Winter's Refuge
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Five
HEYES
I know the Kid well enough to know he wasn't telling me the whole truth about his trip to Porterville…and I know him well enough to know he'll tell me when he can. If Lom's truly in the grip of whiskey, the Kid is a good one to send to help him. He's been there himself.
"Sorry to leave you when these mares are gettin' picked up and new mares comin' next week. If you need help, lean on Juan and Arnie. They know their job."
I know he was giving me an out in case it was too much for me. I appreciate that about the Kid. He never says you can't handle this. Instead, he gives me the opportunity to do everything I can. "I think I can handle it. 'Sides, most of them want to shake the hand of a leader of the Devil's Hole Gang. I'm happy to oblige them.
The Ardens - Dr. Aiden, Miss Denise, Ajay and Dr. Oliver - left Phoenix the day after the Kid. I'm so happy for Dr. Aiden, but surprised when he told me that helping me put him on this path.
The next day I took the twins to school and stopped at the doctor's office. Dr. Oliver was already seeing his brother's patients. I waited for a break between patients.
"Doctor, your brother said he had some articles in those medical magazines he has, about teaching babies how to talk somehow with their hands. Was wondering if we could borrow them for a while."
His questioning look turned into understanding. "One of the Curry children deaf? Of course, of course. There's two ways of thinking about it now. Some experts believe teaching the babies the sign language is the way to go, but lately some experts are arguing that they should only be taught to talk."
"Ahh," I said confused.
But Dr. Oliver smiled. "I suggest you take the articles about both ways of thinking and use both of them. Which child is this?"
"Ruth Anne."
"That cute baby girl with the big smile? I'm sorry."
"We ain't going to let her feel sorry for herself. And we're all going to learn this sign language."
JED 'KID' CURRY
My first time in Lom's cabin was eye opening. When we left what he calls Susan's house and opened the door here, it was a mess. I've never seen it like this. Whiskey bottles empty and full were everywhere. Aiden was right, Lom doesn't know his son at all. There's not even a place for Wayne here. I pushed a chair so it faced a wall so there was no way the baby could roll out and put the quilt my wife made down on it. Phyllis is right. He's a happy baby; he woke up wet and hasn't been changed yet.
"Lom, goin' to change the baby on the kitchen table. Don't see anyplace else. Come watch and see how it's done." The table was empty except for two whiskey bottles, one empty, one half full. And a letter addressed to the Porterville City Council. I'll ask Lom about that later.
"You change him," Lom answered, taking the half full bottle, and startin' to raise it to his mouth. I grabbed it away. He fought for it, and it crashed to the ground. "See what you did, Kid. That bottle was still half full."
"You don't need that anymore. You do need to learn how to take care of your son. You're all the family he's got."
Reluctantly, Lom came and stood by me. I knew diapers and I knew diaper pins. I have changed Ruth Anne's diapers many times and Joy Christina before her. But I didn't know about changin' baby boys' diapers. When I unpinned and slid the diaper off him, his pee shot upward onto my shirt.
I laughed. Wayne smiled…and Lom nodded his head with a small grin. Takin' a clean diaper, I draped it over the baby until I had a clean diaper ready to go. Then I moved quickly and got the front of the diaper up and ready to pin. All the time Wayne smiled and waved his arms to be picked up. This baby loves to cuddle…probably something he doesn't get enough of. If I can help it, that will change.
A wave of sadness swept over me. I hadn't known Michael or Martha when they were babies. Never had the chance to change my son's diaper. Didn't even know they existed until I got out of prison. I met them when they were five years old. Five lost years. It's my fault I missed all that. I was in prison where our outlaw life had put me. A wave of thankfulness followed the sadness that I do know my four children and I get to raise them. And I owe this man here for giving me this life. Now I'm determined that he claims his life back from the alcohol. I know it's hard. Whiskey changes you. Makes you forget pain and what's important. I'm going make sure Lom can handle the pain without the whiskey.
We sat in the livin' room after Lom moved his dirty clothes off the two other chairs there. I waited until he sat down and I settled Wayne in his arms. He didn't object. I knew he did this every night, drunk or sober. While he was absorbed with his son, I searched the cabin for whiskey, findin' five more bottles. Without him noticin', I took them out the back door and emptied them. I saved the bottles for shootin' practice tomorrow mornin'. When I went back in, Wayne was fussin' in his arms.
"Think he's hungry. Phyllis always gives me a bottle to give him. It's a special formula Dr. Arden taught her to make." Lom sounded nervous, helpless. I've never really seen him like this. He always knows what he's doin'.
