May 2020 Grace

Hello to one and all …

Here we all are. Still pacing our isolation huts and getting excited about our daily state sanctioned walk.
Perfect situation for a little ex-outlaw fantasy.

The topic for this month's challenge was suggested by one of you lovely ladies …

Sharpen your pencils, and release your lateral thinking as you ponder


Grace

After I googled 'grace' and didn't have a bunny hop with anything even remotely motivating, I decided to see how many variations of the definition I could fit into this story challenge just for fun. I highlighted them (except for the obvious one of grace itself). I'll add a link at the end so you can see how the different words came into play.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kid Curry's blue eyes had glazed over and his backside was completely numb by the time Reverend Charming finished blessing the meal by saying the most long-winded grace the ex-outlaw had ever been forced to sit through. “I swear I can hear someone sawin' logs somewhere behind me!” he muttered under his breath.

When the elderly woman sitting beside him pinned him with a glare, placed a finger to her lips and whispered, “Shush!” he feigned a not-so-discrete cough and tried his best to look apologetic. What a man has to put up with jus' for a free meal! When the benediction finally came to a conclusion, the Kid tucked into his food like a man on the brink of starvation.

Feeling the piercing eyes of his neighbor boring into him, knowing her wrinkled lips would be puckered into a frown of disapproval once again, the Kid breathed a silent sigh of resignation and put his fork down. Swallowing what was in his mouth, he turned the full strength of his Curry charm on her as he twisted in his seat to face her; their eyes met.

“Young man, it is as plain as the nose on my face that you neither possess any of the social graces necessary to conduct yourself in a gathering such as this, nor do you seem capable of exhibiting even the most rudimentary eating skills displayed by those of a man of good breeding, as you indulge yourself without any consideration or decorum for your fellow diners. Your lack of manners is simply appalling.”

Curry's train of thought tried to follow the woman's words; unfortunately, it derailed halfway through her verbose speech. His eyes glazed over for the second time that day and lost some of their warmth and charm at her stream of words. Wonder if everybody in this town talks like that all the time?

“Now jus' a minute, ma'am -” Upon hearing Heyes' voice in his ear, warning him to keep his temper – 'Remember the amnesty, Kid, don't forget, we're waiting on Lom – we need that job!' Kid bit back the rest of his retort and took a deep breath.

"You should at least have the grace to admit your debt to me!" she snapped.

“My debt?” Curry echoed; puzzlement etched his face.

“Why, for pointing out your faults, of course. How would you ever be able to improve your manners unless you were made aware of them?”

Curry mentally began to count to ten. When he reached five, he rose to his feet. “Thank you, ma'am, for all your help. Hope you don't mind none, but that's 'bout as much grace as I can muster at the moment. Be thankful that you're a woman.”

“Well, I never!”

“I bet you haven't!” the Kid retorted and strode away before he finished counting to ten. Reaching the boardwalk, he took a deep, calming breath and glanced across the street to the saloon. He put a booted foot down on the first step.

“Oh, Mr. Jones,” a voice trilled from afar.

“Not far 'nough for me to make my escape,” Curry groaned. “I jus' can't win today!” He blew out a breath of resignation, forced a smile to his face, and obediently turned to face the caller as he stepped back up onto the boardwalk.

Said caller was at that very moment bearing down on him with great haste, another woman following in her wake.

Kid hastily removed his hat, prepared to have his observations of the social graces tested to the limit once more. It would require all the tactfulness and diplomacy he possessed to survive this encounter. He glanced heavenward. Maybe the Powers-That-Be jus' might give me an extra helpin' of it while Heyes an' me wait? Pushing those thoughts aside, he straightened and prepared to meet his adversary. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Manners.

"Good afternoon to you, too, Mr. Jones. I'm thrilled that I caught you before you disappeared. You seem to have a habit of that you know – something you're very good at, I might add.” She treated him to a pointed look before she continued. “I'd like to introduce you to Mrs. Grace Goodwill who, much like her name, has graced the front pages of many a town's newspaper with proclamations of her musical abilities. She is quite a distinguished singer and we are extremely honored that she has decided to bestow her esteemed presence on us by performing here in our little town of Finesse."

