JOURNALS
Sharon Kennison
She stood, slightly apart from the crowd, her eyes sharply following the box on the table. She knew it would be auctioned soon, and didn’t want to miss getting the bid. She frequently attended these auctions, a chance for people to clear out their houses and storage sheds, a chance for them to gain more room to gain more stuff. Bits of history that they neither cared about or knew about. Family heirlooms thrown away like yesterday’s news. But she knew what something was worth, what history it told. And often, in buying these items, she would find things even she wasn’t expecting. That is what made this all the more fun.
Pulling her mind back to the
present, Debra watched the progression of the box on the table, edging ever
closer to the auctioneer. The box contained only one item that she was
interested in, a small, circular metal plate. Time had not been friendly to
this plate, as evident by the accumulation of rust and nicks. To many, just a
piece of junk. But to her trained eye, she saw it as it was when it was new.
Several hundreds of years old. So many miles it had traveled, to end up here,
in this box. Now, she just needed to make sure it finished the journey to her
home.
As she waited for the item to come
up for bid, she glanced around at the crowd. A typical mix of those interested
in things and those that just drop in, hoping for a bargain. No one else had
seemed to express an interest in the plate, as none had picked it up. That was
a good sign, at least for now it was. But she herself had not touched the
plate, only having looked at it from a side glance. She hoped not too many
others had done the same thing.
Her thoughts were quickly brought
back to the present, as the auctioneer picked up the box which contained her
treasure. She listened as he started to describe the item, and released a small
sigh as she realized that even he did not know what he was holding.
The auctioneer was not having any
luck getting bidders on the plate, and just as she was ready to bid, he dropped
the box which held her plate on top of another box, which held she knew not
what. They had tried to sell the other box, with no bidders. As was their
style, they often combined boxes to sell, anything to get it all cleared up.
She had lugged home many a box of extra stuff even she didn’t want to get the
item that she did. And if that is what she had to do, she would.
Just as the auctioneer was ready to
no sale the items, she eased her hand up, doing the minimum bid. The auctioneer
caught her slight movement, thanking her for her bid, and continuing his
sing-song style. No other bids were forthcoming, and in a short length of time,
she was the proud owner of two boxes of stuff. She carried her treasure to her
car, and placing it in the trunk, drove away towards home, unaware of how this
purchase was going to change her life forever.
Debra spent the rest of the evening
cleaning her new found treasure, until the plate shown like it did when it was
new. She tried to straighten the dents as best she could, but time had not been
kind to the plate. She knew it deserved a place of respect and rest, so she
carefully placed it in its new home, inside her lighted display cabinet, where
it found a home with many other treasures rescued from unwanted boxes all
across the state. Standing back, she admired her new piece of history, taking
careful note of where she had put the identifying numbers and letters from the
back of the plate, ready to head to the library tomorrow to do as much research
as possible on the history of this plate. As it was Saturday, and she didn’t
have to work, she intended to spend all day there if necessary, gathering what
ever she could find. In her mind’s eye, a perfect way to spend the day.
She stepped back and towards the
table, where sat the remaining purchases from the auction. She had not spent
time yet with the contents of the other box, it just being a means to an end,
which was the plate she really wanted. But now that she had it, she felt a tug
towards the box, to see what was inside it. Never one to avoid a mystery, she
sat down, and pulling the box towards her, opened the lid to see inside.
She slowly reached inside the box,
removing old newspapers. She read the dates across the top of each page, dating
back to the 1930’s. Some were very yellow and difficult to read, many were
shredded, as if torn to protect something else. There were old catalogs, and
old receipts from the grocery store. Like someone had just emptied a drawer
into the box. She lifted each piece out, glancing at them, but not finding
anything interesting in what she was viewing. Until she reached the bottom of
the box.
Her hand closed around a book, brown
covered and well worn. No writing was on the outside of the book. She glanced
back into the box, and saw to her amazement several similar books, each with
the same brown cover, devoid of writing. Taking the top book out of the box,
she turned it over, looking at the back, which again had no words or markings,
except for having been handled many times.
