The Safe

by Terri Sutro

Devil's Hole, Wyoming

December 25, 1878

"Merry Christmas, Heyes." Kid Curry smiled, a little embarrassed by his words. He handed his partner a gaily wrapped, twine-bound package.

Hannibal Heyes looked up from the stack of train schedules and newspapers that he'd been studying. "Huh." He eyed the package, interest growing in his dark eyes, but made no move to take it. Instead, he focused his gaze on his cousin.

"Thought we weren't gonna do this this year. Money's tight, Kid, you shouldn't have wasted it on . . . well, on whatever that is."

Heyes' eyes clouded. This time of year routinely opened the wound the two men shared: they were the only family each had. Heyes always pushed Christmas away, hoping to avoid the memories and the sadness that seemed to envelop him and Kid. He frowned at the other man, wondering what Kid was doing, why he was just digging it all up. He turned his gaze away from the package, looking out the window at the snow that had begun falling in early morning, and showed no signs of stopping as the day progressed.

"So, you're saying you don't want it." Kid didn't move his hand, but left it outstretched toward Heyes. He knew the man well enough to know how much he wanted to open the package. He just had to get around to it in his own way.

Heyes squinted at the man he'd spent his life with. There was something in Kid's voice. It wasn't teasing, exactly. And it wasn't hurt feelings, exactly. It was more of a challenge. He frowned. Kid only did this when it was important. And they both knew that. He itched to take the package, his curiosity growing as he watched the broadening smile light his cousin's deep blue eyes.

"I don't have anything for you, that's all. Don't seem fair." He lifted his hand, then hesitated.

Kid threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Ya know, Heyes, you might just be the stubbornest man in the whole world. Now, if you don't want this, that's fine. I'll just give it to someone else. Why, I bet old Wheat would take it."

Curry moved his hand a fraction, as though he fully intended to retract both it and the package. Heyes caught it before it moved very far, the tiniest of smiles breaking through.

"Now, I didn't say that. I just feel bad, that's all." He sighed and finally took the package, shaking his head. Kid knows me too well. Inspecting it carefully, he turned it over to look at each side. He held it to his ear and shook it, frowning again. There was no sound save the rustle of the red and green paper wrapping.

Curry laughed again and pulled up a chair. "Always used to do that. Tried to figure out what was in the package 'fore you got it unwrapped."

Heyes grinned sheepishly. "Should I open it?" His voice was that of the eight-year-old boy who asked the same question of his pa one Christmas morning. The last Christmas morning before there were no more Christmases.

"Well, course you should open it. What d'ya think you should do, sit there and look at it?" Curry laughed again and put his hand on his cousin's arm. He knew where Heyes' thoughts were headed. His voice was gentler when he spoke again. "Ain't all that much, Heyes. So just get on with it."

Finally a smile creased Heyes' face. Hesitancy abandoned, he tore open the package with enthusiasm. "Sure used a lot of twine," he mumbled, grinning. He looked surprised as he held the object in his hands. "Where on Earth did you get this?" He looked from the gift to Curry, the smile fading to a look of surprise and wonder; his baritone voice was husky.

"See, told you it weren't that much." The younger man touched the black enameled object.

Heyes was holding the gift as if it were a bar of the purest gold. He tried to smile, but he was afraid if he did the memories would return with it. He knew he'd have no chance of stopping them if they did.

"Where'd you find it?" he whispered, not looking at Kid. He turned the object over and over in his hands, almost reverently, almost willing it to not be there. Almost.

"Now, it's not the same one, of course. Ya know that. I saw it when we were in Porterville the last time. Don't know why exactly I found it, but there it was and, well, it seemed to be the thing that needed buyin'. It's like . . . well, it's just like that one, isn't it?" Curry's strong hands reached out and stilled Heyes' restless ones. "Heyes?"

Heyes coughed and cleared his throat, his slender hands now surrounding the object. "Yeah, just like it." There was a funny smile in his eyes when he looked up, a smile prompted by a memory that didn't hurt. That memory brought warmth to a heart long closed to such things. He met his friend's eyes, knowing they shared the memory of lives lived before. Kid was smiling, willing him to remember that particular Christmas. . . .

Lawrence, Kansas

December, 1862

"Han?" Jedediah Curry scratched his head and turned to his cousin. "Han?" he repeated, nudging the other boy with his fist when he was ignored.

"Yeah, Jed. What?" Hannibal Heyes' gaze was fixed on the wagon slowly making its way down the main street of Lawrence, Kansas on a blustery December 20, 1862 afternoon.

"What's in the wagon again?" Jed would have preferred to be building snowmen, or playing cowboys, or seeing if he could sneak an extra cookie out of the jar his mother always kept in the kitchen. He didn't see any reason to be in town, watching a wagon. He'd tagged along when Han had come to town with his folks, but he sure didn't see anything interesting about what they were doing, which was standing in the middle of the street, watching a wagon hauling a big black box. Besides, it was snowing, his nose was running, and the mittens his mother had forced him to wear weren't doing the job of keeping his hands warm out on the freezing street.

Hannibal Heyes sighed the long-suffering sigh of an eight and one half- almost nine-year-old. "I told you, Jed, it's a safe. That's where folks put their money so it's, well, so it's safe."

