HIStory
(A modern day off canon story that does find its way back to our boys)
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"Do you boys have everything in your room unpacked?" Mrs. Wingate asked her two young boys after the last of the boxes had been delivered by the moving van company and all the furniture had been unloaded and moved into the properly assigned rooms.
"Yeah Mom," ten year old Mathew replied.
"And your beds are made up for the night?"
"Yeah."
"Did you ask your father if he needed any help in the barn?"
Mathew and his eight year old brother John looked at each other with grave disappointment. Moving day had turned out to be far more work than either boy had been led to believe.
Both boys had uttered grands protests when, three months ago, their parents had told them that they had decided to move from the small town of Van Wert, Ohio to a farm in an even smaller town in west central Kansas. To make matters worse, because of closing cost delays, they weren't able to make the move until mid September and the school year in Lawrence, Kansas was already two weeks underway and both boys would be walking into a classroom of total strangers.
Neither of the boys had even seen the farm, the town, or the school, having stayed with their grandparents in Lima, Ohio for a week in July while their parents took a trip to Kansas to explore real estate options. Being as moving day had fallen on a Saturday, both boys had hoped to have the weekend to explore the property and maybe discover if any nearby farms had families with children, preferably boys near their ages.
Instead, they had spent the morning and a good part of the afternoon, lugging boxes from the porch and the foyer into the rooms designated in bold black marker on the boxes, unpacking the boxes that had been carted to the room they would share, fighting over who got the upper and the lower dresser drawers and who got the upper and lower bunk beds, struggling to get the sheets and blankets on the beds, and engaging in a strenuous and hard hitting pillow fight.
"If your father doesn't need any help, you can go exploring, but make sure you can always see the house, and be back here by six so we can drive to town for pizza for supper," Mrs. Wingate told them.
Both boys scurried out the front door of the old farm house, the screen door creaking loudly as it swung shut behind them. They walked across the yard, past an empty and old chicken coop and pulled open the barn door.
"Dad, you need any help?" Matt shouted when he didn't see his father anywhere in the barn.
Tom Wingate peered down from the loft, then moved to the wooden ladder and climbed down. "I think I am just about finished in here for the day," he told the boys. "Tomorrow we'll start up the tractor and see what kind of shape it's in. How's your mom doing with the unpacking?"
"She said if you don't need any help, Matt and me can go exploring," John told his father.
Tom smiled and reached down and gave John's curly blond hair a ruffle with his hand. "Just don't get yourselves lost," he told them.
Wide smiles spread across the boy's faces and they turned and dashed out of the barn.
The yard of the homestead was quite large, stretching the length of a city block before reaching the gravel road. Fields of browning cornstalks stretched in every direction, obstructing the view of any nearby houses and limiting the distance the boys could go while keeping their own new house in view.
They turned west and walked down the road as far as the first corn field, then turned south and followed along the edge of the tall cornstalks, then back toward their house. They stopped when they reached a towering Oak tree and both boys looked up, gauging the distance between branches. With like minds, the two boys looked at each other and grinned, then Matt cupped his hands to create a stirrup for John to slip his foot into to give him a hoist up to the first branch. Minutes later, the two boys sat perched on branches nearly a quarter of the way to the top of the tree. This gave them a far better view as they were well above the tallest of the cornstalks.
"There's a house over there Matt," John said, pointing off to his left. "And there's a couple of bikes in the yard," he said gleefully. "Boy's bikes!"
"We'll see if we can walk over there tomorrow," Matt told his brother.
Looking down toward the ground, Matt's eyes followed the edge of the cornfield and as it neared their house, Matt spied the top of something black and square surrounded by tall, wide grasses and weeds. "What do you suppose that is?" he asked and pointed a finger toward the mysterious object.
"Looks like the top of a fence of some sort. Maybe it's a dog runner," he suggested.
Matt smiled. "Hey, maybe if we clear those weeds out, Dad will let us get a dog! Come on, let's go check it out!"
