Hello the house

An “Alias Smith and Jones” story

By Mary Whimsey

“Hello the house!”

Heyes flinched at the sound of his own voice. It was harsh and raw in the frigid night air. He knew he sounded scared and desperate, exactly what he felt.

Those inside the house were unlikely to be inspired towards hospitality by his shouts. And he needed them to open that door.

“Heyes?” the Kid moaned.

Heyes was standing in front of the horses. He looked back over his shoulder at his partner. The Kid was slumped over the neck of his horse. Cold rain dripped from the broad brim of his hat.

Heyes reached out and put his hand on the Kid’s leg. He could feel him shaking.

“Take it easy,” he said softly. “In a couple of minutes we’ll be inside where it’s warm and dry.”

Heyes looked down the deserted street in hopes of seeing another lighted window.

A year ago this was a thriving mining town with four saloons. The mine owner, a man named Nathan Howard, bragged it would soon be supplying copper for half the world’s pennies. He was dead now, killed by a cave-in with twenty other men. All that was left of his town were the burned ruins of buildings demolished for the nails that held them together. And this one house set up on a stone foundation with a porch attached to three sides. The front windows shone with lamp light and there was smoke billowing from the chimney.

Heyes swallowed hard and glanced again at the house.

He had to get the Kid into shelter. He knew he was wounded, how bad he didn’t know. They’d robbed a bank the night before and thought that they had gotten away with it cleanly. A posse jumped them about noon. Heyes hadn’t realized the Kid had been hit until a few hours later when he saw that the sleeve of the Kid’s jacket was soaked with blood. Then they were riding at a full gallop just out of rifle range in front of the posse. If it hadn’t been for the rain they might never have gotten away.

For hours they had wandered in the dark, rainy night looking for a dry place out of the wind. Finally just before Heyes had been ready to give up and settle for a damp pile of pine needles for a bed the Kid saw a light in the distance; light they would have never seen had the house not sat on a hill. A light like his grandmother had once kept shinning in the window so that strangers lost in the prairie night might see it and know they weren’t alone.

Now the rain was turning to sleet.

“Hello the house!” Heyes bellowed again.

In another minute he’d force his way in to the house and pray that whoever was there wouldn’t shoot him.

The door opened. For a second a woman was silhouetted in the rectangle of light. She stepped quickly into the deep shadow of the porch. Heyes caught a glimpse of a shotgun in her hand.

“Get away from here!” she called out.

“Evening, ma’am,” said Heyes, doing his best to steady his voice and sound harmless. “We’re real sorry to disturb you like this. You see, my friend is hurt and we’re hoping to share your fire for the night.”

“He’s no concern of mine. Go away!” Her voice was angry and low with the whisper of Ireland in it.

“Now, ma’am,” drawled Heyes, “you there is no place for us to go. Yours is the only light I’ve seen for hours. I swear we mean you no harm.”

The Kid groaned and slid slowly from the horse. Heyes stepped back to catch him so that he didn’t fall to the muddy ground.

“You see, ma’am, we’re as harmless as newborn babes. I have a little money. I can pay you.”

In answer she fired a barrel of the shotgun. The horses shied, backing away. The shot hit the wet ground spraying Heyes’s boots with birdshot and icy water.

The Kid drew his gun in an instant. He struggled to stand up right.

Heyes caught hold of his hand. “Take it easy. The lady is going to be reasonable. You hold on to the stirrup. Just stand there.”

Heyes took a step onto the stairs. The woman might shoot him but she only had one barrel left and she had to have seen how even hurt the Kid could use his gun. Heyes didn’t think there was much chance she would shoot him.

He spoke slowly, all the friendliness gone from his voice. “I don’t mean you no harm, lady. But if you are asking me to choose between shooting you where you stand and watching him die of the cold it will be the easiest choice I’ve ever made. Now either use that gun or get out of our way.”

He couldn’t really see her face in the deep shadow but he could feel her glaring at him as he wrenched the shotgun from her hands.

“Get in there!” he barked. “Come on, Kid. Be careful of the steps.”

The house was warm.

Heyes looked around to see if there was anyone else there. He wasn’t expecting to find anyone. It would be a poor excuse of a man who would send a woman out to meet strangers like that.

There was a small black and white collie standing at the bottom of the ladder to the loft. It growled at Heyes when he took a step towards the ladder. The woman hushed it with a small gesture. The dog lay down and watched Heyes.

The Kid came slowly through the door, a heavy pair of saddle bags over his uninjured arm.

The woman stood just inside the door with her arms folded across her chest. She was silent and still.

Heyes helped the Kid to a padded chair. He peeled his coat off. The left sleeve was stuck to his shirt sleeve with dried blood.

“You’ve got to get them horses inside,” said the Kid as Heyes poked at the wound.

“In a bit.”

“No, now. One of them gets a chill, it’s a long walk out of here.”

He shook Heyes off and fell back against the chair.

“Will you let me see how bad it is?”

“No,” said the Kid, pushing Heyes’s had away. “It ain’t bad, it just hurts. Go on and take care of them horses.”

Reluctantly Heyes stood up and frown at his partner.

The Kid was stubborn, never more so than when he was hurt or scared. Now he was both.

