For All the Saints

By Kattayl

Arriving in Arizona, Jed ‘Kid’ Curry and Hannibal Heyes were tired, nearly broke, hungry, and rehashing the same argument they’d been having for four months, whether to keep trying for amnesty or give up and find a new dream.  The only thing they agreed on was going South for the winter months.  The lure of a warmer winter was strong.  They had just enough money for themselves and their horses to take the train to Flagstaff, only to find a snowstorm when they arrived. 

“Let’s go to Arizona, you said,” Kid Curry complained the fourth time.  “It’s warm in Arizona, you said.”  He batted defiantly at a snowflake.

“I know.”  Heyes scowled back.  He hated to be reminded Arizona was his idea. 

They’d argued on the train.  Not just over trying for amnesty, but little things like who got the window seat, Curry’s snoring, or the color of Heyes’ coat.  The amnesty argument morphed into one on whether they should split up. 

Reaching their destination, Heyes avoided walking down the train aisle with his cousin, piqued the Kid no longer just agreed with him, but felt entitled to his own wrong opinion.  A strong man slipped in between them.  Heyes tried to push past him.

“Easy now, sir.  We’re all getting off at the same place.  Have patience,” the man said with a friendly smile.  “Pushing won’t get you there faster.”

“Just trying to catch up with my cousin.”

“That blonde you were arguing with then ignored?  Found it an entertaining way to pass time watching you two.  He’ll be waiting for you on the platform.”

Heyes mumbled, “To argue more.”

But the man didn’t hear or disregarded.  “Name’s John and that man behind your cousin is Philip.  Dinner’s my treat.”

ASJ*****ASJ

“We reserved two rooms.  You can have one and we’ll share,” John offered over dinner.

As they readied for bed, Curry commented, “Interesting men, John and Philip.  All John would tell me is they met recently.  Both seem religious.”

“John’s from Galilee; we’ve ridden through Galilee, Texas.  Don’t remember much about it.”  Heyes added, “John was a part of a what he called a nonviolent gang of twelve.  Philip didn’t tell me much.  They’re working together on something special for a couple of days.  He didn’t say what.  Seems like a nice, polite guy, talks to everyone.  Everyone likes him and listens.”  Heyes smiled.

“They showed up out of nowhere.  Don’t remember seein’ them in the railcar.  They are friends, though, and loyal to each other,” Curry answered.

ASJ*****ASJ

John and Philip were coming in the hotel lobby when they saw them the next morning.  At the questioning looks, John explained, “We like to start our day at local church services, if we can.”

“Ain’t churchgoers ourselves,” Heyes answered.

Philip smiled.  “Bet your Irish grandmother was and said a lot of prayers.”

“How do you know I have an Irish grandmother,” the Kid asked.

“Call it a good guess,” Philip said.  “John and I are inviting you to breakfast.  We’d like to talk with you.”  Heyes and Curry made eye contact.  They liked these men so agreed.  Curry dropped a step behind and surveyed the diner for lawmen before he sat down.  By the time he joined them, four specials were ordered.

“Thaddeus, John and Philip asked us to ride with them.”  Heyes looked at Curry.

“Think I’d enjoy that.”  Curry leaned back and smiled.

“Well, there’s one thing,” John said. 

Both Heyes and Curry looked at him. 

“We’ve watched you two argue, but you also seem to be close.  Don’t know if we can ride together with you two bickering all day.”

John took over.  “We figured it’s amnesty you are arguing about.”

Heyes looked at Curry in shock.  Curry shrugged his shoulders in denial.

Softly, John said, “We overheard you on the train.  You need to sit down and discuss it.  I heard each of you argue for giving up and each argue to keep trying.”

Philip whispered, “We think you’re discouraged.  We argue when we’re trying, and people just aren’t listening to us.  But we’ve learned we trust in what we’re doing and keep going.”  The conversation continued as they walked to the livery.  “Joshua, you need to really listen to your partner.  His ideas make your plans better.”

Heyes looked at Curry, who was looking smug.  “Guess he’s always been able to do that.  He’s very practical.”

Curry was awed his cousin admitted what they both known for years. 

“And Thaddeus, this amnesty thing.  You both want it for each other, such friendship and loyalty are rare.  Perhaps you could have more patience when small things don’t go right?” Philip continued.

“Like comin’ to Arizona for warmth and findin’ snow?  Yeah, it ain’t his fault.”  Curry nodded to his partner by way of apology.

“That’s settled, let’s enjoy the Arizona landscape as we head for warmer weather.”  John mounted his horse and led the group away.

ASJ*****ASJ

Two days after separating from John and Philip, the partners were in a warmer, small town in need of work.  Their bickering had stopped as they decided amnesty was the best path and committed themselves to working towards it.  When they asked the bartender about work opportunities, an old man behind them spoke up.

