Early Alias-Fall 1861
by
"Get
out of here, Kid, you're too little."
Jed
Curry stuck out his chin, grumpily watching his elder brothers cut fence posts.
Michael and Sean swung their axes almost in unison, the sharp metal edges
slicing through the wood as if it were paper. Small chips of wood flew around them, landing in three heads
of blond curly hair.
"Kid,
if you get hurt, Ma'll give you such a lickin'." Michael wiped sweat off his forehead. At fourteen he was
nearly adult height and towered over his younger brother, "Go play."
"C'mon,
Jed, go find something to do,"
Sean urged more kindly, brushing sawdust out of his hair. "See if there's any lemonade at
the house, or something to eat, I'm starving."
"I
could swing an ax," Jed Curry
muttered to himself, flicking his slingshot. He passed the corner of the barn,
then stuck his head back around the edge, watching Michael. Scooping up a small
rock from the ground, he slotted it into his sling, aimed and fired one at his
brother's backside. It landed with a satisfying thud, but Jed ran like a rabbit
up to the house without watching the results. He knew he'd hit what he was
aiming at; he always did. He just didn't want to be too near Michael when the
rock found its mark.
The
farmhouse kitchen was steamily hot, bustling with women making jelly. Huge vats
of berries bubbled on the cast iron stove, and rows of glinting mason jars were
lined up on the plank table, waiting to be filled.
Slipping
in between calico skirts, Jed snagged still warm slices of bread off a plate
not the sideboard.
"Kid,
get out of here, we're really busy,"
Maura Curry shooed her youngest son, juggling a pot-full of jelly off
the range. "You could get
burned if I spilled this."
"Mike'l
n' Sean are hungry," Kid
spoke up, dodging one of his elder sisters carrying a sack of sugar. "They want something t'eat."
"Katherine
will send something out soon." Maura began scooping hot, crimson jelly
into jars. "Now, stay out of the way. You're too little to be in
here."
"Isabella
gets to help." He stuffed the
bread into his mouth before it was confiscated, sidling past bustling skirts
towards the door.
"I'm
twelve," Isabella sneered.
"I'm older than you."
She wrote out labels for the jars with schoolgirl penmanship.
"I'll
be nine next week," Jed
grumbled. He slid down the wall of
the house outside the kitchen door, hugging his knees. Nobody wanted him around. He was never old enough, never big
enough and never in the right place at the right time. Well, someday he'd show them. Someday he'd be somebody and everybody
would know who he was. He pulled out the slingshot, idly plunking rocks at the
kitchen yard pump.
"Kid,
you're too old to be sitting around throwing rocks," His father's deep voice boomed across
the yard. "Finish your
chores. Milk the cows."
"I'll
be nine next week," Kid vowed.
"I'm gonna show everybody." He ducked into the darkening barn, grabbing up milking
pails. Bessy, Daisy, Iris and Belle mooed insistently at him, their huge udders
heavy with milk. He began rhythmically pulling on the teats, filling buckets
with frothy white cream.
Several
barn cats arrived, meowing as they slunk around Jed's feet, their tails sliding
softly against his arms. With an agile flick of the wrist, Kid directed streams
of milk into each cat's mouth, never spilling a drop. He filled two buckets from each cow, until the barn was too
dark to see his hands. Then he
sat, gently rubbing a kitten's head, enjoying the solitude.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Don't
you follow us to school,Ó Isabella warned her brother. "We don't want little boys
around.Ó
ÒI'm
not little," Jed negated,
straightening up to his full height, even standing up on his toes.
"Go
play with the little boys,"
Isabella warned, flouncing down the road towards the one roomed
schoolhouse, surrounded by several girls.
Children were congregating from all over towards the school, little
groups collecting as friends reunited and games formed.
In
the bare dirt behind the building, a handful of boys chased a ball, wrestling
good-naturedly and shouting encouragement to their teammates. Kid watched eagerly, hoping for an
opening to play. Michael, Sean and
their cousin, Hannibal Heyes, were huddled together to formulate a strategy,
and Jed ran over to join them.
"Oh,
Kid, get out of here!"
Michael snapped.
"You're too little to play."
"But
. . ." He sighed as the boys
surged past him, chasing the ball to the other goal-line. "Caleb Hunter is playing and he's
NINE."
Hannibal
Heyes dropped down next to Kid, nursing a bruised knee. "Caleb Hunter is bigger'n me, Kid.
You're too little."
"It's
not fair." Jed clenched his jaw, unwilling to let his cousin see tears.
"Everyone is bigger'n me."