Heyes glanced at the woman. Later he would feel bad about how he was treating her. Now he could only return her glare and tell her, “Get your coat, ma’am. You can show me where to put up the horses.” He looked down at his friend’s flushed face. “You stay put and hold on to those.” He handed the Kid the saddle bags.

Kid Curry hugged the saddle bags against him with his good arm. This was the haul; better than three thousand dollars, pretty good for a small town bank. Not worth getting killed over though, he thought.

From one of the bags he pulled a silver flask. From it he took a sip of whiskey; it burned his dry throat and warmed him.

He realized the little dog was watching him with great interest. The Kid smiled. He’d shared his childhood with a small black and white collie.

“I’m harmless,” he said softly to the dog. “Honest.”

His arm throbbed with pain but he was so tired and the room was so warm. It was good to be warm. Despite his best efforts his eyes closed.

“Is he dead?”

“No. The air is going in and out.”

“He looks dead. Just look at his arm. Don’t he need all that blood?”

“I think he does.”

“How’s he going to get it back in him?”

“I don’t know. I think he could do with a cup of tea. And maybe we should put his feet up.”

“His boots are dirty.”

“Well, you try to pull them off.”

“Oh, look, he has eyes as blue as the sky.”

The Kid opened his eyes and blinked several times. There, struggling with his boot, was a small figure in white with silvery wings on her back. The little dog was sitting by her side wagging it’s tail.

As the Kid tried to sit up a second figure appeared holding a steaming cup.

“Here, mister, this will buck you up,” she said as she held the cup to his mouth.

He drank automatically, then closed his eyes and sank back against the chair.

***

When Heyes and the woman returned they found the Kid asleep in the large padded chair. His stocking feet were on a footrest covered with a quilt. On a small table beside him was a half empty cup of tea.

The dog was lying at the bottom of the ladder. She thumped her tail loudly against the floor when she saw the woman. The woman walked to her, knelt down and patted the dog.

Heyes blew his breath over his teeth and took his worn coat off. He looked for a place to put it and noticed a row of pegs on the wall near the door. As he hung his coat on a peg he saw the Kid’s boots on placed neatly, side-by-side, on a rug beneath the row of pegs.

He glanced at his partner and smiled, slightly. He couldn’t be too badly hurt, he thought, if he has remembered his manners enough to take his boots off. Heyes sat on a bench near the door and pulled his own boots off. He was aware of the woman’s steady glare from where she sat on the floor with the dog.

The Kid woke while Heyes was checking the wound in his arm.

“Did you see the fairies, Heyes?”

“The what?” cried Heyes. “Don’t do that. You make sense.”

“They were so little, so pretty. With silvery wings just like Grandpa said.” His eyes closed again.

Frantic, Heyes pressed his hand to his friend’s forehead. “Come on. Kid, you ain’t hurt that bad. Don’t start talking out of your head. You stop it right now. You barely got a fever.”

Had Heyes not been so distracted he’d have noticed the quick furtive glance the woman gave the room.

Fairies, indeed.

“Wake up,” demanded Heyes as he shook the Kid’s good arm. “Don’t you even think about leaving me.”

“Stop poking at the poor man. He needs rest and that wound cleaned,” said the woman who had come to stand beside Heyes.

He snapped, “I thought he was no concern of yours.”

“And so he’s not,” she said just as sharply. “But I don’t want him dying in my good room. His unshriven spirit might haunt my house. I’ll get some soap and hot water and a bit of cloth to bind him up.”

As he pulled the saddlebags away from the sleeping man, Heyes saw the empty whiskey flask.

“Well, I guess we know why you were seeing fairies,” he said, shaking his dark head.”

The woman pushed him out of the way and attended to the Kid’s wound herself. He drifted in and out while she worked and then settled into sleep once she was finished. Heyes watched her carefully. She ignored him.

When she was finished and went into the kitchen he took stock of the room. It was good sized with a huge iron stove in one corner and several real glass windows towards the front. There were candles burning in the windows, protected with glass chimneys and a pair of oil lamps on the table. There was plenty was of sturdy furniture; chairs, a table and along the back wall a glass fronted bookcase. Standing beside it was a large oddly shaped thing completely covered by a heavy blanket. Heyes stood puzzling over it for a full minute before he realized he must be looking at a full size harp.

Other oddities caught his attention. The room smelled strongly of cedar. There was a bunch hanging above the door, tied with a wide red ribbon. On the table were strips of paper, a pot of glue and a short paper chain.

Christmas.

It was two days before Christmas. Heyes had forgotten all about it. He wondered, just for a moment, if it was bad form to rob a bank so close to Christmas. He glanced around the room again.

You had to admire a woman who decorated the house all for herself, he thought as he looked again at the little dog lying alert at the bottom of the ladder to the loft.

“I suppose you could do with a bite of bread and a cup of tea.” She was standing in the kitchen door way holding a tray on which was the promised bread and tea as well as a chunk of cheese and a slightly shriveled apple.

Heyes turned to her with his most winning smile. “I could. Thank you, ma’am.”

It was then that he took a good look at her for the first time. She was beautiful. She was a tall woman with a full, womanly figure and a great cloud of dark hair framing her pale oval face. Her eyes were a dark grey, thickly lashed with a scattering of freckles beneath. He guessed her age to be mid 30s. She seemed familiar.