Curry smiled at the matronly woman. “Nice to meet you, ma'am,” he nodded politely.

"Mr. Jones, would you and Mr. Smith also consent to grace us with your presence this evening?"

“Uh, well, I'd havta ask my partner before I commit us to anything,” Curry prevaricated, his mind dismissing an entire evening spent sitting in a suit listening to a woman singing, and replacing it with the more pleasant one of going to the saloon, poker games and spending quality time with the lovely ladies who worked there. “You know, it's really hard to say, ma'am, he might've made plans for us tonight...” as his words drifted away, he sent a look of mute appeal her way. A look he soon realized was wasted on the woman when she opened her mouth and began to speak.

“Oh, but of course, I do understand, Mr. Jones. However,” she wagged a plump finger at him, “I have already granted you both a two-day grace period; you cannot wiggle your way out of it this time. Tell Mr. Smith that I shall expect both of you to dignify us with your presence promptly at seven this evening in the town hall - no excuses. If he gives you any trouble, just remind him that I will be sending that telegram to our mutual friend, Sheriff Trevors, in the morning. As you may recall, once you delivered those papers to me a few days ago, I said that I would keep an eye on you two and that I'd let him know how helpful you were while you were waiting on your next job.” After favoring the young man with a pointed look and an arched brow until he gave a reluctant nod, she turned, took the arm of her companion, and left him standing on the boardwalk.

“Oh, I'll be sure to tell Mr. Smith, don't you worry none, ma'am,” he muttered as he watched them walk away. “An' I'm sure he'll be sure to tell me exactly what he thinks of it!” Curry plopped his hat on his head and started across the street. “I'm sure Heyes'll find some way to make this my fault!” he groused and turned back to the street. “Yep, definitely the saloon and a drink. Maybe two.”

He glanced up to see two young women walking towards him. He smiled at them, his blue eyes expressing his appreciation at their visually pleasing charms and gracefulness. When their paths crossed, his grin widened. He tipped his hat and nodded at the pair. Bits of their conversation drifted his way.

"Why, that Mister Smith walked through the town with effortless grace this morning; I declare, it was almost as if he was walking on air – his movements were so refined!"

“More like he was a knife slicing through soft butter,” the other commented, adding a very audible heartfelt sigh. “When I turned to watch him walk away... oh, my, pure poetry in motion. I was afraid I might swoon.”

Both women giggled.

“Sheesh!” Curry rolled his eyes heavenward, altered his course and headed towards the hotel instead. “I'd bet anybody in this town ten dollars that I could tell 'em what Heyes is doin right now, 'cept that'd mean I'd havta talk to someone an' I know I don't have that much patience left! There's no way I wanna do that again anytime soon!” he shuddered. “I bet he's upstairs with his nose stuck in some book.”

Kid rapped out their special knock. After unlocking the door to their room, he entered then pushed it shut behind him with a kick of his foot. Just as he had suspected, Heyes was flat out on his back, reading. “More like poetry at rest,” he huffed. “Easiest ten dollars I could've made.”

“What's that?” His attention still focused on the book, Heyes didn't look up.

“Nothin',” Curry responded glumly. “Sure hope Lom sends us news 'bout a new job soon - I don't know how much more of this town I can take! It's not safe for a fella to even walk down the street!”

“Cheer up, Kid,” Heyes grinned, still reading. “It can't be much longer. Besides, what else do we have to do? We're just killing time waiting; it's too early to head over to the saloon. The really bad players won't be in 'til it gets dark.”

“Uh, that reminds me, I'm s'posed to deliver a message to you.”

Heyes glanced up, his brow furrowed. “Me? Only me? Not you, too?”

“Nope, only you. I already know what the message is. Mrs. Manners says she expects to see you in the town hall promptly at 7 tonight. Or else.” He cast his cousin a wicked grin.

Heyes favored his friend with a glare in return as the book fell onto his chest. “You just had to go out to eat, didn't you? I told you there'd be trouble if you did – and I was right! Now we have to go tonight!”