"Safe from what, Han?" Lawrence was about as safe as six and a half-year-old Jed Curry could imagine.

"From robbers, of course. Pa said this was a special safe. No one can break into it. Came all the way from Philadelphia, Pa said." Hannibal was trying his best to make Jed see how serious this was. He frowned, then sighed. Jed was just too young to understand.

Hannibal watched the heavy wagon, pulled by eight sturdy workhorses, approach the bank.

"Why do people rob safes, Han? They shouldn't take stuff that don't belong to them." Jed knew that for a fact. His Ma and Pa had always told him not to take things that didn't belong to him. He tried to mimic his cousin, studying the on-coming wagon, but he was cold and tired and hungry and not very interested in a safe at all. "Can we go get some candy, Han?"

"You go on, Jed, I wanna watch the safe. Pa said he didn't know how they'd get it into the bank. Why, it's bigger 'n our whole house." Hannibal started walking down the street to meet the wagon.

Jed, following as quickly as he could, reached out and grabbed his cousin's arm. "But, Han, I wanna build a snowman. Can we play cowboys, Han? My pa said I could have a real gun when I was more growed up. Just like the one in the shootin' match, Han. I'm gonna win this year; I just know it. And then I can have a real gun. I'm gonna practice, 'til I'm real fast. I'll teach you if'n you want, Han." He ran into his cousin, who suddenly stopped and turned to face him.

"Jed, why'd I wanna learn to shoot a gun? Not like there's ever gonna be a need to. Not here, anyway." He swept his arms around. "Anyway, maybe I'll go work for old Mr. Simpson at the bank. I'm good with figures. He'd pay me lots of money." At the disappointed look in his cousin's blue eyes, Hannibal smiled. "Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt none to know how to shoot a gun. Okay, Jed, you can show me. Maybe when I'm working at the bank, you can make sure it don't get robbed." He stopped for a moment. "I really want to see the safe now, okay?"

Mollified, the younger boy grinned. "Sure, Han. I can watch real good and shoot anyone who tries to hold up the bank." Jed stood still for what seemed like forever. "Can we go now?" He started tugging on Hannibal's arm again. "It's just a big box. Come on, Han."

With a pained look, Hannibal watched the wagon creep ever closer to the bank, wanting to stay but knowing he was responsible for Jed. He made a promise to himself that he'd take a closer look at that safe real soon.

"But Pa, can't we go see the safe?" Hannibal had nearly exhausted everyone in the house with that question.

Daniel Heyes frowned at his oldest son. He'd been trying with little success to ignore the boy's persistence for the past four days. He studied the determined face in front of him. He'd obviously inherited his grandfather's stubbornness.

"Why is seein' that safe so all-fired important, Hannibal? Not like we've got enough money to even bother worrying about lockin' it up in a bank anyway."

Hannibal thought for a moment. "I heard Mr. Simpson talking about it. He said he bought it so no outlaw would ever rob his bank. I wanna see how an outlaw would do it." At the frown on his father's face, he re-thought his comment. "Not like I'm gonna rob it, Pa. I just gotta see it. Please, Pa? We've gotta go to town tomorrow anyway to go to church." It was evident that Hannibal would have gladly given up the one for the other.

The man stifled a grin. "Goin' to church isn't exactly the same as goin' to the bank, son." The man once again studied the young face. His mother's eyes. Can't talk sense to her either when she gets that determined look. "All right. We'll see if Mr. Simpson will let you take a look at the safe, but not tomorrow. It's Christmas Day." His look silenced the words his son was about to voice.

Hannibal sighed. It didn't seem like he'd ever get to see that safe.

Christmas was a special time for the Heyes and Curry families. They enjoyed mixing the traditions of the country they'd left and the country they'd found.

A week earlier, James Curry and Daniel Heyes took the boys out to find their trees. The two men and six boys tromped through the woods behind their adjoining farms to find just the right ones. They loaded them onto the wagon and brought them home; the arrival accompanied by genial arguments with their wives as to the perfect place to put them.

Brigid Curry and Muireann Heyes had been cleaning for weeks. They'd scrubbed both homes from top to bottom and laundered everything in sight. They'd supervised their husbands and sons in white-washing the two homes until they were satisfied the holiday could be properly welcomed.

Days before, the baking started. Rachel Curry, nearly eleven, took her place with the women. They prepared and gently put away the plum pudding, finished early enough so that it should be ready for Christmas dinner. They made the traditional seed cakes, one for each member of the family, that would be given on Christmas Day. They often worked together, first in one kitchen, then in the other. Brigid and Muireann Ferguson were not only sisters, they were friends. They'd chatter continuously while working, filling the houses with the scent of gingerbread and the sound of carols while they made Christmas for their families.

All the children had surveyed the countryside for pine boughs and holly sprigs to decorate the houses. They hung garlands and wreaths throughout the houses and on the doors, making sure they chose the very best greenery, bedecked with bright red berries. Holly was important; tradition held that on Christmas Eve night an angel stood on every spike of holly.

They'd laid the candles out, ready for lighting. The larger candles went into sconces made from turnips filled with flour – one each for Daniel and James, Muireann and Brigid; one for Grampa Curry. Each child got a small, colored candle of their own.

