Beth Heyes came home from work on a summer evening, tired from teaching all day. She went into the bedroom to find her husband lying on their bed, absently picking, relocking, and re-picking a padlock attached to nothing. Most of his attention was evidently elsewhere as he stared blankly into space even after his wife had entered the room.
"Jed must be safe, or you wouldn't be lying there idling." Beth studied her husband in concern for a few minutes of silence. Finally she leaned over to kiss Heyes.
"Oh, Beth, sorry," replied her startled husband, sitting up to kiss his wife. "Jed was just where I thought he was."
"Which was . . .?"
"With that ex-outlaw, Cavanaugh, who lives up in the mountains not too far from Louisville. Now Jed's home, safe, but not real sound. He's got a broken leg and a bad cold, too. Billy says the break really isn't as bad as they thought, but enough to keep him home for a few weeks. When Cat gets there to fuss over him, he'll be a lot happier."
"So why were you pacing up and down figuring last night, if you already knew where he was?" asked Beth as she took off her hat and put on an apron.
Heyes grunted low in his throat as he stood up. "I wasn't sure about Cavanaugh, of course. But mostly I was trying to figure out how to tell Billy Healy about him without giving Cavanaugh away too badly. He's been straight for a long time, but he still doesn't like lawmen even a little bit. I can understand that. He's been through some hard times. If he'd thought he was being threatened by the law, I don't know what he would have done. He would have been real mad at me for giving him away, and at Billy for finding him, that's for sure. I don't think he'd take it out on Jed, but when a man's scared bad, you never know. I think Cavanaugh's a good man, but I don't know him like Jed does."
"If he's that good, why doesn't he go for amnesty like you did?" asked Beth. The bleak look on Heyes' face answered her question for her. It could not have been clearer that the ex-outlaw up on the mountain had done something during his criminal career to preclude amnesty. Beth supposed he must be guilty of at least one murder, but she wasn't going to pry. "Oh," she said. "Then I guess I understand why he's nervous about lawmen – lawmen other than Jed. So Billy convinced Mr. Cavanaugh to trust him?"
Heyes put his padlock on the dresser and said, "Billy says it wasn't easy, but he managed it. Now he'll have a good friend up there, a valuable one. Mr. C knows everything that happens in those mountains."
"But what about down here?" asked Beth as she stood next to Heyes. "I've never come home to find you just lying around before. So I assume that isn't really what you were doing. You've got something else going on in that amazing head of yours. You were a million miles away when I came through the door."
Heyes showed his teeth in a playful grin. "Well, maybe a thousand or two."
Beth was smiling, too. "Did you hear back from one of the schools out West you applied to?"
Heyes laughed happily. "Not one – two. Utah and Wyoming. Both want me to interview."
Beth put her arms around her husband happily. "Wonderful! So you were going through the interviews in your head when I came in."
Heyes nodded. "Yeah, that's exactly what I was doing. Brilliantly, I might add. In my head, everyone desperately wants me. To hire, I mean, not to turn in for cash." Heyes happily fantasized about his future, for the moment ignoring his realistic worries.
Beth embraced the fantasy - and Heyes. "Of course they want to hire you! When do you go out on the train?"
Heyes turned to his desk and scribbling something on a pad. Beth saw that he was making notes for his interviews. "I leave Monday, early in the morning. I called them and set up times. And I let my new boss know when I'll be gone. I'll do some extra work for him and catch up when I get back. Gosh, what did we ever do without a telephone?"
Beth stood behind her husband and rubbed his shoulders. "Poor Mrs. Westmoreland. She must be seriously regretting that she ever agreed to let us use that instrument."
Heyes turned to look over his shoulder at his wife. "Well, she's nice about it, but we are in her debt."
Heyes fell quiet. He held Beth in his arms, gazing searchingly into her brown eyes. Then he said, "That's a long way I'll be going. My Maryland girl - do you really think you could be happy in Utah or Wyoming? It wouldn't be much like New York, or Bethesda, either."
Beth kept all doubt out of her voice, wary of undermining Heyes' sometimes fragile confidence about post-outlaw life. "At your side, yes, Heyes. I know I'll be happy if you are. It will be a wonderful adventure! And I count on you to help me find my way. Maybe we'll even have children to keep us company. When I think of all the places you've been over the years, I guess you won't find it hard to move."
