Chapter Text
Winter’s Refuge
Chapter Two Hundred Fourteen
LOM
And suddenly it was over. Black Brook Evans was dead. Jed was shot. I didn’t know how bad. He had rolled on his back, groaned and grabbed his thigh with one hand while holding his gun steady on the Black Brook Gang’s gunnie with the other. Black Brook had taken the man’s gun when he lost his own…and made the gunman unarmed. He surrendered without a fight. He growled when I pulled his arms behind his back and handcuffed him. Only then did Jed lower his gun. He rolled on his back and grabbed his thigh.
“Kid, you alright?” I asked, without taking my eyes off the handcuffed man in front of me.
Josephs came to the cabin door, gun drawn. Looking at the Kid, he walked to me. “I’ll take your prisoner and tie him up with his partners. You take care of Jed. Oh, and I caught the bank president sneaking out the back door with the money sack. He’s tied up in the livery.” I heard a touch of amusement in the usually serious marshal’s voice.
As I limped to where Jed laid on the ground, I managed to kneel down on my one good knee next to him. He was grasping the bullet wound and blood was spreading between his fingers.
“Jed, let me see,” I said, forcing his fingers off the wound.
“Hurts like hell and bleedin’ a lot. Don’t think it’s that deep though. Went in sideways and along the bone,” he answered but didn’t try to stand up.
“I have bandages and a medical kit in my saddle bags. Just hold on,” I said.
“Good. Can you help me to sit on the porch steps first?” he asked, raising himself up on his elbows. It was a struggle but leaning on me he got to his feet. When we took the first joint step, my knee exploded in pain.
“Wait, I need to get you on my other side with my good knee,” I told him. It was an effort to move him to the other side and I could tell his pain was worse than he was letting on.
HEYES
Angie kept the kids fed and quiet. Vince took care of the horses and animals, but he appeared at our back door every fifteen minutes or so. Martha refused to leave her ma and her new baby brother. And I paced. And I worried. Chrissy had delivered with no complications, but I didn’t know about Miss Denise and Miss Daisy. Dr. Crehan said they were both going to be difficult deliveries. As I walked, I debated what that meant. Did difficult mean life-threatening for the mothers? The babies? How were the ladies faring? Their babies must have arrived by now. Walking down to the gate, I searched Curry Road for Michael and Steven’s return. Then I checked on Vince and helped him brush the horses for a few minutes, but I couldn’t stay still. My worry always brought me back to Chrissy and the baby. This time I had an idea.
“Chrissy, would you like it if I read Black Beauty to you and the babe?” I asked.
Rewarded with her smile, I pulled a chair up next to her bed. “Martha, why don’t you go get something to eat and maybe get some sleep?”
“I am hungry, but I’ll be right back after I eat. Ma might need me,” Martha answered.
“You did a great job today, Martha. I’m proud of you,” I told her. She blushed at the praise.
“Yes, Martha, I’m so proud of you,” Chrissy echoed, holding her free arm out to her daughter for a hug. “Now go eat and let me know how the little kids are doing. Heyes, start reading our new little one my favorite story.”
Chrissy held the little one in her arms with a blanket over his eyes. Leaning back against the pillows, she closed her own eyes. I watched over them, each breath, each movement, while I read the familiar story. Chrissy has most of it memorized and I know the words bring her comfort. The baby was so little, I was afraid he would stop breathing. I read in an even tone and dared not stop, not even to check my watch. I’m sure it is time for Michael and Steven to be back. Michael promised he’d be quick, and Steven assured me he’d make sure of that.
Since Chrissy was comfortably resting and the baby warm and protected in her arms, I just kept reading…and worrying…and reading…and wishing that the Kid was here. Finally, I heard horses…and a buggy coming toward our house.
With a light knock on the door, Michael entered with Dr. Crehan. I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Uncle Heyes, there was a telegram that came for you.” Michael handed me the paper as I stood up to let the doctor examine Chrissy and the baby.
“Well, hello little one,” the doctor said as he picked him up and gently put medicine in his eyes.
