Posts : 882 Join date : 2012-04-22 Age : 59 Location : Birmingham
Subject: December 2022 - All Wrapped Up Thu Dec 01, 2022 8:00 am
Hello there one and all...
This completes fifteen years of challenges you know. I do try and give you something with a few festive possibilities each December ... SO,
Put on your thinking party caps and ponder on
"All Wrapped Up..."
And, let those fingers dance on the keyboards
Kattayl
Posts : 45 Join date : 2021-08-01 Age : 69 Location : Los Angeles, Ca
Subject: All Wrapped Up Thu Dec 15, 2022 9:39 pm
Ghosts of Christmas Past All Wrapped Up
(With a tip of the hat, an homage to Charles Dickens)
Hannibal J. Heyes, Esq. was annoyed by the pounding on his front door. He needed his rest. He trudged down the staircase in his nightgown carrying a candle and its holder.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Who’s that banging at my door in the middle of the night?” He grumbled as he opened the door. He stared for a second and slammed the door hard. After taking a steadying breath, he opened the door again.
“It can’t be you…you’re…you’re dead,” he said to the apparition outside his door.
“I may be dead, but I’m cursed to feel cold even in the depths of hell.”
“Wheat?”
Heyes closed the door, but Wheat was standing in his massive entry hall with shackles on his ankles waving chains from his wrists.
“Yes, Wheat, in the almost flesh. I’ve come to warn you to change your ways, or your afterlife will be cursed.”
“Wheat, the Kid and I changed our ways. We earned our pardons and amnesty. We reformed.”
“Not talking about your outlaw days. Talking about your life now.”
“I’m a prosperous businessman, the richest man in the county!” Heyes bragged. “All my money I earned honestly.”
“Honestly, maybe, but on the backs of many other people. You’ll have three visitors tonight; watch and listen to them, Heyes.”
“Visitors? I don’t take visitors at this time of night.”
“Listen to them, Heyes. Listen and learn. There’s still might be a chance for you.”
“Wheat, a chance for what?”
“Redemption. Listen and learn.”
ASJ*****ASJ
Heyes sat straight up in his bed and wiped his eyes. He lit the candle on his carved wood nightstand and looked around. It had been a dream. A troubling dream. Wheat had died an outlaw more than twelve years ago, just before his amnesty had finally come through. He hadn’t thought of him in years. Too busy building a publishing empire and the HH Bank and making money...lots and lots of money.
Then the curtains swayed and as they blew around, they materialized into a weathered old ranch hand in a gray plaid flannel shirt.
“Hannibal Heyes.” The ranch hand pointed at him as he said his name dramatically.
“I’m trying to wake up and then you’ll be gone. You are just a figment of my imagination, and I can’t make money from figments.”
“Hannibal Heyes, I am the Ghost of Your Christmas’ Past.”
Heyes stared at the man. “And that is supposed to mean something to me?”
“Tonight is Christmas Eve.”
“What does that matter, except that no one wants to work tomorrow. I even have to give Jed half a day off tomorrow, without pay, of course,” Heyes complained.
“I’m here to remind you of your past Christmases.”
Heyes felt the room swim and he was looking in a farmhouse window at a family around a Christmas tree. No, it was two families, the Heyes and the Currys. It was his childhood house. The presents were all wrapped up under the tree. He watched quietly as his sister helped his ma and Jed’s ma, Aunt Mary, set the table for Christmas breakfast. The Kid’s older brothers, Johnny and Paddy, walked in the door, so proud of the turkey they had shot. And a fat turkey it was, his ma had exclaimed.
Heyes felt happy watching them, then sad, then angry. Everyone in that room, Grandpa and Gramma Curry, all of the Currys, and all the Heyes were murdered in front of this house before the next Christmas. Only he and Jed survived. He had hired detectives to track down the raiders about five years ago. When they were found, he ruined them. Left them with nothing. He had enough money to do anything he wanted and he craved more.
The room floated away into a mist. He and the Kid were sleeping in a cold open room in the livery, happy to have a roof over their heads on this cold Christmas night. “Merry Christmas, Heyes.” Jed gave him a red, red apple and an orange he had stolen. It seemed like the best present ever and they’d been happy just being warm and together.