Heyes gazed thoughtfully out the window at the busy streets of New York. "I don't know. I've started to put down roots here. It'll be hard to leave Charlie and Jim and Dr. Leutze. And those good libraries."
Beth laughed. "You and I are different in a lot of ways, my darling, but the love of libraries we do share. And of good friends. Of course, most of your Columbia friends will be scattering next year for work, if they aren't sticking around for PhDs. So who knows – one of them could settle near us."
"You never know, I guess. But I won't count on it. We can make new friends, and take trains to see the old ones now and then." Heyes sounded distracted again. His mind was on the future.
Beth gaze her husband a squeeze to get his attention back on her. "In the meantime, we've got each other. But Heyes, I wish you wouldn't be picking locks, even in private. What if someone saw you?"
The ex-outlaw reacted testily. "No one's going to see me. I've got to keep my skills up."
"Why? You aren't going to be breaking into banks or out of jails anymore." Mrs. Heyes was plainly annoyed.
Heyes barked, "What if you get locked in a burning building?"
Beth sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to get locked in a burning building. You're being paranoid and looking for excuses."
Heyes looked at the lock on their dresser and said, "I'd feel like a damn fool if I couldn't pick a simple lock. I'm getting slow. I had trouble getting into the Stein's office . . . took me all of 30 seconds. Shouldn't have taken more than 10, 15 at the outside."
"Heyes! You broke into your employer's office?" Beth's voice was hard with anger.
"I forgot my key." The ex-outlaw avoided his wife's eyes.
Beth snapped, "You did not. You never forget anything. You just wanted to prove you could get past that lock. You're going to land yourself back in trouble if you aren't careful."
"I'm always careful. You know I am. You just don't want to be married to Hannibal Heyes. Joshua Heyes the professor is the one you want. That's not me. Not yet. Hannibal Heyes is who I am, Beth. Stop trying to get away from that. Stop trying to force me to be something I might not ever be!" Heyes' voice got sharper and harder, rising in tone as his eyes blazed angrily.
Beth stared at her husband in a combination of fury and horror. She shouted at him, "You were the one who went straight! You did that long before you ever met me. You were the one who wanted to get the MA and so you could teach. I never forced you. I asked if you wanted to try going to college. You were the one who said 'yes' and kept going for more and more. I knew you had the gifts to do it, but you knew it, too. You have the gifts to do a lot more. But I never forced you to go that way with them. That was your choice. And now, after all you've accomplished, you're saying teaching isn't what you want?"
Heyes collapsed onto the bed with his head in his hands. "I don't know, Beth. I get all excited about what I can do, and then I wonder if anyone will ever let me. In the old days, I could force things to go like I wanted them to, legal or not. Now, I have to follow the rules. The God-damned . . ." Heyes broke off his furious tirade, sighing and rubbing his head. "Sometimes I feel more locked up than I ever was in jail or prison."
Beth's voice softened as she strove to understand this intense and complicated man. "So you're still trying to pick your way out?"
"I don't know. Maybe." Heyes gazed up at Beth, standing over him. He looked as frustrated as he ever had when he was still struggling to speak.
"If academia doesn't work, you'll go back to crime?" Beth had her temper under control now. She asked this question almost as calmly as she would have asked what her husband wanted for dinner. She let the illogic of the thing speak for itself.
"No. Of course not. I guess I just . . . other than math, it's all I know, Beth. Crime is what I know. It's what I'm good at. Or it was." Heyes looked up in embarrassment and desperation.
Beth's voice was warm and she put her arms around her husband. "So when you're scared, you comfort yourself that you could still do it if you had to."
"Sometimes it's a damned pain being married to somebody who works in a clinic. Stop analyzing my problems." Heyes was still annoyed.
"Well, if you insist," said Beth sweetly. She rubbed his back as he sat as his desk and wrote. She considered the situation. "It's because you're going to Wyoming – that's what's bothering you."
Heyes turned from his desk and answered sharply, "No, of course not. Why would Wyoming bother me?"
Beth patiently put into words what they both knew so well. "Because that's where the Devil's Hole is, of course. You must have stolen more from Wyoming people and businesses than all the other states and territories put together. You're worried the board members and maybe lots of other people might take out against you."