They'd hidden some mistletoe in surprise places and explained to Rachel that, if a boy caught her under its tiny bouquet, she owed him a kiss and he owed her a present. Rachel thought about this and told them that she'd be very careful who she got caught by. The two women looked at each other and smiled, explaining that, as a beautiful young lady, it wasn't a question of who she'd be getting caught by, but who she'd be catching. She looked curiously at them for a time, then smiled the smile of a girl who'd be a young woman soon, and who understood exactly what her mother and aunt were saying.

They'd sat around a table laden with a platter of cookies, scraps of cloth and paper, buttons and spools, and made trees and bells and angels and hearts to hang on the Christmas trees. Each year one of the children was selected to place the angel on the top of the Curry's tree and the star on the top of the Heyes'. This year Rachel would do the honors for her family and Alexander Heyes would finish his family's Christmas tree.

A tradition they'd brought from the old country was a visit and a small gift for the tradesmen they knew. They also joined friends in visits to families who were not able to provide for their families, bringing baskets of food and decorations. Spending time with each, they tried to share their feeling for this time of year with their neighbors. While not wealthy, both families tried their hardest to fill the season with tradition and with fun.

At noon on Christmas Eve, James Curry and Daniel Heyes had joined hands and held the shotgun that fired the traditional salute – the "grussensshus." As all of the boys would be old enough by next year, they'd promised that the winner and runner up of the shooting contest would have the honor the next Christmas.

The families gathered at the Heyes farm for Christmas Eve dinner. It began with the tradition of lighting a large, red candle that had been placed on the table in the parlor. At 6 p.m. sharp, the youngest children, Jed Curry and Conor Heyes, held the match and lit the candle together.

The adults gasped when the boys turned around, their combined movement causing the candle to go out. They bowed their heads in silent prayer against the omen that held someone was to die. Then, with exchanged glances, they embraced the holiday spirit again, so as to not frighten the children.

The families held hands around the table and listened as Hannibal said the prayer. Daniel and Muireann exchanged glances as they listened to their son. He had his father's soul and his mother's spirit – and sometimes the reverse – and his grandfather's gift of blarney. They suddenly realized how grown-up their first-born had become, and tried not to laugh when the prayer included mention of a visit to the bank.

There was much laughter as the spiced beef, potatoes and vegetables were passed from hand to hand. They all sighed when it was done, happily moving to the parlor for coffee and Christmas Cake, and just a bit of good Irish whiskey for the men.

Hannibal wondered if he was old enough to join them this year. His mother looked aghast as his uncle let him take a sip, but was relieved by his reaction. Everyone laughed as Hannibal choked and coughed, his eyes streaming from the fire the golden liquid had started in his throat and stomach. He said he wanted to try it again, but his mother quickly said no and pulled him over next to her on the sofa.

They sat in front of the blazing fire and listened to Grampa Curry re-tell tales from the old country. They'd heard the stories over and over, but somehow they never grew old. He told them tales of how no prayer would be unanswered on Christmas Eve, and of how snow on Christmas Eve meant geese were being plucked in Heaven. They sang carols while Grampa Curry played his fiddle.

All joined in playing pantomimes, laughing uproariously as James pretended to be Cinderella and Brigid played the Prince. They all grinned at her blush when he ended the play by kissing her soundly.

Then, in a solemn procession, they each took their red candles, sheltering the flames with their hands, and set them on the windowsill. A light to remind them of another family that, once upon a time, a long time ago, sought shelter on a Christmas Eve night.

The evening ended with Daniel Heyes reciting A Visit From Saint Nicholas. Everyone sat spellbound as the baritone voice began, "Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house. . ."

Finally, the night over, the families bid farewell to one another. The Currys bundled up in their wagon for the short trip home. Alexander and Conor raced back to the warmth of the house. Daniel slid his arm around Muireann's waist, pulling her to him as they walked toward the door. Hannibal stood silently, watching them. Finally they turned and smiled at him, opening their arms to collect him as he ran to them.

Once inside, he started to latch the door, but they stopped him.

"The doors are always left unlatched on Christmas Eve, son, as a sign of hospitality; in case weary travelers need shelter." Daniel knelt so he was eye-level with his son. The same tradition would be carried out at the Curry home.

Another tradition was mirrored in both homes. Seven young faces snuggled in their beds, trying as hard as they could to keep sleepy eyes open, knowing that this year, they'd catch Santa Claus leaving them their presents.

Christmas Day was cold. Flurries of snow dusted the ground and the trees. The three Heyes boys raced to see what was in their stockings, and in the brightly-wrapped packages under the tree. Their father caught them, finding a way to wrap his arms around them all.

"So, we're eager, are we? Don't we say something this morning, boys? Alexander? Conor?" He paused. "Hannibal? Are ye forgettin'?"

Hannibal scrunched up his face for a moment, then smiled happily at his father. "An Nollaig, Pa. Merry Christmas."

The other boys shouted the greeting before managing to squirm away and reach the tree.

"An Nollaig, me darlin's." Muireann Heyes stepped out of the kitchen and handed her husband a steaming mug of coffee.

The boys turned, hearing their mother's voice. "Merry Christmas, Ma," they cried in unison, running back to hug her. Eagerness was etched on the three small faces, and they shouted happily once she shooed them back toward the tree.

