Left Unsaid
Preface: After searching for a believable way for Kid to contemplate or actually have a conversation with his father, I came up with a somewhat off cannon story, based more on "what if," rather than on "what actually was."
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Kid Curry walked out of the barn carrying a saddle that he slung over the top rail of the corral. His intention had been to take his chestnut for a bit of exercise, but the sound of hooves caught his attention and he stood and looked down the road to see who was coming. Kid smiled when he recognized his partner, Hannibal Heyes approaching on his sorrel.
"You're a might early. I wasn't expecting you till Friday. In fact I was planning on meeting you in town," Kid told him as Heyes climbed off his horse and tied the reins to the corral rail.
"Made better time than I expected," Heyes replied, making an attempt at a casual and friendly smile.
"Heyes, something wrong?" Kid asked when he saw the look on his partner's face.
The two men knew each other far too well not to know when one of them was troubled by something. Kid's habit was to grow either somewhat sullen and introverted, or proddy and agitated. Heyes on the other hand, became nervous and evasive.
"Come on Heyes, what is it? Something about the amnesty?"
"No, amnesty is fine, though still no word on when it might come through."
"Then what?"
"Nothing...We'll talk later."
"Kid, supper's on," Jenny Rose called from the front door of the cabin.
Kid's eyes narrowed and a crease formed across his brow as he studied his partner's face."Be right there!" Kid shouted in return, then turned back to his partner. "Heyes?"
"No," Heyes replied, forcing another smile. "We'll talk later," he promised, then tried changing the subject. "When I couldn't find you in town, the bartender told me you were out here. Scoring a few extra points with Jenny, are you?"
His attempt worked and Kid laughed. "She was just telling me all the things she needed done out here. Offered me home cooking and a shared bed to help her out. Seemed like a fair trade to me."
Heyes grinned. "Nice arrangement."
"Uh-uh. Come on, let's eat."
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"Jenny Rose, how are you?" Heyes asked as he walked into the cabin ahead of Kid.
Jenny Rose was an old, old friend the two had met when still living at the Orphanage and still going by the names Jed and Heyes. Jenny wasn't an orphan, in fact she lived in the town with her father, her mother having died when Jenny was very young. They had met Jenny at a barn dance. She was nearer to Heyes' age than Kid's, and was quite the little flirt. While Heyes had eyes on another girl, Jed had found his first crush. He'd outgrown those feelings eventually, but the three had remained good friends. When Jenny's father died suddenly, Jenny was left with a stack of debt and soon discovered the best paying job for a woman in the west. But being old friends, she never charged Kid or Heyes for her services.
"I thought that looked like you riding up, Heyes. I suppose your being here in Buffalo means you and Kid will be leaving town soon?" she asked as she brought the last bowl for food to the table and set it down. "Dig in," she told them. "I made plenty."
Heyes and Kid sat down on one side of the table while Jenny sat across from them. "How soon will you be going?" she asked.
"Be leaving in the morning, Jenny. Kid and me got some business to attend to?"
"What kind of business, Heyes?" Kid asked, his apprehension beginning to climb once again..
"Gotta pay Lom a visit."
"Why? Something about the amnesty, isn't it? Or is he wanting another favor? Kid asked.
"Neither, and let's talk this out over a beer tonight," Heyes replied, not wanting to include Jenny in the conversation.
"You're leaving tonight?" Jenny asked.
Kid sighed. "Looks that way. I'm sorry, Jenny."
"No need to be sorry, Kid. I understand. You two is always in a rush somewhere."
"Yeah, but it would be nice to know where, exactly," Kid grumbled.
"How does Porterville sound?" Heyes asked. "Might as well start there."
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"So what's so important you won't say it in front of Jenny?" Kid asked as he and Heyes sat at a table in the saloon nursing a beer later that evening.
Heyes reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out two telegrams. He unfolded the first and handed it to Kid.
"Come to Porterville. Stop. Kind of a shock. Stop. Lom," Kid read aloud, then looked at Heyes questioningly. "What's kind of a shock?"
"That's exactly what I asked in the telegram I sent back to him."
"And?"
"Brace yourself, Kid," Heyes said, then handed Kid the second telegram.
"Ian John Curry... That's it? That's all he wrote back?"
Heyes nodded. "That's it."
"My Pa's name? Why?"
Heyes shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine. I don't know what the mystery is all about, but I've got a feeling it ain't gonna be good."
"What could he have to tell us about my Pa that I don't already know?"