“I'm sorry, you're right,” Curry held up his hands as he paced. “I should've listened to you, but I was hungry an' –”

Heyes gave him a glaring look of suspicion. “You don't sound sorry – and when aren't you hungry? Well, it's too late now to argue about it; what's done is done. We'll just have to put off poker until another night and suffer through – ” He paused, his brow furrowed. “What is it that we're gonna suffer through?”

“Only havin' to listen to Mrs. Grace Goodwill singin' for a couple hours, thanks to the kindness of our benefactor, Mrs. Manners. An' probably another really long blessing by Reverend Charming.”

“Is that all?” Heyes answered drolly. “Why don't you sit down and relax; clean your gun or read a book for awhile? The time'll pass more quickly.” He picked his book up, found his place, and began to read again.

“Not quick enough for me! I already cleaned my gun. An' if I wanted a book, I'd havta go back outside again – no thank you – you couldn't pay me enough to do that!” He glanced at his partner. Tilting his head to the side, he tried to make out the title, but quickly gave up. The writing was too faded. “Where'd you find that one?"

"Mrs. Manners loaned it to me. Said it was very educational,” Heyes continued. “At least from the first few chapters she had read. She wants my opinion of it when I'm finished. She's gonna finish reading it when I'm done."

“Educational, huh?” Kid tossed his hat on the dresser and began to unbuckle his gunbelt. "What's this one about?"

"Greek mythology."

"You can read Greek?"

Heyes glanced up, a tolerant grin on his face. "The book isn't written in Greek, it's about what the Greeks thought; you know, what they believed in."

Kid hung his holster on the bedpost and sat down next to his partner, then leaned back against the headboard, his hands crossed behind his head. "They believe in anything interestin'?"

"Sure did," Heyes answered absently, his eyes still glued to the text.

Curry waited a few beats, but when nothing more was forthcoming, he nudged his friend's leg with his foot. “Hey!”

Heyes took his eyes off the page and turned to give the Kid an annoyed look. “What?”

Curry grinned. "I figured you'd at least tell me a little bit more. After all, it was your idea for me to find something to read."

“I meant that you should find yourself a book to read, not that I read to you. Besides, I don't think you'd be very interested in this one.” He turned back to stare at the page.

“Try me.”

Heyes' expression relaxed. "You really interested, or are you just trying to get me to stop reading and pay attention to you?"

Kid's eyes twinkled. "Both."

"Well, at least you're honest 'bout it." Heyes shrugged and turned back to his book. "I was just getting to a really interesting chapter. It says here that there were these three graces –"

"Hey, we know a Grace – Grace Turner!"

Accompanied by an eyeroll and a shake of his head, Heyes sent his cousin the look. "Not that kind of grace, Kid. These graces are special; more like what you'd call goddesses of nature."

"Nature, huh? Were they real?"

"The Greeks believed they lived up in the clouds in a place called Mount Olympus."

"So not real?"

"Well, they were real to the Greeks," Heyes gave a one shoulder shrug. "Anyway, like I was saying, there were these three graces. Each one personified something special."

It was Kid's turn to give Heyes the look. "Can't you jus' say what you mean 'stead of usin' those big words? It'd take you a lot less time havin' to explain things, you know."

"Sure would," Heyes nodded, then continued. "Each of the three graces looked, and acted, like the name they were given. It says here they were 'generally considered as companions to' –” Heyes' brow furrowed as he thoughtfully sounded out the strange new words, “'A-phro-di-te – also known as Venus, the goddess of Love and Beauty. The names of the Three Graces were Eu-phros-y-ne, Tha-li-a, and A-gla-ia. They were eternally young and lovely.'"

Heyes glanced over at Kid before the man could open his mouth. "Means they lived forever and stayed young and beautiful looking – they never aged." Going back to his book, Heyes continued. "'Euphrosyne represented mirth and laughter, then there's youth and beauty – that was Thalia, and Aglaia was charm and elegance.'" Heyes turned the page and silence filled the room.

"Anything else?" Curry yawned.

"Hmm?" Heyes murmured as he glanced at the page on the other side. The corners of his mouth turned up before he continued. "Naw, not much; it just says that most of the time the women ran around naked –"

"Nekkid?" Kid interrupted. Eyes wide open, all signs of sleep gone from his expression, he turned his head to look at his partner with a raised brow. "There any pictures in that book?"