She eased back in her chair, and carefully opened the front cover. On
the inside of the front cover was a simple sentence……Next chapter in my life. She
moved her eyes to the first page, and saw handwriting. The lines were bold and
confident, moving in a continuous motion, as evidenced by lack of blobs of ink,
which occurred when someone hesitated while writing, leaving the pen touching
the paper. Intrigued, she started to read.
Happy
Birthday to me. Wasn’t sure I would ever live to see this day, but here it is.
Today I am 71 years old. In some ways it seems like a long time, especially
given my life. But in many it seems like just yesterday that Jed and I were
running the back roads between our houses, hunting adventure and a way of
escaping those never ending chores. I guess if we had known how our lives were
going to change, we wouldn’t have minded doing chores as much. But being kids,
all we could see was how it interfered in what we really wanted to do. Life
does have a way of playing tricks on all of us.
But lately,
life has been good to me. I enjoy being surrounded by family and friends, doing
what I can manage to do these days. Too many hours spent in a saddle and
sleeping on a hard ground have taken their toll on my body, and I don’t move as
well as I used to. But luckily, my mind remains as sharp as ever, for which I
am very grateful. So I spend my days, telling stories of how the west used to
be, teaching the young men the secrets of playing poker, and reliving the days
of old with my best friend. I guess that is what helps to keep me young.
Missing the one thing which would make my life complete. But guess one can’t
have everything.
She stopped reading, frowning. Now what did he mean by that?
And who could he be? This must be some kind of diary, a journal through his
life. Could the other books be earlier journals? She reached into the box,
pulling out 3 more books. Easing each open carefully, she scanned the dates at
the top of the page. 1896, 1880, 1864.
She closed each book, carefully holding them in her hands. She marveled at the
history which much be contained inside each book, the thoughts of someone long
since gone. A true walk through past times. This was going to be interesting.
She rose, and taking the four books with her, placed them on her nightstand, intending
on beginning her reading this evening. With tomorrow being Saturday, and the
only plans she had included the library, she could stay up late reading, and
possible find more information about the writer. She nodded her head, stepping
away to fix herself something to eat.
Later that night, she took a long,
hot bath to relax, and dressing in her comfortable jammies,
crawled into bed, placing her cup of herbal tea on the nightstand. She adjusted
the light to best reduce glare, and picking up the top book, having earlier
placed them in chronological order, carefully opened the front cover and began
to read.
October,
1864
Jed and I
been here for almost a month now, and I hate it. Jed is so small, and the
others try to hurt him. I try to protect him, but it ain’t easy. I hear him cry
for his Ma, and I also want mine. But they are all gone now, it is just him and
me.
Peoples
said it would be better for us heres, but I can’t see
how that is possible. It is cold, there aren’t blankets to keep warm, not like
there were at home. Jed is so skinny, I’s try to
share my food with him. I’s don’t tell him I am
hungry, else he wouldn’t take it. He needs it more than I. I’s
gets too scared that he will not live to see the next day, than I will really
be alone. I have to find a ways to gets us out of here, but I’s
just don’t know how to do that. I miss my mom and dad so much, she squinted to try to make out the writing, but it was
smeared. Maybe with a tear? She tried to make out the writing, but decided to
just move ahead, hoping what was missing would be filled in later. hit him
and call him names and it makes me so mad. The last time I stood up for him,
well, she beat me instead, buts I am stronger and can take it. Jed can’t. Will
this ever end?
March, 1865
We keep
hearing about the war and how things are turning. Looks like the south will
lose. All those dead for nothing. I keeps hearing about the Raiders, and know
that someday I will meet up with them, and will repay them for what they did to
my family, and to Jed’s.
