Of Walnuts and Whistles

By Kattayl

The cold wind of the blizzard took away Jed ‘Kid’ Curry’s breath, even with his bandana tight over his nose and mouth.  He could barely make out the silhouette of the horse and rider he was trying to follow.  “Heyes,” he called ahead to his cousin, knowing his voice was stolen by the wind.  When there wasn’t an answer, he pushed his horse up next to Heyes’ horse.  “Heyes.  Heyes?” 

When there was no response from the rider next to him, he grabbed the reins of the other horse.  He jerked him to a stop.  Heyes’ head bobbed before he turned to look at Curry.  Still, there was no response in the blank brown eyes.

Curry led both horses off the road on a small animal trail to their left.  Dismounting under the cover of trees, he tied both horses up.  “Heyes, partner,” he yelled, although the wind made it sound like a whisper.

“Kid?  Sooo cooold!” Heyes said, reaching for Curry’s hand to help him off his horse. 

Curry saw the blood frozen to his wrist and arm that had tried to flow down from the bullet wound in his cousin’s shoulder. “Partner, stay on your horse.  I haven’t heard that posse behind us in a couple of hours, but do you think you could ride some further?  Maybe there’s some shelter at the end of this trail.  This is making me rethink the whole amnesty thing.  At least we were warm in Devil’s Hole in the winter.”

Quiet for a moment, Heyes nodded.  Adjusting himself in his saddle, he reached for the reins with his good hand.  “Let’s go.  I think I smell roasted turkey with walnut dressing,” Heyes said, trying to take a deep breath through the bandana covering his mouth. 

“Well, you smell the walnut trees all around us.  I don’t know about the turkey,” Curry answered.  He took the reins from his cousin.  “My turn to lead.”

“Kid, how long we been trying to lose that posse?” Heyes asked.

“I’ve lost track of time.  At least four days, maybe more,” Curry replied.

“Maybe it’s Christmas.” Heyes told him.  “I ain’t got nothing for you, Kid.”

“That’s alright.  I ain’t got nothin’ for you either.  Right now, all I want for Christmas is a line shack or barn we can dry out and get some sleep…and I can get that bullet out of your shoulder.”

Tying his good wrist to the saddle horn, Heyes allowed his eyes to close.  He trusted his partner would lead them to safety, temporary though it may be.

ASJ*****ASJ

Heyes felt his horse stop and opened his eyes.  The blizzard had morphed into a light snowstorm.  His shoulder burned from the lucky shot of one of the posse members chasing them. 

The only thing they had done wrong was stay in the same town too long.  But nobody knew them there; nobody was chasing them.  The Kid got an afternoon job at the mercantile and Heyes delivered telegrams and played poker each night.  They were thinking of staying the winter in an old cabin outside of town and check with Sheriff Lom Trevors in the spring to see if their amnesties had come through. 

All that changed when two drifters tried to rob the mercantile.  The Kid thwarted them but drew too fast.  The drifters sat in the town’s jail  but the Kid’s speed with the gun got the sheriff looking through wanted posters.  He formed a posse.  The owner of the mercantile and the telegraph operator were asked to join the posse.  They were gone before the posse was deputized.  Heading straight into a snowstorm.  Still the posse got close enough two days later to allow a lucky shot to hit Heyes in the shoulder as he turned around to see where they were.  And then the blizzard struck. 

“Why’d we stop?” Heyes asked. 

“Blizzard’s lettin’ up.  There’s a house ahead.  Think I can make out an old man sittin’ on the porch. I think he’s whittlin’” Curry answered.  “Think you can walk a bit?  Thought we could approach on foot and see if they’d let us stay in the barn a few nights if I help with the chores.”

Heyes nodded.  Curry helped him slip from his horse.  The house looked familiar, but it couldn’t be.  He had watched that house burn to ashes years ago.  Still, he asked, “Kid, don’t this place seem familiar?”

“We been runnin’ from a posse for days now with no sleep.  Think I’m seein’ things ‘cause I’m so tired.  But there is something familiar about it,” Curry answered.

“That must be it,” Heyes answered.  He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and followed his cousin.

As the two outlaws approached the house, they were greeted by an old man in a chair, whittling on the front porch.  “Hey, boys,” he said without looking up.  “About time you showed up.  They’re waiting for you inside.  I’ll see your horses are well tended to.”

At his words, they stopped suddenly, looking around.  Light snow was falling.  No footsteps disturbed the white mantle deposited by the storm.  