“Time to move on, Mr. Heyes,” the old ranch hand sounded wistful as he watched the young boys out on their own. “You boys survived the cold that night and went on to make quite a name for yourselves.”
The livery melted into the bunkhouse at Devil’s Hole. It was lively as the men drank the whiskey Heyes and Curry had supplied for Christmas Eve. Kyle had dragged in a tree so big they had to cut two feet off the top and decorated it with garlands of popcorn and berries. And Wheat was there before he broke away from the gang and joined another, more violent gang. Heyes smiled to himself at the memory. He had been thankful that the Devil’s Hole gang had made it through another year with no major injuries and without shooting anyone in all the banks and trains they robbed. He caught his cousin’s eye as he played poker at the long table and winked.
Heyes smiled at the memory. Even as outlaws they had built a surrogate family and Christmas Eve was special.
“Time to return now,” the old ranch hand drawled.
“No. They… we… I all look so happy. A few minutes more…”
Heyes heard his magnificent one of a kind Swiss-made grandfather clock in the hall strike the hour and found himself back in his bedroom, alone. It seemed very quiet after the joyous feeling of the bunkhouse. Still, it must have been a dream, a vivid dream, but a dream nonetheless.
He climbed into his four-poster bed and blew out the candle. Candles cost money and he never wasted a penny.
His room grew cold, very cold, and a beautiful woman with her dark hair worn in curls on the top of her head was sitting on the side of his bed. She was dressed in a green velvet dress and had style. Not a saloon girl, he decided, but a saloon singer. She was the kind of girl you didn’t ask upstairs.
“Mr. Hannibal Heyes,” she purred. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Present.”
“You’re a dream, an apparition,” Heyes told her.
She batted her light brown eyes at him, flirting. “Whether an apparition or a ghost, I’m here to show you Christmas present.”
The air grew thick and cold, and he could see Jed feeding the horses, talking to each one, covering them with warm blankets against the cold. It was not the Kid of the Christmas Eve in the bunkhouse. Jed today was thin, painfully thin. His gloves appeared to have holes that had been carefully darned. His jeans were threadbare. His boots had holes in the toes and his cough was deep, congested.
“Why is he giving them extra feed! Why would he do that? Oats are expensive.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Mr. Heyes. A time to love, giving and sharing,” said the woman, her eyes following the Kid.
“Bah, humbug! It’s a waste of grain. The horses are fed enough,” said Heyes, but then he heard the Kid talking to his chestnut mare. She was old now but had helped him escape posses in her time.
“I know you’re always hungry, but he does always allocate enough grain for all of you. Enough to survive, but not to thrive. Got an old apple here. Leo at the fruit marker gives me the old ones for you beauties. Merry Christmas.”
Heyes watched the Kid go from horse to horse with an apple and warm words and never a complaint against him.
“The Kid, er Jed’s boots have holes. I pay him enough to buy new boots.”
“Do you, Mr. Heyes? When was the last time you gave him a raise? He works for you taking care of the horses, doing your accounts, and waiting on you twelve hours a day. Then he goes home to his family.
“His family? Yes, I do remember he had a little brat a few years ago.”
“Four children, Mr. Heyes, and since his wife died. He has to hire someone to watch them while he works for a pittance from you. But he’s loyal to you, sir,” she said and Heyes almost felt her disgust. “Never says a word against you, always has your back, and is here when you need him.”
The horses disappeared and a dining table appeared. Heyes recognized the Kid and was amazed at the four young Currys with blue eyes. The two oldest had brown hair like his and his ma. The Kid’s pa had brown hair like his sister. The younger two were blonde that hadn’t yet faded to a light brown like the Kid and his ma. Everyone’s attention was fixed on a small chicken, roasted to perfection in the center of the table. There was a small bowl of mashed potatoes and an abundance of rolls.
“Who’s turn is it to say the blessing?” the Kid asked as he looked at his children with love..
The smallest girl raised her hand and even the gentle movement made her cough. Her siblings waited patiently until the coughing subsided. Heyes had caught the distraught look in his cousin’s eyes.