"Nope," Heyes answered and snapped the book shut. "Not one picture in that whole book, would you believe it?” He sat up and swung his legs to the floor, his back to Curry. The devilish glint in his brown eyes and the dimpled smile that graced his face were totally at war with the words he had just spoken. “I can't wait to tell Mrs. Manners all about it."

"That's too bad." With a resigned sigh Kid closed his eyes. "After all that readin' you'd think a fella'd at least get a few pictures – sheesh!"

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

In case you're interested in viewing the painting that Heyes hints at above, depicting The Three Graces by Jean-Baptiste Regnault, which is displayed in the Musée du Louvre, you can go to the link below. There is also a tad of additional info to read as well.

https://www.louvre.fr/en/oeuvre-notices/three-graces

Definitions of grace used in my challenge can be found at: https://www.lexico.com/definition/grace

(Just a little something ... offered with a good Grace - Ha!)




Summer 1860 – Larson’s Creek

“Ama-azing Graaaaace,” warbled Jed Curry cheerily, “How swee-eet  the sowund…”

“Tha-at saved a-uh wretch li-yuk meeeee,” mumbled Hannibal Heyes, much less cheerily.    

Hannibal glanced over at Mrs Godfrey as she enthusiastically conducted the youthful voices.    She was setting a good example by standing real tall, shoulders back, opening her mouth till you could see her back teeth, and exaggerating her ‘gs’ and ‘ts’ to drive home the constant nagging on the subject of starting and finishing words properly.

Grudgingly, Hannibal straightened up a tad.  

“Throo-wuw maaa-ny dangers, toys an’ hares…” mis-interpreted Jed.

“’Twas Grace tha’ brawww tus safe thus faaaar…”

“’A-And Grace wi-ill lead us home!”  soared Mrs Godfrey’s clear soprano.

A pair of brown eyes rolled.  

To be fair, Hannibal did not have a real problem with Mrs. Godfrey. She combined being sappy with uncomfortable bouts of surprising strictness, but hey, you could say that about lots of ladies.    He did not even have a big problem with the weeks he had to go sit with Mrs. Godfrey in the church hall hearing bible stories, instead of being in proper church listening to Reverend Thomas. Both were things to be got through before being allowed to get on with whatever he and Jed had planned for the day.   But, sheesh… His eyes strayed to the window, or more exactly, to the sunshine outside.  Glorious fishing weather.   If only she would get on with it.

The song ended.  At a gesture, the children sat, cross-legged, on the floor.

“Now, children,” beamed Mrs. Godfrey, retaking her own seat, “who can tell me anything about the lovely hymn we’ve just sung?”

Jed’s hand shot into the air.   Fingers stretching to the ceiling, he bounced on his bottom.  

Hannibal stared at his young friend in utter disbelief.  Did Jed not realise that encouraging the woman only prolonged things?

“Yes, Jed?” said Mrs Godfrey.

“It’s my Ma’s favourite hymn,” contributed Jed.  “She always says.”

Esther Curry nodded in confirmation.

“And, why does your mother like this lovely hymn so much, Jed?”

Jed blinked.  He had not been pre-warned there would be follow up questions.  He wriggled.  “Er…”

“It’s because it tells us how much God loves us, isn’t it?” prompted Mrs Godfrey.

“Er…” hesitated Jed, not wanting to be drawn into such tricky theological waters.

“It’s ‘cos she remembers singin’ it as a girl – before she came over to America,” put in Esther Curry.  “An’ ‘cos she an’ Pa had it at their wedding.”

“It’s a lovely hymn, isn’t it children?  What does it tell us about… (Millard! Don’t do that, dear.  That’s not nice, is it?)  What does this lovely hymn tell us about the grace of God?”

Silence.  Shuffling.

“That it’s amazing?” hazarded George Myers.  Hey, it seemed a safe enough guess.  It was right there in the title.

“Well, yes…” Fanny Godfrey’s smile became just a little strained.  “But, what makes it amazing, George?”