"The Wyomingites won't be any worse than anybody else. Hell, the guys in the Bucket of Blood treated the Kid and me like heroes!" Heyes turned angrily from his wife to keep writing at his little desk.
Beth paused before she went on. "You really are worried, or you'd admit it. You're afraid of frightening me. You don't think anyone would hurt you, do you?"
Heyes stood up and turned around to embrace his wife comfortingly. "Of course, not, sweetie. Stop worrying and let me get my ideas written up."
"Don't try to con me, Hannibal Heyes. Just be careful and don't get beaten or jailed, alright?"
But even as the newly-weds kissed and made up, Elizabeth Heyes knew that her husband's worries still plagued him just as painfully as they had before she had entered the room. Beth felt as insecure as did her husband. Neither one could know what the future held. Kisses kept the fears at bay for only a little while.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
The next night Heyes was sitting at his desk, going over his plans for his interviews. Beth walked up behind him and put her arm around her husband's neck. "It's Saturday night, Joshua."
The ex-outlaw was writing busily and lining up his various documents. He didn't turn around as he spoke in a crisp, impatient voice. "I know that. I got another letter today for an interview – from that new Normal School in Denton, Texas. And I leave for Utah and Wyoming on Monday morning. I have a lot to do." Heyes' voice softened as he stood and turned to face Beth. "I wish we could go to dinner or dancing someplace tonight, but I don't dare."
Beth took her husband's hand, "Of course, darling. I know you have extra work to do for Mr. Stein tomorrow afternoon, but do you think we could go to church in the morning? You told Mr. Stein that we go to church, and we said we would, but we haven't managed it since we got back from West Virginia. I miss it. And Reverend Harrah will be wondering about us."
Heyes nodded. "And the rumors about us will be flying around the congregation. The word on who I am has to be out by now."
"I know how much you hate to be stared at . . ."
"And gossiped about." Heyes rubbed his head where he had been shot.
Beth spoke gently, trying not to push her husband when he already felt so much pressure. "But don't you think we'd better face the music before you spend another week out of town? The longer we wait, the more gossip there's going to be before they meet us and know you aren't some kind of devil with horns."
"You're right, Mrs. Heyes. I'll take a Saturday night bath and be ready for church tomorrow morning." He tried to smile, but Beth knew how uncomfortable her husband was. He only slowly relaxed as she scrubbed his back in the tub. She worked carefully around the raised scars from his old bullet wounds, including the oldest from when he had been only nine years old.
The next morning, as Elizabeth and her husband dressed and got ready for the early service, Heyes said, "I hate to get up early, but to avoid the late service crowds I guess it'll be worth it." Heyes helped Beth with her corset and she helped him with his high detachable collar – uncomfortable garments they both hated. Heyes straightened his tie and covered a yawn. "Well, Elizabeth, I think we're ready for church. You know, one of the charms of being an outlaw was setting my own hours, unless we were on the run."
"You don't have a gun in your pocket, do you?" Beth asked cautiously as she tucked a stray curl into her bun.
Heyes tensed. "Yes. You know I prefer to carry in New York."
"Honey! If anyone realizes you're armed, it won't help."
"I guess not, but you know how I hate to be unarmed in this city. Think about that time the guy tried to rob you."
Beth stood firm, hands on hips. "It's the house of God, Joshua. That's supposed to mean something."
Heyes sighed as he carefully pulled the small pistol from his pocket and put it in his desk drawer, which he locked. He put the tiny key in his pocket. "Alright. No weapons in the house of God. This going straight thing is harder than it looks."
The pair walked down the street hand in hand. Beth could feel Heyes' palm sweating. She leaned affectionately against her husband. "Calm down, Mr. Heyes. It'll be alright."
They arrived at St. Matthew's not long before the service was to begin and sat in the back. As Reverend Harrah stood in the pulpit to begin the service, he noticed Beth and Heyes in a distant pew and gave them a discrete smile. As the service progressed, Heyes saw a few people looking over their shoulders. He was sure he heard whispers. The elderly couple on the pew next to them darted uneasy glances at the man sharing a hymnal and Bible with the familiar Beth Warren. Heyes' jaw tightened. He knew now for sure that the word on him was out among these proper souls. He kept his voice down while singing hymns. As the collection plate was passed, Joshua was certain that he saw the grey-haired man next to him watching. The ex-outlaw smiled at his neighbor, who seemed to think Hannibal Heyes was more likely to take something out of the plate than to add to it. Joshua dug a generous contribution out of his pocket and dropped it in the plate to join the rest.