"Yeah,
you're short." Heyes grinned at him, "But you'll grow. Everybody
does. Your brother Michael wasn't very big either."
"An'
he's huge now." Kid grinned
back. He couldn't stay grumpy next
to Heyes' infectious smile.
"Really way too big."
"Enormous.
I'd never want to be that big." Heyes shook his head. "C'mon, Miss O'Reilly'll be
ringing the bell soon anyway."
He hauled his cousin up by the hand and propelled him to the
schoolhouse. At eleven, Heyes had
recently gained a few inches and could easily see over Kid's head. Despite that, Caleb Hunter was still
taller than both of them. He
preferred to stay away from Caleb Hunter.
"D'jou
have to do chores after school?" Kid asked over his shoulder as he joined
the line of children streaming into the building.
"Only
a couple." Heyes nodded. "Come home with me. Ma's making cinnamon
rolls."
"Oh,
yeah, It's Thursday," Jed agreed, before sliding into his seat.
Classes
proceeded as usual, with Miss O'Reilly keeping an uncertain hand on the unruly
crowd. The room was top heavy with
older boys nearing the graduating age of sixteen. Then, they'd be free and Katie O'Reilly wouldn't mind being
rid of them, particularly the elder Curry brothers. Now, the little one, the youngest, she quite liked. He was polite, and actually paid some
attention in class. Some of the
time.
"Jed,
can you answer the arithmetic problem on the black board?" Miss O'Reilly
pointed.
Caught
day-dreaming, Kid jerked up in surprise.
He stared at the board uncertainly, then flicked a glance at Hannibal,
one desk over. "Fourteen times nine?" He voiced aloud.
"First
graders, eyes on your own problems," Miss O'Reilly instructed the three
six year olds in the front row.
"This is third grade material."
Heyes
slid the deck of cards he'd been thumbing under his slate and wrote 126 on the
front. He then knocked it accidentally to the floor.
"Miss?"
Isabella Curry held up an urgent hand, "Caleb Hunter is . . ."
"No
tattling, Isabella." Miss O'Reilly sighed. "Caleb, on the stool,
NOW!" She didn't have to be
told what he was doing; it was always mischief and rarely schoolwork.
Jed
ducked his head to read the slate on the floor before Heyes' foot rubbed the
numbers off. Michael Curry watched
over the edge of his history book, collecting more ammunition against his
younger brother to use in the war between siblings.
"Fifth
graders, finish your division." Miss O'Reilly glanced over at Caleb, who
had settled into his usual corner stool without a word of protest. "Hannibal, pick your slate up off
the floor. Jed, what, pray tell, is the answer?"
"One
twenty six," he supplied.
"You
took a long time to figure that one out," she admonished, "Practice your nine times tables all
the way to twenty."
"Yes,
ma'am." He slumped down into
the seat. He wasn't sure he
remembered any of them. He began
writing. Nine times one is
nine. Nine times two is eighteen.
He smiled at that one. To be two
times nine. He'd be out of
school. He'd find something that
he could do that no one else could, and he'd be tall. Nine times three is twenty-seven. Now, that seemed an
eternity from now. Twenty-seven.
What would happen when he was that old?
"Hannibal
Heyes, hand over that deck."
Miss O'Reilly's voice broke through Kid's reverie. "I told you I'd confiscate those
cards the next time I saw them."
Heyes
looked up, brown eyes all innocence. "I was using them to practice my
division," he protested.
"And
how do you do that?"
"He
gambles," Isabella spoke up, nudging her seat partner, Sinead, who nodded
in agreement.
"I
take five cards," Hannibal declared, "Three twos, an eight and four
of clubs," he slid each card out of his hand as he named it. "Eight
divided by two is four, four divided by two is two. . ."
"Hand
over the deck," Miss O'Reilly
said icily. "And write ÔI
will not sass in classÕ fifty times on your slate."
"Yes, Ma'am." Heyes palmed several cards before
handing the rest of the deck to the teacher.
"You're
way too young to be playing cards, anyway." Miss O'Reilly shook her
head. "It's a corrupt habit.
Michael, Sean and Joseph, recite your history lessons."
"Miss
O'Reilly, what about more current history?" Joseph Hunter, the only boy
who'd actually read the history, asked.
"What about the secession of the Southern States? The battle at Fort
Sumter?"
"We
won't discuss that here." She
frowned. ÒHannibal's crusade over the Alps will do for you."
Heyes
giggled, ducking his head over his slate.
He'd written ÔI will not sass in classÕ only three times.