I searched in Wayne's bag findin' two full bottles of formula, and instructions how to make more. I may not know how to change a boy's diaper, but I know how to heat up a baby's bottle. Lom knew how to feed and burp him and cuddled the boy on his shoulder until he fell asleep. So, I got serious.
"Lom, the drink ain't helpin' you anymore. It's got a hold on you."
"I can quit anytime I want," he insisted.
"Well, we'll see about that because you've had your last drink and I'm here to see to it."
He hugged Wayne and kissed his sleepin' son's hair. "I'll stop drinking soon, but not yet."
"Now, Lom." I used a tone that kept the Devil's Hole Gang in line. He knew I was serious.
Noddin', he changed the subject. "Thanks for comin' to Yuma with me to visit Preacher. I know it'll bring back an unpleasant time in your life. You don't have to do this. I can get there by myself."
I was quiet and stared at the baby in his arms. "Be truthful, I'm not lookin' forward to goin'. Hoped I'd never see that place again. But doin' it for you and Preacher."
HEYES
I went to my office to work on the breeding accounts. Three pregnant mares left today and I was right. Each of the foremen or owners wanted to meet an outlaw. One was disappointed the Kid wasn't here to sign a copy of his dime novel, but all gladly shook my hand and talked to me for a while. I couldn't have done this last year, but with the Kid's patience and trust I can do it now. He had a lot on his mind with his trip to Porterville. Lom's drinking as heavy as the Kid ever did. I hope the Kid helps him and doesn't get drawn back into the alcohol himself. He said that we, meaning me, him, and Chrissy, were going to talk to the twins and tell them our history last weekend but it didn't happen with this trip. It was weighing heavy on the Kid. He thinks it will change the way they look at their pa. Told him it wouldn't matter; they adore and respect him. He just half smiled in response, and I knew he didn't believe me.
Chrissy came in and took the breeding calendar from me. She had a stack of correspondence and updates.
"All William Knight's horses confirmed pregnant. He very grateful and wants space next year. He wants to gift one of the foals to us for all the trouble he caused bringing the grippe here," she told me as she marked the calendar with the confirmed pregnancies.
"He doesn't have to do that," I responded.
She 'thought' for a minute. "William not used to taking no for an answer. We take foal…charge him less next year."
"Want to ask the Kid?" I asked.
"No. Chrissy make breeding decisions," she said firmly and I realized she's matured lately. But her eyes look tired, very tired. "You do your work. I'll work on the breeding business."
"You look tired, sweetie."
"Always tired. Take nap when finished here."
LOM
I was scared when the Kid said we were bringing Wayne to the cabin, but it worked out. He knows how to take care of babies…I don't and haven't tried to learn. In one night and the next day I learned how to change his diaper and make his formula. And I love him…when he looks at me with eyes the color of Susan's my heart explodes. I stopped thinking of them as Susan's eyes; they are the same color and have her innocence, but they are Wayne's eyes. And he looks at me with such trust and love. The Kid is right. I need to stop drinking so much and concentrate on raising my son. But not today, not now. I found the empty bottles on the back porch. And I understand why. The only way I'll quit is to not have it around.
Kid slept in the living room where he had made a makeshift crib for Wayne. As soon as I went into my bedroom, I closed the door and found the open whiskey I had hid in my drawer and finished it until a drunken stupor took me to a troubled sleep.
The next morning, I woke to Wayne crying. How? He doesn't come here…and then I remembered the Kid had brought him here. By the time I pulled my pants on, the Kid was sitting in a chair givin' him a bottle and talkin' to him just like he was an adult and could understand. When the Kid saw me, he motioned to the other chair. "Sit."
I did and he settled Wayne with his bottle in my arms. "Burp him, then change him when he's done eatin'," he told me. "Goin' for a walk to see if Porterville has changed since me and Heyes were here last.
JED 'KID' CURRY
Don't know where he got it, but Lom drank last night after I went to sleep and woke up with blurred eyes and cloudy thinkin'.
"Need a drink to wake up, Kid."
"Made coffee, not as strong as Heyes' coffee, but strong enough." He put the cup down in front of me.
"Not what I meant."
"Well, it's what you are gettin'."
Me and Lom spent the day together with Wayne. I told him how I had been in the grasp of whiskey once and with Heyes' help recovered.
"That about the time you first joined up with Jim Santana?" Lom asked. "We were glad to have Heyes, but you seemed, well, touchy. And a touchy fast draw gunnie is scary."
"Yeah, whiskey was still callin' me at times. But Heyes saw I didn't find any. If I can do it, you can."
"I know I can do it when the time's right."
"Lom, the time's right now."