A man didn’t forget a woman who looked like that, at least not a man like Hannibal Heyes. He glanced again at the shrouded harp. Well, of course.

“You’re Senead Flynn,” he said in astonishment.

She had been setting the tray on the table. She paused and turned to stare at him with a frown. “And how would you be knowing that?”

“I’ve had the pleasure of hearing you play and sing. In Laramie and Denver. We rode a 100 miles one time just because we heard you were going to play. It was worth every mile. The very first time, that was in Kansas.”

“You’d have been a child when I played in Kansas.”

Heyes nodded. “Twelve, maybe thirteen. I don’t suppose you would remember it. A little town near the Missouri border that grew up around an army post. My grandfather said your voice was the sweetest sound he had heard in forty years.”

“He did did he? I suppose he was the one who told that one about the fairies,” she said nodding at the sleeping man. “An Irishman I suppose. Are the two of you brothers? You don’t look much a like.”

“First cousins,” answered Heyes, glancing again around the comfortable room. “I’d forgotten that you married Nathan Howard. I’m awful sorry for your lost. He was a man of vision.”

“Married was it.”

Her tone was so bitter Heyes would have asked her about it then but the Kid stirred uneasily in his sleep and muttered “Pretty little fairies.”

Heyes forgot the woman.

“Don’t you start that again,” he ordered as he wiped his cousin’s hot face with a damp cloth. “Don’t be talking like an idiot.”

Senead called softly to her dog and let her out the door. The wind was up, it blew icy pellets against her face while she waited for the dog on the porch. She glanced back at the two men.

Kansas had been a very long time ago. If they had seen her they would have to be in their twenties although the fair one looked younger. They were outlaws, no doubt about that. He’d hidden those horses so well, he would have trouble finding them.

Molly, the dog, raced up the short flight of stair and ran into the warm room. Her mistress followed slowly. She was tired. She wanted to go to bed. Did she dare? She had a one of Nathan’s pistol under her pillow, well, she did unless the fair one had searched the house while they were hiding the horses.

His wound wasn’t bad. The bullet had gone clear through, missing the bone. He did have a fever but not more than one would expect from riding all day on a day like this one with a hole in his arm. She couldn’t judge the lost of blood, but if he kept still and it didn’t turn septic, he’d live. Probably to get shot again.

The dark one was tucking the quilt around the other one. He looked harmless now but she hadn’t forgotten the fury in his voice when she told him to go away. She believed he would have shot her.

She shouldn’t trust him. She should stay awake all night and watch both of them. But somehow-well, if the pistol was still there she would go to bed.

Molly looked up at her expectantly. Senead pointed at the place at the bottom of the ladder. Molly laid down. Senead snuck a quick look at the two men. Then she looked up into the hole in the ceiling; she put her finger to her lips.

Senead didn’t say good night when she went into her room and shut the door firmly. Heyes felt just a trace guilt at how he had barged in to her home. Then he heard the wind and glanced at his sleeping cousin. All his guilt was gone.

***

When the Kid opened his eyes the room was lit by a single oil lamp. It was on the table where Heyes sat in a straight backed chair. He was dealing out cards. The soft slapping sound they made was comforting to the Kid; he had heard it so often.

“Heyes?” his voice was hoarse.

“I’m here,” answered Heyes, standing up. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know. My arm hurts something awful.”

“You finished the whiskey but I’m betting there is a bottle or so around here.”

“No, I don’t want it.”

“Go on back to sleep.”

“No. I’m stiff. I want to move around some.”

The Kid got up awkwardly. Heyes reached out to steady him. The Kid stood in the middle of the room and looked around, frowning. “There was a woman, wasn’t there?”

“Yeah. She’s in her room with the bolt shot. She is probably sitting in there with a gun trained on the door. Would you sit down before you fall down.”

“I’m alright.”

“Yeah, you look it.”

“Is there any food? I’m hungry.”

“Good,” said Heyes with relief. “That’s real good to hear. There is bread and some hard cheese there on the table. I ate the apple.”

The Kid slowly moved towards the table and sat down in Heyes’s chair. He turned and looked at Heyes in the low light.

“You look worse than I feel. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

“Naw, I-” Heyes shook his head.

“Come on, Heyes, don’t be stubborn. You need sleep just as much as I do. If we’re going to get out of here in the morning you better get some.”

Heyes was bone tired. “Maybe for a little bit. You wake me up before long.”

“I will,” said the Kid as he started to gnaw on a heel of bread.

Heyes was asleep in minutes. Having finished the bread the Kid walked slowly around the room. Careful of his aching arm he added some wood to the stove. He walked out on the porch. The rain had turned to snow. It was coming down thickly. It was pretty and the Kid was mighty glad he wasn’t sleeping out in it.

When he reentered the house he had to grab the door jam for support. There they were again; two little fairies floating above the floor across the room. The smaller one waved at him.

He pressed his hand over his eyes. When he looked again they were gone. He stumbled forward and the dog jumped up and bared her teeth. The Kid backed away slowly. He went back to the table and sat down.

“Must be the fever. It must be.” That was when he noticed the fragrant cup of hot tea.

When Heyes got up just before dawn he found the Kid awake but glassy eyed and mumbling. He helped him back to the chair and covered him up again.

***

By morning the weather had cleared. The sun shone on a landscape soften by several inches of fluffy snow.

