The Holly and the Ivy

By RedZipBoots

A loud chesty cough greeted Hannibal Heyes as he pushed open the cabin door.  Quickly heeling it shut he dropped the armful of wood he was carrying onto the pile alongside the already blazing fire, and turned to study the figure on the lower of the two bunks.  His brow furrowed. 

"That cough sounds bad," he said, shrugging off his soaking wet coat. 

Kid Curry propped himself up on one elbow.  "I can still ride," he croaked. 

"No, you can't."  It both amazed and infuriated Heyes how stubborn his cousin could be when he was ill.   "You're sick, Kid.  You almost ate dirt twice yesterday." 

"But you want to spend Christmas in Lomax."

"Not if I have to ride into town with you tied across your saddle wrapped in a tarp, I don't.  The rain's getting heavier and it's real cold out there, so we're staying put and that's an end to it."

Curry was about to protest further when another fit of coughing wracked his body.  He hated this time of year and the grippe that often accompanied it.  As a child he had spent at least two weeks every winter tucked up in bed, being nursed by his mother, and made fun of by his older brothers.  It had always been assumed that it was something he would grow out of, but year after year he continued to be susceptible to the same malady.

"What you need is a hot drink.  I'll make us some coffee," offered Heyes. 

Kid Curry flopped back onto the thin mattress and pulled the blanket over his head.

************

Next morning Heyes was awake before sunup.  He had endured another disturbed night, due not only to the Kid's persistent cough, but also because these annual periods of ill health were always a cause for concern.  

Although the fire was still aglow, the air held an icy chill; he could clearly see his breath.  Yesterday's heavy rain together with the sharp drop in temperature had made him certain there was an ice storm coming, and although the Kid would probably never admit it, stumbling across this remote cabin had most likely saved his life.  

Being careful not to wake his partner, who at last appeared to be enjoying a period of peaceful sleep, Heyes slid from the top bunk, placed a couple of dry logs on the fire, and began preparing breakfast.  As far as line shacks went this one was quite well-provisioned — if you were okay with a diet of beans, jerky and biscuits that is — so he was doubly pleased that, before they left the last town, he had thought to purchase a small sack of oatmeal.  Heyes was not partial to oatmeal although he would still eat it when the weather was cold, but the Kid enjoyed it no matter what the season.  Leaving the pot on the edge of the flickering flames he pulled on his boots, donned his still damp coat and hat, and went outside to check on the horses.

Upon his return a head of unruly blond curls raised itself from the grimy ticking of a straw-filled pillow.  "You shouldha woke me."   

"Now why would I want to go and do a fool thing like that?  You need to rest."  Heyes bolted the door against the worsening conditions outside and set down a wooden pail.  "Besides, it's freezing out there."  He had been right about the ice storm. 

As if prompted by the thought of breathing cold air Curry began to cough.  Once he could speak again he wiped his watering eyes on his shirt sleeve and rasped, "Whatcha got there?"

Carefully, Heyes reached into the pail.  "I found a holly tree down by the creek, and seeing as we're going to be spending Christmas here, I thought I'd try to make the place look a little festive."  He waved a large sprig full of dark green prickles and bright red berries in the air as if trying to assess the best place to put it.

"Pfftt!"

"What?"

"Holly.  That's what." 

Amused by the Kid's surly tone, Heyes smiled to himself and placed the piece of greenery on the wooden mantle above the fireplace before bending down to give the oatmeal a stir.  It had thickened nicely so he divided the contents of the pot between two tin bowls and added a spoon to each.  

"Get this down ya."  He thrust the bowl in his partner's direction, stressing, "you need to keep up your strength."  

Curry accepted the food with an uncharacteristic reluctance.   He hadn't felt like eating for a couple of days — a sure sign that he was sick.  However, the moment he smelled the steaming oats a rumble from his stomach betrayed its emptiness. 

"Wait a minute!"  Heyes began rummaging in his saddlebags, eventually pulling out a small tin and holding it up triumphantly.  "Want some cinnamon?"

"Where'd you get that?"

"Same place I got the oats.  It was the last tin in the store.  Guess people buy more of it this time of year; kinda has that Christmassy smell," said Heyes, sprinkling a little over the oatmeal.  