And so, he hid his drinkin' from me. I guess he thought I couldn't smell it on his breath and notice how his speech was slurred or eyes were heavy. Before we left for Yuma, I searched his travelin' bag and didn't find no whiskey. But on the first leg of our train trip, he took a long time usin' the water closet and came back drunk. The bottle must have been in his overcoat. But my head is not with stoppin' Lom from drinkin' on this trip. My mind keeps gettin' overpowered by harsh memories of the railroad camp. I feel the shackles burnin' my ankles, the dry heat in my nose, and we're not even close. I left Lom, knowin' he had hidden whiskey, and went and stood on the platform between the railcars. In the car, I felt confined and the needed to escape.
LOM
Don't think it was a good thing to bring the Kid with me to Yuma. He has steadied his face so it is void of emotions and stilled his movements, but I know him well. He's remembering the horrors of his prison time. Finally standing up, he exited the back door of the car, his back was straight and his shoulders tense. Arden had told me the Kid had lost some weight when he was sick. He's as strong and muscular as ever now.
He didn't say anything when he came back, but there was an emptiness in his eyes. I offered him what was left of my whiskey. He just waved me off and sat across from me. I took a deep drink of the bottle, daring him to say something or grab it away from me. He did neither. That and the blank look in his eyes told me we'd have little conversation on this trip. I tipped the bottle up and finished the whiskey.
JED 'KID' CURRY
The last leg of the trip from Yuma to the prison was still on the same old train we had left on. It's no wonder. This is now a small spur that leads only to the prison. A new main railroad route, includin' the tracks I helped lay, runs closer to the river, right under the guard tower. The memories of the heat and the lashes seemed real, happening now. Again, I stood on the platform and stared forward.
We rode smoothly over the tracks I had helped lay, shackled, in the burnin' sun of the desert. I had a mental picture of the young prisoner, Gill, that had grown up nearby and taught us about the pink hedgehog and the prickly pear cacti that had brought some sweetness into the prisoners' lives. Prison had hardened the boy into a lifelong criminal that ultimately led to his death. Prison does that, hardens men, creates criminals out of wayward boys. I could see the heat waves rising from the sand. In my mind, I felt their stiflin' heat. In my mind's eye, I felt the lashes and saw the older prisoner, Aaron, whipped and fallin' and heard him scream as the burnin' sand entered his wounds. When the overseers left, I carried him to the prisoner's sleepin' tent and watched the guards shackle his legs to the bed. He died later that day.
In the distance, I can see the tall Guard's Tower. The desert has its own illusions. Things are further away than they look. Goin' back, I sat opposite a now drunk Lom and asked what I should have asked already. "Tell me all you know about Preacher."
LOM
The Kid didn't say anything about my drinking, but he knew I was drunk. In prison he not only became strong of body, but matured and became strong of mind, an imposing person. His innocence died here, but it was replaced by determination. That determination first was to get strong enough so no one would ever hurt his family. His definition of family is very broad and includes Preacher. Now, sitting across from me, he is very self-controlled, self-contained. I should not have brought him here where horrific memories are forced to the front of his thoughts. I can see them in his eyes. With a stiff back, he's looking past me as I tell him about our friend.
"Preacher was caught because, well it was all my fault, my fault." I took a deep breath so I could explain with the whiskey slurring my words and my thoughts.
"Your fault, Lom?" The Kid's voice sounds cold to me, but his question focused my thoughts.
Concentrating through the whiskey, I spoke slowly. It helped that he wasn't looking at me, just staring past me at nothing…well nothing that I could see. I'd bet he was reliving his time here.
"My fault. I told him to go to Arizona. Heard the law was searching for the remaining members of Mark McWinters' Devil's Hole Gang. And yes…yes…yes of course you know the Preacher would still take refuge in the Hole occasionally. There was a reward on him in Wyoming and Colorado, so I told him to go to Arizona. I didn't know that he'd been in trouble there before I knew him."
Briefly the Kid's eyes caught mine before turning and looking out the window at the unchanging scenery of the desert. So I kept talking. "Kid, did you know Preacher was a preacher's son? And a minister himself? Well, I didn't." When I stopped talking, dizziness from the whiskey was aggravated by the motion of the train. And I wasn't sure if the Kid was even listening.
Without looking at me, in the same cold monotone, he said, "Not your fault. You tried to keep him safe. "You've visited him before. How's he doing in prison?"
I thought back. "That was before…before…before Susan…" Tears came to my eyes unbidden. When I'm drunk, I'm allowed to cry. It's not acceptable if I'm sober.