As the service ended, Heyes was certain that he heard his name spoken more than once among the noisy congregation that was lining up to shake the Reverend's hand. A little girl about six years said in a loud, carrying whisper, "Is that really Hannibal Heyes the outlaw there with Miss Beth?" Her parents blushingly shushed the child and looked at Heyes fearfully.
But Heyes looked up as the people around him fell silent and stared at him. He knelt down to look the child in the eye and said, gently, "Yes, honey, that's my name. I don't rob people any longer and I wouldn't hurt you or anybody. Reverend Harrah said I'd be welcome here."
The girl's eyes grew round and she held her mother's hand tightly. But Reverend Harrah raised his voice to make sure those around him could hear as he addressed Heyes, who was the next person in line to shake his hand. "Welcome, Mr. Heyes and Mrs. Heyes. I'm glad to see you both back in our congregation." There was a ripple of whispers at the word "back." Most of the congregation had not realized that Heyes had been with them before his marriage. But as people saw the dark-haired man with the new scar on his face, some recognized him.
Heyes smiled. "Thank you, Reverend. It's good to be back."
The reverend took time to ask after Heyes, knowing how many people were listening, "You aren't teaching college yet, are you, Mr. Heyes?"
"No, but I'm doing some bookkeeping. It's not full time, but it's honest work. It's a beginning"
"Yes, I'm proud of my husband," said Beth, leaning against Heyes shoulder fondly.
"I am, too, Mrs. Heyes," said the Reverend. "I'm sure Mr. Heyes will find an academic post soon."
"I'm sure he will," said Beth self-consciously.
Heyes, also conscious of the many people listening, said, "I hope so. I'll be away next week, out West on interviews."
"Good luck, Mr. Heyes. I look forward to seeing you both."
As Heyes moved away from the church door with Beth on his arm, he could see people from the church standing on the sidewalk standing, staring at them. He heard the voice of the man behind him in line to speak to the reverend. "Reverend Harrah," said the well-dressed man in a baritone voice, "how can you allow that criminal to be among us here?" Other men chimed in with soft agreement from where they stood lined up in the church aisle.
The reverend looked surprised. "Why Mr. Donald, will you not welcome a new sheep into the fold? Do you not believe in forgiving sinners who repent?"
The portly, upright Mr. Donald, was flustered. "Of course I do, but, but that man's a dangerous influence on the young."
Reverend Harrah asserted, "Mr. Heyes has turned from crime to honesty. I consider that a very strong positive example. He has given up a large, illegal income in favor of a small, honest one. That seems admirable to me. It recalls what Jesus had to say about the camel and the eye of the needle."
Mr. Donald, whose elegant clothes and well-dressed wife proclaimed him a wealthy man, hurried on his way. But many other people, from the rich to the poor, stood and gazed curiously at Mrs. and Mrs. Heyes. Heyes heard the words "robber" and "criminal" far more than once. The accusatory whispering continued as Heyes tipped his hat to a haughty lady and the couple turned to go home.
As Beth and her husband began to walk slowly away, a short, stout, elderly lady leaning on a cane approached them cautiously. She touched Heyes' arm. "Mr. Heyes, I wonder if I might ask you something," she said softly. She glanced behind herself at three other little old ladies for moral support, then back at Heyes.
"Of course, ma'am," said Heyes in a low voice, tipping his hat.
"Young man, when you were with that gang of yours with the shocking name, what did you do? What was your job?" Of course, the elderly lady would never mention the name of the devil. She pulled a black shawl closely about her even in the summer heat.
Heyes swallowed nervously as more people came out of the church and paused on the broad sidewalk to listen to his conversation. "Um, I figured out plans and gave directions and things like that."
The old lady's watery grey eyes glowed. She appeared fascinated. "Do you mean that you were the leader?"
Heyes carefully kept his face serious. "Yes, ma'am, I'm afraid I was. Along with my partner, of course."