Kid
poked his cousin in the side, mouthing "Hannibal" and joining the
giggling. It was instantly
contagious.
With
now half a dozen students laughing, Kate O'Reilly fumed. Flipping open the watch pined to her
blouse, she announced.
"Silent reading until dismissal. And not a sound from any of you."
Two
dozen heads bent over readers, but several pair of eyes slid across the pages
to glower at Heyes.
Three
o'clock arrived at long last and the entire student body erupted from the
schoolroom.
"You
got us in trouble," Caleb Hunter sneered at Heyes, his hand on the smaller
boy's chest. "I don't like
having silent reading."
"Cause
you can't read," Heyes said reasonably.
"Hit
him, Caleb!Ó someone urged, a crowd beginning to form. "Send Hannibal over
the Alps."
"
Can't, no elephants." Heyes grinned, dimples flashing in both cheeks. "Boys, I can't stay." He backed away as a rock from Kid's
slingshot dinged Caleb just above the ear. "Got to run!" Heyes dashed through the jostling
students, towards his already running cousin. They disappeared out of the
school yard and up the road before Caleb could get out of the dirt.
Both
boys collapsed, laughing, under a large elm, arms around each other.
"Thanks." Heyes pulled
out the last few cards he'd saved.
"Shame. I was planning on a game after school."
"Nobody'll
play with you anymore." Kid
looked up through the tree to the sky. "You win too much."
"I
don't win enough, Kid, not enough."
Heyes fanned the four cards he had left. "Ten, jack, queen and
king."
"You
need an ace."
"Royal
flush." Heyes nodded. "Too bad they're not in the same
suit." He watched
absently as Kid lined up the sling shot with a dandelion fluff and pulled back
the sling. The flower's head burst into a shower of white
seedlings.
"Betcha
can't hit that one." Heyes
indicated a clump of dandelions another fifty feet further.
"Can." Kid eyed the flowers and demolished
them with a twitch of the slingshot.
"You're
good." Heyes pursed his
lips. "Can you hit anything
you set your mind to?"
"So
far." Kid shrugged, "But it's not real useful."
"You
knocked Caleb on the head."
"Yeah." He brightened. "Now, if it'd only help with
multiplication tables. I'm hungry.
Cinnamon rolls?" Kid reminded.
The
cousins meandered their way up to the Heyes homestead, detouring through two
pastures and wading a small stream.
It was perfect Indian Summer weather and there seemed to be excitement
in the very air. Between the two
of them, they made short work of mucking out the stalls before appropriating
some tasty examples of Mary Heyes' baking.
"What's
your Ma baking?" Heyes licked
sugar off his fingers.
"Just
plain bread," Kid said "She says there's too many of us
for fancy baking."
"C'mon,
let's go up there," Heyes
urged. "There's always
something going on at your house."
The
Heyes and Curry homes stood approximately a mile apart on a dead end road, with
the Curry farm the last destination.
The two boys traveled the distance so frequently that they barely
noticed the route anymore and were therefore surprised to actually see someone
else on the road. Two men on
horses were nearly into the Curry's gate when the boys pelted up behind them.
"Aaron!
Ian!" Kid yelped
gleefully. "You're
back!"
"Hey,
Baby Brother." Ian swung Jed
up in front of him, into the saddle.
Aaron did the same for Hannibal.
"Missed you."
"Were
you in the War?" Kid asked
excitedly. "Didja get to see
any fighting?"
"We
got shot at," Aaron told
him, "And we shot
back." He dismounted in the
yard, leaving Heyes on the horse.
"Kid,
it's not a game." Ian
frowned, "We saw more'n enough fighting." He swung down from the horse.
"Oh,
my Lord!" Maura Curry ran off
the porch to embrace her elder sons, as most of the Curry family emerged from
their various duties on the farm to greet the returning soldiers. "Your father will be back from the
fields shortly."
"I
told you there's always something goin' on at your house," Heyes declared to his cousin,
dismounting almost in unison with the Kid.
"Look
at you two," Maura
sighed. "You look half
starved. I'll start some
dinner." She herded several daughters back into the house. "Mary Anna, go wring another
chicken's neck. Deirdre, start
some more dough. Isabella, Sinead,
in the kitchen. We got
chores."
"But
. . . " Isabella fumed as she watched all the males head around the barn.
"Butter
churning, NOW," Maura
finished her 'but'.
"You
got some new hardware," Sean
said admiringly as Aaron slid his new pistol out of the holster.
"Come
around back," Ian encouraged
his brothers. "We can catch
up out of Ma's sight."