Both boys scrambled down the tree as fast as any two boys could and took off running toward the fence. Matt arrived first and began uprooting some of the tall grasses. John was quick to catch up and joined his brother tearing the grass away from the fence.
Twenty minutes later they had cleared the wild growth from the front of the small gated area. The fence turned out to be an old, rusted wrought iron enclosure no more than ten by ten square feet.
"It don't give a dog much room to run around," John noted aloud.
"Doesn't, and you're right. Maybe there use to be a rabbit hutch in here," Matt replied.
"Rabbits could hop right them these bars," John said.
"Matt! John! It's time to go!" Mrs. Wingate shouted from the porch.
"Coming!" Matt called in return."We'll come back tomorrow and get this all cleared out. Maybe then we'll know what it was used for."
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The Wingates sat in a booth in the quaint little mom and pop pizzeria in downtown Lawrence. The parents studied the menu while both boys carefully eyed two tables occupied by families with children who looked to be near their own ages. When one of the boys from another table looked over at them, Matt maintained a noncommittal expression but John smiled and offered the boy a shy wave. Like Matt, the boy did not return the gesture of recognition and instead, reached for another slice of pizza.
Matt then turned his attention to the several framed pictures on the wall, most of which were of two cowboys, one blond with blue eyes, and the other with dark hair and dark eyes, and a tattered black hat with silver conchos on the hat band.
"How about the Devil's Hole pizza," Mr. Wingate suggested.
"What's that?" John asked.
"It's a pizza with everything, including barbecue sauce," his father explained.
"I don't want onions," John replied.
"You can pick them off," he mother told him.
When the waitress came to the table, Tom ordered the pizza and a pitcher of soda, something of a treat to the boys.
"Who's in all them pictures?" Matt asked.
The waitress smiled. "Most are of Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes. There something of a local legend around here."
"There's still cowboys in Kansas?" Matt asked.
"You folks must not be from around here," the waitress said. "Those two weren't cowboys. They were outlaws, mostly in Wyoming, but they was both born here in Lawrence about a hundred and twenty years ago, give or take a few years. If it weren't for them, Lawrence wouldn't even be on the map."
"Never heard of em," John replied.
"Four doors down from here there's the Historical Society Headquarters. It ain't much, but there's a little museum on the first floor. It tells about several of the early homesteaders, the Boarder Wars skirmishes and raids that happened around here, history of some of the more prominent families. There's a little section dedicated to Heyes and Curry. They were both still children when they left here, but the museum has Curry's Colt gun on display, and Heyes' hat, and a few other little things that belonged to them. The museum is open tomorrow afternoon, if you're still going to be in town."
"We are. We just moved here," Matt told her.
"You the folks that bought the Webster farm?" she asked.
Tom nodded. "We are indeed."
"I think one of them boys actually lived on that property. You folks just bought a piece of history. I'll be back with your drinks. The pizza will be about twenty minutes."
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The next morning Matt and John were up early and, being as the Wingate's livestock had not yet arrived from Ohio, the boys had nothing in the way of chores.
"I had thought about going to church this morning," Ms. Wingate said at the breakfast table. "It would be a good way to start meeting people, but there's just so much yet to do with the unpacking that I think maybe we should wait and go next Sunday."
The boys looked across the table at each other with a silent sigh of relief as they had other ideas about how to spend the morning.
"Okay for John and me to go exploring?" Matt asked. "There's a house just down the road with bikes in the front yard."
"Which way down the road?" their father asked.
Matt pointed in the direction of the house, eager for his father's permission, but Mrs. Wingate beat her husband to the draw with a reply.
"You can go this afternoon, but they are probably busy on a Sunday morning, maybe getting ready for church or fixing a big Sunday dinner which, by the way, I'm not doing today."
"Explore all you want, but stay on the property," Mr. Wingate told them.
"Can we borrow the grass shears?" Matt asked.
"What for?"
"We found a fenced in area yesterday that we think might be a dog run or a rabbit hutch. We thought we'd clear it out to see just what it is."
