Winter's Refuge
Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Six
JED 'KID' CURRY
I asked Vince to drive the Clark brothers to Bridgeport. They couldn't wait to leave Phoenix and we couldn't wait to see them go. As soon as they were out of sight, Auntie sat down in her chair cryin'. I never know what to do or say when a female cries and Heyes looked just as lost. Sittin' next to Auntie, Martha put a hand on her knee.
"Auntie, if you want to go with them, I can catch them on Winter's Glory and bring them back," I finally said. That only made her cry harder.
"No, Jed, I want to stay here. I wish my boys understood. I don't know when they became so obstinate and rigid in their thinking. They certainly weren't raised that way, but when their father was killed, I sent them to boarding school for a few years. It changed their goals so now they value success–monetary and in business– and public appearance, above all. Their marriages reflect that and somewhere they lost their humanity. I'm crying for the two little boys who lost their compassion."
Michael came back bringin' his ma and Angie. He must have already told them what happened because they pulled Auntie to her feet with their hugs. "Come, let's go down to Mary's store and work on the party. Hortencia remembered more people we must invite and we have to figure out how that will change how much food we need and how we can get more chairs."
Auntie smiled, really smiled at the two ladies. With an arm around each of their waists, she led them out on her porch. "How many more people? We can get more food, but chairs are going to be hard to come by. Go get my cane, dearie, so I can go start some pies for dinner."
ASJ*****ASJ
Chrissy and I had agreed that Catherine will be our last child. We've been workin' hard to make sure of that and Chrissy has a special tea that helps. It's good that we are celebration' her first birthday with a party. The ladies may be plannin' the party, but I'm plannin' my trip to Yuma, Arizona to visit Preacher. Lom said he couldn't make it this time. As we sat on the front porch before dinner, Heyes surprised me.
"Kid, I know Lom can't go with you to Yuma. What do you say I come along? Want to see that land we bought," he said.
Mr. Kolmand had helped me and Heyes set up a company called HC Land Corporation with two purchases in mind but there can be more. The first one is the land on the mountain behind the Yuma prison that includes the opening of the hole in the dark cell. We fenced it in and since the law said we had to improve it, we had a small cabin built. We used the floor plan of the leader's cabin at Devil's Hole. Me and Lom stayed there the last time we visited. I went and sat by the hole that night with a lantern.
"Hello down there, name's Jed. What's yours?" I called down in the hole holdin' the lantern so some light shone down the hole.
Red eyes, dry from the heat, looked back up at me. The man was neither young nor old. As soon as there was light, I saw him search the floor for scorpions. "Perry," the dry scratchy voice answered.
"Wanted you to know no snakes will be comin' down this hole at you," I yelled down.
"Whoever you are, thanks."
I sat there lettin' the light shine through the darkness for a few minutes before I picked it up and walked to the new cabin.
Preacher was the one who suggested another use for the cabin. He told us of some men about to be released that he thought deserved a chance, but didn't have no family that cared about them anymore. The prison takes them into Yuma dressed in clothes that some prisoner had worn in, gave them four dollars, and left them. Most were lost as to what to do that was honest.
Preacher picked two younger men that he thought had reformed and let us know about it. When they were dropped in Yuma, they were told to report to the sheriff's office. He asked them if they wanted a paid ranch job for two months. When they accepted, he told them where it was. When they agreed to that, he gave them a list of their duties and a wagon full of food and buildin' supplies. He told them at the end of the two months they would be paid. He advised they return in about four weeks and more food and supplies would be provided. Alcohol was not allowed. You couldn't see it from the prison but there was a but twisting road up from the back side. It was longer but not as steep. Before anyone moved in we had a well dug and added an outhouse.
It worked real good and when me and Lom got there about the time the two months were up, we saw a new fence all around the property and a coop built for future chickens. Preacher had chosen these men well. They were grateful to have somethin' to do when they were released. They insisted on givin' us a tour of the fence and how they had tried to eliminate the snakes near the hole to the dark cell. They had both survived their time in there. Me and Lom slept in the same room that night and the two ex-convicts shared the other. We saw them off the next mornin' before we visited Preacher. They drove the wagon and horse back to Yuma to be used by the next men usin' the cabin and get paid from the sheriff. We only paid them when they were finished so they would stay and finish their work.