“Bless this food. Bless our family, Pa and my brothers and sister and Ma in heaven. God bless Uncle Heyes for giving Pa the job that puts food on our table. And thank you, God, for that chicken. Is it wrong to pray that I get the leg?”
Everyone laughed.
Heyes was touched that he was included but scrunched his nose up at the squalor. “I pay him to live better than this!”
“Do you? I think not. Yet he has always served you loyally.”
“What’s wrong with the little girl; she was coughing?”
“Delia’s been sick all winter. Much of Jed’s money goes for medicine for her. The doctors here can’t help her.”
“What about the doctors in San Francisco or New York?”
“They could probably help her, but Jed doesn’t have the money to get her there.”
Heyes watched as the Kid gave each of the children a red, red apple and an orange and watched the joy on their faces at the simple gifts..
Then his clock chimed, and he was back in his room. This time he didn’t get into bed. He waited for the third visitor Wheat had predicted.
Preacher stepped out of the shadows, dressed in black but with a whitish glow around him that lit up the room.
“Preacher!”
“Heyes, I’m the ghost of Christmas Future.”
“Good to see you, old friend,” Heyes said as tried to slap him on the back, but his hand went through him.
“Heyes, do as Wheat asked. Watch and learn.”
He could feel Preacher’s hand on his shoulder as they solidified in the church cemetery. Kid and his three oldest children looked a year older. They were laying flowers on the graves of Margaret Curry, the Kid’s wife, and… no, it couldn’t be. He walked closer to read the headstone, Delia Curry age seven.
“He tried but could never get her the help she needed. He’s riddled with grief and guilt. He won’t make it to the next Christmas.” Preacher explained, sympathetically.
“And the other children?”
“The orphanage…or the workhouse.”
“No, it can’t be!” Heyes screamed at the ghost of Preacher. “Not Delia! Not the Kid!”
But Preacher was silently pointing at a tallest gravestone in the cemetery that no one was visiting. It was a large, beautiful, sculptured horse and cowboy, but there were no flowers at the grave. There was only one line carved there, Hannibal Heyes. Nothing else. No ‘beloved of’ or ‘He will be missed.’
Heyes stepped closer. “It can’t be, Preacher. How do I change this?”
“Wheat told you how, Heyes. Listen and learn.”
ASJ*****ASJ
As the hallway clock struck eight a.m., Heyes woke from a deep sleep on his fine silk sheets as the sun hit his window. He never slept this late. Time was money. Then he remembered his nocturnal visitors and jumped from his bed, racing to the window.
“Lad, what day is it?” he yelled out the window.
“Why Christmas Day, sir.”
Christmas Day! He hadn’t missed it. But he had things to do, so many chores to handle. When he went downstairs, the Kid was sitting at a dark desk by the window, squinting over the ledgers from last week. He was using the sunlight and had not lit the lamp on his desk.
“Good morning, Kid. What are you doing here? It’s Christmas!”
“Yes, sir, it is. You said I may leave at noon. My weekly pay will be docked, of course, for the hours I’m not working.” Jed Curry looked confused because his cousin and employer hadn’t called him Kid in ten years.
“Nonsense, nonsense. Of course, you’ll receive full pay for today and tomorrow we will look into an appropriate raise for all the work you do around here.” Heyes was nervous with excitement. He had things to do and a future to change. “And leave now, your children should have you home with them on Christmas morning!”
“Thank you, sir!”
“Since when is it sir? It was always Heyes or partner. I like those better.”
Curry didn’t understand what was happening, but he was enjoying the changes in Heyes. He left saying, “I’ll just take care of the horses then I’ll leave. Thank you, s…Heyes.”
“Give them all extra grain and hay. If they need new blankets, order them.”
As soon as Curry left, Heyes got dressed and hurried out. He stopped at the butcher shop and bought the largest turkey they had.. He ordered it to be cooked and sent to the Curry house. “With all the trimmings,” he told the man. Then he went to the toy story and bought toys, including a shiny set of metal army men, a train set, and a beautiful porcelain doll with blonde hair and the face of an angel. He had them wrapped in the store and gave the clerk a five-dollar gold piece for opening on Christmas and wrapping the presents, and just because he was in a generous mood. What good was all his money if he dies soon.