"Where is it?" Mr. Wingate asked.
"Along side the cornfield, just beyond that big oak tree," Matt told him.
Mr. Wingate nodded. "The shears are hanging up in the barn. Be sure to bring them back with you. Leaving them out will just cause them to rust."
Both boys jumped out of their chairs and rushed for the front door.
"Be back in time for lunch," their mother called after them.
Reaching the gated area, Matted lifted the metal latch. "Let's start with the inside," he told John.
Both boys stepped through the gate and Matt got down on his knees and cut some grass down to ankle level. "I'll trim it all down some and you start pulling the grass and weeds out by the roots," he told John.
John waited until Matt had a small patch of grass cut close to the ground, then dropped to his knees and dug his fingers into the dirt to loosen the roots. Each clump he pulled out, he tossed over the fence.
The boys spent the entire morning ripping all the grass and weeds from the ground and throwing the clumps over the fence. When they were done, they both stood up to assess the results of their labor.
"There ain't no dog house and there ain't no rabbit hutch, so what do you think it is?" John asked his brother.
"Matt shook his head. "Maybe they kept a pig in here," he replied.
"No trough, and the ground's too high for a mud pen."
"Didn't you boys hear your mother calling you for lunch?" Tom asked as he climbed the slight hill where the boys still stood.
"Dad, what is this?" Matt asked. "It's too small for a dog run."
"I think you boys just found a small family cemetery," Tom replied. "Is there a name on the gate or some sort of grave marker?"
Both boys shook their heads. "So who would be buried here?" Matt asked.
"Probably the family of a previous owner."
"Hey, maybe them two cowboys are buried here," Matt eagerly suggested.
Mr. Wingate shook his head. "The waitress said they both left Lawrence when they were children. I tell you what, while we're having lunch, I'll get out the deed to the farm. The deed usually provides as much history of a property as is known. Maybe that will give us a clue."
"It hasn't been tended for a long time," Matt told his father. "Just look how tall that grass was."
"Well it was obviously important to someone at some point if they took the time to have this fence built around the site," Mr. Wingate replied. "I wonder why the Webster's never mentioned it."
"Maybe they didn't even know about it, Dad. We only saw it from up in the Oak tree yesterday," John told him.
"We'd better get back to the house before your mother throws a conniption," Mr. Wingate told his sons.
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Sitting around the kitchen table for lunch, Mr. Wingate thumbed through the sixty-five page deed until he came to the ownership history. "The Webster's bought the farm in 1974. Before that, it was owned by James and Edna Thompson and it looks like they acquired it from James Thompson's father who bought the property in 1914 from a Walter Baxter who bought it in 1880. Prior to that, it looks like the bank or the county had ownership due to the taxes not being paid for some seventeen years."
"Who owned it before the bank?" Matt asked.
Mr. Wingate leafed through the next several pages. "It doesn't say," he replied.
"The waitress last night said she thought the family of one of them cowboys owned it. Maybe the museum would know about that," Matt suggested.
"Might be worth paying them a visit," Mr. Wingate replied. "Honey, you feel like taking a break from all this unpacking?"
"I would love a break," she said with a smile.
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They parked on the street outside the museum and both boys clamored out of the back seat of the station wagon and waited impatiently for their parents. Tom held the museum door open while his wife and the two boys walked inside.
The Lawrence Museum was housed on the main floor of a two story building. The Historical Society President had an office on the second floor, as did the museum curator. The remainder of the second story was used to store artifacts and other items donated by many of the town's citizens.
The museum was typical of most small town museums. Most displays were housed in long glass display cases and many had small brass plaques with the words "on loan by..." followed by the name of the person loaning the item, who was also the person paying for the small plaque. A few hands-on items were scattered about the room. These items included a well pump, a hay fork, a horse drawn plow (minus the horse), an assortment of milk cans, a few period dresses and men's suits carefully placed on mannequins, along with a sign asking that the clothing not be touched.