Buyin' the land was my idea. Heyes thought of buildin' the replica of the leader's cabin at Devil's Hole. But Preacher added the recently released men and that's what made it a success.
Now Heyes wants to go with me to see the land we own. "Hot trip, partner," I said. "You don't need to go. Stay here. The ladies always have a lot of errands for the party."
He turned away from me and didn't speak for a moment. Then, he said, "Do need to go. Need to see your dark cell, your prison, feel your heat there to understand what you went through. You've seen mine."
So, when we were on the train to Yuma, I told Heyes he should stay at the cabin while I go visit Preacher. All prisons are oppressive. Yuma is no exception and the desert dryness makes it seem more desolate and allows desperation to grow. I tried to sleep with my hat over my eyes, but Heyes' gaze had been fixed outside, watchin' as the desert took over the landscape. I couldn't sleep and I needed to break Heyes' concentration because I didn't want him hidin' in his mind on this trip, so I started a conversation.
"Heyes, looks like Father Patrick should be well enough to come to Catherine's first birthday party, but he'll still be usin' his cane," I said.
He looked at me for a moment as he forced his thoughts to the present. "I know some of it, but what exactly happened to him?"
"I still can't believe he did what he did without tellin' any of us, except Dr. Oliver. And Dr. Oliver thought we all knew and thought it odd no one accompanied him to the Wyomin' Territorial Prison. Instead, he reached out to Warden Mays about preachin' to the prisoners on Sunday and meetin' with them individually afterwards. Mays agreed. Not many religious men are willin' to go there. Father Patrick was sure this was his callin'.
"So, he lined up a young priest from Mallard Springs to take his place at Mass on Sunday in Three Birds. This time, though, he fully vetted his replacement. And Father drove his buggy to Bridgeport and took the train to Cheyenne.
"Stayin' at a hotel Saturday night, he spent most of the time in prayer, anticipatin' fulfillin' what he thought was his callin'," I told Heyes.
"Being a man of God in a prison ain't easy unless you're like Preacher and know what it is to be a prisoner. Father Patrick was naive to go there," Heyes answered. I knew he was listenin', but he was also starin' out the window at the unchangin' landscape.
"I wish he'd have talked about it with us before goin', but he didn't. He drove out to the prison in his buggy, bringin' his vestments and a box with cookies for the prisoners. Warden Mays welcomed him at the door and the guards looked into his box of cookies and each took one. The guards escorted him to the communal dinin' hall. On his way there, he saw Dr. Oliver Arden. Although they did not know each other, when Father Patrick was introduced as bein' from Three Birds, the doctor took notice.
"Father had two trustees that helped him set up the room. For some reason, Mays decided that since he was from Three Birds, he didn't want to take a chance that this was part of a planned prison break and forbad Matt from attendin'. He didn't know Father and Matt had never met or heard of each other. Still, it was fortuitous that Matt didn't attend," I continued.
Heyes looked away from the landscape and at me. "Fortuitous, Kid?" He smiled. "Another word I've never heard you use before."
I just grinned in return and continued, "Well, the whole thing was doomed from the start. When the guards checked the box of cookies, they didn't look under the cookies where Father had packed six small blue flowered porcelain ceramic plates. He thought nothin' of it, just that the cookies would look cheery on the plates."
"Cheery?" Heyes asked. Then he realized what I had said, added, "Porcelain?"
"Cheery. It's the word Father used to describe the plates after. And yes, porcelain plates. Just what you think happened. The prisoners who wanted to attend, or were forced to attend, filed in. There were only about thirty men in the room and Father was disappointed by the turnout. Yet he was sure he could save their souls. When they were seated, only two bored armed guards remained at the back," I told Heyes.
"Bored guards are dangerous. They aren't paying attention and go for their billy clubs…or rifles…too fast without knowing what's going on," Heyes added.