Permission finally given, the three boys tore open the packages and dug into their stockings: an apple in the toe and an orange in the heel, a tiny leather bag of chocolate, another with a few coins, some blocks for Conor, a hand-carved and painted train set.

There were more shouts as they unwrapped each car and attached them together. Their father and uncle and grandfather had spent many evenings carving the set all the children would share – three cars at this house, three at the other to be joined and traded and played with.

Other presents soon were discovered: new boots and a harmonica for seven-year-old Alexander; another hand-carved piece, a rocking horse for Conor, who turned five only the month before; for Hannibal, a real black cowboy hat and new books – The Boy's Book of Indian Battles and Adventures, A Pictorial History of the West, Gulliver's Travels.

"'Tis enough celebratin'. Alexander, Conor, Hannibal, come along now. Let's get you ready for church." Muireann Heyes gathered up the two younger boys and shooed them into their bedroom. Hannibal started to follow.

"Wait, son, I have one more thing for you. My father gave them to me and, well, I think you're old enough to appreciate them." Daniel Heyes motioned for Hannibal to join him on the sofa and handed him a wooden box.

Hannibal took the box, looking questioningly at his father. He held it to his ear and shook it, turning red as his father laughed.

"Can I open it, Pa?"

"Well, course you should open it. Won't do ya much good just looking at the box." His booming laugh filled the room.

Hannibal cautiously unclasped the hinge on the box and opened the lid. His eyes grew wide when he saw the set of toy soldiers made from heavy metal, and painted in bright red and blue. There were even elephants. He dumped them into his lap, picking up one, then another, and examining them carefully. His father had promised to teach him all about the military battle led by a famous general with his name, but he'd never imagined he'd be given his father's box of soldiers.

He carefully put the figures back in their box and turned to his father. "They're for me?"

Daniel Heyes took the box. "Of course they're for you, son. One day you'll be givin' them to your son. In the meanwhile, maybe I'll teach you about how great generals lead their men in battle. Maybe we'll both learn something. . ." His voice trailed off as he re-clasped the lid of the box of little men, holding it tightly, eyes closed, lost for a moment in thought.

The adults had agreed that the children would be told when they turned ten, if the hated war was still raging, or if there was a need for them to know. The Curry twins, Rachel and Patrick knew, and Hannibal and Michael Curry would know soon. Their parents would tell them their father and uncle and grandfather were leaders in a cause most dangerous: helping slaves escape to freedom. Abolitionists walked a line between North and South, a line that had gotten many killed. It was a fact never far from the mind of either Daniel Heyes or James Curry, or the two women who loved them enough to share their work.

There was something in his father's voice that made Hannibal turn his gaze to the man. He didn't understand what he meant, or why his father was suddenly quiet. His father was a farmer. He didn't lead men in battle. Hannibal was confused. He knew his father spent time with other men in town, at meetings in the church Hall, but that was just farm talk.

Or was it? Hannibal suddenly felt afraid. He remembered how scared he'd been during the Free State wars. His friend Will's parents had been killed by bad men, and Will had had to go to the Home for Waywards. There was no place else for him. He sensed the same tone in his father's voice now as there had been the day he'd told his son about the deaths.

His father opened his eyes and caught his son as the boy's lip began to quiver. "Here now, nothin' for you to be worried about. It's Christmas. Nothin' can be sad on Christmas Day." He cleared his throat. "I was goin' to wait to surprise you, but. . ." He smiled at the expectant look on Hannibal's face. "Well, I'm still not sure why it's so important, but I'll talk to Mr. Simpson tomorrow about showing you that safe you're so curious about." He hugged his son.

Hannibal's smile was bright enough to light the room. "Really, Pa? I get to see it? Up close and everything? Can I try to open it, Pa? Can I see what's inside?" Any fear Hannibal had felt was lost in the excitement of having his Christmas Eve prayer answered. "I've gotta go tell Jed, Pa. Is it all right?"

He didn't give his father a chance to reply, leaping from the sofa and heading for the door.

His mother caught him, holding the struggling boy tight. "Not before you put your coat on, Hannibal, you'll catch your death out there. Anyway, we'll be catching up with all the Currys in just a few minutes." She smiled, knowing exactly what was going to happen.

Twisting away from his mother, he dashed out, yelling that he'd be glad to tell them that everyone was on the way. Of course no one had asked him to be the messenger, but that was a detail Hannibal didn't concern himself with.

His parents laughed. This had been the way Christmas Day started since Hannibal and Jed decided they were best friends. No announcement was really needed; both families always spent the day together, starting with the ride into town for church, and culminating with dinner. As Christmas Eve had been spent at the Heyes' home, Christmas Day would be at the Curry's. They'd trade off the next year. So it had been for as long as they'd been in this new country – from the time the sisters had found the two men they'd pledged share their lives with and had come West from Pennsylvania to finally settle in Lawrence.

They watched their oldest son run across the snowy ground. Muireann Heyes was wearing the slender strand of pearls her husband had given her. He was smoking the new pipe, packed with the special fragrant tobacco she had found just for him. She'd given him another gift, too, a special one they thought might never come. A gift that made him hold her a bit tighter against the cold: a new child to be born by summer.