Jed remains
smaller than the other boys, but they leave him alone, most of the time. When
they don’t they answer to me. I have started to make night raids into the
kitchen, bringing back enough food so’s that Jed
isn’t as hungry. They noticed it was gone, but can’t figure out who is doing
it. They aren’t as smart as me. Soon, we will be leaving. Not too soon enough
for either one of us.
February,
1867
Happy
Birthday to me. Today I am 16, and it is time to leave this place. The guys I
have been running with are going to be here tonight, and Jed and me’s leaving. I can’t take him with me, but I can get him
out of here. He won’t understand, but he is too young. But he will be okay. He
has grown over the last few years, and is taller now. He practices with that
handgun every day, and is getting good at drawing. James’ parents said he could
stay with them for a while, until he is ready to head out on his own. Don’t
know what I am going to do without him. But headed for what I am, it is too
dangerous. I don’t want him hurt, or worse yet killed. He’s gonna hate me, but
at least he will be alive, and out of here.
April, 1867
It is cold
tonight, can’t build a fire because it might be seen. That means cold coffee
and hard tack, again. Can barely see to write this, as the moon is not too
bright tonight. Running away has been harder than I thought it would be. But
still not as hard as the Boys school. The worse part, I miss Jed. He wasn’t
happy when I rode away and left him. I was watching the house when he got up
the next morning, and read the note. He yelled and screamed my name, he hates
me so much. I almost went to him, but know that would not help, only make
things worse. He needs to make his own way now, and it isn’t the road that I am
headed down. The guys are talking about robbing a store to get some money and
supplies. I don’t like that idea, but not sure what else to do. Too many years
of being hungry just kinda gets to a man after a while. I hope Jed forgives me
one day.
She closed the book, aware that the private thoughts were
exposed to her. Still she didn’t know this person’s name, or where he was from.
She was amazed at how his writing had progressed from young boy to young man.
And the feelings he had for the younger boy named Jed were apparent. Did he
ever find him again? Guess she would have to read to find out. She took a sip
of her now cold tea, and reopened the book, moving to the next page.
December,
1870
Christmas
is nearing, and with it is the sadness. Sadness of being alone, even with this
bunch of guys. Sadness of not being able to be with Jed, or my folks. Not being
able to talk to others about them. Because it hurts too much.
The last
few months and years have seen a lot of changes. I ride with the Plummer Gang
now, and if I don’t really like what I do, at least I am learning, and I eat,
most of the time. It seems I have a nack with numbers
and cards, having learned recently a game called Poker. Figures come easily to
me, and I am often the one to figure out how much each ones take is from the
jobs. I have been listening to the tumblers of a safe too, trying to figure out
how to open one without having to use force. The numbers make a sound when they
click into alignment, and that is what I listen for. The guys are also starting
to teach me about dynamite and how to use it without betting blowed up.
I read
everything I can find to read, and I really like it. It takes me away from
here, to a time when things were better. In my mind, I am that knight on a
shining horse, riding into rescue the girl. I read the dime novels too,
laughing at what is said about some of the “heros” of
the time. Will I ever be one of those heros?
Snow is
starting to fall, and with it, sadness returns. Jed loved the snow, to make
snowmen, and snow angels as Ma taught us. I wonder where he is now? I ride back
that way every once in a while, to the
place where I left him. I even knocked on the door once, but the person who
answered was not someone I knew. She said the family had left many months
before, taking everyone with them. She didn’t remember a corn-colored hair
young boy, tho. So I guess Jed is lost to me forever. I hope that, where ever
he is, he is safe, and happy, and not hungry.
They gang
is planning a job tomorrow, so I guess I had better get some sleep. Merry
Christmas Ma, and Pa, and wherever you are too Jed.
July, 1873
I guess
sometimes miracles do come true, at least this time it did. I was in town the
other day, and when I looked up, I saw him. Standing there with his back to the
wall. He had grown taller, filled out some. But it was him. He wore a gun
strapped to his hip, tied around his leg. And he wore it as if he knew, really
knew how to use it. I looked at him, and he looked at me, and we each
understood.