In a corner near the back of the room was a display case with a large wooden painted sign on the wall above it that read "Personal Items of Outlaws Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry." Inside the case was in fact the gun belt and Colt hand gun "used by Kid Curry, the fastest gun in the West," as well as the black hat belonging to Hannibal Heyes. Also in the case was a framed picture of Heyes, Curry, and an unnamed woman, all dressed to the nines and all three looking very serious. A leather vest, now stiff from age, and a blue bandanna were also in the case.
Matt and John stood ogling the items and didn't hear the museum curator descend the stairs to greet the visitors.
"Welcome to the Lawrence Museum," he told Tom and Mrs. Wingate. "I'm Michael Holloway and if I can be of any service, answer any questions, please feel free to ask."
"As a matter of fact, we do have some questions, Mr. Halloway," Tom replied. "My name is Ton Wingate, and this is my wife, Robin. Those are our boys over there, Matthew and John. We just moved here to Lawrence. We bought the Webster farm and we've been told there may be some history to that place."
"Yes, indeed," Mr. Holloway told him. We've been told that was know as the Curry farm back in the mid 1850s to mid 1860s. Unfortunately a devastating courthouse fire destroyed all the property records. Most families brought there deeds in so their copies could be transcribed, but apparently that was a very lengthy process, taking almost three years to complete, and even then, not all the property records were recorded. Some people just didn't see the need, others didn't want to part with their own records as some deeds took months to transcribe."
"We have the deed to the house but it doesn't go back before 1880. I guess the fire explains why that is."
"Apparently, there was a semi-centenial here in Lawrence back in 1905. That was when the Historical Society was formed. The president of the Historical Society was a man by the name of William Crawford and, fortunately for us, he kept meticulous records. According to those records, Hannibal Heyes and Jed Curry returned to Lawrence for the semi-centenial. It was the one and only time they returned here. According to Mr. Crawford's records, both were able to identify the properties that were the farms their family's had owned. Unfortunately, during the Boarder War raids, both farms were burnt to the ground and these two were the only surviving members of either family. Mr. Curry did in fact identify what is now your farm as the property where his family lived."
"My two boys over there came across what may be a family cemetery plot. Until they cleared the grass and weeds away, you couldn't see it from ground level. Boys being boys, they had climbed a tree and saw the wrought iron fencing."
Mr. Halloway's jaw dropped. "Would you mind if I came out to take a look? Mr. Crawford's notes indicate that Mr. Curry did intend to have a fence placed around the graves of his parents and, I believe a younger sister. Apparently Mr. Crawford did not appreciate the historical significance as there are no other entries referring to this family plot. I think everyone just assumed Mr. Curry could not locate the exact site."
"Sure. Come out any time. There are no markers or grave stones to prove this is actually a burial site, though."
"Would tomorrow be alright?" Mr. Holloway asked.
Tom nodded. "The boys start school tomorrow and I'd like them to be there when you come by so, would four o'clock suit you?"
"That would suit me just fine, Mr. Wingate."
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Mrs. Wingate pulled the car up next to the sidewalk and turned off the ignition.
"Go directly to the Principal's Office," she told the boys as they unfastened their seat belts. "Her name is Mrs. Hernandez and she'll show you both to your classrooms. Now, don't be nervous. I'll be right here after school to pick you up. Tomorrow you can start riding the bus."
Matt and John both gave her a pensive look."
"Go on," she said encouragingly, hiding her own apprehensions from them.
The two boys climbed out of the car and walked side by side, so close together their shirt sleeves were touching, and entered the large, single story elementary school. Other children brushed by them, hurrying down the hall to their classrooms.
Matt looked down the long hall, studying the small signs above the each door, until he spied the one that said Principal's Office. "Come on," he said, and wrapped his arm about John's shoulders.
