CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

NARRATTED BY KID CURRY

I hear Heyes come in but he's moving real quiet and stealthy, so I keep my head in my pillow, watch him through half shut lids. His hair's wet, so maybe he dunked his head in a trough as an alternative to black coffee. He pulls off his boots, but then goes to sit by the window staring into the night.

Next time my eyes flicker open, he's still there. It's no longer night. Not quite anyhow. It's struggling towards dawn.

"You okay?" I yawn, sitting up and having a good scratch. "Have you sat there all night?"

"Nope I'm not okay and, yeah, I've sat here all night. I've been thinking." Pause. "I've been thinking about – 'bout my mother."

Sheesh! Where did that come from?

"I've been thinking about how she and my father were – together. And how me and Helen are – together."

I got nothing to say. I hardly remember his mother. And, what I do remember – I'm never sure if it's ME remembering, or me remembering stuff he told me after. If you know what I mean.

He turns, "Jed…"

He called me Jed. He's not done that for…

"…You know how I agreed it was a lousy idea to tell Nell who I really am?"

"Who WE really are, Heyes." I look at him, "You've changed your mind, huh?"

"Nope. It IS a lousy idea, but I reckon I prefer it to the alternative. Seems to me I've backed myself into a corner where I can be either a lying skunk or just a plain old stinking skunk. I'm gonna stop lying. To her, anyhow. Then, I'm gonna ask her to wait for me to get that amnesty."

"Right," I say. I don't bother to argue. I don't reckon it'll do any good.

Pause.

"You think I'm wrong, dontcha?"

"Well, since it was only the night before last we listened to her mull over how she'd spend the reward money if she'd a chance to hand in outlaws…"

"She wouldn't! She's not… She hasn't got a mean bone in her body, Kid!"

"I dunno, Heyes. D'you need mean bones to prefer new drains for the orphanage – 'specially if'n you're always worryin' over an outbreak of somethin' nasty – over bein' kind to men who…" I can quote her, 'cos it kinda stuck, "Hustle scared mothers, cryin' children and frail old people around at the end of the barrel of a gun to get their hands on easy money?"

He slumps. I think, like me, he trusts Nell to do what she thinks is the right thing. Just, like me, he's not too sure what that might be. However much she loves Joshua Smith, will that stop her doing whatever her conscience tells her is the right thing with Hannibal Heyes?

Then, he draws a deep breath and pulls his boots towards him. "I'm gonna see her, set things straight if I can. If you wanna ride out right now, Kid, that's fine. I'll meet up with you in Red Rock. Otherwise, go get the horses ready to leave before the first train is due. I'll see you back at the livery."

I drop back onto my pillow with a sigh. "Back at the livery it is, then."

"Thanks, Kid."

"Heyes."

"Uh huh?"

"No offence, but after all that whiskey last night, you might wanna clean your teeth, huh?"

He turns back from the door, pours a little water from jug to basin, picks up the jar of toothpowder and a toothbrush. "Thanks, Kid."

As he leaves, I say, "Good luck, Han."

"Thanks, Jed."

---oooOOOooo---

STILL VERY EARLY THE SAME MORNING – NARRATTED BY NELL

Across the landing I hear the sound of a squawking, hungry newborn, immediately followed by the sound of besotted new parents cooing and soothing. I can picture Charles scampering to pick him up, then helping Ann prop herself up on the pillows. The squawking stops. The faint murmuring sounds of a happy couple joined in baby-worship continue. How mean does it make me, that listening to my best friends being happy – hurts?

My head aches. In fact, all of me aches. Too much snivelling, complete inability to swallow even a mouthful of food last night, no sleep. Every time I close my eyes, my mind races – what could I have done differently, said differently, to make him come back to me? Why doesn't he WANT to come back to me? Our time by the lake was so – so real. I was so sure he felt the same. Was I simply fooling myself the whole time? I do try to stop the 'what if' thoughts. I try to concentrate on, 'if he doesn't appreciate me, that's his loss!', but ...

Well, we all know trying and succeeding are two different verbs, do we not?

I OUGHT to get some rest. Doctor Cooper came back to the surgery with another long list of visits for tomorrow – I mean, today. He is thinking we may have a bout of chicken-pox doing the rounds of local children. Or should that be – hoping? He is hoping it is nothing worse.

Ping.

So long as it IS nothing worse – good! Not having a minute to spare between work and maximising publicity for the campaign and the trial will be the best thing for me.

Ping.

Huh? That was… Was that the window? I go over, lift up the curtain just as…

Ping. A third piece of gravel hits the glass. Down in the street is…

Anger warring with stupid, surging hope floods through me. I push up the sash.