Heyes shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't a clue."
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Back at the hotel that night, neither Heyes nor Kid could fall asleep. This was not unusual for the chronic insomniac Heyes, but Kid could not stop wondering about the vague telegram. He sat leaning against the headboard, his hands clasped together behind his head.
"Maybe there's some money to claim, Heyes?" Kid suggested with hopeful smile.
"Both our folks were in deep debt, Kid. The county sold the farms to pay off the bank debts. I seriously doubt there's any money to be had."
"Maybe something personal, then. Maybe something was found in the rubble."
Heyes looked up from the book he was reading. "I suppose that's possible, but it would have to be something important to make Lom call us all the way back to Porterville."
"Yeah...You know, it weren't fair them shipping us off to the orphanage even before our families was buried...Never gave us a chance to pay our respects, to say good bye."
Heyes was in total agreement with that and had long thought this fact had only added to eight year old Jed's anguish. He was certain it had played a heavy part in the ensuing years of nightmares Kid had battled.
Almost twenty years in the past now, the two boys had been fishing one Saturday afternoon and had not been at their homes when the soldiers raided and plundered their family farms, killing every person in sight. Upon their return home, both had stopped at the crest of the hill that led to their farms. Seeing the devastation, Heyes had grabbed his young cousin's hand and together, they raced off toward town to summon the Sheriff. Both had been placed in the care of Reverend Bardstone, and neither ever saw their homes or their families again.
"Why would he just list my Pa's name?" Kid asked, still speculating the possibilities regarding the telegram. "My Ma and sister were killed too, so why just my Pa's name?"
"I don't know, Kid. It does seem peculiar. Whatever it is, Lom don't seem to want to say it in a telegram."
"Whatever it is Heyes, I don't want to go back to Kansas. Not ever."
"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it; that is if we get to it."
"Uh-uh," Kid replied, but his mind continued to speculate various possibilities.
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It took them two days to reach Porterville and they headed directly for the Porterville jail.
"So what's this all about, Lom?" Kid asked even before the door closed behind them.
Lom looked up from his desk. "Kid, Heyes, good to see you again."
"Lom, what's this about?" Kid prodded.
Lom stood up from his chair and carried some papers to a file. With his back to Heyes and Curry, he still offered little in the way of information.
"I got a letter from a man named David Whithers. The letter's at my house. I think you should read it before I tell you anything about it," he said and slammed the file drawer closed. "Come on, we'll go there now."
"Who is David Whithers?" Heyes asked.
"He a... works at the County Courthouse...in Lawrence."
"I already told Heyes, I ain't going to Kansas, I don't care what the reason."
"Calm down, Kid. I don't think there's any reason for either of you to go to Kansas," Lom assured them.
"Then, what?" Kid asked.
"Just...come to my house. I think everything will get explained at least as well as it can be at this point."
Kid looked at Heyes with an impatient expression and shook his head, but followed Lom out the door, with Heyes trailing right behind. Lom's cabin was three miles out of town so it took them nearly twenty minutes to arrive. During that time not one of the three men spoke. They tied their horses to the post and followed Lom into the cabin.
"It's there, on the table," Lom said with a nod of his head. "I'll make some coffee while you read it."
Kid picked up the letter and he and Heyes moved closer to the window for better light.
"David Whithers, County Recorder an Treasurer, Lawrence County, Kansas," Kid read aloud.
Dear Sheriff Trevers,
I recently received a letter from a Dr. Martin Hamshaw at the Veterans Hospital in Grand Island, Nebraska. Dr. Hamshaw inquired about the possibility of any surviving members of the family of one Ian John Curry, whose reported last know residence was in Lawrence, Kansas. A copy of the letter from Dr. Hamshaw is enclosed. If you have any knowledge of the where-abouts of one Jedediah Curry, which our records show as the only living direct decedent, please contact Dr. Hamshaw directly.
Sincerely
David Whithers
County Recorder and Treasurer
Lawrence County, Nebraska
Kid handed Heyes the letter he had just read and cast his eyes on the second letter. He then began reading that letter aloud as well.
Dear Sir,
A man claiming to be Mr. Ian John Curry has resided in our permanent Care wing of the Veteran's Hospital in Grand Island, Nebraska since his arrival here in September of 1865. In recent weeks, Mr. Curry's health has taken a significant decline and while he as never before mentioned the possibility of any surviving offspring, he has only recently requested contact with a Mr. Jedediah Curry, whom he claims to be both an outlaw and his youngest son. Mr. Curry claims that Jedediah Curry was born in Lawrence County, but believes he may be in the Wyoming Territory now.