“Come on out to the living room and read us that telegram. Martha will help the doctor,” Michael told me.
“It’s from Doctor Arden,” I told the group gathered around the kitchen table that now included Mary Josephs. I hadn’t heard her arrive but was glad she was here.
“Heyes STOP Taking express train tonight STOP Dragging McNamara with me STOP Tell Denise I love her STOP Aiden.”
“McNamara?” asked Mary Josephs from the stove and I suddenly smelled her aromatic stew that reminded me I was hungry.
“Long story for another time,” I answered, as I dug into the bowl of stew she put in front of me with an appetite like the Kid’s. “Michael, how are Miss Denise and Miss Daisy?”
The boy smiled. He has a warm friendly smile like his pa’s. “Miss Denise had a little girl. She was breech. Dr. Crehan thinks she miscalculated her due date because the baby was big. But they are both doing well. No name for the little girl yet.
“Miss Daisy’s baby was little, almost as small as my new brother. It’s alright but Dr. Crehan said the cord was around the neck and that’s why he had to stop helping Miss Denise and help Miss Daisy. He’s a good doctor. Everyone’s fine,” Michael answered.
“Boy or girl?” asked Joy.
“A boy with a lot of straight dark hair and dark eyes. Miss Daisy says she wanted to name him Louis junior but his pa might have other ideas,” Michael finished.
JED ‘KID’ CURRY
I concentrated my vision on a lopsided picture of flowers on the wall so I could ignore the pain. I learned how to be silent through the worst whippings in prison. It was my way of rebellin’. The ankle shackles I wore burnt me every day in the hot Arizona sun. My ankles have never completely healed despite all of Aiden’s efforts. I ignore that pain like I’m holdin’ my leg still while Lom digs for the bullet. It went in sideways about an inch under the skin and kept going until it hit a bone or somethin’. It’s high on my thigh, the same place where I got shot all those years ago protectin’ Heyes in a bar. He took me to Winter’s Refuge and Chrissy then. I missed my wife.
“Chrissy!” I exclaimed.
“Don’t worry; you’ll live to take care of your wife,” Lom answered.
I felt strong hands holdin’ my shoulders down. I’d seen Karl Josephs come into the room just before I started focusin’ on the picture.
“There it is.” Lom held up the bullet for me to see. I really didn’t care to see it, so I studied the yellow flower in the background of the picture. It wasn’t a very good picture. It almost looked like a child had painted it. Nothing like Roberto Malone’s pictures. “I don’t see bad bleeding in the wound,” Lom continued. “Going to pour some alcohol on it and stitch it closed.
The marshals and Lom let me rest while they made the preparations to transport the prisoners, including the bank president and four members of the Black Brook Gang to the nearest town in the wagon they found in the livery. Karl Josephs had the foresight to have three additional marshals waitin’ for us there. He explained, “I learned my lesson transporting Dirty Dave. Took me almost six months to heal enough to take a desk job for awhile. Do you remember, Jed? Ken and Mary came to my mother’s to help take care of me.”
“Sure do. We were all worried about you,” I answered.
Lom and Lyons rounded up the errant horses. We’ll take them with us. Those two beautiful black horses that sped out were never caught. Good, they deserve their freedom.
I watched them wrap Black Brook Evans body in a sheet, then a blanket, and carry it out.
“Going to secure all of them men in the bed of the wagon,” Karl said. “Their leader’s body is already there. Jed, can you ride with the driver, or would the bed be more comfortable? I’ll make sure you have enough room. I don’t care much for the outlaws’ comfort.”
“Think I want to ride my horse,” I said truthfully.
“You sure?” asked Lom.
“I’m sure. I’ll tell you if the pain gets too much,” I said firmly and looked away to end the discussion.
ASJ*****ASJ
I made it to town ridin’ but I could feel my wound bleedin’ by the time I got there. While the marshals met up with the sheriff and the other marshals, me and Lom went to the doctor. While the doctor had me on his examination table probbin’ the path of the bullet, Lom sent a telegram home tellin’ them that we were headed to Cheyenne to visit Matt in prison, and we’d be home after that. He didn’t mention that I’d been shot.