"Helen," he hisses. "Come down to the lake. Please. I got something to say."

"Why don't you knock on the front door and come say it here?" I hiss back.

"'Cos – I don't think I'm real welcome in Charles' house any more."

Well, maybe. But, if he had something worth hearing, by which I really mean an abject and unreserved apology immediately followed by a sensible, unequivocal proposal, he WOULD be welcome and he would go round the front and knock. If it is anything else – I do not think I want to hear it. All anything else he has to say will do is prolong the agony.

"I'll be in the usual place and I'll wait an hour. Then, I must go. Please, co..."

I have shut the window and dropped the curtain before he finishes. If he thinks I am SO besotted with him that I'll… Ooooh! He'll wait an hour, will he? He'll have to wait longer than that for me to…

I wonder what he wants to say?

Not that I care.

I glance at the clock. He will wait an hour. An hour from now – or from when he gets there?

Not that it makes any difference – since I am not going.

I will just get dressed because – well, because it is too late, or should that be too early, to sleep now, so I may as well get up.

Five minutes later I am washed, dressed and staring at the clock.

I am not going.

Ten minutes later… Fifteen minutes later… Tick tock, tick tock.

Oh, for Pete's sake – who am I fooling?

I AM going.

I can either pace the floor for half an hour then race down to the lake worrying I have missed him – or I can admit the truth now and set off now. Both are dumb options, but one will get me all hot and sweaty and one will not.

I grab my shawl and slip quietly out of the house.

I am not going because I expect to hear – anything. Oh, no!

I am simply going to give him a well-deserved piece of my mind WITHOUT my lip wobbling this time.

---oooOOOooo---

His face lights up, "You came!" He runs towards me, takes my hands. "Helen, you came."

Now, I must his being overjoyed to see me is soothing to my bruised vanity. He has not taken it for granted I will show up. He is…

No. NO!

I push him away before his lips meet mine.

I will not be wound around his little finger by the charm and the dimpled smile.

"What did you want to say?" My voice sounds shaky. Steady, Nell, steady. Do NOT get your hopes up.

He braces himself. So do I.

"First, whatever else you think, I want you to believe I love you. I love you AND, I'm gonna ask you to marry me."

Yes! YES! Or, in honour of being out west, Yee-hah!

"No, strike that…"

Oh! No!

"I'm gonna fall on my knees, kiss your feet and BEG you to marry me…"

Be still my heart! YES!

"But before I do, there's something I hafta tell you, Helen. I've not been completely straight with you. There's something you hafta know about me, before you say whether or not you'll marry me."

Pause. More pause. If we only have – er – around twenty minutes.

"What is it, Joshua?"

"That's kinda it. My name's not Joshua Smith."

Huh?

"It's Hannibal Heyes."

For a moment, I register nothing. Then, I recall all the speculation Fred Tammett indulged in after the Butler boys were brought to town.

"Is this some kind of joke?" I already know it is not. His face tells me that. "You're a criminal?"

"Me and you both, huh, Helen?"

It is not funny. If he is Hannibal Heyes…

"You're THE Hannibal Heyes? The one who leads a gang of armed robbers? The one who holds up trains and banks? The one with a ten thousand dollar reward on his head?"

"Right verbs, wrong tense. Except for the last part. I held up trains and banks. I led a gang. Not now. Back in the summer of 1880, we – I went straight. I've been straight ever since. I'm hoping for an amnesty. I kinda got a promise from the Governor of Wyoming…"

"Wyoming?" I cannot take this in. When did we switch states to Wyoming?

"It's where I'm wanted. That bit about the reward's still present tense until the amnesty comes through. I can't say how long that'll be…"

He is holding my hands, gazing earnestly into my face. Talking and talking. I am not sure I even hear all he says. There is some sheriff called Trevors who is his contact with the Governor. He has to stay out of trouble. It was to be a year, but it has been… The amnesty is coming very soon. He is sure. Except – he is not really sure. He is just hoping. Some judge who knows him is due in town. That is why he has to leave. Besides, he cannot risk being here when journalists and photographers start to arrive. Let alone other lawmen. He has to leave before the first train comes in. That only gives us…

No. I certainly do not hear it all. Partly because my head is still throbbing from a long, long sleepless night. Partly because this cannot be real. First Joshua Smith, the man I love, walks out on me. Then, he comes back – only to say he never even existed. All the dreams I had built of a home together, a life together, come tumbling down around my ears for the second time in twenty four hours.

He has stopped talking. He is looking at me waiting for an answer. To – what?

"Huh?" I say.

"I asked if you'd wait for me, Helen?"