Heyes stood over the Kid and glared down at him. His cousin looked ghastly, his face was covered with stubble, his fair hair matted against his head. But he slept peacefully.

Reassured Heyes checked on the horses. When he came into the house he noticed that there was a tremendous amount of noise coming from the kitchen. Before he could go to investigate Senead came through the door carrying a tray full of dishes.

Heyes smiled. Nathan Howard’s luck wasn’t all bad if he woke up to her for a couple of years.

Senead stopped when she saw him. She almost smiled and then thought better of it. She spoke gruffly. “You must be hungry. There is porridge and coffee.”

Heyes walked over to the table where she was setting out two bowls of steaming porridge, napkins and spoons.

“I, a,” Heyes cleared his throat. “I should tell you how sorry I am for forcing our way in here last night. I can see why you’d be jumpy; being out here all alone and all.”

Her luminous grey eyes regarded him thoughtfully. “Love makes us do strange things.” That was all she said as she left the room.

***

“Hey.”

Heyes looked up from his bowl and turned towards the Kid. “You’re awake.”

“And alive, I think.” he said slowly as he sat up straighter and looked around the room.

“You looking for the fairies?”

The blue eyes narrowed. “Don’t start,” he growled.

Heyes stood up and laughed. “Those fairies came straight out of that whiskey flask.”

The Kid furrowed his brow and said slowly, “I suppose but I’d like to know where the tea came from.”

“What tea?” asked Heyes slowly.

“Fairies, is it? It is away with the fairies you are,” said Senead as she handed them each a steaming cup of coffee.

Heyes smiled at her and said, “Would you like to solve this mystery for us?”

“Well,” she sighed. “All right then. Girls, come in here.”

Two small girls dressed in long white dresses and wearing big sliver paper wings on their backs ran into the room. They had masses of dark curls and huge blue grey eyes.

“This is Bridget and Mara. Make your curtseys, girls. This is Mr. Brown Eyes and Mr. Blue Eyes. That is all we want to know about them so no pestering them with your questions.”

“Fairies,” said Heyes, shaking his head.

“They’ve got wings,” said the Kid defensibly.

“But we’re angels, not fairies. Fairies have pointed ears,” said Bridget patiently. “We’re angels for the Christmas pageant.”

“The Christmas pageant, I see,” said Heyes nodding gravely.

“I was an angel in a Christmas pageant once,” mumbled the Kid as he wrapped his hands around his cup and took a deep, appreciative sniff of the coffee it held.

“Last year, when this town had people instead of ghosts the church had a pageant,” explained Senead. “Bridget was an angel. Mara has been waiting all year for her turn. The lack of a church or a congregation makes no difference to Mara. There will be a pageant.

She looked closely at the Kid. “You’ll want a wash and a clean shirt.” She left the room with the girls trailing behind.

“She strikes me as familiar.”

Heyes nodded. “Senead Flynn.”

“Honest?” He turned to stare at the empty door way. “If I’d known she was so beautiful I would have fought my way closer to the stage. What’s she doing way out here?”

“We’re in what’s left of Nathan Howard’s copper town,” said Heyes, sitting down again and putting his feet on the fender around the stove. “I guess she stayed on after he was killed.”

“That’s right. I remember reading in the paper in Laramie that she’d married him. Broke a lot of cowboys hearts.”

“Here you are,” said Senead briskly as she handed the Kid a chambray shirt that smelled of cedar. “There’s hot water and a basin in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Howard.”

“The widow Howard lives in a small town in Connecticut,” she said bitterly. “You may call me Miss Flynn. Come along, girls.”

Heyes and the Kid exchanged startled glances but said nothing.

***

Once he had cleaned up the Kid ate a hearty breakfast. Heyes offered to chop some wood. Senead pointed him towards the back door. The little girls, their wings now strapped on over warm woolen coats, showed him where the wood pile was. When he had finished they talked him into gathering more cedar.

It was noon by the time the girls lead Heyes back to the house. He found the Kid sitting at the table cracking walnuts for a cake Senead was mixing. He was sitting with a pillow supporting his injured arm.

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully Heyes stood in the kitchen doorway and watched his cousin. He still looked pale. And now and then his face would tighten with pain. Heyes knew the arm was hurting him. He could probably sit a horse. They really out to move on, he thought reluctantly. For the house was warm and smelt of cedar and cinnamon

“Mr. Blue Eyes?” said the little girl, looking up at the Kid.

“Yes, Mara?”

“What did you do as an angel?”

“A, well,” said the Kid slowly. He pushed the chair back and stretched his legs out. “Well, the first time I remember singing a song.”

“That you weren’t suppose to sing,” said Heyes, laughing. “All you had to do was stand up there and be quiet, something you would normally do when you were expected to talk. And you start singing right in the middle of the show.”

Bridget walked over to Heyes and put her hands on her hips. She asked, “Were you ever in a pageant?”

“I was. More than one. But I was never an angel.”

“Nobody’s imagination was that good,” said the Kid very quietly.

Heyes dark eyes narrowed. “Well, I didn’t have pretty yellow curls like he did.”

“What were you then? Joseph?”

“No. I read the scriptures.”

Bridget sighed. “Robert Owen read the scripture last year. Mama said his family went to California. Don’t know what to do about that. I can’t read all those big words.”