"C'mon,
let's go," Kid urged
Hannibal, trailing the older boys.
"Kid,
they're not gonna let you stay."
Heyes laughed. " You're too little."
"I
am NOT! I can't believe you're doing it, too!"
"Kid,
you're eight years old."
"I'm
nine next week," he
hissed. "And I'm gonna do
something nobody else here can do."
"What?" Heyes asked, only half in jest. He did
feel badly that Jed tended to get left out of activities, but he was plain
little. Being two years older,
Heyes felt a natural superiority.
By
the time the younger boys caught up with the elder Currys, they were passing
around a small bottle, trading ribald stories.
"Quiet," Ian ordered, elbowing Sean. "Little pitchers have big ears."
"Ah,
Kid, get outta here," Michael
ordered, taking a swing from the bottle of moonshine.
"I
don't have to."
"Let
him stay," Ian soothed. "Stay out of the way,
Jed." He lifted his youngest
brother up and sat him on the corral fence. "Han, you, too. We're gonna be shooting."
"Aaron,
pull out that six iron,"
Michael urged eagerly.
"I wanna try it out."
"Wait,
let me find some targets."
Sean rummaged through a pile that bore mute testimony of how often the
older Currys had spent time behind the barn. He pulled out several beer bottles and a rusty bean tin,
pushing aside some crumpled playing cards. After lining the bottles up on the opposite corral fence, he
backed up, looking over at Ian. As
the eldest brother, he deserved the first try. Sean snagged the moonshine from Michael and settled back to
watch.
Kid
hooked his legs around the fence, grinning over at Heyes. Finally, he was one of the older boys.
Maybe if he worked it just right, one of them would accidentally pass him the
jug, too.
Ian
stood loosely, wearing the gun in his holster, slung low on his hips. With an easy, fluid motion, he pulled
the gun from the holster, sighted at the targets and fired. The first beer bottle shattered, as did
the second, but he missed the third.
The next beer bottle lost it's neck, but remained up on the fence, and
finally the tin can toppled over, wounded but not fatally.
"Slick," Michael said admiringly.
"I
wanna do that," Kid sighed.
"In
your dreams, Kid." Michael
laughed as Aaron set up some more targets. "This is for your elders. You're a little
kid." He shoved against his
brother's knee, nearly toppling him off the fence. Only Heyes' quick hand kept
Kid from falling.
"Michael,
leave him alone," Ian warned,
seeing things hadn't changed between his two youngest brothers. "You're bigger than he is."
"I
could do that," Kid repeated
more softly so only Heyes could hear him.
"Y'know,
I think you could." Heyes
watched as Aaron buckled on the gunbelt.
Aaron
had an almost innate sense of the gun.
It seemed part of his hand as he cleared the holster and aimed without
seeming to. Four of the five
targets were decimated, but the bullet flew just above the bean tin, barely
skimming the upper edge. It
teetered for a moment, but stayed upright.
"Your
turn, Sean," Aaron said, gloating just a little at his prowess. He knew
Sean would never top that.
Sean
had the same easy skill as his brothers, and a decent aim, but he'd only fired
a pistol a few times before. He
took out three bottles and sent the bean tin toppling off the fence, without
actually piercing it with a bullet.
"Getting
good," Ian encouraged. He swallowed a mouthful of 'shine,
setting the jug on a fence post before digging into the garbage pile for a few
more bottles.
Kid
sidled down the fence rail towards the bottle, eyes on his elder brothers. He was within a foot of his next
passage into manhood when Sean grabbed the bottle to take a drink.
"Better
luck next time." Heyes
commented, a smirky grin deepening his dimples.
"All
ready, Michael." Ian pulled
the bottle away from Sean, waiting as Michael buckled on the gunbelt.
Michael
didn't even pause. His hand swung
the gun up, fingers pulling the trigger in one motion. He had amazing speed, but cockiness and
impatience threw his timing. He
destroyed the first bottle, but missed the next two. Taking a steadying breath, he slowed down and shattered the
fourth and fifth bottles. "I
want this gun."
"Can't
have it." Aaron held out his
hand, "One practice per brother. I'll need to buy more bullets."
"I
got money. Please, Aar." Michael let the gun dangle from his
trigger finger. "I like shooting."
"Later,
target practice is over."
"How
'bout me?" Heyes spoke up,
jumping off the fence. "I
want to try."
"Me,
too," Kid agreed.
"Oh,
C'mon, not the kids." Sean
groaned.
"Why
not?" Michael said
generously. "Let 'em show
off. They won't hit a thing."
"I
told you, I ain't got much more ammunition," Aaron argued.