She frowned slightly. "Always running. He's a dreamer, Daniel." She shook her head. "He'll catch his death of cold," she said as she closed the door. She rested her head on her husband's shoulder, grateful for the momentary quiet.

"Ah, Molly, the way the boy's running, he'll outrun the cold. Anyway, it's not far to James and Brigid's. They'll warm him up sure enough." He kissed her gently, brushing an errant curl from her face. He looked into her dark eyes. "I pray he'll keep his dreams, m'love. With the world as it is today, a child with dreams is the fortunate one."

Hannibal could barely restrain himself as he raced over the snowy ground to the Curry farm. He was red-cheeked and puffing bursts of cold frosty air by the time he arrived. He pounded on the door of the house, eager to get inside, but there was no answer. In fact, there were none of the usual noises coming from the house. And Jed hadn't burst through the door to meet him. All was quiet.

Hannibal frowned and tried to peek in the windows on either side of the door to see where everyone was, but the spots not covered by the curtains were frosted over.

"Jed! Jed, you in there?" he called out, his young voice echoing in the stillness. "Aunt Brigid?" he called again, his voice a little less sure. He pounded at the door a second time. He was cold and shivering now, and mad that no one would let him in. He'd just about decided to try around back, when the door flew open. He jumped backward, falling into a patch of snow as his grandfather flung the door open.

"So, what's all the ruckus, young Hannibal?" With that Brendan Patrick Curry started laughing, a great roaring laugh. He reached down and plucked Hannibal out of the snow as if he were no more than a feather, flinging him over his shoulder and hauling him into the house to the laughter of the rest of the Curry family.

"Grampa, you tricked me!" Hannibal sputtered, part-angry at being fooled and part-relieved that everyone was all right. He arched up from his position on his grandfather's shoulder to seek out his best friend, hoping for sympathy. He was less than pleased to find Jed grinning from ear to ear.

"That we did, and a good trick it was. Always be prepared, my boy, for whatever life throws at ye." He easily flipped his grandson down on the braided rug in front of the blazing fire. "That way ye won't be caught off guard."

"Enough with teasing the boy, Father." Brigid Curry laughed as she broke in front of the man. "Come along, Hannibal. Why, you must be frozen solid. You left without waiting to put your coat on." She offered him a slender hand, helping him up and hugging him when he had finally clambered to his feet. "There's some nice hot cider in the kitchen, go on now, and help yourself." She ruffled his dark hair and gave him a shove toward the other room.

"Yes, ma'am." Hannibal glared at Jed as he went into the warm, spicy-smelling room. He was ladling a cup of cider into a mug when the younger boy joined him.

"That sure was funny, Han. The way Grampa had you over his shoulder. Just like a sack of grain." Jed busied himself, trying to figure out how to taste the pie that was on the table without his mother knowing. The iced Christmas cake might have been tradition, but Brigid Curry knew her apple pie was one present her youngest son always got at Christmas.

Intent on the pie, Jed missed the scowl that his cousin directed at him.

"What'd you get, Han? Michael got a kal– a kal– Well, it's this round thing and when you spin it around and look in it, there are lots of colors. And Patrick got books with pictures of ships in them, and real cowboys. I got a real six-shooter, Han, and a real gun belt. Wanna see how fast I can draw, Han? I'm gonna be the fastest in the whole world." He yanked the weapon out of the holster, promptly dropping it on the floor. "I'm gonna practice. And I'm gonna be real fast, Han." He stuffed the gun back in the holster. "What'd you get?"

Hannibal clutched the mug of cider in both hands, trying to get warm. He sneezed and shivered a little, then moved closer to the stove, turning to face his cousin.

"You got a real gun, Jed?" He peered through watery eyes at the gun and belt slung low around the boy's thin waist. "Aw, that's just a toy gun. I didn't think Aunt Brigid would let you have a real gun. You're gonna have to wait 'til you're more grown-up. Like me."

"And when'd you get so grown-up, Hannibal Heyes?" Jed's sister Rachel had quietly entered the kitchen. "Why, you're barely older than Jed." Two years older than Hannibal, she enjoyed teasing her brother's best friend even more than her brother. "I got a charm bracelet for Christmas. See? And a charm in the shape of a heart. Isn't it pretty." She offered her hand in Hannibal's general direction, turning it over so the boys could see the silver bracelet and the tiny heart. "Every Christmas I'll get a new charm."

The two boys looked at the shiny silver chain encircling the girl's wrist for only an instant before returning to their conversation as though she wasn't in the room.

"Pa said I can see the safe, Jed. Right after church. You've gotta come with me. I'm gonna try to open it and see what's inside. I bet I can, too." Hannibal was re-filling his mug.

"I can help. I can watch for the sheriff while you open the safe. We can be real outlaws, Han." Jed had joined his friend in front of the stove.

"And we'll have lots of money, and no one will ever catch us." In his mind, Hannibal already had that safe open.

Their game was interrupted by Rachel's laughter. "Outlaws? Why, if either of you so much as took a piece of penny candy from Mr. Jameson's store Pa and Uncle Daniel would give you enough of a whipping so you both couldn't sit down for a week. Outlaws." With another laugh, she returned to the noisy parlor.

"Don't pay no attention to her, Han. She's just a girl. She don't know nothin' 'bout bein' outlaws." Jed shook his head. "Wanna open what I got for you?"