George stared down at his hymnbook. Ever helpful, he did his best.  “It saves wretches?” he tried.

Mrs. Godfrey gave the Socratic Method a rest and returned to old-fashioned instruction.   “God loves us all so much that no matter how many naughty things we do – he will still forgive us – (Millard, stop it!  I won’t tell you again.) – and still save us.”

Silence.

“Isn’t that wonderful, children?”  She scanned the youthful faces.  She nodded vigorously as a clue to the right answer.  Nothing.  Still she soldiered on.  “Yes, it IS wonderful.  Nothing is so bad that it can’t be forgiven.”

Hannibal looked up, dark brows drew together.  “Nothing?” he checked.

“Nothing,” came the confident confirmation.  

The brown eyes became interested.  “An’ we hafta forgive others too, don’t we ma’am?  That’s what you told us before.”

“Absolutely, Hannibal, we have to forgive each other’s trespasses…”

“No matter, how bad they are?”

“Yes.”

“So, if hypothetically, someone had done some’n bad, say after school on Friday, and had been told by their Pa they hadta…”

Fanny Godfrey was not the cleverest of women, but she had wit enough to see where this was going.  

“You’ll still be whitewashing my fence just as your father told you, Hannibal,” she snapped.  “And, if you were my son, I’d have tanned your hide!  He’s too soft with you.”

“But, you said, Grace is so amazin’…”

“Hannibal, it is very possible you already have divine forgiveness.  I am only human.  You’ll get mine AFTER you’ve been punished, young man. IF you are lucky.  And, that will be quite amazing enough in my opinion.”  

Hannibal sighed.  Still, it had been worth a try.  

Mrs. Godfrey regathered her Sunday School manner.   “Now, children, can anyone tell me who wrote that lovely hymn we’ve just sung?”

“John Newton, ma’am” said Ike Williams.

“Well done, Ike.  Good boy.”

“It’s written right there at the top,” scorned Esther Curry.

Mrs. Godfrey glanced down at her own hymnbook.  So it was.   “Now children, John Newton had done lots of bad and naughty things in his life before he wrote this hymn.  Can anyone guess what kind… (Millard!  Go and stand in the corner!  And put your hands on your head until you learn to keep your fingers out of your nose!)…”  Fanny Godfrey breathed hard and resumed the smile.    “I’m sure no one will be able to guess just how bad some of the things were John Newton did?”   She gave a dramatic pause.  Then, as she opened her mouth to enlighten her audience…

“He was a slave trader,” said Esther Curry.  “For years.”

“He cussed,” contributed Hannibal.  “At sea he cussed his Captain – and he did it so bad, he made up new words even sailors hadn’t heard afore… An’ sailors cuss worse than anyone.”

“What words?” asked Ike.  This was getting interesting.

Hannibal drew a deep breathe, opened his mouth, and…

“We don’t need to hear them, Hannibal!” jumped in Mrs Godfrey.

“His whole career was marked with – with…” Esther searched her memory.  “Headstrong disobedience.”

“He renounced all hopes an’ comforts of the Gospel,” quoted Hannibal.  “That means, all this stuff you keep tellin’ us, ma’am – he said none of it’s so…”

“He deserted from the navy…” remembered Esther.

“It’s all in one of my Pa’s books,” explained Hannibal.  “Mrs Godfrey – what’s…” a deep breath, and a visible effort of memory, “Debauchery.”

“Never you mind, Hannibal Heyes!  Something tells me you’ll find out soon enough.”

“When you ask Mister Heyes, he always says it’s a distant mem’ry,” chipped in Jed.

“That’s just his way of not sayin’,” scorned his sister.  “It isn’t what it means.”

Mrs. Godfrey eyed her two cleverest pupils.  “Has anyone ever told you two, you both read too much?”

Two nods.  

“Lots of folk,” said Esther.”

“Includin’ you,” added Hannibal.

Fanny Godfrey once again scrambled back to her theme.  “And, children, despite the bad life he had lived, John Newton found the love of God.  And, he wrote about it in this lovely hymn.”

“But…” interrupted Hannibal.
“But…” interrupted Esther.