We spent
hours talking over a couple of beers in the saloon. The barkeep didn’t want to
serve him, cause he looked so young, but when you ride with a hard gang, you
get hard in the process. And they finally served him. Jim Santana is running
the gang now, and things are getting better. We spend many hours talking, and
planning on jobs. It is good.
Jed caught
me up on his life, and I on mine. But we skirted the real issue for a long
time. Finally, I explained to him what happened and why. He said he understood,
and I think he did. At least I hope he does. I guess, In a way, we both have
grown up too fast and too hard. I just hope that we can make a fresh start of
it now.
Jim was not
happy when I brought Jed back to the Hole. They clashed in a lot of ways, and
that can’t be good. But we are together again, and I intend it to stay that
way. The boys of the gang really made fun of Jed, called him Kid, and laughed
at him, cause he looks so young. But I can tell you, that stopped when he drew
his gun. Man, he is fast. And accurate too. Now, they call him Kid Curry. And
he doesn’t seem to mind. It is good to have him back with me again.
August,
1877
Things have
gotten bad over the past few years, what with Jim in prison. I have tried to
run the gang, and things are getting better. With Kid at my back, I at least
don’t have to watch from that direction. Kyle and some of the boys are OK with
me and Kid running things. Wheat, well that is another matter. Some of the boys
have left, and there are some new ones. And as always, there is that adjustment
time. Often ending with Kid showing them just who is boss. Even outlaws learn
to respect the gun.
The last
few jobs have been good ones. We are really getting the hang of this bank and
train robbery thing. I run the tumblers when ever possible, even though we
still do some daytime back hold ups. Trains, now they are getting faster and
harder to stop. I wish sometimes that I could get out of this, but not sure how
to do that. Good at the dynamite, but don’t want to do that forever either.
Have been working with Nitroglycerin, and it works, but that can kill, so
really am careful with that. Have to find a better way for Kid and myself. Not
sure, but know it is out there somewhere. Have to go now. Lom is here and ready
to talk about the next job. I don’t see him hanging around much longer either.
He is a good guy. He needs a good life.
She closed the book, at the end of the pages in this first
journal. She was a litle closer to finding out the
answer to her questions, she now had a name, but she wanted the name of the
person’s who’s thought were filling the pages with memories. She might not know
his name yet, but knew she was going to enjoy the journey into finding the
answers.
She slipped out of bed, refilling
her cup with hot tea, finding that even though the tea was herbal and usually
caused her to fall to sleep easily, she was wide awake. Anxious to find out
more about her mysterious writer, she climbed back into bed, and picked up the
second journal. Carefully opening the front cover, she began to read.
September,
1880
Well, we
did it. We talked to Lom, and he talked to the Governor of the
She read
through the pages and saw stories in her head. How they had met Big Mac
McCreedy and Senior Armanderez, and the bust of
Caesar. She read the tales of Mary Cunningham, and finding Jim Plummer in the
town of
One more entry she read before
closing the second journal. It was the final entry in the book, and filled with
sadness.
July,
1887
There are
times when it seems this nightmare will never have an end. In the past seven
years, we have seen six different men hold the title of Governor of
She closed the book, and returned it to the nightstand.
Clicking off the light, she reflected on what she had read. Did they ever
receive their amnesty? Would she ever figure out who was writing those pages?
How would their story end?
The early morning sun was peeking
through the window, but even as early as it was rising this morning, she was
already up and dressed. She found she had trouble sleeping, having troubling
dreams which included faces she couldn’t see, names she couldn’t hear. Safes,
and banks, and trains, and guns. And a room with a door, one which was closed
and locked. The key was in her hand, but she couldn’t find the lock. The lock,
she decided, was in the remaining journals.
Picking up her coffee cup, she sat
at the kitchen table, and carefully opened the next book, starting to read the
entries.