I do not know! How can I? He is…

"Why did you do it, Joshu…?" I stop. He is NOT Joshua. Almost the first thing he ever said to me, 'I'm Joshua Smith', was a lie. And, he has been lying ever since. When I was in his arms, my lips murmuring his name against his skin, into his hair - it was not even HIS name.

"Why did I rob banks? Or, why did I go straight?"

"No – well, YES! I suppose I want to ask both of those. But, I meant, why did you lie to me? No, that's stupid. I can see why you lied at first. But, why did you carry on lying? Why didn't you trust me?"

"I did try to tell you."

I pucker my forehead. I remember. That?! He calls THAT trying to tell me!

"You didn't try very hard! I distinctly remember the following words were conspicuous by their absence: Hannibal, Heyes, outlaw, armed robbery, large scale theft, intimidation, violent crime…"

His face hardens a touch. "I'm telling you now!" he interrupts.

"It's a little late, NOW! According to you, NOW I have ten minutes to make up my mind about the rest of my life!"

"I'm still telling you! I didn't have to tell you, but I did! And, listen Helen, I owe you an apology for deceiving you, I owe you an apology for hurting you, but I'm not gonna stand here apologising for everything I've been in the last dozen years. If I could change it – I would. I can't. You can flash your eyes and do the outraged voice all you like, it won't change a thing! The only thing I CAN change is the future. I'm trying to do that. I've gone straight."

His voice is sharp, verging on angry. He did not like my list of words conspicuous by their absence earlier one little bit. Good! He was not meant to!

I stare at him, "How do I know you've gone straight?"

"You have my word."

"Pffttt!"

"Do you think I'm a liar?"

"I KNOW you're a liar!"

He opens his mouth, realises he cannot deny that, shuts it. Then, "I'm not lying about going straight. I'm not lying about they way I feel about you. I think you believe me. If you don't – it's a lost cause anyhow, huh? You just said, we've got less than ten minutes. Don't waste it going in circles."

All right. He is saying he has changed. He is…

"Why did you go straight? Did you…?" I search. I do not want to ask, did he see the error of his ways; it is such a cliché.

"Helen, I'd like to tell you it was all from the best of motives. But, it was mainly 'cos safes were getting harder to crack, posses were getting smarter and I didn't wanna spend twenty years in prison, or die young, bleeding in the street." Pause. "I reckon there mighta been some better motives too. I just never needed to examine 'em. And, if I HAD examined 'em – that woulda meant thinking through why it took me more'n ten years to quit thieving. Wouldn't it? I will say – being honest grows on a man, just like crime does. And, these last few months I've had the biggest motive a man could have to STAY straight."

"Why did you rob banks?"

"It's where they kept the money."

He has clearly given that glib answer before, it comes out so fast. It is NOT funny! Well, it IS funny, but not now!

"I'm sorry, Helen. I shouldn't have… I guess I give a dumb answer 'cos… Let's say it's a question I've thought about over the years and I still haven't come up with a smart answer."

"I'll settle for a mediocre answer!"

"For the money. For the excitement. 'Cos I was good at it. Better than good, I was the best. 'Cos once you ARE wanted it's hard to do anything except keep running and keep robbing. 'Cos I fooled myself I was only stealing from folk who had money to lose. 'Cos I was a skinny, mixed-up kid who had nothing and it seemed some folk had everything. 'Cos it didn't seem much worse than all the stuff going on around me after the War. 'Cos the safes were there – calling to me! 'Cos it don't happen all at once – you start off stealing to live, or to stay in good with fellas who'll let you belong somewhere for a change and it gets to be a habit. 'Cos there didn't seem a lotta choices…"

"Can you HEAR yourself?" I explode. "How many choices do you need?! Shall I stick this gun into the face of someone who has never done me any harm and demand money with menaces – or not? How hard is it to pick the 'not' option?"

Pause.

"It don't seem like that when young and angry and hungry, Helen. You're dumb enough to think it's something - I dunno… You're so keyed up about what might go wrong and how you might let the gang down, you don't think much about the folk on the other side." He is watching my face closely. "It's not the stealing bothering you, is it?" His voice sounds almost hopeless. "It's the guns."

"Of course it's the guns! I'm a doctor! I know what a bullet does to a body. The first time you were involved in a holdup, didn't you FEEL how wrong it was?"

Silence.

"If you didn't feel it was wrong the first time, did it not start to dawn on you by the hundredth time? After all, you carried on choosing the, 'yes I will threaten an innocent person with injury or death' option for years! Long after you stopped being the mixed-up, dumb youth with some excuse! You'd grown into one of the most intelligent men I've ever met! How COULD you?"