"Reminds me of Ma's cookies...," reminisced Curry as the spice filled the cabin with a sweet, heady, somehow comforting scent.  

Hannibal Heyes cursed inwardly.  He usually made it a point to avoid provoking memories of their childhood.   Admittedly, many of those memories were full of fun and laughter, but the most vivid were darkened by tragedy and pain.  Having detected a touch of melancholy creeping into his ailing partner's voice, Heyes thought it wise to steer any thoughts away from his mother's home cooking and back to the somewhat contentious subject of holly. 

"I can't believe you're still holding a grudge against a holly tree, Kid."

"Wasn't you cuttin' the doggone stuff," grumbled Curry, around a spoonful of hot oatmeal. 

"But that was more than twenty years ago!"

************

Kansas — Christmas 1861.

"Hurry up," Hannibal Heyes urged his curly-headed cousin who was meticulously tucking a woollen muffler into his brown plaid coat.  "We've gotta get to the crick and back before sundown or we'll be in big trouble."

"I know that, but I don't wanna be sick for Christmas Day neither," replied six year old Jedediah Curry who, satisfied at last that he would not catch cold, joined his cousin at the barn door.

Hannibal eased the door open and peered at the Curry farmyard through the resulting crack.  "All clear," he announced.  "Let's go!"

The two boys set off at a lick in the direction of Baldwin Creek, the ice-hardened dirt of fall-tilled, fallow fields crunching beneath their boots as they ran.  White frost adorned every tree and bush along the bank of the frozen waterway and the whole scene glistened magically in the weak sunlight of the winter afternoon.

Having followed the creek for some distance they at last stood puffing misty clouds into the air while they assessed their objective — a stand of holly trees.

Hannibal pointed toward an abnormally tall, dark green, glossy leaved tree displaying a multitude of scarlet berries.  "Your ma sure would love some of that." 

Young Jed frowned.  While his intention was to present his mother with enough holly to decorate the house, he wanted to be sure to come away from obtaining it with as few scratches as possible. 

"But all the good berries are at the top, Han, and I don't reckon those branches will hold ya."

Younger than Hannibal by two years Jed also happened to be a few inches shorter, and despite being bundled up in his thick winter coat, was still somewhat on the scrawny side; a fact which hadn't gone unnoticed by his cousin.

"You're right about that, but I ain't doing any climbing." 

"You said we was doin' this together."

"We are," assured Hannibal.  "You're gonna climb up, cut off the best bits and toss 'em down, and I'm gonna stuff 'em in this."  Producing a roll of burlap from his coat pocket he shook it out to reveal a sack.  "We'll get plenty in here," he announced with a grin.

Dragging his feet a little as he walked toward the chosen tree, Jed removed his woollen mittens so they wouldn't snag on the bark and said with a resigned sigh, "Okay.  Gimme a boost."

Hannibal laced his gloved fingers together and heaved him up high enough to grab hold of the nearest bough.  Jed scrambled aboard and after having taken a moment to assess the best route through the prickles, he began to climb.  Stopping to sit astride a considerably less substantial branch he pulled his fishing knife from his pocket and cut off a few berry-studded sprigs.  

"How's that?" he called, watching them fall to the ground.

"They're real nice, but they're not the best ones," Hannibal called back.  "You need to go up a little farther," he advised.

Jed climbed higher.

"Stop!"  Hannibal waved his arms.  "Over there."  He pointed.  "To your right." 

Soon, several larger sprigs landed near the base of the tree where they were hastily gathered up and placed in the sack. 

"There's a real nice patch at the end of that limb, Jed.  Can you reach over some more?"

By now the daylight was beginning to fade, but Jedediah Curry's keen eyes could still make out the spot his cousin was referring to; he was right, it was teeming with berries.  Picturing the look of delight on his mother's pretty face as she placed those stalks along the mantle of the large kitchen fireplace, he decided it would be worth incurring his father's wrath for being out after dark.

Bit by bit he began to edge forward until, just as he was nearing his target, there was an ominous crack and the bough underneath him begin to give way.  Duly alarmed, Jed dropped his knife and groped wildly above his head.  Unfortunately, his almost numb fingers could not get a firm grip on the icy bark and he found himself plummeting helplessly through a mass of needle-like prickles to land on a tangle of dried-up vines at the base of the tree.