He turned back to me and this time held my gaze. From the opposite seat, he put a hand on each of my knees. He didn't say nothing for a long time and then said, "Alright to cry for Susan some still, but it's about time you start dedicatin' yourself to raisin' the son she gave you. Wayne's a beautiful child."
I nodded and swayed to the side, reminding me of the alcohol I'd had in the last hour. He looked out the window again and I know he was waiting for me to talk more. "Been more than six months since I visited Preacher. He don't want no one to know he's in prison. But I couldn't go alone…not like this."
"You mean drunk?" he asked harshly.
I felt his disapproval but when I look at myself, I know I deserve it. I didn't answer him but resumed talking. "Preacher has a friend in the warden. He'd heard him preach years ago and was moved. He allows Preacher to hold a service once a week…if he's sober."
"Sober?"
"Preacher was drunk when I last visited. Warden asked me to help find out where he got the stuff."
The Kid's quiet answer was more a memory than a reply. "I found there's usually a way to get anything in prison if you're willin' to pay the price. And the price ain't always money. I wasn't interested."
"Well, I always make sure Preacher has money on account. Thought I was doing a good thing," I answered. "Heard him lead a service last time. The warden's right, he's a powerful preacher, the kind that can reach your heart and touch your soul. Even reached the guards and the warden. Did you know his name is Jos...s…siah?" The alcohol made me slur his name.
"Knew that…sometimes when he was drunk he called himself 'J'."
"Missed the last visit…not my fault, but glad I didn't have to go."
"Never knew you to miss a visit."
"No…no...didn't miss it. Telegram said all visits cancelled. Some kind of prison wide fight."
"Preacher's a good man to have on your side in a fight. Especially if he's had enough whiskey so he don't care if it's right or wrong," the Kid said. "He involved in the fight?"
"Don't know. Got another telegram sayin' I could visit today. Let them know two of us were coming."
"Lom, anything else I need to know before we get there?" Still the cold tone and it made the question seem threatening.
"That's it."
"If you got more whiskey hidden, dump it in the water closet before we get off." I understood that it was an order.
"None left."
HEYES
There's always so much more work to do when the Kid isn't here. None of us realize how much he quietly does for each of us. He never asks, but I'll find that when it's my turn to brush our horses, it's already done…or the horse trough has been emptied, cleaned, and refilled before I get up one morning. It would have taken me, Juan, and Arnie more than an hour to do that. A lot of mornings he meets the twins in the barn and helps them milk the cow and gather the eggs. He even brought Joy out to the chicken coop to help gather eggs. She must have dropped at least one because she was muddy and had egg yolk on her hands. But clutched in her left hand she had her prize, an intact egg.
"Auntie, egg for you," she said as they entered the kitchen.
Auntie made a big fuss over the egg and added it right away to the scrambled eggs. Joy was so pleased.
I stayed up late and read the articles on teaching signing versus speech to deaf babies. Most seem determined that their way is the only way. I talked with the family, minus of course the Kid, and we decided we were going to teach Ruth Anne both methods. Angie started on it right away. It kept her busy and once Ruth Anne realized what the signs were, she's been crawling up on Angie's lap and begged to learn more. Chrissy started to cry when the baby signed 'ma' and then a day later made a sound very close to ma. Joy learns the signs with her sister. I like to watch them play together and sign words. Angie joins us at the dinner table and we all learn a few more words. 'Ruth' was our first group word.
Ruth Anne's favorite words are thank you and no. And Angie has taught her to say 'Pa' as a surprise for the Kid when he gets home.
With Angie on bed rest and Chrissy so tired all the time, their chores have fallen to Auntie. The grippe slowed Auntie down some. I worry about all the work she's trying to do. I realize that the Kid had been helping her too and making sure she gets her rest. Hortencia tries to help but she has a little one and is pregnant, too. Mary is pregnant yet is here constantly. But, as Auntie loves to tell everyone, her biggest helpers are Martha and Michael.
But the Kid is right. It's time we told them their history. I overheard them talking to Auntie.
"You two are certainly good helpers," Auntie praised them.
"We always helped you. Even when we were little at our other house, remember?" asked Michael.
I held my breath and waited for the answer. Of course, they remembered their other home with Auntie and Aunt Lily. They lived there until they were five.
"Yes, I remember, dears. Now go set the table," Auntie answered the question and dismissed it quickly.
JED 'KID' CURRY
Too soon we are standin' outside the entrance to the Yuma prison. It's not a dark monolith like the Wyoming building. It's white hot from the sunlight. It's got a central yard and hot crammed cells around it. I tried to hide it, but my feet wouldn't move forward. My stomach is tight. I thought I'd left the feelin' of prison behind but it called me back…to help a friend. Gatherin' my internal strength, I followed Lom inside. The guard looked at me shocked.