“What did you sing?” asked Mara as she pressed against the Kid’s leg.

He looked into her sweet little face with her huge trusting eyes. “A song my mother taught me, long, long ago. It’s called Silent Night.” His voice trailed off as his attention was taken. “What’s the dog looking at?”

Molly had gone to the window near the door. With her front paws on the sill she began to growl. Bridget walked over to her and looked out.

“Mama! There are a bunch of men on horses coming up the street!”

Seneah rushed into the room. She took the shotgun from the holder by the door, broke it open and slid a shell into the chamber. Without a word she went out on to the porch with the dog.

The Kid looked at Heyes, his eyes wide with apprehension. “Do you think she is going to-”

“I do.”

Being careful not to go to close too the window Heyes collected their revolvers from the pegs where their gun belts hung. He passed the Kid his, then carefully positioned himself at the window.

“You girls, go up into the loft. Go back into a corner and put a pillow or a quilt around you.”

“What! Mr. Blue Eyes,” snorted Bridget indignantly.

“Do as I say. Now!”

The little girl started to say something defiant but sensed how serious he was. It frightened her; she took her sister by the hand and led her to the ladder.

Satisfied the Kid took a position at the other window.

In the street were four men on horseback. They wore coats and woolen scarves wrapped around their necks. A large man with a thick beard was doing the talking.

“We think they right have doubled back this way. You seen anybody?

“And why would they come here?”

“Where else would they go? We’re pretty sure we hit one of them. But in the rain we couldn’t follow a blood trail. They’re dangerous, Senead, you don’t want nothing to do with the likes of them.”

“I want nothing to do with the likes of you either.”

Being the good homemaker she was she had swept the steps and the porch free of snow. The horses had been moved before the snow started, their tracks now covered. In front of the house there was no sign of anyone. She could only pray the men didn’t look around back and find a man’s footprints in the snow.

“Now, Senead, that ain’t very neighborly of you. Ain’t you goanna invite us in?” A second man was speaking.

At the sound of his voice Molly began to bark shrilly.

“I’m not. Search the town. I can’t stop you. But you’re not setting foot in my house.”

Inside the house the Kid mouthed word horses at Heyes. He responded with a shrug. He’d hidden them as well as possible. But chances were a thorough search of the town would find them easily enough.

“That ain’t no way to talk to us. We’re a legal posse.”

“Legal is it? Legal like when you came and took my stock away.” Her voice was cool, even a little amused.

“It weren’t yours. It was Nathan’s widow’s.”

“Oh, and it’s sure I am that she got the money for it. You’re all a bunch of thieves and worst.”

“Stop jawing with her, McCall. It’s cold out here. Least we can do is go in the house and get warm. Nathan Howard’s whore ain’t keeping me out in the cold.”

“This shotgun will.”

Inside the Kid cocked his pistol.

“She can’t shoot all four of us.”

“Maybe not. But who will I shoot first. Beside don’t you have outlaws to chase.”

One of the other men coughed and said, “We’re chasing our tails. I think it is that pair from up north. They’re getting a reputation for out running posses.”

Inside Heyes smiled proudly at the Kid. His partner didn’t notice. He was trying to guess which one Senead would shoot so that he could take care of the others before they could hurt her.

“It is going to be a long winter, Senead. Someday soon you’ll be happy to invite me in.”

“You think so do you? Seeing as it is Christmas Eve you might think of your own wife if you’re cold.”

“Come on, McCall, she’s just sassing you. We ain’t gonna find no outlaws sitting around her stove. I’m going home.”

With that they slowly turned their horses around and rode away. McCall waited a little longer, still staring at Senead. She stared right back.

“There will come a time, woman.”

“Not in your life time,” she said clearly.

She waited on the porch, a shawl around her shoulders, her shotgun at the ready, until the men had ridden out of the ruins of the small town. Then followed by the dog, she came back into the house. She was muttering fiercely.

Heyes was surprised to recognize Gallic,the language his grandfather would lapse into after too much hard cider. He remember enough to grin at the elaborate curse she was placing on the heads of the posse.

“Where are my girls?” Senead demanded.

The Kid was still watching out the window. He answered without turning around. “I sent them up to the loft. I was afraid there might be shooting.”

“Ah, well, there might have been.”

Heyes put his pistol back in his holster. “We owe you a big vote of thanks, ma’am. But I am mystified. That was your chance to be rid of us. Why didn’t you take it? If you were worried about the girls, we would never-”

“The two of you hurt my girls? Nonsense. I can judge a man better than that.” She returned the shotgun to it holder next to the door. She turned around then and leaned back against the closed door. “I was truly afraid last night. A man hollering in the dark like that. And I was angry enough to shot you when you pushed your way in here.”

The Kid looked down at the floor and said in a voice barely loud enough to be heard. “We’re awful sorry about that, ma’am.”

“I know,” she responded with a slight smile. She looked at Heyes. “When I realized he was really hurt and you were scared for his life I knew you meant me no harm. And this morning I must say you’ve been real gentlemen. Choosing between you and those men, well, as you said, some choices are easy.”

The Kid satisfied that the men were not coming back, at least not through the town, sat down in the padded chair. He put his revolver under the cushion, out of sight of the little girls but close to his hand. “It sounded like you knew them.”