"Let
the children play with the guns,"
Michael sneered.
"They'll get it out of their minds and leave us alone to do real shooting."
"I'll
get some bottles." Kid ran
over to the midden pile, collecting several objects. "Heyes! I found you
TWO aces."
"I
wondered where those went last Saturday." Sean stared at Michael, remembering their recent game.
"The
gunbelt will never fit you, Han."
Aaron tried to buckle it around his cousin. He looped Heyes' own belt
around the holster to keep it up.
"Go ahead, try."
"Don't
let Aunt Mary find out you're letting him pick up a pistol. " Ian shook his head. "Not to mention Ma."
Heyes
hefted the pistol. It was heavy,
but he felt suddenly mature, one of the guys. He didn't have the Curry
brothers' innate ability, but he had style and a careful aim. He'd never held a
pistol before, but had shot a rifle.
The pistol was smaller, colder in his hand and the recoil was
different. He slammed two tin cans
off the fence and chipped the neck off the bottle.
"You
didn't think he could do it, did you?" Ian chuckled to Michael. "HannibalÕs growing up."
"That
was great!" Kid jumped up
from the dirt where he'd been collecting more targets. "Now, it's my turn."
"Jed,
you can't even see over the fence."
Ian tried to talk him out of it.
"He barely kept the belt up, you can't."
"I
CAN," Kid insisted, stubbornly setting his
jaw.
"He
can't even hold up the gun, " Michael scoffed.
"Let
him try?" Heyes tried to
fasten the belt around Kid's waist. It slid to the ground, prompting guffaws from
Michael and Sean.
Ian
looked down at his youngest brother, blue eyes to blue eyes. "This is the only time. Don't tell
Ma."
"Never." Kid hung the buckled belt over one
shoulder and across his chest like a bandoleer, with the holster on his right hip. He cradled the long pistol in both
hands, a thrill running down his spine.
Despite the size and weight of the gun, it felt right in his hand, like
it fit him.
Heyes
looked at his collection of targets.
"Not hardly any more bottles left, Kid." He set up two tin
cans, one bottle missing a neck and a rotten apple. "There's only the old
cards here, and I want those."
"Stick
some of 'em up there," Kid
instructed, holstering the gun.
"Who
can hit a playin' card?"
Aaron laughed.
"Kid
can hit anything." Heyes
informed him proudly.
As
the older Currys settled back against the fence, passing the jug amongst each
other, Kid faced the line of targets. He took a slow breath, focusing on the
gun.
He
grasped the gun butt, his wrist protesting the weight, and easily cleared the
holster. He had the same inborn
ability as all his other brothers, but with an almost unnerving speed and
accuracy. He blasted holes through
the tin cans, then shattered the beer bottle. A direct hit made sauce of the apple. Without even seeming
the aim, Kid put a hole through the spade on the ace.
"My
God," Ian whispered, the
other three Currys standing stunned, staring at Jed.
"I
knew I could do that better'n you,"
Kid boasted up at Michael.
"I
knew you could, too." Heyes
threw his arms around him, lifting him up off the ground. "You're betterÕn' anybody."
"That's
unnatural." Michael
grimaced. "Beginner's
luck."
"Where
did you learn that, Baby?"
Ian asked, crouching down to Kid's level. "How can you shoot like
that?"
"Don't
know. I just can." Kid felt
filled with pride, like his body was growing bigger.
"Well,
you're really good." Ian
pulled the gun belt off him, "But don't play with this. It's not a toy. Bullets can kill you."
"I
know." Kid relinquished the
gun, frowning at Ian's concerns.
"It's not hard to pull a trigger."
"But
it should be." Ian looked
around at his family, four nearly identical blond haired, blue eyes boys and
one brown haired, brown eyed boy, feeling suddenly fearful. The war had already swept up he and
Aaron, and he had no doubts that Sean and possibly Michael would follow them
back to the battlefield when they left the next day. Would he ever see Jed or Hannibal again, and how would the
War have changed them?
"Supper's
ready!" one of the sisters
called from the house. "And
Hannibal's to go HOME!"
"If
I didn't think Ma would whup us all, I'd tell Pa how this one can
shoot." Aaron threw an arm
around Kid's shoulder. "Bye,
Han."
"Bye,
Han." Kid beamed. "Can I shoot again after
supper?"
"No!" Chorused all the elder Currys, but Kid
didn't mind. He'd showed them, he
was big enough to something better than anybody else and there were still six
days until his birthday. Maybe
he'd grow a couple inches by then, as well. At least he could try!