Winter's Refuge

Chapter One Hundred Ninety-Nine

HEYES

We're enlarging Ken's Boot and Shoe Emporium. The business started out small, slow enough that Ken still had time to help with our horses. But he steadily gained a following in Three Birds. He worked hard and the Curry kid's shoes kept him in business. For Catherine's first birthday, he made her first pair of white walking shoes. He does good work. My Nettie outgrows her shoes before they wear out.

When Mike Loveland and Mikey were here last time, Ken measured Mike for a new pair of brown boots and a matching pair for Mikey. That boy was so proud of his boots just like his pa's. While they were here, Mike persuaded Ken to advertise in his Bridgeport newspaper. And Mike wrote a side article about the quality and fit of the boots he had made for himself and his son at Ken's Boot and Shoe Emporium on Curry Road outside of Three Birds. Ken's business exploded and his backlog of boots to make grew to four months. And his wife started complaining that she and Kenny never saw him.

"Sorry, sorry," Ken said as he tried to sit down at our big table at Phoenix when Sunday dinner had already started. "I'm glad my business is thriving, but I just can't keep up."

Mary grinned. "I have an idea. You told me to open your mail because you don't have time."

"Yes, and thank you. I would have missed my brother Kurt's last letter and announcement he was moving further west," Ken answered, reaching over and putting his hand on hers for a moment.

"Well, a couple of days ago you got one from a Winny Winston. Nothing urgent in it so I added it to the ones to read when you have time," Mary said.

"Winny?" Ken asked.

"Who Winny?" Nettie asked.

"A friend of your pa and me," Ken answered. "He's the one that taught me to make quality boots and shoes…and most of the equipment I have Heyes bought from him," Ken answered, taking a piece of fried chicken.

"In his letter he sounds bored with retirement. What if you invited him here to help you?" Mary asked.

Ken stopped eating for a moment and thought. "I'd worry about his health while traveling."

"You could write and ask. Leave it up to him," Mary suggested.

But the Kid was thinking along another line.

"What I'm thinkin' about would take this family's approval, but what about we hire someone released from prison, like the ones that lived in our cabin next to the Yuma prison?" the Kid suggested.

"Well, Preacher thinks the men he chooses to live there are rehabilitated. They just need a break to stay honest," I added.

"Like me and Heyes," added my partner.

Ken nodded. The Kid seemed hopeful. The women looked thoughtful. Vince looked concerned.

"Me and Steph and Steven wouldn't be here unless Mr. Curry took a chance on me," Rocky said quietly.

I looked around the table. "Let's think about this for a day and we'll talk about it tomorrow after dinner. Kid's right. This is something we all need to agree on as a family. Phoenix is our home."

JED 'KID' CURRY

When we had our pictures taken, Chrissy ordered a lot of extra copies of the Curry family picture, includin' ones for Luke and Matt. I made a plain wooden frame for Luke's and we mailed it the next week. In response, Chrissy got the longest letter she'd received in years. He'd studied the picture and commented on each one of his nieces and nephews, even Catherine's shoes. But then he also told us about his life and his work. He ministers to and works with four very poor villages. As he said, he grew up around horses, not farmers, so he has a lot to learn. He has his own small garden, tomatoes, a few grape vines, a lemon tree, and somethin' called an avocado tree. He hadn't ever tasted one of those, but he said they are tasty, and the locals make somethin' called guacamole that's spicy and excellent. And most of all he wrote of his strong faith in the Lord and his promise of redemption.

He wrote of a recent trip he and his seminarian took. I asked Father Patrick just what a seminarian is. He told me it's a man that is learnin' to be a priest. Many go to seminaries, like schools, to learn, but there probably weren't any seminaries near where Luke preaches. I told him that Luke really needed his seminarian's help, and he couldn't be spared to go to school.

"What do they learn in these schools?" I asked.

Father Patrick smiled. "The brochure for the one I attended said it was a program for religious formation, including self, spiritual and intellectual. He could learn the first two from Luke, as well as how to deal with his flock. And as for the intellectual, I haven't had much use for the advanced mathematics and literature classes I had to take."

"Luke wrote that they traveled to a city north of them called Los Angeles so a bishop could ordain his seminarian as somethin' called a transitional deacon. Think he thought we'd know what that was," I told Father.

"That's a good thing. It means he's a year away from being ordained as a priest," Father answered. "He'll be a greater help to Luke then."

ASJ*ASJ

There are times I need to think. I need to be alone and remind myself of all the blessin's in my life and that I am worthy of them. This need comes on suddenly, many times after a dream when I am back in prison, sometimes in the railroad camp in Arizona, but most times beaten and broken in that dark cell in the Wyoming Territorial Prison. But I found my place to think, and Aiden would say to heal.

Heyes had his Solteria deep in his mind that he found in prison. Later that became a real place in our nearby mountains that kept my family safe from evil men. Michael and Martha would remember it, but to the rest of our kids it's just a place in a story the grownups tell. Me and Heyes keep talkin' about building a cabin there and takin' our family up there for a vacation but never have the time. Somethin' always comes up.

I have a retreat also. It's real, not in my mind. We purchased a lot of land when we bought Trinity's Hill. Me and Winter's Glory went for a ride one afternoon. I stopped him suddenly because a smell I haven't experienced since we left Kansas swept over me. It's a strong smell but hard to explain. It's like cut lemons and limes but still woodsy and musky. I knew just what it was…black walnut trees…and it smelled like home. There were several stands near where we lived. And they were near the stream where we fished that day when we skipped chores and lost our families. Still, the smell comforts me. Me and Heyes would pick up the walnuts from the ground in early fall, but sometimes the squirrels, racoons, wild turkeys, and even white-tailed deer got there first.

In the grove I found on our land, most of the trees must be forty to fifty feet tall, so they are mature. I let Winter's Glory graze nearby while I leaned against the rich chocolate brown trunks of the trees. Closin' my eyes, I smelled them and in my mind I could see our parents laughin' when we went 'nuttin'. They're even playful. This was always a special time for me, bein' with my parents and brothers and sisters and Heyes' family with nothin' to do but pick up nuts. I remember my ma sayin' that when he's mad, Han's eyes were the color of the tree.

Don't know how long I sat there that first time I found the trees, but I had found peace and self-worth. When I left, I took care to remember how I got back to the trail I had been ridin' and vowed to bring our families back here for nuttin' in the fall. But we didn't make it the next fall or the fall after that. Still, I rode up here a few times to sit quietly and remember and heal and even plan for the future.

ASJ*ASJ

HEYES

Me and Ken sent a telegram to Winny to see if he wanted to come down and help Ken in the Boot Emporium. We received a return telegram within hours.

"H. Heyes

K. Josephs

Apologies STOP Health prevents me from traveling STOP Glad to hear of your success

W. Winston