If you have records to verify both the existence of this man and a means of locating him for notification, it would be greatly appreciated if you would forward this information to me and/or to any authorities that might be able to assist in locating this Jedediah Curry.
Sincerely,
Dr. Martin Hamshaw
Director of Veterans Hospital
Grand Island, Nebraska.
Finding the nearest chair, Kid sat down, his mouth open, his eyes on the letter, his mind racing.
"He thinks my Pa's alive? After all these years? My Pa might be alive?" Kid whispered.
"All we know by those letters is that there's a man claiming to have the same name as your Pa.," Lom replied.
"And coming from the same town as us, the same county as us," Kid added. "There was only one John Curry in the County. There weren't even an Ian John Curry Junior. And, Pa never used his first name. He always went by John."
Heyes raised his eyes and looked across the room at Lom. "Lom, Kid and me saw the bodies. Whoever this man is, well this has to be some kind of hoax."
"I contacted Mr. Whithers in Lawrence. There's records of both your families owning property in Lawrence in the late 1850s and early 1860s, and there's records of both properties being sold by the county in 1866. There's death certificates on all your parents and on Kid's sister, Katherine, but they must have all been buried in family plots on your farms as there's no internment records on any of them at the cemetery. There's birth records for the two of you and for Katherine.
Kid nodded. "My brothers were born before my folks moved to Lawrence."
Lom then reached into his back pocket and pulled out another telegram. "I also contacted Dr. Hamshaw. This was the reply," he said setting the telegram on the table.
When Kid made no move toward the table, Heyes took it upon himself to pick up the telegram and read it.
"Kid, come here. I think you'd better see this," Heyes said.
Kid jerked his head at the sound of Heyes words. Slowly he pulled himself from the chair and walked over to the table.
"What's it say?' Kid asked, still obviously dazed at the impossible idea his father might still be alive or that there was a mysterious man staking claim to his father's name and history.
Heyes raised his eyes to Lom, then read the telegram aloud.
The man claiming to be Ian John Curry is gravely ill. Stop. If you are in a position of knowing the whereabouts of Jedediah. Curry, the matter must be addressed imminently. Stop.
"Lom this has to be some kind of mistake, or some kind of hoax. The whole town of Lawrence knew where Kid and me was. Reverend Bardstone was the one that drove Kid and me to the orphanage. If Kid's Pa was alive, that never would of happened. Some family would have taken us in until Kid's Pa was well enough to take care of us," Heyes said, trying to rationalize all the information."
"Under normal circumstance, I'd have to agree with you, Heyes. But you know as well as I do that those weren't normal times. Maybe...Maybe if they didn't expect John Curry to survive," Lom said, his voice trailing off before finishing his thought.
"No," Kid said emphatically. "If we was sent to the orphanage when my Pa was still living...he'd of found a way to let us know, even if he weren't able to take care of us, he wouldda let us know he was alive... My Pa wouldn't have left us like that. He had to have died with the others."
"Besides Lom, you said yourself there's a death certificate in Lawrence," Heyes added.
"Records have known to be wrong," Lom replied.
"Not those records," Kid said.
Heyes continued to shake his head. "You aren't holding out some hope, right?" Heyes asked with some concern. "Kid, whoever this man really is may be a mystery, but we know for a fact who he ain't. I vote we let sleeping dogs lie. Let someone else figure out who this fella is or...or let him go to his grave unknown."
"No, Heyes." Kid said quietly but with determination. " I know this man ain't my Pa. But I gotta see with my own eyes. I gotta know in my... I gotta know."
"Kid, we got all the proof we need. We did see it with our own eyes," Heyes argued, but at the same time, he knew he was beating a dead horse,
"What would you do if you were in my shoes, Heyes? If all this information pertained to someone claiming to be your Pa? Would you just walk away from a dying man like that.?"
"Odds are a million to one, Kid., you know that."
Kid nodded. "I know as well as you do that ain't gonna be my Pa. But they are still odds I'm gonna hafta take...and I know you would, too."
Heyes sighed heavily. Kid was right. He'd be willing to accept those odds, for the chance of seeing his father again.
"Alright, Kid. I guess we're heading for Nebraska," Heyes announced, laying a hand on Kid's shoulder.