"OW!"

Hannibal was instantly at his side.  "You alright?" he asked, slowly helping him to his feet. 

Unable to put any weight on his left foot Jed leant heavily against him.  "No, I ain't.  My ankle hurts."

"You should see your face.  It's a mess!" his cousin observed, unhelpfully.

Jed wiped his hand across both cheeks and looked in horror at the smear of blood on his palm.  "Aaww no," he wailed, "Pa's gonna be real mad when I get home lookin' like one o' them devils."

"What devils?"

"The ones in the book at Sunday school.  Their faces are covered in blood.  I seen pictures." 

Hannibal grimaced.  The last thing he ever wanted was for Jed to get hurt.  Pulling an old rag from his coat pocket he gently dabbed at a gash where a sharp piece of bark had sliced clean through the skin. 

"I'll tell your pa it was all my idea," he declared, magnanimously.  Crouching down he offered his back.  "You can't walk on that foot.  Hop on."

"I don't need carryin'!" protested Jed.  

"I know — but I'm gonna do it anyway."

************

With a clatter, Kid Curry dropped his spoon into the empty bowl in his lap and ran his thumb along the scar which, even after all this time, still remained under his chin.  "Some Christmas that was," he grumbled.

"What's that?"  Like his partner, Heyes had allowed himself to drift back into the past while he ate his breakfast.

"You know, the one when I fell outta that holly tree."

Heyes reached over and playfully punched him on the shoulder.  "Aaww, it wasn't all bad, Kid.  Your ma was so happy to see us she fussed around something fierce; gave us hot milk and cookies; even persuaded your pa not to take his switch to our backsides.  You got to stay home from church Christmas morning too.  I know I'd rather have been  listening to one of Grandpa Curry's tall tales rather than Reverend Tuttle's boring sermon."

"It wasn't only the twisted ankle keeping me home," Curry reminded him.  "I caught a chill from being out in the freezin' night air." 

"You were coughing a lot — almost as bad as you are now," Heyes admitted.  Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added, "However, this time you're not trying to rip the skin off your bones."

The Kid's eyes narrowed, daring him to continue.

Unconcerned, Hannibal Heyes gestured toward the fireplace.  "Your face was the colour of those holly berries over there," he said, alluding to the red, itchy rash which had broken out all over his cousin's face and hands on Christmas morning.  "I can see it like it was yesterday..."

Picturing a young Jedediah, his swollen foot tightly bandaged and propped up on a stool, wrapped in a blanket and sitting in front of a fireplace which had been lavishly adorned with holly from the very tree that had caused all his problems, Heyes found it impossible to hide a smirk.

"Ain't funny," growled the gunman.  "I couldha been hurt real bad."

Heyes nodded with as much solemnity as he could muster.  "Yeah you could, but thankfully you weren't.  You have that mess of vines under the tree to thank for that; they softened your fall real well.  I guess it was just bad luck they turned out to be poison ivy!"  

Unable to control his amusement any longer Heyes' mouth widened into a mischievous, dimple-forming grin which was so infectious that the corners of Curry's mouth begin to twitch too. 

As he watched his sick partner smile for the first time in almost a week, Heyes offered up a silent word of thanks.  It had been a tough year.  They had lived a little and starved a lot, dodged bullets and fled posses, not to mention being falsely accused of several bank robberies and one murder.  Hopefully, it would not be long now before they were granted this elusive amnesty, but until then he would continue to be grateful for small blessings: they had found somewhere warm and dry in which to spend the holidays, the Kid had eaten every scrap of his breakfast, and remarkably almost twenty minutes had passed since he had last coughed.  It had also not escaped Heyes' notice that the ailing gunman's response to his gentle teasing had held the hint of a threat — a sure sign he was on the mend. 

Christmas 1883 was shaping up to be a good one after all.

Author's note:  It is something of a myth that poison ivy can be safely handled in the winter.  When the plants are dormant they are still toxic and exposure to the stems, branches, or roots can lead to an unpleasant, itchy, skin reaction.