"That awful man, Curry?"
Heyes stuck up for his partner. "Pardon me, ma'am, but he's not awful. He's a sheriff now and just got his leg broken chasing a murderer. Jed Curry is a good man."
The little old lady determinedly continued her questions. "Well, that's as may be, Mr. Heyes. But didn't you open things when you were with that gang?"
"Yes, I did. Doors, gates, windows – whatever we needed to have opened." The retired outlaw was getting quite curious about what this elderly lady was driving at. Beth watched this exchange quietly.
Heyes interrogator asked, with more people than ever listening on the sidewalk, "And safes, did you open safes?"
"Why, yes, I did." Heyes tried not to sound proud of this accomplishment.
"Were you good at it?"
"Um, yes. I won't lie about it. They say I was the best box man going – safe opener, that is. I won't argue the point."
"Oh, good." The lady smiled at her friends, who smiled back.
"Good?" Heyes was thoroughly puzzled by now.
Now it was the turn of the old lady to be a bit embarrassed. "Well, Mr. Heyes, we had a sextant, a bad man it turns out. He left recently. He had to leave, if you catch my drift."
"Yes, ma'am." Heyes was in a hurry, but he had to know what all this was about.
"Um, yes. He left the church. And when he did, he took the combination to the church safe with him. We don't know what's locked in there, but we suspect that we'd best find out."
The former gang-leader smelled an ecclesiastical rat. "Oh? That's probably a good idea. Have you called a locksmith?"
The old lady shook her head. "Locksmiths come expensive and if we have someone in the congregation who can do the work for free, well, we can save the reverend some money that he can use for the new roof we need for the nave."
Now Heyes was nervous. This was getting past being a joke. "Oh. Are you asking me to open the safe, Mrs. . . . ? You haven't introduced yourself."
The little old lady was undeterred. "Oh, I didn't, did I? I'm Mrs. Milton. My husband was sexton many years ago. He was a good man, but he died. So I still take an interest." By now the Reverend and several of his church officials were listening, along with the crowd of other parishioners.
"You take an interest. And you want to know what's in that safe, do you Mrs. Milton?" Heyes asked.
"Yes, we all do. So, will you do it, Mr. Heyes?" The petite Mrs. Milton was evidently enjoying being a conspirator with a famous outlaw who was leaning down to speak with her.
"Open the church safe? That depends." Heyes was cautious, though he doubted this was actually going to get him into any trouble, with Reverend Harrah standing nearby and not lifting a finger to interfere.
"Upon what does it depend?" asked an elderly church board member.
The ex-outlaw firmly clarified his position, looking over to the Reverend to make certain that he understood, since he seemed to be supporting this strange enterprise. "First of all, I want to be assured that I won't get arrested for doing it. I've spent more than seven years working for the amnesty I have now. If I get convicted on a felony, I'll spend the rest of my life in prison. I spent three days in the Wyoming State Penitentiary once and that was more than enough for me. You wouldn't want my poor wife left alone for the rest of her days, would you?"
Mrs. Milton was mortified. She put one hand to her ample bosom. "Oh, dear, of course not, Mr. Heyes. Of course we wouldn't have you arrested. The idea! Of course not."
Heyes remained very firm as he gazed down at Mrs. Milton. "I want that in writing, please. Signed by Reverend Harrah."
"Oh, I'm sure he'll do that for you. Will you, Reverend?" The Reverend nodded with careful solemnity. "Does that make it alright?"
"Not necessarily. What kind of safe is it?" The safer cracker kept his straight poker face despite a terrible temptation to laugh.
"What kind of safe?" It seemed never to have occurred to Mrs. Milton that there were different kinds of safes.
Heyes replied solemnly, "That's an important question. I don't have any experience with the newer models. And I'm very out of practice with safe cracking of any kind, of course. I stopped robbing safes nearly eight years ago. So some of the tougher models I might not be able to manage. And some of them can't be opened by manipulation of the tumblers in any case. Some require dynamite." He finished this speech with a note of drama.
Mrs. Milton glanced uncertainly at the Reverend, who barely suppressed a smile. The lady said in agitated tones, "Oh dear, I'm sure we don't want dynamite. The bishop wouldn't like dynamite."