"I'm going with you two," Lom told them. "I know I won't be of much help, but if this is some kind of hoax, maybe to get hold of the bounty on you two, I'll claim you're in my custody. Besides, sometimes a person needs an objective opinion just to keep things in perspective."
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The following morning, the three men road to Cheyenne where they caught a train for Grand Island, Nebraska, some three hundred and sixty miles away.
"It's a nine hour ride by train," Lom said as they settled into their seats. That'll put us in Grand Island about eight o'clock tonight. I suggest we get a room and a meal and head to the Veteran's Hospital in the morning."
Heyes looked at Kid but Kid was giving little thought to the conversation. He had remained quiet throughout the ride to Cheyenne and Heyes knew Kid's thoughts were still focused solely on what was to follow over the course of the next twenty-four hours.
Kid sat in a window seat watching the miles slowly pass, while Lom and Heyes made occasional attempts at idle conversations. But Kid seldom joined in and, when he did, his responses were often no more than a grunt.
Grand Island was a thriving, bustling town with a main street four blocks long with two and three story brick buildings lining both sides of the street. Six shorter side streets extended for two and three blocks. The train station alone filled a full city block.
Leaving the train station, they carried their saddlebags two blocks down the street to one of three hotels. After registering and dropping off their things, they headed across the street to a small cafe for a late supper. All three were tired from the trip, so after eating, they retired to their hotel rooms.
Heyes lay on his bed and picked up his book, but Kid was restless and decided cleaning his gun would keep both his hands and his mind busy. Yet each time Heyes looked up, Kid's hand was idle, holding the rubbing cloth against the barrel but not actually polishing the gun.
"You worried about tomorrow?" Heyes asked.
Kid kept his eyes on the gun, but shook his head. "I ain't harboring no false hope, Heyes. If my Pa was alive, he'd of found a way to let us know before now, and them records back in Lawrence all tell me otherwise."
"Then why are you doing this? Why are you wanting to see this man?"
Kid shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I ain't sure, but for some reason, I think I'd regret not going."
"Because there's always that million to one chance?"
Kid half smiled a sad smile. "Maybe, but the truth is, I keep thinking it might be something else, Heyes."
"Like what?"
Kid shook his head. "I ain't sure. Just something nagging at me. There's gotta be a reason a man would take up another man's identity... Look at us, there's a reason you and me go by Smith and Jones."
"You think he's hiding something?"
"Maybe, or maybe running from something."
"Well, I suppose you'll find out what that is in the morning."
"Heyes, if he was my Pa, and I know he ain't... But if he was, what would I say to him?"
Heyes close the book he'd been reading and sat up straighter in the bed. He himself had toyed with that notion, though he had not mentioned it to Kid. "I think... I think I'd want to know 'why' more than anything else... Why he didn't come looking for you, why he waited till now to try to find you, why he survived when no one else did. I think if he could tell you those things, everything else would just fall into place."
Kid nodded, but didn't reply as his hand slowly began to polish the gun barrel. "Well, he didn't survive... So I guess the only why I can ask is...why he's doing this?"
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The Veterans Hospital was located a mile out of town, on several acres of well manicured green lawn with well maintained paths, great Oak trees, and a large pond. It offered a peaceful and serene setting as the three men rode up to the hospital entrance.
A large wraparound porch graced the hospital entrance, and they noticed several old men in wheelchairs enjoying the warm air and the sweet smell of lilacs mixed with a musky smell of persimmons. All these men had one or more arms or legs missing, one wore a patch over one eye, two had other facial disfigurements. Three of the men slept, oblivious to the picturesque serenity before them.
"Jed Curry to see Doctor Hamshaw," Kid told the receptionist sitting behind a desk in the lobby of the hospital.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"I got a telegram," Kid replied, producing the wrinkled paper from his pocket and handing it to the woman.
"I'll let Doctor Hamshaw know you are here," she said, after reading the telegram. "If you will all have a seat, it may be a few minutes before he's available."
The wait was far more than a few minutes, but when the receptionist did return, she ushered the three men down a long hall to Doctor Hamshaw's office.
"Gentlemen, please come in and have a seat," Dr. Hamshaw said as he greeted them at the door.
"Dr. Hamshaw, I am Sheriff Lom Trevers. I received your letter from the Lawrence County Recorder, a Mr. David Whithers. This is Joshua Smith and and this is Jedediah Curry, the man you've been looking for," Lom said with some hesitancy about using Kid's real name.
"Mr. Curry, I'm very grateful to you for making this trip, and to all of you."