May,
1896
Well, it
has happened. Never thought it would, with me being an old 45, but today it
did. Today, I got married. Kid was there as my best man. Lom was there too. I
was hoping the Devil’s Hole Gang would have made it, but I haven’t heard from
Kyle and the boys for a long time now, so not even sure they are still alive.
And getting married was the last thing I intended, at least not until after the
amnesty came through. But we are still finding ourselves waiting. And we no
longer hope.
I met this
lady quite by accident, and fell in love. I avoided her for a while, but began
to realize that if I wanted a future, I had to go after it, and not wait any
longer. She knows the truth, who I really am. We are married using my other
name, Joshua Smith. I hate that she can’t carry my real name, but we both know
that would not be smart. The wanted posters are still out there, abet covered
by dust now. Some people have never heard of
Kid lives
just down the road, continues to use his alias as well. He married a few years
ago, and has a couple of kids, one which looks just like he did when he was
small. The baby, a girl, looks like her Ma, except she has Kid’s yellow hair
and curls. He does well at ranching, something he has always loved to do.
Growing things in the ground, raising horses. It is a good life.
I work in
town, keeping books at the local bank. Yeah, it is funny, they don’t know the
truth. If they ever knew that
Life in
general is changing. Everywhere I look around I see it. Telephone lines are
being strung between towns. Soon you will be able to talk across the country to
someone living in
But for
now, I will content myself to my wife. Hopefully, soon, we will have some kids
too. Can’t let Kid one up me. It is a good life. Only one thing missing.
Governors
keep coming and going. Francis Warren was elected Governor of the new state of
Wyoming, and we both thought we had a chance, but heard the same song and dance
again. We have stopped hoping. Lom feels bad, but it isn't his fault. He tried.
But I don’t think he tries anymore. That’s ok too. He has a life as well, a
wife and kids. He still does some sheriff work, but mainly works as an advisor.
And raises some cows. He has made a good life for himself. A true example of
how someone can change their life around. I just wish….but I guess it doesn’t
pay to wish too much. Just be grateful for what I do have. My wife, my good
friend, and some memories both good and bad. I read my past writings from time
to time. I am amazed sometimes at everything we did. I have never let my wife
read them though, cause I am afraid it will make me look bad in her eyes. She
is so wonderful, and I do so love her. Better she not know everything. Safer
that way.
She continued to read through the journal, marveling in his
adventures. The birth of his son, than his daughter. The land he acquired and
tended. Kid’s family, and his place. The Sunday’s spent together. The private
hours of grief remembering the one thing he didn’t receive. And his feeling of
lose over not being able to present to his wife a clean slate. She read about
the celebration of when his daughter married, and the sadness when he buried
his first grandchild. Seems sorrow was destined to follow him somehow. She read
through the stories of the changing of the governors, and how each one made him
feel even sadder. Because no matter what he was able to achieve, this one thing
seemed to always elude him. And his life was not totally complete because of
this.
Early morning found her picking up
the last of the books, turning the pages past what she had already read. This
book was shorter than the rest, ending after one more entry. She noticed that
the handwriting was decidedly female, not the bold male stroke she had become
accustomed to reading. Tears filled her eyes as she completed the last entry.
October,
1925
Today is
the saddest day of my life, because today I buried my one true love. I only had
him for 29 years, but they were the best years of my life, and I will be
forever grateful to him for those. My husband, for his 74 years, lived a very
adventurous life. He has done more in those years than most people would be in
twice that length of time. But for the 30 years that I have known him, he has
carried a secret. One which he thinks went to the grave with him. But I knew. I
knew of his secret past, and his desire for amnesty, a clearing of his name. He
never knew I read his journals, never knew I understood his secret pain.
I see
Thaddeus walking to the cemetery now as I write this. I don’t know how he is
going to be able to survive without Joshua. I have never seen two men so close,
they actually read each other’s minds. I don’t imagine Thaddeus will be around
long now, as he doesn’t seem to have any drive left. It was like it died with
Joshua. I only hope that it will be a peaceful passing.