Heyes glanced at his wife with a wicked gleam in his eyes before he answered. "I don't suppose so. So I ask you, what kind of safe is it?"
"I don't know, Mr. Heyes. Reverend, do you know what kind of safe it is?" When Reverend Harrah shook his head, Mrs. Milton continued, "I'm afraid you will have to have a look and see for yourself, Mr. Heyes."
Heyes finally nodded. "Alright. If the reverend agrees to these proceedings, I'll give it a try."
"Can we watch?" asked another old lady tremulously, in high excitement.
The ex-outlaw feigned shock. "What? Watch? Ma'am, it isn't a spectator sport."
"Oh, it sounds great fun to me – to watch you at work." Mrs. Milton admitted.
Heyes said dryly, "I am bound to disappoint you there. For one thing, it takes a while. Maybe quite a while."
"How long do you suppose?" asked Mrs. Milton.
"That depends on what kind of safe it is and how lucky I am. It could take hours. Many hours, perhaps. As I say, I'm out of practice. And I'm afraid I don't have a lot of time today. So if it takes hours, I'll have to leave." Heyes wasn't about to leave the impression that he was still in practice opening safes.
"Hours? Really?" The reverend himself asked.
Heyes emphasized the difficulty of this task, though he privately supposed it would be a very old safe and would pose little challenge. The expression about church mice came irresistibly to mind – he doubted the church could afford a good safe. "Oh, yes. Probably some hours. If I can do it at all. Even when I was in practice, most of the safes took quite a while for me to open. That's one reason most gangs use dynamite. They don't want to spend so much time. But I preferred manipulation of the tumblers, when it was possible. It's much quieter. Where's the patient?"
"Oh, goodie!" exclaimed the little old lady to her cohort gleefully. "He'll do it! Right this way, Mr. Heyes. In the north portal there, up the stairs, in the door to the right.
"You'll do it?" asked Reverend Harrah, joining the little group going up the stairs. Beth was at the tail end, stifling laughter at the sight of her dangerous husband surrounded by excited little old ladies, one little old man, and a balding reverend.
"We'll see, Reverend," answered Heyes with a delighted sparkle in his eye.
"Well, there it is," said the Reverend as he pulled a heavy old key out of his pocket and opened a heavy, wooden door in a neglected corner of the vestry. He coughed as the door swung back and a cloud of dust escaped.
Heyes chuckled softly and rubbed his hands together. He recognized the small iron safe with flowers and ornamental lettering painted on it. He knew this model from many encounters over the years. "I think I should be able to pull it off, if it isn't rusted shut. This really is too damp a spot for a safe. Now about that written agreement, Reverend?"
The reverend pulled a fountain pen out of his pocket and leaned on a dusty desk in the vestry to write something on a slip of paper. Heyes studied it and nodded. "That ought to do it. Elizabeth, keep that for me, if you please."
Reverend Harrah confided, "I really am very curious to discover what our sexton, who was certainly not quite honest, locked in there. He made it clear that it was something. I do know that the best silver chalice is missing. Whether it's in there, or he made off with it, I'm not at all sure."
"Well, I'll give it a try, Reverend, ladies, gentlemen" said Heyes, looking at the excited little crowd. "I've never worked for an audience before. I remind you – this could take hours. It's a tedious process of trial and error. Do you have something I could kneel on? It can get very uncomfortable down there on the floor."
"Oh, yes," piped up Mrs. Milton. "I have a nice, soft cotton shawl you could fold up and sit on. Will that do?"
"The Kid used to fold up a course woolen saddle blanket for me, so this is a step up," smiled Heyes at he put the delicate, lacy shawl on the wooden floor and knelt down with a barely audible low gasp.
"What, Mr. Heyes, are you hurt?" asked one little old lady in concern.
"More times than you'd care to know, but nothing recent," answered Heyes as he took off his hat and prepared to put his ear to the safe.
"I beg your pardon?" asked the same little old lady.
The former safe-cracker took his ear away from the safe to reply. "I suppose it seems unjust for me to complain of having been shot a fair number of times, considering how I used to make my living, but it does make for some sore places," said Heyes.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Milton with a shudder. "That's too bad." She seemed surprised that an outlaw would have been shot, or at least thrilled to be near an outlaw who had been shot.