He went to the train station and bought six round-trip first-class tickets to San Francisco.
Then, timidly, he knocked on the Kid’s door not sure if he’d be welcome. He heard coughing inside, but little Delia opened the door and gave him a hug. “Merry Christmas, Uncle Heyes! You sent Pa home to us early.”
Heyes realized it had been the Kid that was coughing the deep unrelenting cough.
“Merry Christmas, one and all,” Heyes announced, as he handed out the presents he bought and watched excited eyes light up at the dreamt of treasures. He handed the Kid a bottle of fine whiskey. “For tonight, when we sit down, I’ll apologize, and then we’ll discuss how we’ve always been partners. Somewhere I forgot that. It changes right now.”
Curry coughed again in response, finally saying, “Thanks, Heyes, and thanks for the turkey. I ain’t never seen one quite that big. And the toys for my kids. You’re staying for the family dinner. I insist.”
There were tears in the Kid’s eyes at his generosity, but Heyes felt the guilt of having forgotten this part of his life, having ignored his family.
“Thank you for sticking with me all these years, Kid. I’m sorry for…”
“I’ll always have your back, partner,” Kid said as he took the envelope Heyes handed him.
“We’re going, all of us, to take little Delia to San Francisco and find a doctor to help her. And you too, Kid.”
Heyes pulled his knife, a knife he remembered the Kid had given him for his eighteenth birthday. He walked over to the turkey and with some effort cut a leg off the turkey. “Now which plate belongs to Delia?” he asked with a grin. “She shall eat as much of this as she wants.”
Heyes was smothered with the sticky hugs of four children eating candy canes. He looked up and thought he saw Wheat, still in chains, looking in the window.
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Penski Moderator
Posts : 1811 Join date : 2012-04-22 Age : 63 Location : Northern California
Subject: Re: December 2022 - All Wrapped Up Sat Dec 31, 2022 4:02 pm
All Wrapped Up
Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry finally got their long-awaited amnesty. Due to the public’s curiosity to see the infamous outlaws, they toured the country for the first year playing poker and showing off their fast draw. While the tour quickly became bothersome to the partners, they were able to build up a savings for the future. At the end of the tour, the two had decisions to make. Curry wanted a quiet horse ranch while Heyes craved the bigger city life. Separating was not an option so they compromised on a Hannibal Heyes plan that gave them both what they wanted – a ranch with pasture, a barn, a large corral, and a cabin with a porch in the hills near Denver. Curry raised horses on their ranch while Heyes went into the outskirts of Denver to work.
Heyes came home from work one day and said little during dinner.
Later, they sat on their porch smoking a cigar and drinking a glass of whiskey with the twinkling lights of Denver in the background.
“Think Midnight is about to have her colt. See how big she’s gettin’?” Curry pointed to a mare in the corral.
“Uh huh.”
“That’ll be our eighth colt since we bought the ranch.”
“Uh huh.”
Curry glanced sideways at his partner. “How was your day?”
“Uh huh.”
“Heyes!”
“What?!” Heyes jumped.
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said,” the Kid said accusatorily.
Heyes replied defensively, “Sure, I have.”
The Kid crossed his arms, a drink still in one of them and a cigar in his mouth. “Okay, what I did say?”
“Something about the horses.”
Curry rolled his eyes. “That’s a given since I work our horse ranch. You’ve been quiet since you got back from work. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“It must be somethin’.”
Heyes sighed. “I… We got a telegram.”
“A telegram? From who?”
“Don’t matter who. It’s who it’s about that matters.”
Curry turned and waited. After a moment, he asked, “Who?”
“Kathleen Curry.”
“Kathleen Curry? Am I supposed to know her?”
Heyes nodded. “We knew of her as Aintín Katie.”
The Kid sat back and began to rock again. He swallowed the whiskey in his glass. “Aintín Katie. I haven’t thought about her in a long, long time. I barely remember her.”
“You wouldn’t have many memories being so young.”
“She was a late child from Gramma and Grandpa Curry – our folks’ sister, right?”
Heyes nodded again and poured more whiskey into both glasses. “She was about six years older than me and a year or two older than your big brother.”
“What happened to her? I remember she was there one day and then gone.”