"I'm certain the man that's a patient here is not my Pa, Dr. Hamshaw. My parents, and Joshua's too, were killed by soldiers raiding our farms nearly twenty years ago."
"Jed and I witnessed that, Doctor. We know for a fact this patient isn't who he claims to be."
"How old was your father when he died, Mr. Curry?"
"He was born in 1820, so forty-five years old."
"And would be sixty-four or sixty-five today?"
"That's right."
"Did your father fight in the Mexican American War, Mr. Curry?"
"Yes sir. He was a Captain as I recall him saying."
"I am more than inclined to agree with you both. This man fought and was severely injured in that war. Battlefield records were poorly maintained, and we have not been able to determine his identity through any of the records we have reviewed," Dr. Hamshaw said.
"Maybe he knew Jed's Pa. Maybe he was in Captain Curry's regiment," Heyes suggested.
"The patient who claims to be Ian John Curry came to our facility about ten years ago. He had been severely wounded in the Mexican American War and spent several years in a Soldier's Hospital in Texas. He sustained significant head trauma, as well as a partially severed leg that was amputated below the knee by military field surgeons. He was in a coma for several months after being wounded. He woke from that coma claiming to be Ian John Curry. He has stood by that claim all these years. Nurses here, have reported very brief instances when he appears more lucid. For example, he claimed once to have a wife named Sarah, and a son named Jedediah. We haven't been able to corroborate any of that. Medical records, especially battlefield medical records are very brief, generally only describe the specific medical care provided, so, as I said before, those records have not divulged his identity."
"Why are the records so poor?" Heyes asked.?"
"A field hospital is always overworked and understaffed. In a medical hospital, the records contain a much more comprehensive view of the injuries sustained, the interventions employed, the patient's response to treatment, the anticipated prognosis. Field doctors simply don't have the time to document such information. A chart is assigned by whatever name a soldier provides. John Doe is use for those whose identity is unknown."
"Leaves a lot of questions unanswered," Heyes replied. "Tell me, what's the name on this fella's chart?"
"John Doe, and you're right, it does indeed leave far too many questions unanswered. We know this man sustained a head injury and was in a coma, but a coma acts as the body's survival response to an injury. It is not an injury in and of itself. The delusional thinking this man demonstrates suggests a psychological response to something he likely witnessed; the horrors of war so to speak."
"Jed and I have witnessed a few of those horrors ourselves, which is how we know this man is not John Curry," Heyes replied.
"Doctor, this John Doe is obviously not my Pa, because my Pa returned from the war. He married and had children, and he didn't lose a leg," Kid told the doctor.
"Yes, I must agree with you. But no one has ever been able to determine this man's true identity, and he honestly believes he is John Curry. He can tell you details of the Curry family. Do you or did you have a brother named Samuel?"
"Yes, but he was killed in the War Between the States."
Dr. Hamshaw scanned the open patient file on his desk. "And a brother, Mathew"
Kid nodded. "He was killed in that war, too."
"A sister, Katie?"
Kid nodded. "All dead."
"And your parents were Ian John Curry, and Rebekah Heyes Curry?"
"That's right. Pa went by John."
"This patient provided us with all those names. I don't mean to be blunt or rude, Mr. Curry, but he even knows you rode with the..." Doctor Hamshaw paused and looked again at his notes. "The Devil's Hole Gang."
"Is it possible he got those names from newspapers, maybe court records?" Heyes suggested.
"Since being injured, he has not spent one day outside of an institution," Dr. Hamshaw replied.
"Still, he could of subscribed to the Lawrence, Kansas newspaper, or written to the Courthouse for records," Lom said.
"Yes, and he may have done just that. But he absorbed, internalized every detail involving Mr. Curry., and eventually, his mind assimilated into that person."
"So, what is it you're wanting from me?" Kid asked. "I ain't gonna confirm his crazy notion."
"We initially had hoped, on an outside chance, that you could verify this man as your father. Understandably, that is not a possibility. But this man has no true identity. He will be gone from this earth in a matter of days, perhaps even hours, and he's asked to see his son one last time."
"And you want me to do what, tell him he's right? Tell him he is John Curry?" Tell him I am his son? Kid asked, shaking his head. "I ain't gonna lie to him. I ain't gonna be disrespectful to my own Pa, the real John Curry."
"I wouldn't ask you to do that, Mr. Curry. But if you tell him your name, he'll likely come to his own conclusions... I think it will be a great comfort to a dying man to believe his son is there beside him. You don't have to lie to him, but perhaps you'd be willing to refrain from telling him the truth?"