"Yeah, it all happened real quick. Father finished his preachin'. He said he focused on God's mercy and forgiveness. He invited everyone to take some cookies on their way out. He was smilin' and sayin' "Bless you" to each man when some of them picked up those fancy plates and hit them on the side of the table. The cheery plates broke into pieces. Those pieces became weapons. When Father tried to grab some pieces, one of the convicts held a large piece to his neck, after cuttin' his arm deeply. He became a hostage, held between the guards and the convicts. He remembers hearin', 'If you come near us, the padre dies.'
"The guards came at the convicts with billy clubs flyin', yellin' for help. Some convicts sat down in the seats and didn't get involved. It became a bloody melee. The guards were too close in the middle of a sea of men to shoot their rifles, but they lashed out with their billy clubs at anything that moved. One of them was tripped and fell down, and a convict started stabbin' at his back over and over until blood covered the guard's body.
"Alerted by the guard's yell and the noise, guards assembled outside the door. Dr. Oliver and Warden Mays joined them.
"Father felt a piercin' pain in his thigh and at the same time the convict holdin' the sharp piece of porcelain to his neck yelled, 'Unlock the door!' as he pushed Father in front of him.
"The last guard kicked at the door. "Open the door or they are going to kill me and the preacher," he yelled.
"The door opened a crack. The convict threw Father to the ground on the side and raced through the door. The guard and four or five other prisoners followed before the door was slammed shut. The rest of this I learned from Dr. Oliver and Warden Mays.
"The few prisoners, who thought they had escaped, were quickly captured and restrained.
"The remainin' men locked in the communal dinin' hall banged on the door. 'Open the door and free passage out of the prison or the preacher dies,' they threatened.
"Mays ordered the guards back with a wave of his hand. They moved back but not too far, more to the side where they couldn't be seen by men comin' through the door. Then, he signaled to a guard to pull the door open. This time the convicts that rushed out pushed the door open so they could all run through…and right into a trap.
"Inside the few men who had sat down, unwillin' to participate in the uprisin', rushed to the fallen guard and Father Patrick. The guard was dead, but they found Father's pulse. They cleared off the table, that had once held the blue porcelain plates of cookies, and laid the wounded man on it. They looked in his bag and found a white shirt, which they tore into strips and used it to try and stop the blood flowin' from his arm and thigh. Dr. Oliver said that saved his life.
"When Father Patrick regained consciousness, he was in the isolation section of the prison infirmary. His vision was unstable and blinkin' did nothin' to clear it. And dreadful, deep pain radiated through his body. "Lord, help me," he managed to murmur before passin' out again. Matt was attendin' him when he said it.
"When he woke up again, me and Frank Birde were sittin' by his bed. Dr. Oliver had sent a telegram to me. I was in Three Birds when I got it. Didn't even bother to go home, just started ridin' for Bridgeport with Frank. I knew we couldn't both go. Sent Chris Birde to Phoenix to tell you I was goin' to the prison and to keep Rocky safe there," I finished. I studied Heyes to see if he was upset I didn't ask him to come.
Instead, he smiled. "Chrissy thought something happened to Matt. I had to have Chris Birde repeat to her that you said Matt was alright."
"Well, you know the rest. We brought Father Patrick back to Three Birds and he stayed with Aiden. He was broken in body, and spirit, but he's healin'. His vision took three weeks to become clear. Aiden asked me to spend a couple of nights in the room with him like we did when we were healin' before. He's healin' slowly."
"Angie said he's saying Mass on Sundays again," Heyes said.
"You'd know if you'd come with us. You're always welcome and I think your wife would like it," I told him, and I knew I sounded like I was scoldin' him, but didn't mean to.
"We'll see," he answered. That means he won't come with us.
He changed the subject that was uncomfortable for him. "What happened to the prisoners who didn't riot? The ones that helped Father Patrick?"
"Dr. Oliver said Mays was furious. First, he ordered three lashes for every prisoner, whether they were there or not," I said. "That's what would happen at the railroad camp."