“I know McCall and Shepard,” she said as she sank into the ladder back chair and put her head in her hands. “I’ve seen the others.”

“They weren’t very respectful, Miss Flynn. I’d like to have taught them some better manners.”

Senead looked up and smiled at him. It was a smile that could make a lot of things worth the risk.

“It is a commonly held opinion. And not something for you to get yourself killed over, Mr. Blue Eyes. But I do appreciate the thought.” She paused and looked down. “Did you know Nathan?”

Heyes shook his dark head. “I played poker with him once in Cheyenne. He was a hell of a gambler.”

“Aye with more than just cards. And he was full of Blarney,” she sighed deeply. “I loved him too much. No sense about it at all. My old life on the road with my harp; it is harder than you might think. I was young and pretty and well, it is a business full of people ready and able to take advantage of a girl on her own. I loved to sing and play and hear people clap or cry. But the rest it. Well. Nathan heard me for the first time in Denver. He came to every performance, took me to supper every night. When I moved on to Fort Collins there he was again. A big, handsome man with a tongue of silver.

She looked up at them and smiled. “Nothing was too good for me. I was to be the queen of his new empire. It is amazing what the heart will keep you from knowing. He had children in the east, I knew that. But I never thought to ask about his wife. I thought she was dead or maybe I hoped she was dead. I just never thought of her. We’d been together for almost seven years when he died. Once he went back east. Mara was a baby and he said he was afraid for her to travel so far. He said he would take us next time. I knew that he sent money east; I thought it was for his children. And there was plenty of money. We lived like gentry here. I thought it was paradise. You see we’d stood up in front of a justice of the peace and said our vows. I thought someday it will be a priest. I thought we were married, in the eyes of God, in the eyes of the law.”

Heyes said softly, “His first wife was still alive?”

“And still is.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what Nathan thought he was going to do. Nothing, I suspect. He’d kept us apart for almost seven years. It is a long to Connecticut but friends did visit here. I suppose it might be a sort of code between men. What the women don’t know won’t hurt him. But they are wrong.”

Both men sat silently, watching her, waiting for her to go on.

“When he died I went numb. There was no preparing for it. He kissed me good-bye after breakfast, said he would see me for lunch and then just before lunch the ground shook. And he was gone. I don’t know what happened after that. There were services and meetings. They decided not to reopen the mine; the ground was too unstable they said. There were a lot of tearful good byes. All through it I just held my children close and prayed for his soul. My friends, before they left, were worried about us. I told them that we would be all right. We had money. Soon I would gather up my household and go back to New York. But I waited just a little too long.”

“How’s that, ma’am?”

She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron and laughed bitterly. “I had a plan, you see. New York is a dreadful place in the summer. I wanted for the girls, for my memories, I wanted one more summer here in the cool mountain air. We were to leave the first of September. I had talked to a partner of Nathan’s, a lawyer in the town those men are from. We almost had everything arranged. Then on the 15 th of August an east coast lawyer appeared on my doorstep. And with him was a very young, very angry, man who looked so much like Nathan I almost called him by name. He told me I was a whore, my girls were bastards and he claimed everything for his mother and her legitimate children.”

“Everything?” asked Heyes with a raised, dark eyebrow.

“Aye, even the house. A friend of Nathan’s, the lawyer I was talking about, is claiming I have squatters right to the house. He feels sorry for me. Maybe even a bit responsible that he never had Nathan put anything in writing about me and the girls. Men like Nathan never expect to die.”

They were quiet for a few minutes. The little dog had her head in her mistress’s lap. Senead stroked her absently.

“Why New York?”

With an effort Senead torn herself from her memories of the man she still thought of as her husband. “I have a brother there, in the city. Well, in Brooklyn. He’s a policeman. There are a lot of Irish policemen in New York City. He’s worrying over me and says he will send me fare as soon as he can. But he has a wife and son in Ireland. He must pay their way across first. Life is far worse in Ireland than it is here.”

“Those men, they a –they were a-” The Kid stammered and blushed.

Senead turned her luminous gaze on him. He might be twenty but not much older. There was a boyish quality about him that was more than just the full face.

The dark one couldn’t be much older but he was definitely the older one, the one whose opinion had more weight. He’d said they were cousins but they must have been raised as brothers, they had that kind of connection between them. The sort of connection she hoped her girls would always have.

The Kid tried again, “The big one, he seemed to think-”

“That I should be welcoming his attentions?” she said, taking pity on him. “So he thinks. There is a whole flock of them who have their pride wounded that I don’t open my door and usher them in. Shepard was drunk one night. He pushed his way in. Molly bit him, didn’t you my fine, brave girl. And I hit him over the head with a frying pan.”

“That’s no way for you to live, ma’am,” said Heyes seriously.

“No. Nor will I much longer. I nearly out of the ready. I’ll have to go back on the road with the harp. It is the only way I have to make any money. I wish the girls were older. It is a hard life for a child.”

“Mama! Can we come down?”

“Yes.” Senead stood and rubbed her hands together. “I could do with a cup of tea. Will you have one?”

“Yes, thank you, ma’am.”

Once she had gone into the kitchen the Kid motioned to Heyes to come close and he spoke to him in a low, somber way. “We can’t stay here. She’s got trouble enough. If anyone finds out she harbored us they will throw her in jail. We need to ride out of here right now.”