"Dr. Hamshaw, you're asking a lot from a man who has never even laid eyes on this patient. You're asking Jed to pose as the son of a man he doesn't know, a man he's never laid eyes on." Heyes said.
Dr. Hamshaw looked directly at Kid. "I'm asking you to tell this man your name. He can surmise from that what he will."
"You brought us here all the way from Wyoming for...for this?" Heyes asked. "I mean it sounds to me like you've been pretty confident all along that his man is not John Curry, yet you went to great lengths to track down a man who is not even remotely connected to your patient."
"I'll do it," Kid said quietly.
"What?' Heyes asked with great surprise.
"We're already here, and the man's dying. It ain't gonna harm nobody, and it might make one man's passing a little easier."
"I'll show you to his room," Dr. Hamshaw said, not wanting to give Heyes time to talk Kid out of seeing the patient.
"Fine! Lom and me will wait in the lobby for you, Kid," Heyes said.
"No," Kid replied. "Go on back to town. There's no telling how long I'll be."
"Kid, are you sure you want to do this?"
"No, I'm not sure at all that I want to do this. But I'm pretty sure I should."
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Kid hesitated outside the four bed ward. Dr. Hamshaw had told him that the patient he was to see was in the bed near the window. Kid took a deep breath, letting the air out slowly, then gently pushed the door open.
The room was sparsely decorated. Four wrought iron beds took up most of the room. A curtain separated one bed from another. A small nightstand was wedged between each bed and the wall. Three of the four beds were occupied.
Kid walked to the bed nearest the window and stood at the foot. A thin man, who Kid had been told was in his mid sixties, but looked at least a decade older, lay on his back with his eyes only half open, his breathing shallow. Slowly the old man's eyes began to move, then settled on the figure at the foot of the bed.
"Come closer. I can't make out who you are," the old man said, his voice weak and weathered.
Kid moved to the side of the bed and the old man stared up at him for a moment, then his eyes grew wide with recognition.
"I'm... I'm Jed Curry," Kid said softly.
"I'd know them blond curls anywhere. You got you're mother's fine hair," he said. "Ah, Jed, I knew you'd come one day. I knew I wouldn't go to my grave without seeing my boy again. Get a chair, Jed. We got things to talk over."
Kid felt very uncomfortable as he pulled a chair up close to the bed and sat down. The old man twisted himself to his side so he could get a good look at Kid.
"I know I let you down, not being there for you when you was growing up," the old man said. "But don't ever think I weren't proud of you, boy. You made your share of mistakes, but we've all done that, and from what I've read, you're making amends for that now. I don't get that kind of a chance, and I regret that."
"Yes, Sir," Kid replied, not knowing what else to say.
"If I could have lived my own life, I would have... But that life was far too bad. That man... he couldn't deal with all the things he had seen... "
"What man?" Kid asked. "Are you talking about yourself?"
The old man nodded and Kid could visibly see a change in the old man's eyes, a recognition of something in the man's past. "John was a strong man, a leader... I wasn't nothing but a coward."
"Who are you?" Kid asked. "What's your real name?"
But the lucid moment had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Didn't I always tell you that cousin of yours was trouble?" he asked with a chuckle. "You should have listened to me, Jed. You should have listened to your old man."
"Tell me about you," Kid said with a gentleness in his voice. "Where where you born?"
"Laredo... Hell that war was in my back yard."
"Who were your folks?" Kid asked casually.
"Tom and Emma Baxter."
"Baxter?" Kid asked
But the moment had again passed and the old man squeezed his eyes closed as if to block the image, the memory he had long since replaced with that of his Commanding Officer. "I gotta rest."
They sat quietly, silently for over half an hour, the old man with his eyes closed, a content look on his deeply wrinkled face. Then, after this very long silence, the old man opened his eyes and smiled warmly at Kid.
"I'm tired, Jed, so tired. I think I'd better rest some more. Will you come back again? Tell your old man goodbye?"
Kid stood and looked down at the old man. "I'll come back," he promised.
Kid walked down the corridor toward the entrance. He was lost in thought, troubled by the man's struggle as he drifted in and out of reality. Kid had never come across someone struggling with such a devastating mental illness, such a weak grasp on the frayed threads of reality. Kid was so lost in his own thoughts that he did not hear Dr. Hamshaw calling his name has he hurried down the hall to catch up to Kid. and walk beside him down the hall.