Puzzled, Heyes looked at his cousin.  He mouthed the word ‘trap” to his cousin.  Curry shrugged his shoulders.  “Doesn’t feel like it.  He reminds me a lot of Grandpa Curry.”  Still his right hand rested on his belt above his gun.

“He does,” answered Heyes.  But that’s impossible, he thought.  Out loud, he said, “We’re tired and our minds are playing tricks on us.  But I bet it’s warmer inside.”

As they entered the large main room, an older woman swatted Curry then Heyes on the behind with her broom.  “You’d think you two were raised in a barn.  Get those wet, dirty boots off.  I just swept the floor,” she scolded them.

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Curry as he started to remove his boots.  This place felt very familiar.  Maybe he was dreaming and this was just a memory of Grandma Curry tricking his mind.

Heyes was too busy staring around the room to respond to the lady.  “Kid, this looks like the Curry house that Christmas when a skunk got into my home and we stayed here for the holidays.”

Refusing to believe his eyes, Curry answered, “Seems something like it.”  But his heart understood this was his childhood home.  And then his ma came out of the kitchen.

“Ma?”

“Aunt Joan?” echoed Heyes.

“Close your mouths, boys.  You’re not fish.  Your pas are waiting for you to get back so the four of you can go hunt the wild turkey for Christmas dinner while there is still light,” she answered. 

Curry wrapped her in his arms and held her close.  “You always did smell like lemon soap,” he said to himself. 

“Of course, I do.  You helped us make the soap this year,” she answered matter of factly.  Turning away from him, she asked, “What’s wrong with your cousin?  What kind of trouble did you two get into now?”

Curry turned in time to stop Heyes from hitting the floor.  “He’s hurt, shot.”  Picking his partner up, Curry carried him further into the main room to a large sofa he remembered being there.  It hadn’t changed at all. 

“Get his jacket off,” his ma ordered.  “Mary, bring a bowl of hot water,” she yelled toward the kitchen. 

“Aunt Mary?” Curry whispered.

“You know the Heyes family is staying here this Christmas, Jeddie.  Now you grab your boots and go out the back door.  Your pa and Uncle Arthur are waiting for you.  Han will just have to wait until next year to go with you to get the turkey.  Don’t worry, your Aunt Mary and I will have your cousin fixed up in no time.”  She turned to the couch. 

“But there’s a bullet in there,” Curry said.

“You two boys have been getting into trouble together from the day you learned to walk.  No difference now.  I said we’d take care of him.  Now go.  Don’t keep them waiting any longer,” she demanded.

Curry leaned over his cousin.  “You dreamin’ the same thing as me?” he whispered.

“If our mas are about to take a bullet out of me without blinking an eye I am.  Sure seems real.  I can smell food cooking.  Maybe we froze in the blizzard and died,” Heyes whispered back.

“Or hallucinatin’.  Sure seems like we’re back with family,” Curry answered softly.  He patted Heyes on the leg as he stood up.  “Hope they can ease that bleedin’ at least.  Looks like I’m goin’ turkey huntin’.”

Heyes tapped his younger cousin’s arm.  “Didn’t your pa promise us we could go on the turkey hunt the next Christmas?”

Curry looked around.  “Yeah, but that Christmas never came.”  Walking over to the front windows, he pulled the curtains aside to look for any sign of the posse. 

The old man from the porch came into the house.  Putting a hand on Curry’s shoulder he said, “You’re safe here, boy.  No one will follow you here.”  He had walked past him before the Kid had time to respond.

ASJ*****ASJ

“Now, son, aim carefully and don’t be afraid to squeeze the trigger.  You’ll know when the time is right.”  Curry heard his father’s voice as he lined up his shot with the old rifle.

Bang! 

“Perfect shot, Jeddie.  Couldn’t have done it better myself,” Curry’s pa said.  “Guess it’s time that old Henry rifle is yours.”

“But it’s Grandpa Curry’s rifle,” Curry objected.  Even if this was a dream or a hallucination brought on by the cold, he enjoyed holding the rifle.  It was part of his childhood.  It was the rifle he had first learned how to shoot. 

“Yours now, boy.  Let’s get home before this snowstorm gets worse,” his pa answered.

ASJ*****ASJ

Heyes opened his eyes slowly, not sure where he was.  Realizing he was still in the weird dream, he reached out to his ma sitting by his bed.  “Ma, I love you.  I missed you,” he whispered. 