Ten minutes later, each of the two boys stood rigidly in front of his respective class while his teacher introduced him. The teacher then went around the classroom having each student stand and tell the new student his or her name. By the end of the day Matt had discovered one of the boys in the neighboring house was in his class. John was not so lucky, as the other neighbor child was a girl, but he managed to make two friends in the playground at recess.
"So how was your first day," their mother asked as soon as they were both buckled into the back seat of the station wagon.
Both boys talked nearly nonstop all the way home.
"Mr. Halloway will be here in half an hour for you boys and your father to show him that gated area. As soon as you're done, come in and start your homework," their mother told them as she pulled into the lane leading to their house.
Fifteen minutes later Mr. Halloway pulled up to the house and climbed out of his car. Tom and the boys walked down the steps from the porch to greet him.
"I haven't been out here in years," he told Tom. "It really is a beautiful farm."
"We like it. Of course we've only been here for a few days, but so far we haven't had any surprises, other than that little gated spot that is."
"I went over Mr. Crawford's notes last night. Apparently he came out here with Mr. Curry and Mr. Heyes and jotted down a lot of what he was told. The original cabin, owned by Jed Curry's father, Seth, was right about there," he said, pointing to a small elevated area just to the right of the house. "Perhaps that little mound is what's left of the foundation. The barn was in the same location as the current barn, and the far side of that corn field was the Heyes homestead. Mr. Curry was eight and Mr. Heyes was ten when they were orphaned by the soldier raids."
"Hard to believe so much has happened right here on this very land," Tom replied. "I mean, it was actually a battle ground in a manner of speaking."
"Times were very difficult for the farming families in this area back then," Mr. Halloway replied.
"Boys, why don't you lead the way to your find," Tom told his sons.
Reaching the small gated area, Mr. Halloway first walked slowly around the parameters, then, with an almost reverent gentleness, he unlatched the gate and stepped inside. "Most certainly this is a gated grave site," he told Tom and the boys. "According to the notes I read, Mr. Curry wanted no identification markers, fearing that his own reputation would bring crowds of onlookers."
"We're more than willing to respect that wish," Tom told Mr. Halloway. "He wanted his family to rest peacefully on their homestead for all eternity. I don't suppose he would mind us tending to the site, keeping the grass trimmed and such."
Mr. Halloway nodded. "I think if he were still living, he'd be very pleased. Mr. Crawford noted that Mr. Curry was a rather quiet man who never sought to profit from his reputation. Mr. Heyes was the talker apparently and Mr. Crawford scribbled a side note with the words "silver tongue," in the margins of his notes."
"Where are Heyes and Curry buried?" Matt asked.
"South western Wyoming I believe. They died five or six years after visiting Lawrence. One of them was ill I believe, and the other was caring for him. After the ill one passed away, the other died within a matter of days. They are buried next to each other and, if memory serves me, they too have no stone marking the graves."
"Together all their lives," Tom mused.
"Mr. Wingate, would you mind if I take a few pictures? The museum won't put them on display out of respect for Mr. Curry's wished, but this is an important historical item, and the Historical Society would like to maintain a record.."
"Of course," Tom replied. "When you're finished, if you'd like to stay for supper..."
Mr. Halloway smiled. "That's a tempting offer, but I'm afraid I must get back to town."
When Mr. Halloway was finished, Tom and the boys walked him back to his car.
"Tell me, were they ever caught?"
Halloway opened his car door but paused to answer Tom's question. "As a matter of fact, the governor of Wyoming granted them both an amnesty. They gave up outlawing but remained wanted for several years and it is rumored that those years were to prove their commitment to becoming law abiding. But the only legal record is the amnesty itself. At least so far, no documentation has been discovered that a deal had ever been struck."
"Sounds like they both led a hard life," Tom replied.
Halloway nodded. "But by all accounts they led their lives the way they wanted, and had no regrets."
Tom and the boys stood in the yard and watched Mr. Holloway drive down the lane and out of sight..
"Come on boys, let's have supper and tell your mother all we learned. I bet come spring she'll be wanting to plant some flowers in that little family grave site."