I would
like to do for my husband that one thing he was not able to do when he was
alive. But as I don’t know how long I myself will be on this earth, I am not
sure I will be able to do it. I can only hope.
I did as he
asked, put the name Joshua Smith on the headstone. But in smaller letters, I
had them write…in loving memory H. Heyes. Someday I plan to tell the kids the
truth. I suspect that they know already. What with the stories that their Dad
used to tell them. But they never let on to him. They won’t love him any less.
They have always been proud of him and knowing how he has turned his life
around will only increase their pride in their father.
She closed the book slowly, tears falling down her cheeks.
To have died, without ever achieving his true goal of amnesty, that has to be
the worse feeling ever. She slowly wiped her face, trying to make sense of
everything.
Reaching out, she picked up a pen
and paper and wrote the names Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry on the top sheet.
Picking up her purse, she left the house, headed towards the library. The plate
was long forgotten in her quest to find whatever information she could on this
pair of outlaws which time seemed to have forgotten.
Hours later, armed with page after
of page of information, she knew a lot about this pair of outlaws. Their
misdeeds, their plan to change their ways, and their unsuccessful bid for
amnesty. She also found out that living relatives of these two lived in this
very town, and they were buried in a cemetery not an hour from here. Stopping
to fill up her car, she drove to the cemetery, camera in hand. It took a while,
but at last she was able to find the markers she was looking for.
Bending down, she eased the grass
from in front of the gravestone. Reading
the marker, she found that tears once again filled her eyes.
Joshua
Smith
1851-1925
Beloved
husband and father
In loving
Memory, H. Heyes
And to the left, not two markers away, another stone.
Thaddeus
Jones
1853-1925
Beloved
husband and father
In loving
Memory, J. Curry
She could tell that Mrs. Smith had been right, that Kid didn’t last long without Heyes around. At least, in the end, they were together.
She spent some time, pulling weeds,
taking some pictures, and placing flowers at both markers. And while she was
sitting there, a plan began to develop. One which, she hoped, would help ease
the hurt of many years. And hopefully finally bring a lasting peace to two very
deserving men.
She spent the next many months
making telephone calls and driving to meet people. She had some doors closed in
her face, as some people didn’t want to bring up the past. In the end, she
managed to meet with almost every member of Heyes’ and Curry’s families,
gathering information, stories, details of their lives. And gathering family
feelings regarding her planned task. She just hoped she was up to the task.
Debra sat quietly in the chair,
watching the proceedings. Surrounding her were some of the most influential
people of the state of
“The next case on the docket……A
review of Amnesty for Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry.” The speaker paused,
frowned, and said, “Who?”
She stood up, approaching the podium
in the middle of the floor, placing her briefcase on the floor beside the
stand.
“
The speaker’s face flushed red, “No,
I can’t say that I have.”
“Than let me educate you,” and
turning her eyes to the remaining members on the panel, “and to the rest of you
that might need it.”
She sorted her papers on the stand,
keeping them in order for referral. She had practiced this speech for weeks,
and doubted that she would need the prompting, but was leaving nothing to
chance from here on out.
“Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were
two famous men, who were born in the mid-1800’s. How did they become famous you
ask? Well, many would say they were famous for robbing banks and trains. But I
am here to say that they are famous for all the good deeds they accomplished,
the families they raised, the people that they protected. In all their years,
they did so much more good than they ever did bad. And they wanted only one
thing in return, to clear their names.”
She stepped away from the podium.
“In 1880, John Hoyt, than appointed
governor of the
She paced the floor, moving from
side to side, making eye contact with each member of the panel, who would
decide this case.
“But the problem comes in that this
governor didn’t keep his promise. He was in office until1882, and never once
granted these two men amnesty. And it was passed down from Governor to
Governor, each promising the same thing, and each breaking their promise.”
She moved again towards the podium.