"E….e…ev…ery inm…mate?" Heyes stuttered.
"Dr. Oliver talked him out of that. Partner, you doin' alright?" I put my hand on his knee. He looked deep in my eyes and I could see him fightin' some memory.
HEYES
Hearing what Father Patrick experienced in the Wyoming Territorial Prison gave me flashbacks to the riots there when I worked in the broom factory. I thought I was going to lose my life that day and I was sure I'd lost my chance at amnesty. The Kid's pressure on my knee broke the trance of that memory. Looking in those clear blue eyes I know so well, I realized he was talking to me. "Partner, you doing alright?"
"I am now. Did you say every inmate was given three lashes?" I asked.
"Dr. Oliver talked him out of it. Always said that Mays was a follower," the Kid answered.
"Those involved were charged with the murder of the guard and the attempted murder of Father Patrick. Heard that the leader was found guilty and was gonna be hanged. The others got lashes and had years added to their sentences," he explained.
"And the ones that saved Father's life?" I hoped they weren't punished. That wouldn't be fair. But then life and consequences in prison were seldom fair.
"All will get some time removed from their sentence for good behavior. Two will be paroled early in the next month," he answered with a small grin.
"And Matt wasn't involved at all?" I asked.
"Not at all."
"Good," I answered, using Chrissy's favorite word.
"Partner, I think you should stay at the cabin and not go into the prison," the Kid told me, again. I know he's worried after seeing my reaction to Father Patrick's story.
"Need to go and see your dark cell," I repeated. "I'll be fine, you'll see," I told him. "I just really need to do this." And I don't know how to explain it. I need to see what the Kid went through in this prison. Here, where for one of the few times in his life, I wasn't with him. I couldn't help him. And he survived and became a legend. I searched for the right word, but saw him nod.
"Think I understand. Just let me know if it's gettin' to you," he said.
"Does the cabin really look like the leader's cabin at Devil's Hole?" I asked him.
"Pretty close, but I don't go around tellin' people that."
And then we were in Yuma. We transferred to the oldest train I ever saw. There was no passenger car. We rode in a boxcar that stunk of animals. I sat on crates of beans, but the Kid opened the sliding door and stood there looking out. "Kid, what're you doing?" I asked.
"Just watchin' and thinkin', partner," he answered, without turning around. I don't see anything out there but sand and a few stunted trees. He's seeing memories.
We got off by the prison, but we weren't going in there today. Still, the guards came out to meet us. "We aren't expecting any visitors today. You got to have an appointment."
"Yes, I'm aware of that. We're scheduled for tomorrow. Gonna spend the night on our property here tonight," the Kid explained.
The guard looked us up and down. "Your land?" he growled. "Heard somebody bought it and let's convicts live there."
"Ex-convicts," the Kid said, reaching into the boxcar and grabbing his travel bag and another bag with some food. Reaching in his pocket, he took out the key to the padlock on the gate with a sign that says, "Private Property. No Trespassing." Following the Kid up the steep path, I stopped and took a surprised breath.
"Looks just like the porch at Devil's Hole," I said. "Well, with a fresh coat of paint…and a new roof. The rockers on the porch are a nice touch."
Two men came out onto that porch and watched us approach. "This is private property, sir," they said. I took a step back, even though I know we own this place.
"Jed Curry and Hannibal Heyes," the Kid said, walking forward holding out his hand.
The men smiled. "Was expecting you, sir. Welcome. When you settle in the main bedroom, we'd like to show you around."
JED 'KID' CURRY
We was impressed by the work the two men had done durin' their time in our cabin. I slipped them another ten dollar bonus each. They left in the wagon out the back road just after sunrise while me and Heyes drank coffee in the chairs on the front porch.
"That part that's fenced off down toward the prison. That's the hole over the dark cell, right?
"Yeah. When we get back here, I'm going to go down there to get rid of any new snakes," I told him. And I reminded him again, "Glad you made the trip with me, but you don't have to go visit Preacher."
"'Bout time we got ready. We lock our guns somewhere in the house?"