Hannibal didn't say anything. There was a disturbed look in his eyes and he shifted his attention to his mug of cider.

"You all right, Han?" Jed cocked his head, trying to understand what he'd said to upset his cousin.

"Uh, I didn't get you anything, Jed." He mumbled the words, still not able to make eye contact with the younger boy. "I'm sorry. Really. I just forgot Christmas was coming so soon, and then it was too late to . . . aw, Jed, I'm sorry." Finally, he looked up.

Jed didn't say anything for a moment. "That's okay, Han." He put an arm around the older boy's shoulder. "We're partners. And you could'a had anybody." He smiled as though that were completely sufficient.

A cough from the door startled both boys. Muireann Heyes smiled at them as she walked into the kitchen and stood in front of Hannibal. "Did you get some of Aunt Brigid's nice hot cider, darlin'?" She combed her fingers through his dark hair, pushing it from his forehead, then cupped his face, tilting it upward. After confirming that he was all right, she turned to her nephew. "Nollaig shona duit agus slainte[1], Jedediah." She hugged him tightly. "Are you both ready for church?"

"Yes, ma'am. An Nollaig, Aunt Muireann." Jed liked his aunt. She always made sure he had double helpings of her berry cobbler. She smelled good too.

"Well, go on now and get your coats on. We'll surely be the last ones there." She kissed Jed's forehead and gave him another hug.

Jed started out, but Hannibal hung back, once again studying his mug.

"Is something wrong, darlin'?" She put an arm around her son.

"Ma, I didn't get Jed a present. He got me one, but I forgot." He didn't want to cry, he was too old for that, but he could feel his eyes beginning to fill. "I must be as mean as– Who was in that book, Ma?" He looked up at her. "The one Pa read to us."

"Why, that was Scrooge, Hannibal." She gently removed a tear that had escaped and was rolling down his cheek. Bending down, she held him tightly. "Darlin', I'm sure Jedediah doesn't feel that way." In truth, there were times she believed that, regardless of chronological age, Jedediah was older than Hannibal. "Why, you heard him, the two of you are partners."

"Yeah, but Ma, partners are 'sposed to take care of each other. I must not be a very good partner. What am I gonna do?" He turned desperate eyes on the one person who always seemed to know how to fix things.

She smiled gently at him and was quiet for a moment. "Right now, darlin', you're going to get your coat and come to church. Maybe if you pray extra hard, God will help you find your answer." She kept her arm around him as they walked from the kitchen.

"Pray extra hard." Hannibal frowned, not sure. He looked up at his mother. She always knew what to do. "Okay, I'll try to pray extra hard." He still wasn't sure, but his ma had always been right in the past, so he was willing to give it a try.

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

The ride to church was full of gentle teasing and familiar laughter. They crowded into one wagon, no one wanting to miss Grampa's travel tale. Whatever story was chosen, when Grampa Curry told it, it was full of excitement and adventure. And it took the entire trip to tell it.

Brendan Curry never hurried a tale. And no one would have wanted him to.

This Christmas he told the story of how Saint Boniface encountered pagans who were about to sacrifice a child at the base of an oak tree. "Seems they thought that tree was a god. Well, he couldn't let that happen, so he just walked right up to them, took up an ax, and before ye knew it, that giant tree was laying on the ground. Why, them pagans were so dumbfounded, they just stood there lookin' at him.”

"Then do ye know what happened?" He stopped and looked at the sets of wide eyes fixed on him.

Heads started shaking.

"No, Grampa, what happened?" five-year-old Conor finally asked.

"You all want to know?" His laugh echoed over the snow as he watched the heads nod vigorously up and down. "Well, then Boniface jumped up on the stump of that oak, and just as calm as ye please, told them that his God was stronger than any old tree god. And then, just to prove his point, didn't a fir tree spring up right then and there in the place of that oak.”

"Saint Boniface took one look at that tree and told the pagans that it was the Tree of Life and represented Christ. And so the first Christmas tree was born. And each year, when we have our own Christmas tree, we always remember this first tree and what it means."

He stopped and for a moment there was quiet in the wagon as each person thought about what he'd said.

Then from somewhere a snowball hit Jed in the arm.

"Hey!" he cried, looking around for the culprit. His gaze first went to his best friend, but Hannibal had been silent the entire trip and his eyes were closed tight. Jed would have asked what was wrong, but somehow it seemed everyone suddenly had snowballs, and the rest of the trip was consumed in a close range war.

By the time they reached Lawrence, they were all red-cheeked and laughing. There were greetings exchanged as the wagon bearing the two families reached the church and they found friends waiting for them. The adults joined their friends in conversation while the children eagerly compared presents, all but Hannibal, who hadn't moved from the wagon.

Rachel came and stood beside the boy, her voice a bright tease as she asked, "Are you all right, Hannibal? I've never seen you so quiet. Why, you didn't interrupt Grampa once during the ride to church. Are you sick or something?"

He moved away from her. "Go 'way, Rach."

The girl studied him, seeing the slump of his slender shoulders. She called out to him, "What's wrong? You know you'll feel better if you just say it out."

He stopped and she watched him take a deep sigh before he turned around.