Silence.

"Didn't I always tell you, you were far too good for me," he says, finally.

"You were right! Not that it's any great compliment! Being too good for a notorious outlaw is not the steepest hurdle to clear, is it?"

"Careful, Helen, if you climb any further up onto that moral high ground of yours, you might get dizzy from lack of oxygen! Besides, don't the halo get kinda heavy?" His hands go to his hips. "I'm not gonna say you're wrong, 'cos you're right. I always did my best to make sure no one got hurt – and mostly it worked. Not always, but mostly. If I could keep it friendly and put folk at ease – I did. BUT, yeah, the whole thing depended on folk being frightened enough to believe we'd put a bullet in 'em if they didn't do as they were told. Let's accept that everything you can say about the outlaw life is true. You win. Let's move on. That life's in the past. The outlaw me is in the past. Stick with NOW. I'm being honest with you NOW. The man I am NOW, is in love with you. You told me you loved me..."

"NO! I told Joshua Smith I loved him!"

My riposte cuts over him as he asks, "…Will you wait for me to be free to marry you?"

I do not know! The right answer is so clearly no. But, no feels so wrong! No means…

He checks his watch. "I hafta leave, Helen. I need an answer."

This is NOT fair! If he were… When will the amnesty come through? Suppose we…? No, it is NOT fair! I do not even KNOW him! How much of what we talked about all those mornings was just – made up?

He could have told me!

The brown eyes drop. "I guess I got my answer, huh? I need to know you won't hand me over to the law."

How DARE he? He is running away to save his skin and now… How dare he think handing him in would even cross my mind? Anger flares up.

"Good point! After all, ten thousand dollars will go a long way on good causes and tins of halo polish!"

"Don't joke. I know you're angry with me, but I can't let you give me away."

"How do you intend to stop me?"

He catches my wrist. "Listen, if it were just me… But it's NOT just me – is it? That's the other reason I wasn't honest with you earlier. This is not just MY secret."

What? Oh! I see.

"You mean Thaddeus is…" I have forgotten the name. "He's whatshisname."

"Yup. He's the other fella."

A big chunk of my anger dissipates. I see where some of his hesitancy that morning down by the lake came from. He WAS trying to tell me, but baulked at betraying a friend. I can appreciate that. I want to be the most important person in Joshua's… Well, until this morning I wanted to be the most important person in this man's life, but I have no desire to be the only important person.

"You can tell," I STILL cannot remember his name, "your partner, he has nothing to worry about from me. I won't say a word. You have my promise."

"And – US, Helen?"

I turn away from him. "I think you'd better go."

---oooOOOooo---

THAT SAME MORNING – NARRATTED BY KID CURRY

I've settled our bills at the hotel and livery. The bags are packed; the horses are saddled; all I need is Heyes.

He's late. We really oughta get going 'cos…

It might be better for us – okay, better for ME – if she turns him down flat. We'd go back to… I shake the thought away. He's my best friend. All the family I got. I want him safe, sure. But, I also want him having a chance to be happy.

He's still not here. I swing myself into my saddle and lead his horse a few more paces in the direction of the lake. I'm wary of busting in on anything – private, but we hafta get outta here. I see a familiar battered black hat appear over the rise.

"How'd it go?"

He don't answer. Maybe he don't hear. There's a breeze and he's a few yards off still.

"You're late. The train's already in. I watched the folk arriving from behind the livery. Sure was the start of a crowd. How'd it go with Nell?"

"Uh huh? Was Hanley on the train?"

He heard me that time. So – what happened? He's wearing a poker face. I don't think it went well.

"Nope. No sign of Hanley. But guess who did show up?"

He mounts up.

"I'm not in the mood for guessing games, Kid. Tell me."

I tell him.

"For Pete's sake! Again! What is he? Half carrier pigeon with some kinda homing device set to us?! We could go to Timbuktu and still lay odds, sooner or later, HE'D show up!"

That's kinda an exaggeration – but I know how Heyes feels.

"We gotta get out of here, Heyes."

"That's what the horses are for, Kid." He sniffs the air. "I vote, we head west." He is riding away before I can reply.

I touch my heels to the side of my grey, close the distance between us.

"Heyes, how'd it go?"

"How'd what go?"

"With Nell."

"Oh, that?" His face twists for a moment. He shrugs, "It wasn't a yes, Kid."

Know what? I don't feel any relief. Not even for a second. My heart sinks for him.

Then, there's a return of the Heyes grin. He urges his horse to a gallop. Hoof beats almost drown out his words, but I think I pick up, "'Course, that don't mean I'm giving up!"