“Well, Mr. Curry, you’re going to stay right here in my office tonight for observation. I think your friend did a good job of removing the bullet and cleaning the wound, but I want to ensure you do not get a fever,” the doctor told me. “And stay at the hotel for a few days until that leg heals. I bandaged up that knee of his. It’s a sprain. Should heal quickly. Drink this.”
I looked at the water he had just stirred somethin’ into. “What is this?”
“Tincture of opium,” he answered.
I handed the glass back to him. “I ain’t never heard of that.”
“It’s more commonly called laudanum. From your reputation and the number of scars on your body, I’m sure you’ve taken that at some time,” the doctor answered, handin’ me the glass back firmly. “Drink it, Mr. Curry.”
ASJ*****ASJ
I awoke from dark dreams and didn’t move. I wasn’t sure where I was. It looked like the prison infirmary. But I realized it was bigger, brighter, and I was the only person in the room. And there were no guards. My thigh hurt when I moved, and I remembered. Forcin’ myself to sit on the side of the bed, I rested there.
If I tried to stand up or lay down, either way I moved my thigh hurt. I decided to stand and walked over to the chair where my pants had been draped over the back. One leg had been torn up to the thigh to get at my bullet wound. Exhausted from the effort it had taken to walk across the room, I slowly lowered myself into the chair with my sore leg straight out in front of me…and closed my eyes.
“Kid, wake up!” I heard Lom’s insistent voice and felt someone shakin’ my shoulder. “Kid!”
My head and eyes felt heavy, and my thigh burned. I opened my eyes slowly.
“Kid, wake up. I got a room at the hotel across the street. Can you walk?”
I remembered the doctor fixin’ my leg and nodded to Lom. “Walked to this chair. I can walk across the street.”
“Take it slowly, Mr. Curry. I don’t want you to put much weight or strain on that thigh for a couple of days…I’d prefer weeks. Use this cane even if you’re just taking a few steps. Your friend here has told me you’re a stubborn patient, so rest at least a few days.
HEYES
I was discouraged that the Kid wasn’t coming straight home. He needs to be here. His wife needs him. And his little son was born too early, the doctor said. And I don’t know how to reach him
We’re doing everything the doctor tells us. Chrissy is calm but protective of the boy and he’s barely ever out of her arms. Martha changes his diaper and swaddles him tightly and gives him back to their ma. The good thing is that his eyes are open, and the light no longer bothers him as much. The doctor says he can definitely see but nobody knows what babies really can see. And Ruth Ann was overjoyed that he could hear.
I know that Chrissy needs the Kid. I told her they were going to visit Matt in prison on their way home and I had no way to reach him to tell him he had a son. I saw her tense up and I thought she was going to cry. But she didn’t. She kissed her new son on his head and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then, looking at me, she said, “Good. Chrissy can’t go now. Matt needs visitors.”
Dr. Crehan has been splitting his time between the three new mothers. Louis Maday was home from Denver the next morning. And Miss Daisy was right. He didn’t want his son to be named after him. He was named after an uncle that he didn’t like or maybe his Uncle Louis didn’t like him. Maday described his uncle as a stuffy merchant that complained if there was a spot of dirt on his fancy suit. Maday grew up a rough and tumble farm boy with three brothers close in age. They always had dirt under their fingernails. Still, his Uncle Louis paid a large part of his pharmacology education and never asked for anything back. Daisy suggested that naming their son might repay that debt.
Miss Beverly stayed with Miss Denise. Dr Crehan said she was feeling poorly after the birth. Their new daughter was fine. I was haunted by the memory of Lom’s wife Susan, who died a few days after having their son Wayne. Auntie is helping Miss Denise where she can with the baby. Stephanie stayed and is watching the Arden kids, Ajay and Joyce.
Michael gave me updates. He went into town with Dr. Crehan and read every article on small newborn babies that he could find in Aiden’s medical journals. The doctor made him stop after two hours and go home…and he came back with things we tried…if they made sense to his ma.