"How did it go?" Dr. Hamshaw asked.
"He, he drifted in an out a lot. Sometimes calling himself John Curry and sometimes calling himself "that other man. I may have got a name for you, though."
"What name?" Doctor Hamshaw asked eagerly.
"Well, pretty sure his name is Baxter. He was born in Laredo to Tom and Emily Baxter, and I think my Pa really was his Commanding Officer."
Dr. Hamshaw reached for Kid's arm and stopped dead in his tracks.
"How did you get all that out of him?"
"Just listened to what he had to say. He drifted in and out a lot, between him and John Curry. There was moments when he seem to know he wasn't the man he claims to be. I can't imagine having to live like that, trying to cling to what's real, but always sliding back to what feels safe, I suppose."
"You're a very astute observer, Mr. Curry. The medical field knows so little about mental illness, but those of us working in Veteran's Hospitals and war zone field hospitals, see so very much of it. The atrocities of war truly can break a man. Tell me, does he think you're his son?"
Kid nodded. "I told him I'd come back tomorrow."
Dr. Hamshaw smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Curry."
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It was early evening by the time Kid got back to the hotel. Heyes was in the room reading, but Lom was out, having decided to pay the Sheriff a social call. Kid used his key to get into the room. Without saying a word, he tossed his hat on the bed and unfastened his gun belt to hang on the bedpost.
"How did it go?" Heyes asked.
Kid looked up as though just realizing someone else was in the room. He looked at Heyes, sighed heavily, and sat down on the edge of his bed.
"Better than I expected, I suppose."
"What happened?"
"It was kind of strange. One minute he was talking like he believed he was John Curry, then every once in a while, something slipped out like he knew he wasn't."
"Delirious?"
"No, more like..."
"Delusional?"
Kid nodded. "At one point he told me his parent's name was Baxter. You know that doctor said he was in the war that Pa served in and, I think that whatever it was that he saw, or whatever it was that he done, was so horrible that the real Mr. Baxter just couldn't accept that as...being real..."
"So in his mind, he just became someone else, someone he looked up to and admired," Heyes added.
Kid nodded. "Someone who was better able to handle the sight of those things. Does that make sense?"
Heyes thought about all the years Kid suffered from nightmares after he and Kid were suddenly orphaned. "In a way, yeah, I think it does, Kid. His mind has been trying to protect him."
Kid nodded. "He talked to me like he still thinks I'm his son. He said he knew I would come to him before he died."
Heyes smiled sadly. "Well then you eased a dying man's heart."
Kid pulled off his boots and pulled back the blankets on his bed, then slipped in between the sheets. "But then, every once in a while he'd say something that made me think he knew he wasn't John Curry."
"That would be a very hard way to live," Heyes replied.
Yeah, and a very hard way to die. ..I'm going back tomorrow."
Heyes turned his eyes back to his book and nodded his head. Kid's statement didn't surprise him. He already knew Kid would see this through.
0-0-0-0-0
The next morning, Kid shaved and had breakfast with Lom and Heyes before riding back out to the hospital. The old man was asleep when Kid arrived, so Kid simply pulled up his chair beside the bed and sat down.
The man slept through most of the morning. A nurse came in once to check on him. The old man didn't awaken when the nurse adjusted the bedding or picked up his limp arm to check his pulse. Before she left, she motioned to Kid to follow her out into the hall.
"The nurses all know what you're doing Mr. Curry. We think it's admirable. That man has wrestled with so much over the years. He really has tried to pull himself out of that imaginary world of his. The things he witnessed much have just been too horrible to confront. He has moments when the truth tries to surface."
"I seen that yesterday. Only lasted a moment or two."
"The nurse nodded. "Once, several years ago, he told me Captain Curry saved his life. Then he was gone again. We nurses have kept a list of the lucid things he has said over the years. They are all just a single thought, a single sentence at a time. The nurses from the previous hospital actually began the notebook, so it goes back nearly twenty years. Would you like to see it, something to do while he's sleeping?"
"Yes Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am."
The nurse reached into her pocket and pulled out a note that she handed to Kid. "From Doctor Hamshaw," she whispered. "I'll be back shortly with the notes we've been keeping."
"Thank you, Ma'am," Kid replied and returned to the room to sit beside the man. He unfolded the note. In it, Doctor Hemshaw told Kid the man had taken yet another turn for the worse and his death was getting nearer. Kid folded the note and slipped it in his shirt pocket. While he waited for the old man to awaken, Kid thought about what he might have said if this man had been his father. He thought of all the usual things a person would say given such an opportunity, the confirmation of love, the apologies for any wrongdoing, real or imagined, the commitments to care for those left behind, the promises to carry on the family legacy with honor and dignity.