He stood stiffly in front of her, a firm set to his jaw. "Oh, all right, if ya gotta know . . . Jed got me a present, and I didn't get nothing for him." He looked at her, anger darkening his eyes. He just knew she hated him, but it wasn't his fault. He'd just forgotten, that's all.

All right, he thought looking at her, get it over with. Tell me I'm mean and awful and shouldn't even have Jed as a partner.

Rachel's forehead creased in a frown, but she was silent.

Hannibal stared at her deep blue eyes, daring her to be mad at him. Or disappointed. Or something. Just not silent. That was the worst. Finally, the anger slipped away from him. She really did hate him. He turned away from her and started walking away.

"Hannibal? Wait a minute. Hannibal, please, stop." She reached out and caught his arm.

He closed his eyes against what he knew she was going to say.

"Hannibal." She moved around to face him, once again studying his face in a way much older than her ten and a half years. "Don't worry, you'll think of something. You always do." And in a heartbeat she was gone; skipping away to talk to the other girls, laughing and showing them her bracelet.

It was his turn to watch her. You'll think of something. That was all she'd said. She wasn't mad at him. Suddenly, it didn't seem so hopeless. If both his ma and Rachel thought he could fix it…maybe Ma was right. He'd been praying read hard on the ride into town. Maybe it was working. He decided he'd have to try even harder once he got into church.

He smiled and ran to catch up with the other boys.

Lawrence was bustling this early Christmas morning. Men and women from town and from farms and ranches wore their very best to celebrate the day. And it didn't seem to matter how much or how little they had, today people spoke to one another as friends, excited about the prosperity that had come to their town. New people were moving to Lawrence every day. The railroad’s presence was strong here, and a University was being built. These were good times.

The preacher talked about forgiveness and love, about a special child. The adults tried to still their own impatient children. Jed tried to whisper to Hannibal, but the older boy seemed to be sick or something. He just kept his eyes closed and his hands folded.

When it came time to leave, Muireann Heyes had to prod her oldest son to get his attention. The other children laughed. Hannibal just scrunched up his face, stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and followed the families out into the clear cold day.

"Hannibal?" Muireann had watched him throughout the service. Now she stopped him before they reached the wagon. "Darlin', what's wrong? Are ye not feeling well?" She put her hand on his forehead.

"I prayed, Ma, all the way to church and all through church. And I still don't know what to do. And Jed's gonna want me to open his present. And, and– And you said if I prayed real hard, I'd get my answer, but I didn't. I didn't get any answer at all." He looked both desperate and accusatory at the same time.

She almost laughed until she saw the pain in her son's eyes. "Hannibal, m'love. You know it isn't like that. You can't be expecting God to drop a gift out of Heaven into your hands, now can ye? You're looking for something that can't be seen. Jedediah doesn't care if you have a gift for him or not. You've given him your friendship. P'raps that's your answer, darlin'. That's the gift from your heart to him, and that's the only gift that really matters." She smiled at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

He stood quietly, listening to her. All around them people were laughing and talking. The children were playing. People were bundling up in carriages and wagons, heading for home. Slowly he nodded and reached for her hand.

"I understand, Ma. I think. I just wish–" His words were cut off by his father's voice.

"Come along, Molly, there's time for talk when we're in front of the fire with a glass in our hands." Scooping Hannibal onto his shoulder, and taking his wife's arm, Daniel Heyes made his way to the wagon.

There was laughter ringing from the others already seated.

"A story. We'll need a story for the ride home. Father, have ya a decent story for the journey?" Brigid Curry asked as she sat next to her father-in-law.

"A story is it. Why, didn't I tell ye a fine story already?" This scene had been replayed, year after year. "Well, I suppose a story to bide us over 'til we reach home would be all right. Let me think . . . I know, the Wren Boys." His eyes twinkled wickedly.

"Aye, the Wren Boys. A fitting story given the morrow's the Feast of Saint Stephen," James Curry laughed, slapping his father on the back.

"We'll have none of that. Wren Boys, indeed." Brigid Curry tried to scold her husband and father-in-law, but there was too much laughter in her voice for anyone to take it seriously.

"Who're the Wren Boys, Grampa?" A small voice asked.

Everyone looked when Hannibal spoke for the first time.

"Well, I thought one of the little people had stolen your tongue, Grandson. You're seldom so still as this day."

Everyone laughed. For the truth was, Hannibal usually talked and talked and questioned and interrupted and in general annoyed as many as he could. But he couldn't help it, he'd been born with both a quick mind and an insatiable curiosity.

"Well, who are the Wren Boys, Grandfather?" Rachel's soft voice echoed Hannibal's question and she smiled at him.

"Daughters?" It was less a request for approval and more a victory statement.

Both women just sighed, resigned to losing another battle with their father-in-law. In fact, both women saw him as the father they'd lost on the long journey from Ireland. He was all they had in the way of parents now. And the only grandparent to the children.

"Very well, go on then, but there'll be no shenanigans tomorrow." Muireann Heyes was losing the fight to remain any more serious than her sister.