“Been waiting for you…er, for someone like you.  Need help with a special project.  Pays well as long as you don’t mind ending up in a different city.  Name’s Nick,” he said, motioning them to a table and explained the job.

“You need us to help load supplies in your wagon and unload and distribute them at the other end?” asked Heyes.

“Where’s this other end?” Curry inquired. 

“Snowflake, Arizona.  Need to get these things there and my arthritis doesn’t let me lift anymore.  What do you say?”

The partners locked eyes.

“It's a deal.”

ASJ*****ASJ

Where you from Nick?” Heyes asked.

“Born in Florence, Mr…Smith.” 

Heyes didn’t like the hesitation before the last name.  Did he know who they were?

“Florence, Kansas?  We’re from Kansas, too,” said Curry.

“So, you were.”  Nick seemed slightly distracted.

Heyes raised an eyebrow.  “Saw a sign for Florence, AZ.”

“So, you did.”  Nick changed the subject.  “Have you been to Snowflake before?”

Riding next to the wagon as Heyes drove, Curry answered, “No, sir.  Sounds like someplace cold.”

“Actually, it was named after two founding fathers, Mr. Snow and Mr. Flake,” informed Nick. 

Heyes noted how clever he was at changing the subject.

“Nick, why a week before Christmas?” Kid Curry asked placing burlap bags into the small house less than a mile from Snowflake.  He’d knew the man had bad arthritis from the way he moved.  He paid well for their strong backs.

“That’s a fair question.  I need to be home for Christmas,” Nick said. 

“Home to Florence?” Heyes asked.  “But not Florence, Kansas.”

“I was born in Florence, but home is Myra.”

Heyes grinned.  “Now Myra, Texas, that’s someplace I’ve heard of.”

Nick continued, “I’m here to visit with Mr. Olsen, too.  He recently decided to change professions with a contrite heart.  I’m here to help.”

“A contrite heart?  You some kind of a priest?” 

“Something like that.”

“What did he used to do?”

“Rob banks.”

“He just decided not to do that anymore?”  Heyes was convinced this was a trap.

“After time in prison, he repented for his sins.  I have a soft spot for repentant thieves.”

“Someone in Snowflake told you about him?”

Nick nodded.  “There’s a young boy, Solomon White, who’s sick here.  I doubt he’ll live until Christmas.  So, I thought all the children could celebrate a few days early and Jedidiah could be a part of it.”

Curry froze for a moment.  “What?”  The look from Nick seemed to say he knew something.

“Of course, you know in the Bible King Solomon was also called Jedidiah.”

“Well, our bible study ended abruptly when our Gramma Curry died,” Heyes answered.

“Bless your grandmother.”

ASJ*****ASJ

When Nick left to visit Mr. Olsen, he looked like he blessed them, Heyes thought.  “Kid, you trust this man?”

“Yeah, don’t you?”

“Wants us to open people’s windows and drop something inside.  That legal?”

Curry smiled.  “Sure.  It’s easy and we’re gettin’ paid for it!  Not sure how Nick knows what windows are unlocked to open, though.”

“Trusting town,” thought Heyes. 

Nick paid them. Heyes knew he blessed them as he left to sit with Jedidiah.  “Have faith.  Watch from that hill before you leave. See what joy you brought the children.”

As they watched from the hill, Curry commented, “Feels kinda good givin’ somethin’ instead of takin’.”

“You know, I always figured God deserted us after that day in…well, that day.  But I kinda liked Nick blessing us.”

“He said he liked to help repentant thieves,” Curry added as they rode away.

ASJ*****ASJ

Leaving Snowflake with no destination in mind except warmth, Heyes and Curry headed south.

“You know, Heyes, we ain’t argued about nothin’ in days.”

“John and Philip helped us when we didn’t know we needed it.  Which way?”

Curry didn’t know the towns on the signpost.  “South, it’s warmer.  Better send Lom a telegram so he knows where we are.  It’s been a month.”

“We walked out of his office saying we’re going to take time to think about this amnesty deal.  Another week to send the telegram won’t hurt.  Still don’t think anything will come of it,” Heyes answered.  “Seems we’re always broke, hungry, and looking over our shoulders.”

“We’ll give it six more months, right?” Curry returned.  He heard despair in Heyes’ tone, and he felt it, too, but they’d agreed on six months and stopped arguing about it. 

They had money but decided to spend the night in a line cabin they chanced upon.  They cooked a prairie hen the Kid shot.

“If amnesty doesn’t work out, we’ll know we tried our hardest.” 

Curry still heard the hint of desperation, the urge to give up, in his partner’s voice.  He felt the craving for the relief of not being on the lookout for lawmen or anyone who recognized them.  To him, the amnesty was a lost cause, an impractical dream they’d share for another six months. 