“And most people would have given
up, returned to a life of crime, reverting to a past life. But not these two,
no. They continued to live a good life. They never gave up hope entirely, even
taking it to their graves.”
She turned her hands towards the
balcony, encompassing the members of the audience there.
“These are the descendents of
Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. They have numerous stories to tell about their
ancestors, the deeds that they did, the lives that they changed. Stories which
will be passed down through history of a pair of wonderful guys who just loved
life, and lived it to the fullest. Fathers who danced at their daughters’
weddings, husbands who held the hand of their wife when she was in labor.
Grandfathers who rocked the babies to sleep with tales of the old west.”
She turned towards the panel once
again.
“And men who could not tell people
their greatest secret, who they really were. Families which have lived with
alias’ their entire lives, because they couldn’t afford for people to know who
they really were.”
She picked up pages of paper,
lifting it high enough for the members of the panel to see. From the side doors
entered two young men, each carrying a stack of folders. They started passing
out the folders, one to each member of the panel.
“You are now receiving copies of the
documents of which I am speaking. Some are from the history books, some from
the court house, information which is part of the public record. Some are
copies of pages from journals written by Hannibal Heyes, in which he describes
their bid for amnesty, as well as events of their lives. Also contained in
those folders are accounts from family members. Memories of these two men.
Unfortunately, no one is left living who actually knew these two. But many have
heard the stories from those that did know them.”
She stepped away from the podium
once again, easing a walk in front of the panel of men.
“Also, contained in those folders,
are stories of the people that these two men helped. I have contacted as many
family members of those people as possible, and have attached their responses.
You will see that as a whole, people are very willing to give an account of two
very good people, who were willing to help others, even if it might mean a bad
outcome for themselves.”
“Now, it is your turn. It is time
for the Governor of this state to step up to the plate, to correct a terrible
wrong. To do what your predecessor promised, and never did. It is time to grant
to these two, an amnesty. Grant to the family a clean slate for their
ancestors. Let them be able to proudly proclaim that Hannibal Heyes and Kid
Curry were honorable men, good men, and let the history books record that the
state of
She turned and looked up, once
again, towards the family members in the balcony. She could see tears flowing
down the faces of many, hands grasped by several.
“Will these,” waving her hand once
again towards the balcony, “family members love their ancestors any more or
less, based on this decision. No. They know the kind of men these two were. And
nothing that is done or said here will ever change that. They want the
resolution and closure for Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. These two men went to
their final resting places with only one thing missing in their lives, their
amnesty. Please grant them ever lasting peace now.”
She turned towards the panel.
“Do what your previous members
didn’t have the nerve to do. Abide by an agreement made many times in the past.
Finish this chapter. Grant to Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry their amnesty. Give
them their final freedom.”
She stepped back towards the podium
as a hush fell over the room. Than, ever so slowly, a clapping started from the
balcony. Than another, than another, until the entire room erupted in applause.
She smiled and bowed her head. She had done everything she could do. Now, the
decision lay in the hands of men and women of the panel, people who could right
a terrible injustice, could free ghosts of the past. She only hoped that they
would understand.
The speaker stood. As the applause
died down, he started to speak.
“This session is now going into
executive session, so discussions on this matter can begin. Please, everyone,
wait in the hallways while the members of this panel debate this issue. When a
decision has been made, we will notify the party involved.”
She took a deep breathe, and
gathering her papers and picking up her briefcase, stepped out into the
hallways. She was greeted by members of the Heyes and Curry families, each
hugging her and smiling.
She felt a tap on the shoulder and
turned to find April standing there, moisture on her face. “I want to thank you
for everything you said in there. I know that Grandpa would appreciate someone
trying. He never did give up belief in getting the amnesty. Grandma used to say
he would talk about it to her when no one was around. How it would make him
rest easier in the afterlife knowing that a life of crime was no longer hanging
around his neck. So know that, no matter what happens, Grandpa would be so very
proud of you.”
“I just hope it was enough. For all
of your sakes.”