"Hole in the floor under the table in the main room…all the men will know that. Another under the floorboards near the wall in the main bedroom," I told him.
"Just like in Devil's Hole," Heyes answered.
ASJ*****ASJ
I can convince myself that the Wyoming Territorial Prison had no power over me. It's harder when I come here, but I've learned to do it. Outside, I was calm as me and Heyes entered the guard's station. I left the box of cookies, cake, and dime novels we had brought for Preacher with them to search before puttin' them on his bed. I know the guards would read the books before passin' them onto Preacher. They told me as much last visit.
Heyes stood straight, shoulders held back, eyes forward, and for once I did not know what he was thinkin'.
The guard, Mr. Harper, looked at us. "Well, Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes here together, what do you know." I looked at him sharply, but he was smilin'. "I have one of them dime novels in my quarters; think you could autograph it to my son?"
Heyes surprised me by holdin' out his hand to shake and said, "Sure." That's one of Heyes' easy words to say when he's nervous or upset. I'm glad he spoke up now.
The senior guard led us across the inner yard. I had warned Heyes that the cells were overcrowded and faced the courtyard. Silence was not a rule here and the inmates often yelled out at me as I crossed. But today, as always, I stopped outside the entrance way into the dark cell.
"Curry, don't go in there. Dangerous man locked in there," the guard told me.
"It's Mr. Curry," I reminded him as I disobeyed him. I walked slowly down the dark hallway, knowin' that Heyes was mirrorin' my steps behind me. I stopped when the hall widened into the cavern that contained the eight-sided metal cage with iron all around you, below you and above you.
"Caged like an animal." Heyes' whisper was so light I just barely heard it.
The man in the cage was on all fours like an animal. This place had broken him and he lost himself in his anger. Heyes stepped further in so he could see the whole room and looked up to the hole. Abruptly, he turned around and left. Without a look back, I followed him.
"Taking five minutes off your time with Convict Jewell," the guard growled.
We followed him in silence as the men yelled, "Kid Curry! You're our hero!" We could hear them tell the newer men I was a legend. I survived prison and made good on the outside. I could tell Heyes listened, but he didn't say anything until years later.
We waited outside the door of the chapel while the guard knocked and waited for it to be opened. Heyes stood shoulder to shoulder with me and I could feel the shudder he was tryin' to control. Then the door opened and the guard motioned us inside. Heyes jumped when the heavy doors slammed in back of us and he heard them bein' locked.
HEYES
I stared at the doors as they were locked behind us. The Kid forgot to tell me we would be imprisoned in here.
"Kid, Heyes!" Preacher's voice made me turn around. The Kid hurried toward him and picked him up in a bear hug, like he still does sometimes to me. He gives you strength through those hugs.
But Preacher is too skinny. He's always been tall and lean, but now I think I can see the bones in his legs. He has his arms wide so I give him a hug, too. When I pat his back, I can feel his bones. "You need to eat the gruel and mush," I told him in greeting.
He laughed. "Good to see you too, Heyes. You're skinnier, too."
"You promise eat more. I promise to eat more," I told him.
He laughed again. "Deal. Kid, how's Father Patrick? I was hoping he'd be healed enough to make this trip."
"Healin' in body but his spirit is wounded," the Kid said, as he went and sat in the front row facing the pulpit. Preacher had draped his arm over his shoulder as they walked side by side.
"Remind him to rely on the Lord for his mercy and help for his recovery," the Preacher told the Kid, who nodded.
I haven't returned to Sunday services with the Kid and our families. At first, I gave them excuses, but when they stopped asking if I was coming, I just let the issue drop and stayed home. I've seen how faith has helped the Kid recover mentally and grow stronger. But I can't believe in the Lord the way he does. I don't understand how He let our families and so many other families be murdered by the raiders. How He let me and the Kid, two good boys, be sent to Valparaiso School for Waywards. How He allowed prison to break me into pieces, pieces that I still haven't put all together again. Now I find myself in a prison chapel, sitting, looking up at a crucifix that I can't take my eyes off of.