At dusk, a knock on the door brought both to their feet.  Heyes looked through the window. Curry drew his gun.

“Hello, I’m looking for Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones.  I’m told they were here.”

The same thought went through the partners heads.  Who knew their location?

“Who are you?” asked Heyes.  With no backdoor, there was no chance of escape.

“Name’s Jude, but people call me Thaddeus.  I have a message for you.”

Cautiously, Heyes opened the door.  The man didn’t look like a threat.  He was older, concerned.  “May I come in?  It smells good in here.”

Curry watched the man study them, thinking he’s as cautious as we are.  “Some left and you’re welcome to it.  Also got some hard cheese and biscuits, if you’re hungry.  Help yourself.”

The man was old, almost fragile.  Heyes waited until he’d finished eating before asking, “You have a message for us?”

“Yes, an urgent one.  There’s a train leaving in an hour.  Bring your horses.  Take it to Albuquerque.  Take the road toward Denver.  You’ll meet your friend.”

“Our friend?”

“Tall man.  Dark hair.  Mustache.  Hasn’t heard from you lately.  Needs to see you urgently.”

“Lom,” they said in unison.

Standing, Jude said, “Thank you for sharing your meal.  I must go.  You need to be on that train.”

Curry barely managed to say, “Goodbye,” as the man hurried out the door.

Heyes opened the door to look after him.  He was nowhere to be seen.  “Moves fast for an old man.  Partner, what you say we catch that train to Albuquerque?”

“Snows there,” Curry answered, packing his saddlebag.

ASJ*****ASJ

Snow fell as Heyes and Curry got off the train.  They bought supplies and traveled the road toward Denver.  Their money from Nick was dwindling.  They’d only ridden a few hours when a familiar rider approached from the other direction.

Lom greeted them.  “Kid, Heyes, I’ve been sending telegrams; looking all over for you.”

“We came as soon as we got your message.”

“Glad I found you.  Was about to give up.  You don’t have much time.”  He pulled his horse over and dismounted.  The cousins did the same. 

“What is it, Lom?” asked Heyes.

Lom smiled.  “Our mutual friend has offered you amnesty but…”

“But?  What’s the catch?” Curry returned, working to keep despair out of his voice.

“Not a catch but he needs to get attention at his Christmas Eve party.  Something to get his name in the papers on Christmas Day when he kicks off his campaign for reelection.  He requires a telegram from you confirming your acceptance by noon on Christmas Eve or the amnesty goes away.”

“When's Christmas Eve?” asked Heyes, allowing suppressed hope into his voice.

“Today.  You have four hours.”

Curry smiled broadly.  Heyes’ dimples emphasized his joy.  “Passed a town a few miles back; let’s send that telegram.”

ASJ*****ASJ

Christmas morning, the partners woke to church bells.  Heyes grinned.  “Merry Christmas, Kid.”

“Merry Christmas, partner.”  Looking out the window, Curry smiled.  “Amnesty feels good.  Think I’ll go to church this morning,” he said, expecting an argument from his cousin.

“Think I’ll join you.”

Arriving early, they stayed near the back of the church.  Curry studied each statue in the small alcoves, Heyes’ eyes fixed on the altar.

“Heyes, come here!  Who does that look like?”  Curry pointed at a statue in an alcove. 

“That’s Nick,” Heyes whispered. 

“Says ‘St. Nicholas of Myra.  Born in Florence, Italy.  Bishop.  Patron saint of travelers, sailors, repentant thieves and the falsely accused.  Pray for us.’”

“Huh.”

“Broken nose, kind eyes,” Curry said, as his cousin waved him to the next alcove.

“Kid, you don’t think…”  Heyes read the inscription.  “St. John the Apostle, patron of friendship, loyalty, and love.  Pray for us.”

“Looks like Philip next to him.  “St. Philip Neri, patron of friendship, joy, and laughter.  Pray for us.” 

Heyes looked at Curry.

“Couldn’t be, could it?  Gramma Curry would have believed we were their special project, wouldn’t she?”  The statues did look like the men they had met.  Curry felt his cousin’s touch on his shoulder.  He hesitated before looking in the next alcove.  And saw their mysterious visitor.

Heyes leaned closer to read the inscription by his feet.  “St Jude, Thaddeus the Apostle, patron saint of hope and lost causes.  Even though we may despair, please help us.”

Each man took a deep breath. 

“What’s that?”  Curry picked up a paper shoved under the statue’s foot.

“Don’t, may be someone’s prayer or something,” Heyes warned.

But Curry unfolded the worn paper in his hand.  He almost dropped it when he saw what it was.  “Lost this years ago,” he whispered. 

Heyes looked at his cousin’s hands and the flyer that started “Amnesty.”