Heyes shushed the eager crowd. "Now, please, I need absolute quiet."
"Oh," said Mrs. Milton and the Reverend together. Quite a number of pairs of eyes were trained on Heyes' back as he worked. There was a long silence as Heyes manipulated the safe's knob. Now and then he stopped to limber up his fingers. After about fifteen minutes, the crowd of little old church goers began to creep away. At last only the reverend, Mrs. Milton, and Beth were left standing over Heyes, staring from the vestry into the chilly, windowless stone room where the safe stood.
"I told you it wasn't a fast process," said Heyes, wiping his sweating neck with a handkerchief. "You really don't have to stay. It's dull for anyone but me. It's not even that much fun for me, knowing there won't be thousands waiting for me at the end of it. Please just leave me alone to work. And if it takes much longer, I need to leave anyhow. I've got a job I'm due at soon."
"Oh, yes, the bookkeeping," said Beth. "What a pain! I was enjoying finally getting to see you do some of your old kind of work, and this time for a good cause. Do you think it will take much longer?"
"It's hard to say, honey. I think I've got at least 20 minutes to go, but it could be much more. This isn't a hard model, but I am terribly out of practice. At least it isn't rusted shut. It's a little rusty, but not bad enough to stop me."
"Sorry, Mr. Heyes. We should never have asked you. I know you're a busy man," said the reverend.
"Not half as busy as I'd like to be," smiled Heyes. "We'll, I'd better get back at it."
The reverend took Beth Heyes and Mrs. Milton away to have some hot tea in the chapter house, where they found the other little old ladies gathered over a steaming pot. Sure enough, less than fifteen minutes later, Heyes came in with his eyes aglow with triumph. He tried to pretend he hadn't heard one of the ladies telling Beth, "You have a very charming husband there, Mrs. Heyes," and his wife's laugh in answer.
"Got it!" Heyes proclaimed, handing an elegant but tarnished silver chalice to the reverend. "There are some papers in there, too, but I left them for you to sort out."
There was a general cheer from the little group of parishioners. The little ladies stood up to crowd around their new hero.
"Oh rats!" exclaimed Mrs. Milton. "I missed it!"
Heyes had to work very hard not to laugh."
"I do appreciate your taking the time and trouble, Mr. Heyes," said the reverend.
"Yes, thank you very much for putting your skills to such good use," said the balding board member.
"You're all very welcome," said the triumphant Heyes, shaking the reverend's hand. "It's a pleasure to help people for a change."
"I hope it will get to be a habit," said Reverend Harrah. He added in a whisper, "And it won't exactly hurt your standing in the congregation, you know."
"Good," said Heyes, taking Beth's hand. "Because I like going to church, but only when I'm welcomed."
"Welcomed? Are you kidding?" asked Mrs. Heyes softly once they were alone back on the street, "Those little ladies could eat you up with a spoon. Not that I blame them." As they got close to home, Beth heard the church bells striking the half hour. "Oh dear, you'll have to really run to get to work in time!" Heyes took off down the street at a run that was really not very dignified, while his wife laughed at him.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Cat Curry stepped down from the train in Louisville that afternoon, with her cousin helping her. "Honestly, Joe, I'm fine," said Cat, hardly leaning on his steady fist as she made the long step down to the platform.
"You're expecting a baby, so I'm gonna make sure you don't fall over," the handsome young cowboy answered, "If you get hurt, the Kid's gonna have my head."
"And how would you know how he feels, Joe Christy?" asked Cat as they walked toward Christy's Place with the young cowboy carrying a large bag in each hand. "You've never met my husband."
"I know him by reputation, as they say, and that's enough," said Joe. "I hope he's feeling better. I don't like to leave you here with a man confined to his bed for months."
"He's got a good deputy and that town's full of men who'll be glad to look after me," answered Cat. "So stop worrying over me like a mother hen, Joe. Here we are – in this back way."
"I remember. It's been a few years, but I do remember your place," said Joe.
"They'll have Jed on the cot in the little back room so he doesn't have to climb stairs," said Cat. She listened attentively as she headed in the door toward Jed, since she could hear female voices.