"Convict Curry?"
"It's Mr. Curry," I answered with a low growl, emphasizin' the mister. But I'm not here to start a fight so I quickly took my gun belt off and put it in the box by the entrance. I watched the guard lock it.
The guard gave me a hard look. I knew he no longer had power over me, so I looked him in the eyes and returned the look with a hardened look of my own.
Lom drew both our attention. "We're here to see Josiah Jewell."
The guard picked up his list. "Says Sheriff Lom Trevors and guest. Curry, you're the guest?"
I didn't say nothin'. Lom nodded and waited.
"Follow the trustee; I believe convict Jewell is waiting for you," the guard finally said.
Lom kept up with the trustee, but my feet made me walk slowly, as if I were shackled. I returned the looks of the men in the cells we passed. And then I found myself outside the entrance to the dark cell. When I was in this prison, before I signed my life over to the railroad, I was recoverin' from a concussion. I had uncontrolled rage. I fought anyone who was stupid enough to challenge Kid Curry… and I never lost. And I was whipped and locked into this cage. Now, I walked down the entrance of the dark cell carved into the side of a mountain. Lookin' at the metal cage in the middle of the room that I had shared with scorpions, I bowed my head. Burnin' hot durin' the day and freezin' in the night, all I remember is tryin' to watch my back through confused thoughts, scorpions, and snakes.
"Is it true you caught a snake that fell through that hole up there before it hit the ground?" The trustee had returned lookin' for me. But I was stuck here, lost in horrible memories. I willed myself to turn my back on that cage.
"Two snakes. The second one didn't fall through the hole. It was dropped." I walked by him down the hallway away from the dark cell. And I made sure to make eye contact with him. Prisoners were never allowed to make eye contact. I could see it made him uncomfortable…"Sorry," I said, understanding he was a trustee, a prisoner here and not a guard.
"It's fine, sir. A pleasure to meet you. You're a hero here."
Now I was uncomfortable and walked quickly back into the sun. Lom and a guard were waitin' when we came out. "You're dismissed, trustee. Return to your daily work assignment," this new guard said.
"Yes, Senior Guard Neilson," the trustee answered.
"Neilson?" I asked, studyin' this new guard. "Stanley or Stu?"
I know he noticed that I hadn't said 'sir' from the look he gave me. "Senior Guard Stanley Neilson. You saved my life once in there, Curry."
"Just payin' back the humanity you allowed me in the black prison wagon on the trip here." I returned with a matter-of-fact tone. And walked by him and Lom headin' toward the meetin' room where I thought Preacher would be. That's where I met with Lom when I was a prisoner here…that is when I stayed out of trouble long enough to have visitin' privileges. It was in that dark cell that I made the decision to sell myself to the railroad in return for learnin' a dirty trade, blacksmithin'. I had hope that Lom would get us that amnesty, so I added a clause to my contract that the warden laughed at. It said that the day my pardon and amnesty was signed by the Wyoming Governor, my servitude to the railroad would end. And if it didn't end that way, I knew that over fifty percent of men consigned to the railroad died in their first three years. There were times I thought about death, but I would never have tried to kill myself…and I was shocked to hear that Heyes had. It jolted me. I should have been there for him. But of course, I coudn't have been. I was imprisoned, too. After I heard Heyes' confession at Matt's hearin', I thought about our relationship. I always thought he was the strong one and would be smart enough to survive. He was cunnin' and smart and resourceful. But prison broke him. Made him try to kill himself. He won't talk about it except to say 'sorry'. Don't know if he's sorry for tryin' or sorry for not tellin' me about it.
"Curry, not sure I ever said it, but thank you for warning me where that snake was sleeping. I would surely have stepped on it." He hurried to keep up with me.
I wasn't lookin' at the men stuffed, sometime three deep, in the cells. But when I heard someone yell, it stopped me.
"Kid Curry, you're a legend around here!"
"Ain't no legend, just a survivor," I yelled back. The knot in my stomach caused by this place, tightened.
"Convict Jewell isn't in the meeting room you remember. The warden had a small chapel built. He's in there. Over here. Before you go in, I know that the warden asked you this before Sheriff Trevors…" Neilson stopped and smelled. Then leaned closer and smelled my breath. "Well, maybe Curry…Mr. Curry, you can get him to reveal where he's getting the alcohol. Can't figure it out."
He gave me a quizzical look when he spoke. He'd figured out that Lom was drunk himself.