She reached down to pick up her
briefcase, turning it sideways so she could open it.
“I want to give you these.” She
picked up the journals, holding them in one hand while she placed the briefcase
on the floor. She lovingly stroked the cover of the top journal before pushing
them in the direction of April. “These belong to your family. Thank you for
allowing me to borrow them for a short time. I will be forever grateful.”
April took the journals, and
meeting Debra’s eyes, smiled.
“Thank you. In all these years, no
one has believed as much as you. I know how hard this has been, for all of us.
You have given us closure. And we will be forever grateful to you for that.”
Any further discussions were brought
to a halt with the announcement that the panel was returning from executive
meeting, and all interested parties were invited to return to the room. April
and Debra looked at each other again, and with a nod in each other’s direction,
stepped back into the room, awaiting the outcome which would effect so many
lives.
She sat in the chair, eyes directed
at the panel of men and women, those which had decided the fate of the case.
Butterflies were now apparent in her stomach, and she hoped that she didn’t get
sick before hearing the results of the
case. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to relax, as the chairman
of the panel started to speak.
“In the case of the amnesty of
Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. We have reviewed all the evidence which was
presented, as well as evidence we had previously collected from the transcripts
of previous governors. We have been able to find reference to the amnesty of
which you spoke, as well as follow up entries made.”
The chairman stopped to remove his
glasses, rubbing his eye, before replacing his glasses on his face and
continuing.
“We can see no reason to debate this
issue any longer, and have come to a decision. Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry did
engage in an agreement with the Governor of this state, in fact with several
governors, as you so rightly pointed out. And while it is true that Heyes and
Curry were wanted outlaws, none of the facts presented in either this testimony
or the writings of past governors suggest any reason to believe that they
didn’t, in fact, abide by their agreement. So it is the decision of this panel
to grant, on this day and posthumously, amnesty to Hannibal Heyes and Kid
Curry. Let history show that this amnesty will be retroactive to the year 1882,
and that these men died as free men, with no criminal deeds unresolved.”
He smiled as the sound of applause
and weeping could be heard. He easily tapped his gavel for attention, and the
sounds resolved.
“And I want to apologize to the
families of Mr. Heyes and Mr. Curry for the injustice done to these two men and
their families down through the years. This should have been done so many years
ago. I can only hope that you and they can forgive a government which seems to
have forgotten them.”
Debra smiled towards the man, and
mouthing Thank you, turned and slowly
walked out of the room.
She found herself kneeling down in
front of a grave, talking once again to the soil. She found herself here often,
a place where she could think more clearly. But today, she was here to relate
the news to the boys, just in case they didn’t know yet.
“So I hope you two can rest easier
now. You can now close that final chapter in your lives. And know that you did
accomplish what you had planned. Your family loves you both very much, and the
tales of your deeds will forever be passed down from generation to generation.
So in a way, you will never be truly gone. And I, for one, am glad to have had
the chance to meet each of you. Thank you for that.”
And she stood and walked away,
pausing a few steps from the headstones to turn and look towards the newly
turned soil. She read the stones, and smiled, turning to once again start
walking back towards her car. She didn’t really need to read the stones, she
knew what they said. And now everyone else would know what they meant.
Hannibal
Heyes
1851-1925
Beloved
husband and father
In loving
Memory, J. Smith
And to the left, not two markers away, another stone.
Jed
“Kid” Curry
1853-1925
Beloved husband
and father
In loving
Memory, T. Jones
The following story
followed factual information as much as possible. The Raid on Lawrence Kansas
occurred in 1863, led as we all know by Quantril and
his raiders, of which Jesse James was a member. John Wesley Hoyt was Governor
of the Territory of Wyoming from 1878-1882. Francis Warren was Governor from
1885-1886, than the first elected Governor of the State of Wyoming from
1889-1890. George Baxter was appointed in 1886, but removed from office shortly
thereafter. The famous Thomas Moonlight served from 1887-1889.