Heyes took a deep breath and blew it out over his teeth in a long whistle. “It is damn cold out. And it will be worse when the sun goes down. You sure you’re up to it?”

“I’ll be alright. We just have to get out of here before we bring her more trouble.”

“No! You can’t!” cried Bridget, running across the room to catch hold of Heyes’s arm. “I need your help with the scriptures and he has to teach Mara the song.”

Mara stood between the Kid’s knees and looked up into his face. “My angel song. Please, please teach me.”

“Look, girls,” started Heyes.

“The girls are right, gentlemen. Don’t go,” said Senead as she entered the room carrying the tea tray. “Those men won’t be back, at least not tonight. And were they to come on some odd chance Molly would give plenty of warning.”

At her name the little dog ran up to her mistress and sat waiting to be patted.

The men exchanged glances; neither wanted to spend a night out in the cold. Heyes rubbed his chin; he was desperate for a shave. “We never meant to be so much trouble to you.”

“You’ve not been, not really. And you have been a distraction, a welcome distraction. Stay, get a decent night’s sleep and leave in the morning. It will Christmas. Maybe there will be some luck in it.”

“Even for the wicked?” asked Heyes with a twinkle in his dark eyes.

“Our Lord is merciful.”

***

The Kid had to think back to his boyhood to remember a day like this one. The bright winter sunlight pouring though the clean glass windows, the smells of cedar, roasting meat and baking bread, the happy voices of the little girls as they completed the paper chain to hang along the window sills.

Heyes had a good wash and shaved. He put on his only other shirt. It was almost clean. He was combing his straight, dark hair as he came into the room. He paused to look closely at his cousin.

The Kid was sitting again in the padded chair, his legs extended in front of him. His injured arm was supported by a pillow; he rested his chin in the other hand.

There was a word. What was it? Pensive, that was it. A mighty fancy word for a fellow like the Kid. Anybody who knew him would say he was a happy go lucky sort of fellow who like a joke and a pretty girl. And it was true except that Heyes knew the Kid better than others did. He knew his history since he had shared most of it. He knew that behind the easy smile there was something else, something darker and sadder.

“What is it?” said Heyes as he walked into the center of the room. “Your arm bothering you?”

The Kid glared up at him. “It has a hole straight through it. What do you think?”

Heyes nodded, acknowledging that it was a stupid question. “You still think we ought to leave now?”

“I don’t know. I guess the morning is soon enough. Those fellows didn’t strike me as the type to stick to the trail when it has gone cold.”

“So what is wrong,” asked Heyes, pulling a chair across to him and sitting down.

“You’ll laugh.”

“Probably,” said Heyes with relief. He knew from experience if something was really bothering the Kid he would have to work harder than he had at getting it out of him.

The Kid sighed deeply and said sheepishly, “They remind me of us.”

“The girls?” asked Heyes, startled. He glanced at the children who had their dark heads together over their project. “Why would you say that?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “They just do. I was just about Bridget’s age when my folks died. Yours were already gone.”

“Yeah but they’ve still got their mother. She’ll take care of them.”

“We had Grandpa. He took good care of us.”

“Look, Kid, Bridget is a clever little thing but I don’t think she is going to lead her sister into a life of crime.”

“No, I suppose not.” His gaze drifted back to the girls.

“Then what is it?”

“It is just that Senead is a woman all on her own with two little girls. We know what life on the road is like; no place to call home. It is all right now but well, I don’t think I’d like it much as a child. A child ought to have home, family around them. What is it going to like for them. Senead will perform at night, who will watch out for them. Who will help her especially with what people are saying about her and Howard?”

Heyes had no answer. He just shook his head and said, “And people say I have an imagination.”

Mara ran up to them; the late afternoon sun caught in her silvery wings. She laid her head against the Kid’s good arm and looked up at him with her huge eyes. “Please, can we sing your mama’s song again?”

The Kid sat up straighter and pulled her onto his knees. “Sure.”

And to Heyes’s surprise the Kid managed to give her a smile.

***

Night closed in around the house. The wind came up, it whistled in the trees. It was a good night to be indoors close to the hot stove. Senead lit the candles in the windows. And set the table with a white lace cloth, blue and white china and silver flatware. In the center she arranged candles of varying heights and threaded a red ribbon around them.

Before they ate the girls wanted to perform their pageant. Bridge arraigned three of the ladder back chairs in a line. She told her mother and the two men to have a seat. Mara sat in their mother’s lap. The dog lay across Senead’s feet. Bridget then climbed on to the ottoman and started to speak in a clear, confident voice.

Heyes had coached her on the highlights of the nativity story according to Luke. Bridget added a few details of her own. Mary wore a bright pink dress and the baby was swaddled in a blue and white quilt of an Irish chain design. When she was finished she curtsied and they all clapped loudly for her.

Then Mara took her place on the ottoman. Senead pluck a string on the harp and Mara started to sing.

Memory is an odd thing. Hannibal Heyes was known to have an astonishing memory for numbers, cards and details. He was a man who lived in the moment. It was rare for him to call the past to mind. The little girl’s voice sent him 15 years into the past; closing his eyes he was there in the little town that had grown up around an army fort on what had been the edge of the frontier when he was born.