"Aye, to be sure. We'll be as sober as judges." He winked at Hannibal and started the tale. "The wren, 'tis such a tiny thing, but very important to our people. Why, this little creature betrayed our brave soldiers fighting the heathen. They'd swoop down and beat their wings against the shields our men were wearing, creatin' such a sound that the heathen found them and murdered them all. And then didn't the same wren turn right around and betray our own Saint Stephen, so he was put to death. So, in the old days, boys would find the wren, kill the little thing and put it in a box with holly. Then the boys would dress in straw – straw petticoats, and cloaks made of straw, and march through the streets of the town, singing and playing the flute and drum."

"Causin' mischief, you mean," Brigid Curry interjected. "Why, they'd march through town, singin' and dancin' at all hours, and if ye didn't give them a coin or a sweet, why, they'd likely drag ye out of your own house and take you along. Mischief, plain and simple."

"Aye, now Bridey, it wasn't mischief you were talking about when I was the one comin' to your door, singin'," James teased his wife, causing a deep blush.

"Never mind that, James Michael Curry." She fanned herself to get rid of the red in her cheeks. "And never mind, any of you." She gaze swept across the others in the wagon, some of whom changed their minds about further comment.

"G'on, Grampa. What else do they do?" Patrick had the same blond hair and blue eyes as his twin sister and their mother and was the most serious of all the children.

"Aye, Patrick, they do indeed cause mischief. Ah, well, they also go 'round to the neighbors and sing a rhyme from the old country. . .

The wren, the wren the king of all birds
On St. Stephen's day he got caught in the furze.
Although he was little, the family was great.
Up with the kettle, down with the pan
Give us a penny to bury the wren.

So, ye all see, it's not beggin', nor is it demandin'. It's payment for song." He stopped as the wagon reached the Curry farm.

"And you'll all be putting whatever ideas he's given you right out of your minds, if ye know what's good for ye," Brigid said to no one and everyone. She reached out to accept her husband's offer of help from the wagon.

"Come along, Bridey, you'll feel better when you're in your own home." As he set her down, he tightened his grip around her waist and from the depths of his coat pocket pulled out a sprig of mistletoe, which he held over her head.

"James, where on Earth–? Come in the house . . . I've married a fool to be sure." She tried to pull away, but he held her fast.

"Now, you know the tradition, my dear. A kiss is mine." Without waiting for her response, he kissed her, to the applause of the adults and the embarrassed giggles of the children.

"All right now, enough foolishness," Muireann laughed. "Brigid, come along, now. We have dinner to prepare. Rachel, will you be helpin' us?" She linked her arms through her sister's and niece's. "Daniel, you and James keep the boys and Father outside, and out of trouble, 'til dinner's ready."

The women had already done most of the work, but there was still quite a bit to do to get ready by the traditional serving time of three o'clock. The turkey had to be stuffed and roasted, the potatoes had to be cooked just right, and the vegetables cleaned and prepared. There was bread to knead one last time and then bake.

They retrieved the Christmas plum pudding. Done perfectly, or so they hoped. Rachel set the table, bright with red and green cloths and gift-filled crackers at each place.

Outside echoed the sounds of the shooting contest that Daniel and James organized each year to keep the boys busy while dinner was being finished.

Grampa Curry sat with Conor, whittling a whistle for him.

"You did just fine, Alexander. Two out of ten cans. So, let me see. We have Michael, three out of ten. Patrick, one," Daniel said as he reset the cans and reloaded the gun.

The gun. He studied it as he packed the powder. He should have found a way to get rid of it. An old Colt Navy. Who knew where the man who'd left it had picked it up. He'd said he wouldn't be needing it any more when they'd sent him on to his new life as a free man. He'd just handed him the box and headed North to Canada.

Well, at least it was good for a shooting match. He slowly loaded the pellets and packed the powder.

He looked at the two boys. "Hannibal or Jed? Which of you boys want to go next?"

"Han can go, Uncle Daniel." Jed was practicing with the toy gun on his hip.

Hannibal reluctantly took the gun from his father, testing its weight.

"Careful now, son, never point a gun at anyone. Just hold it firmly and point it at the cans." He settled the gun in his son's small hand and helped him hold it steady. "Use two hands if you have to, Hannibal. It's heavy when you're not used to it."

Hannibal wondered how his father was "used" to holding a gun, but he raised his other hand to steady the weapon.

The two men had taken turns, standing behind the boys to lessen the recoil they'd experience after they'd fired the gun. Both men knew that their sons would have to know how to use a gun, for their own protection. As much as they both hated that thought, they were realists. So the match served two purposes, fun and learning.

"I can do it, Pa."

He took a deep breath and fired the gun, missing the first can and slamming backwards into his father's arms. He'd seen the other boys do exactly the same thing, but he was sure it wasn't going to happen to him. Stunned that it had, and breathless from the force of the blast, he wobbled back up.

He frowned and shook out his hand and arm. The others watched his face, determined and set. He aimed at the second can. Missed again, but he stayed upright. He fired a third time and the can went down. His family cheered as they had with the others who'd been successful. The fourth and fifth cans stayed up. The sixth fell after he clipped it. The seventh was a clean miss.

He took a deep breath and shook out his arm again. The last three shots knocked the cans of cleanly. He turned to Jed, who was smiling and to his father.

"Five out of ten. That's fine shootin', Hannibal. You been practicin' and not telling anyone?" His father took the gun from his son's still-shaking hands.

"No, Pa. Guess I was just lucky." Almost shyly, he went and sat down next to Jed.