"Jed, dear, would you like a nice back rub?" simpered a young woman in a revealing red dress who was leaning over the bed where Curry lay, fluffing his pillows. A similarly clad woman was bringing the curly-haired ex-outlaw a tall, cool glass of something.
"Jess Harding, Hedy Stout, get away from my husband!" yelled Cat furiously.
"But Cat, they were only . . ." Jed started to say.
"I can see what those she-vultures are doing, thank you very much!" cried his wife. "They had better stop doing it and get to work out front or they won't have work out front!" Joe Christy stifled a laugh at his jealous cousin.
The two harlots hurried out of the room, not without regretful backward glances at the very handsome sheriff who lay on the back room bed with his left leg propped up in its plaster cast. Curry looked doubtfully at his wife. While she had occasionally flared up a working girl who got too friendly with him, he had never seen her in quite this feisty mood before. He chalked it up to her "delicate condition."
"Aren't you even going to say hello?" asked Cat Christy sharply.
"You didn't give me a whole lot of chance," said Curry, leaning forward clumsily to kiss his wife. "Hello! You look wonderful, honey. Baby agrees with you, at least after that hard early month or two.
Cat smiled a little sheepishly. "Thank you, sweetie pie. And don't you snicker, Joe Christy. Meet my husband. You'd better believe he can outdraw you, or anybody, even in bed with a broken leg." Curry did have his Colt in its holster on the table next to the bed.
"Hello, Mr. Curry," said Joe, taking off his brown cowboy hat as if he was meeting a minister and shaking the hand Curry held out to him. "Glad to know you."
"Good to meet you, Joe," said Jed. "I'm glad you got Cat here safe. Make yourself at home. Maybe you'd like to get a drink out front? You must be thirsty after that long train ride out of Kansas."
"Thank you, sir," said Cat's cousin. "I might just do that."
"You don't have to call me sir," said the Kid. "Jed is fine. I don't bite. My wife sounds like she might, so watch yourself." He winked at Cat, who stuck her tongue out at her husband.
When Joe was gone, Cat instantly went to put her arms around her husband. "Oh sweetie, how are you?" asked Mrs. Curry, between kisses.
"I'm holding up," said Jed. "I just wish there was more I could do for poor Billy. He's working himself into an early grave. If Joe could stick around a day or two and help out, I'd sure be grateful."
Curry paused and looked at his wife. He touched her belly very gently. She was showing noticeably more than when he had last seen her. "There really is a little guy in there, ain't there?" he whispered.
"Yes, Daddy, there is," said Cat. "He'll be here this fall, so you'd better hurry up and get that leg healed up so you can take care of him."
Jed looked fondly at his wife and kissed her again. "How are you feeling?"
"Pretty good. I'm eating more, like the doctor said I should, but I still don't feel real hungry for it. I felt kind'a nauseous on the train, but it's better now. It's gonna be hard, sleeping in that bed upstairs alone, knowing you're down here in this little cot alone." Cat sat next to her husband in bed and snuggled against him. "You are a mean man, you know. You go and get hurt right now when we could still have had a good time for a while before I get too big."
Jed sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. I feel awful shamed, getting hurt like a green kid. That murderer let me see him on that ridge so I'd ride into that bad place. I knew all about that spot with the loose rocks. But Billy and me was having so much fun out hunting that man, I just went and clean forgot it. And they had to shoot the horse, too."
"It's a shame. But you aren't any more perfect than any other man, no matter what the stupid newspapers say. You've learned your lesson and you'll do better next time."
"I'm supposed to already know all this stuff," moaned Jed. "I'm Kid Curry, for goodness sake!"
"You're just a man. You're a good man, doing your best. But I'll tell you one thing, Jed Curry," said Cat, "Don't you let those floozies look after you. I'll do it. I'm still up to it and will be for a while yet."
"Good!" said Curry and put his arm around his wife. "'Cause Hedy was right - I need a back rub."
"Me, too, actually," said Cat. "And lunch would taste real good about now. Guess I'd better get it for myself. Nobody else is gonna do it." She put on an apron and got right to work.
"Aw, sweetie," said Jed Curry. "I wish I could help you or Billy or Heyes or anybody. It's about as bad as being locked up to just lie here with this leg propped up. And what'll I do if some dangerous outlaw comes around?"
