he was alone.
Thinking of his mother brought up old feelings. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths. Don't go there, he told himself. You can't ever go there. He reminded himself that, even then, Heyes had been there for him. There'd been some rough patches between him and Heyes since then. Even a couple years when they hadn't seen each other. But when they got back together, it was as if they'd never been apart. He figured that was the mark of a true friend. No matter the physical distance, the friendship remained.
Now Heyes was distant again, at Devil's Hole with some blonde female who had lots of money and a cockamamie story. He didn't know which appealed to Heyes more, the cash, the blonde, or the damn fool story. Put them all together, and there was no way Heyes could say no. Heyes just had to figure out every puzzle, no matter how stupid or dangerous. Usually, Curry was there with him to watch his back. Not this time, though. Heyes wanted to ride out alone. He had lots of reasons why, and Curry could see through all of them. The truth was, Heyes knew it was a dangerous thing he was doing, and he wanted to protect Curry. Except Curry wasn't a frightened child anymore. He could more than hold his own. Sometimes Heyes seemed to forget that.
Anyway. . . There was nothing he could do about that now. He'd promised to stay in town and keep an eye on things, so that's what he'd do, no matter how much he hated it. Maybe. Unless he changed his mind. He'd think on that, too. He trusted himself to make the right decision. He knew his mind didn't work as quick as Heyes' did, but it still worked just fine. He liked to turn things over in his head a few times, work out all the possibilities, and then act. That was one of the reasons why he and Heyes worked so well together. They balanced each other out. Oh sure, sometimes the balancing didn't happen until after a few words had been exchanged. Once in a while, they'd get in each other's faces and shout at each other. Sometimes they even took a punch at each other and ended up rolling around on the ground. But always, always, they stuck together. Had done, since before that awful day, and would do, as long as they both drew breath. Even sitting by himself on this porch, in the twilight, he didn't feel alone.
He noticed it was getting harder to see. He'd been so lost in his thoughts; he hadn't noticed the passage of time. The sun had already slipped behind the general store. At the end of the street, he saw a man – Mr. Elliott, was it? – with his torch, starting to set up the street lights. His stomach rumbled. Mrs. Wilberforce had said to come in for dinner when the streets lights were lit. Might as well go on in and eat. He stood up slowly, brushing some shavings and sawdust from his lap onto the porch floor. After dinner, he'd come and sit out for a while more, do more carving and thinking. He'd sweep up his mess before he went to bed. He hoped that'd satisfy Mrs. Wilberforce. If it didn't, well, it didn't. She was the least of his worries. He hoped Heyes was settling down, safe and sound, at Devil's Hole by now.
The street lights were casting gentle pools of light around them. He stepped over to the porch rail and looked at the sky. The stars were just starting to come out. Maybe he'd go for a walk after dinner and look for some shooting stars. You never know when you'd see the like again.