Word had gotten out that the new school teacher was having the children present a Christmas pageant. So many people came that the show was moved from the school house to the parade ground inside the fort. Families, wrapped well against the cold night, spread blankets on the ground, soldiers stood in the back and just inside the gates saloon girls wrapped in long feather boas and silk shawls gathered; everyone watching the children playing out the old story with the wall of the fort as their stage. The Kid, along with other young children, was standing on the platform attached near the top of the wall. Heyes had had a starring role. He was reading the scriptures by the light of a hanging lantern. He would look up now and then to see his grandfather sitting in a borrowed rocking chair near the front. The plan had been that when the story was finished the children would hold their places in a silent tableau. It was then that the bell like tone of his cousin’s seven-year-old voice rang out; singing the carol his mother had taught him before she had been killed. Afterwards Heyes heard a dozen woman say what an angel little Jed Curry was.

Heyes opened his eyes and glanced at the Kid. He was smiling encouragingly at Mara. Jed Curry was all grown up now and he sure wasn’t an angel. But he was a damn good partner.

Once the girls were finished they all had a feast. There was a haunch of venison, potatoes and carrots, brown bread and a cake made of horded white flour, sugar, dried fruits and walnuts.

“Does Father Christmas bring you presents, Mr. Brown Eyes?” asked Bridget politely.

“He has on occasion,” said Heyes with a grin. “I know a story about Father Christmas. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes, Yes, please,” cried both little girls, leaving their chairs. They crowded close to him.

“Well, this was written a while back by a fellow named Moore. You ready? T’was the night before. . .”

The girls leaned against him, wide-eyes with delight.

Senead, who had heard the poem before, was listening with pleasure when she realized that the Kid was looking at her rather intently. “What is it?” she asked.

For a moment he allowed himself the pleasure of looking at her in the lamplight. Then he shrugged and said, “I just don’t understand why you have done this. We’re strangers to you. Strangers who forced their way into your house. It was good of you to save us from the posse and I can understand you may have had your own reasons for that. But to share all of this with us. Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Maybe because in your fever you thought my girls were fairies. It sounds silly but it pleased me deeply. But I suppose really it is that I’m not afraid of the two of you. Oh, I know, you robbed the bank and you may have robbed lots of other banks but to me, to girls, you’ve been, well, you taught my little girl to sing a beautiful song. So I have much to thank you for. It is a good thing, after the past year, to not be afraid of a man.”

“You know, ma’am, the best our Christmas could have been was a dry saloon somewhere. Although,” he said with a grimace, “chances are pretty good this year it would have been a cold night on the trail with a can of beans for supper. This was the best meal I’ve had in long time.”

She smiled and nodded to acknowledge the compliment.

“Mama, is it time to hang our stockings by the stove for Father Christmas?” asked Mara.

“Yes, my loves, it is indeed. Go up and get them.”

“And then you will play the harp?”

“And then I will play the harp.”

***

She poured them some of her husband’s brandy. Mara crawled into the Kid’s lap. She was very careful not to touch his injured arm. Heyes sat in a rocking chair. Bridget was cross legged on the floor in front of him, Molly curled up against her.

Senead sat down and pulled her harp against her. At first she played familiar carols and they all sang. And although it brought a lump to her throat it was a good thing to hear men’s voices raised in song. Later she sang Celtic songs; beautiful, haunting music.

The Kid recognized a tune his grandfather had often whistled. Unlike his cousin the Kid cherished his memories; he thought often of the past and those he had loved and lost. He turned to Heyes to ask if he remembered the tune. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Heyes cry. Now there were tears on his cheeks.

The little girls fell asleep. Senead put them in her own bed saying the loft would be too cold. She stood in the doorway to say good night.

“We’ll be gone at first light.”

“The girls will understand.”

“We want to thank you,” began Heyes, wishing that his normally glib tongue didn’t feel thick and useless. “But we don’t know how to put it into words.”

She cocked her head; smiled a secret sort of smile and said, “You be most welcome.”

Earnestly the Kid asked, “Will you be all right?”

“Yes, by the grace of God like everyone else.”

“It’s Heyes and Curry, our names,” said Heyes, motioning towards the Kid. “It seems like you ought to know.”

“Thank you. I am glad to know you. God’s speed.”

***

They sat for a long time; eating the last crumbs of the cake and drinking the excellent brandy. Then they slept on blankets she’d given them; warm and dry in front of the stove. The alert little dog curled up between them. They were in the saddle before the sun had cleared the treetops in the morning.

***

Bridget and Mara were disappointed the visitors were gone. The sight of their over flowing stockings cheered them up. The stocking were full of peppermints and horehound candies, a rag doll for each and a rubber ball. At the very toe they each found a wad of green paper.

Two thousand dollars was more than enough to move a household, dog and harp included, from Wyoming to New York City. In a city full of homesick Irishmen Senead had her pick of places to play; she came to prefer churches as time went on.

At the age of nine Bridget won a prize for a story called The Christmas Visitors. It was about wounded outlaws who took refuge in a widow’s house and told her children stories. The judges were amazed at her imagination. Some years later she was awarded a scholarship to a woman’s college. She became a professor of literature and a leading suffragette.

Mara sang many songs on many stages. And every Christmas Eve of her long and happy life she sang Silent Night. And remembered.

The End