“After Gramma died when Aintín Katie was about 14, she started acting different. I heard my pa and ma talking about her hurting your baby sister.”
“Rebecca.” Curry inhaled the cigar and slowly released the smoke.
“Grandpa didn’t have no control over her and our folks were worried she’d hurt herself or others. A year after Gramma, Aintín Katie was sent away.”
“Do you know where?”
“I think an institution in St. Louis. That’s who sent the telegram.”
“Is she still alive?!”
This time Heyes shook his head. “The telegram was informing us that she passed away and they’re asking what we wanted to do with the body.”
“Oh.” Curry thought for a moment. “She needs to be buried next to Grandpa and Gramma and our families.”
Heyes took a deep breath and downed the whiskey. “I thought that part of our lives was all wrapped up – done – and now it’s unraveling.” He took a puff from the cigar. “I can’t figure out how they knew where we were or how they associated her with us. There has to be other Currys in the United States.”
“I’m guessin’ they had records that she came from near Lawrence, Kansas.”
“But how would they know where to find us? Since the tour, we’ve led quiet lives and not many know we settled near Denver.”
The Kid gulped. “Ah, I might’ve told someone.”
“Who?”
“Our old teacher, Miss Sievert.”
“When? Why?”
“I was curious about seein’ the old homestead and town and I knew you didn’t want to go back. When I was pickin’ up the stallion last year in Missouri, I stopped by on my way there. I bet they contacted the town, and they told them how to get a hold of us.”
“Oh. You could’ve told me.”
“And get you upset about nothin’?” Curry continued to explain, “I didn’t have a whole lotta memories of it – must’ve pushed them away when we were sent to Valparaiso. Like I said, I was curious and wanted to see it again to see if the memories would come back. Good memories.”
“And did they?”
The Kid nodded. “Some… More than I had. Like Aintín Katie… I remember makin’ mud pies with her once.”
Heyes chuckled. “She hated beets and had us kids put them in our mud pies.”
“She did?” Curry smiled.
“Gramma and our mas were so mad at her for doing it. The only time I remember Aintín Katie getting a whooping.”
“Didn’t she have a house or a fort?”
“You remember that? Yeah, Grandpa built her a little one-room building next to the barn. When she left, it was used as a chicken coop.”
“We had fun playin’ in that room.”
“We did,” Heyes agreed. “Remember the goose?”
“The goose?” Curry thought for a moment.
“The one at our house that hated Aintín Katie…”
“And chased her around the barn!” The Kid chuckled.
“Didn’t mind anyone else but her. She was always afraid to get down from the wagon.” Heyes laughed and took a puff from his cigar.
“Heyes, we need to go bury her in the family plot. If you don’t wanna, I will.”
“I just don’t know if I can go back, Kid.”
“I understand. You remember more about our childhood and that day than I do.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
A week later, Kid Curry rode into town in a wagon with a casket in the back. He rode straight to the church and cemetery, having sent a telegram to the minister with his intentions of burying Kathleen Curry near the family.
As he pulled up to the church, he noticed a mound of dirt near where he remembered the family being buried. “Nice. The grave is ready.”
He climbed out of the wagon and stretched.
“Hi’ya.”
“Heyes! You came!” The Kid gave his cousin a big hug and then stepped back, his arms on Heyes’ shoulders. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, I did. I thought about what you said about going back and good memories began to surface. I’m hoping for a little of the same. And a proper good-bye to our families.”
“Looks like the grave is ready.”
“Yeah, I paid someone to dig it for us. The minister is ready to say a few words when we’re ready.”
Curry nodded and started sliding the casket out of the wagon. “Let’s take Aintín Katie back to be by her family… our family.”
This challenge is in memory of my Aunt Kathy, who was almost four years older than me. Shortly after my grandma died, Aunt Kathy began showing signs of a mental illness. She eventually was institutionalized. On Christmas Day in the evening, she passed away at the age of 65, released from her mental illness. Heyes and Curry’s memories of their Aintín (Irish for aunt) Katie are memories I have of my aunt Kathy. Rest in peace.
_________________ h "Do you ever get the feeling that nothing right is ever going to happen to us again?" - Kid Curry
Thu Dec 01, 2022 8:00 am