She leaned over and kissed his forehead.  “I love you too, Han.  You always have my heart.  Now get dressed.  Dinner is almost ready.”

Heyes hand went to his bullet wound.  Feeling a bandage there, he touched it but felt no pain.

“Han, you’re healed enough to eat Christmas dinner with the family.  And you can sleep with Jeddie in the loft as we promised.”  His ma’s eyes captured her smile.  “Now get going or you’ll miss the blessing.”

ASJ*****ASJ

“You alright?” Curry whispered to his cousin as they sat next to each other at the dinner table. 

“Seem to be.  You think we’re dead and this is heaven?” he whispered back. 

“I know this sounds strange, but it feels very real.  My pa gave me Grandpa Curry’s rifle,” Curry said.  He’d kept the rifle next to his chair at the table.  He kept reaching out and touching it.  “I hope that turkey with walnut stuffin’ tastes as good as it smells.”

Heyes nodded as Grandpa Curry walked to his place at the head of the table.  Bypassing his chair, he leaned over between them and handed them each a whittled whistle.

“Here’s your last Christmas presents, boys.  Put them to good use and don’t make your grandma complain to me about all the noise they make.  Want you to know we’re all real proud of your two lately and the choice you’ve made.”

Almost reverently, Heyes and Curry received the toys.  Curry stood up and hugged the old man.  Heyes joined their hug.  “Thank you,” they said in unison, with tears forming in their eyes.

ASJ*****ASJ

Later that night in the loft of what had been Curry’s room, Heyes whispered, “Kid, you think all this will be here when we wake up?”

“Not even sure where ‘here’ is, Heyes, but it has been a pretty good Christmas day,” Curry answered.  “How are you feelin’?”

“Remarkably good considering I was bleeding to death,” Heyes answered, taking a deep breath.  “I do love the smell of those roasted walnuts.”

In the dark, Curry nodded.  “Almost as good as eatin’ them,” he answered, with a last yawn before falling into a deep, peaceful sleep.

ASJ*****ASJ

Heyes woke slowly as he took a breath of cold air.  “Kid?” he said, looking around.  Relieved, he saw the Kid waking up nearby.

“Don’t remember fallin’ asleep in a hay loft,” Curry said, sitting up abruptly and looking around. 

“If I remember right, Kid, we were in the loft at your childhood house,” Heyes answered.

“Which was destroyed years ago with the rest of the house…and our family,” Curry said bitterly.  “Seems funny we had the same dream.  Wait, how are you feelin’?”

Heyes lifted the arm on his injured side and smiled.  “Good as new.”  Reaching under his shirt, he pulled the bandage tied around his chest off.  “Not even much of a scar.”

Curry was looking out the hayloft window.  “Don’t seem to be no house or nothin’ here.  Just this barn in the middle of nowhere.  We need to be goin’.  If we could find this shelter, so could the posse.”  He started down the ladder.

“Our horses?” Heyes asked, following him down.

“Down here eatin’ fresh hay…all saddled and ready to go,” Curry answered. 

“Looks like they’ve been brushed and tended to,” Heyes added.

“Heyes, was it real?  Our family?  The turkey shot?  The dinner?” Curry asked.

“Felt like it and the bullet is definitely not in me.  Grandma Curry always said there were Christmas miracles when you needed them.”  Checking his saddle bag, Heyes said, “Look what I found!”  He showed his cousin a whittled whistle.  He looked up to see Curry with a wide smile that reached to his eyes.  In his hand he held the old Henry rifle.

“These seem mighty real to me,” Curry answered, pulling a matching whistle from his own saddle bag.

“And these smell good enough to eat!” Heyes exclaimed.

“Roasted walnuts?” Curry asked.

“Yup…a whole sack of them.  I think we just lived through one of Grandma Curry’s Christmas miracles.  Grandpa Curry said they were proud of us for the choice that we made.  Bet that meant going honest and trying to get amnesty.”  Heyes mounted his horse.

Overcome with emotion, Curry nodded. 

As they rode out of the barn, the dim sun was turning the snow to slosh.  Curry, ever alert, stopped after a few strides.  “Heyes, I’m sure we were somewhere in southern Montana, but this looks like….”

Heyes smiled as he answered, “The road into Porterville.  You think maybe we’re still in that miracle and Lom has some good news for us?” 

“Let’s find out.”