Mrs. Godfrey was having none of it.  Her voice rose forcefully, “And THAT, Jed, is why so many people – just like your mother – say Amazing Grace is their favourite hymn.  Because, it tells us that – so long as we are truly sorry…,” At this point, a sharp look was thrown at Hannibal.  “So long as we are truly sorry – nothing is so bad, it can’t be forgiven.”

“Even cussin’?” checked Jed.

She nodded.

“What about stealin’ other folks stuff?” he asked.

“So long as we are sorry – and really mean not to do it again.”

“What about some’n real bad … Like…” He searched.  “Like a murderer or some’n?  Could they still get forgiven?”

“Well, that would be very bad – but, yes.”

“And they’d get to heaven.”

A nod.

Blue eyes scanned the clouds outside the window.  “Is it safe up there, ma’am?”


---oooOOOooo---


Summer 1871 – Eleven years later

Blue eyes stared at the – the object – sprawled, ten feet away, in the beer sodden sawdust.

Until a moment ago, Jed had been riding high, buoyed up by the youthful arrogance of eighteen, his desire to impress the men around him and a skinful of cheap liquor. Not now.  Now he was stone cold sober.

“Well, Kid,” grunted Bill Olney, “You may have a baby-face, but I guess everything Heyes told us was true.  I ain’t never seen no-one that fast.”

“Luke started it,” said Heyes.  “He was shooting his mouth off.  He was the one called on Jed.  You saw.”

“We all saw,” agreed the older man. “No-one’s sayin’ it wasn’t a fair fight.”

“Luke was saying stuff about Jed’s Ma.”

“Did he even know Jed’s Ma?  Did he know anythin’ ‘bout either of you?”

“No,” admitted Heyes.

“I guess he was just tryin’ to rile him then.”  Bill Olney looked over at the – the object – still seeping blood onto the dusty floor.  “I guess he succeeded.” A pause.  “We were puttin’ up with Jed for your sake, Heyes – you bein’ so smart with locks, but now…” Cold grey eyes looked over to where Jed stood, still motionless.  “I guess now you’re in the gang on your own merits, Kid.”

Jed looked up at that.   “He drew first…”

“Yup.  We all saw.” A smoke ring was blown.   “‘Course – any gunman worth his salt knows it’s a scientific fact reacting is quicker’n reaching first.” Bill Olney met Jed’s eyes, almost admiringly. “…AND, folk think you’re playing fair.”

Jed flushed.  Bill was right.  He’d thought he was such a big man boasting to Heyes when Jake Black had let him in on that trick of the trade.

Heyes moved close to his friend.  Very quietly, “Let’s step outside, Jed.  Get some air.”

Together they walk past the – the object.

A minute ago, it had been a man. Not a particularly good man. Had him a mean streak when drinking. Too ready to shoot his mouth off.  Certainly too ready to play fast and loose with the truth – and other folks’ property. But still, a living, breathing human being. He had a mother who loved him; an old mongrel dog who adored him. A man with hopes and fears and, maybe, a chance to change. After all, Luke Walker wasn’t much past twenty.

A minute ago Jed Curry was already a liar and a thief.  Now he was a killer too.

In the cool of the evening, the two friends walked through the tents and hastily erected clapboard of the mining settlement – hardly worthy of being called a town.  From one building – a little larger than most of the dwellings – drifted the sound of singing.   Thin but tuneful.   The young men could not make out all the words.  No matter.  They knew them well enough.  

Jed stopped.  “Hear that, Heyes.  D’you remember?”  

“Your Ma’s favourite hymn.  Sure I do.”

A pause.  Listening.   And, yes… How sweet the sound.

“D’you believe it Heyes?  Y’know.  Any of it?”

“Believe what?  Oh – the wretch like me – part.  I dunno.  Nah.  Not really.”  Heyes looked into his friend’s bleak face.  “Don’t mean I’m right, Jed.  Do you believe it?”

“I dunno.  Maybe.” Jed gazed up at the darkening sky.  “It’d sure be amazin’, but – maybe.”

Jed Curry, a liar, a thief and a killer.  A man with hopes and fears, and - unlike Luke Walker – maybe, a chance to change.  Maybe.

---oooOOOooo---