Kid knew if this man really was Ian John Curry, Kid would tell him something else as well. Kid would tell the man it was alright to stop fighting, alright to surrender himself to death. It was alright to join his wife, his two sons, his young daughter, and that one day, he too would join them and they would be a whole family once again.
But this man was not his father, and Kid wondered if it was right to tell such things to a stranger, regardless of the circumstances. He had no answer for that.
The nurse returned a few minutes later and slipped a small notebook into Kid's hands. "You might come to understand him a little better," she whispered before leaving him to tend to other patients.
Kid glanced first at the sleeping man, then slowly opened the notebook to the first page. There, in various handwriting were dates and short scribbles, usually citing something the man had said.
September 15, 1962: Another war approaches. More young minds shredded much like mine.
March 3, 1865: News of Captain Curry lost to the ages now.
March 5, 1865: I just can't live in your world, Ma'am.
July 4, 1872: Baxter wouldn't like this place. It holds too many memories.
October 23, 1878: Not many flowers grow in Texas. It's too hot and there's too much blood in the soil. It kills the plants and erodes the brain.
Kid spent an hour reading through page after page of these little glimpses into themore rational mind of the man who lay dying in the bed beside him. Occasionally Kid read a line, then glanced up at the man, finding himself grateful that the endless mental torture would soon cease for this man.
When he finished, he closed the notebook and held it between his hands as he watched the man sleeping, and Kid knew what it was he was to do.
0-0-0-0-0-
"Jed?" the old man whispered in a voice so weak and frail, it barely resonated above a whisper.
"I'm here," Jed replied
The old man's eyes fluttered but opened only slightly. He could see the figure of the man sitting beside the bed, but could not make out the features. But a contented smile slowly formed on his face and his hand appeared from beneath the blankets. Kid watched the old man's fingers slowly splay and Kid reached out and took the cold hand in his own.
"I'm right here," he again told the man.
"William," the old man whispered. "William Baxter."
"It's an honor to know you, Sir," Kid replied.
"John Curry... was a man of honor...He saved me from death so many years ago. And now you're...you're helping me cross that river...John would be proud."
Kid held the man's cold hand in his own, his warm fingers wrapped gently around it. "It's your turn to rest now, Sir. Your battle will be over soon. You've fought a hard fight, but you don't have to fight anymore. Just walk to the gates of heaven. You'll find your peace there,"
Kid saw the man's head nod once and as he held William Baxter's hand, the old man closed his eyes and took his final breath.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Having returned to Cheyenne with Lom, Kid and Heyes were eager to leave town and decided to return to Buffalo for a few days. Lom headed on his way back to Porterville.
Now that they got a name, a place of birth, I wonder if they'll be able to find any relatives of William Baxter," Kid mused as they rode slowly along the trail.
"Probably still a bit of a long shot. People moved around a lot. But you never know. They might be able to track down a brother or a sister, maybe a wife." Heyes smiled. "Maybe even his real son, Jed."
Kid nodded, but his thoughts continued to drift.
"Heyes, if it ain't too personal, if you had the chance to talk to your Pa again, what would you say to him?"
"Likely the same things anybody would say, given the opportunity."
"Baxter told me my Pa would be proud of me."
Heyes smiled. "I think after what you just did for a stranger, Kid, he's right."
"Mind sure is a strange thing, ain't it?"
"Yeah, I suppose it is."
"If there is such a thing as heaven, you think Baxter knows who he is now? I mean who he really is?"
Heyes thought for a moment, then nodded. "I think Kid, if there is a heaven, nothing is to difficult to face. I think it must be a good place, where a man's past don't matter...future don't matter either."
"Yeah, I guess you must be right," Kid replied, but then a smile spread across his face. "But here on earth, the future does matter. And right now my future involves a couple of nights with Jenny Rose," he proclaimed and spurred his chestnut into a easy gallop.
0-0-0-0-0-
Author's Note: The Grand Island Veteran's Home (referred to as the Grand Island Veteran's Hospital in this story), opened its doors in 1857. Prior to that, it was known as the Nebraska Soldier's and Sailor's Home."
Bleeding Kansas ran from 1855 to 1859. Author took liberty with these dates in order to place Kid and Heyes' ages as older than they would actually have been during this period.