Story Challenge

The First Meeting

By Grace R Williams

Here goes! It's more of a story snippet than a story. I've never thought of the boys as
anything but cousins before, so this is a new perspective for me. Enjoy!

The morning dew hung heavy on the tall grass near the pond where the boy fished. He
came here often in the early morning hours. He thought his best thoughts here. It was
quiet. The frogs croaking, the insects buzzing. Life here was close to perfect. So why
was it Hannibal Heyes couldn't stop thinking about what life was like somewhere else?
He'd never been farther than the county fair, yet in his mind he could see the places he'd
only read about in books. The great pyramids in Egypt, knights and kings in Europe,
huge animals you'd never believe were real in a place called Africa. His heart longed for
the opportunity to see the world, but his feet were stuck, planted on a farm in Kansas.

Today a soft noise drew him from his thoughts. A young boy with curly, blond hair
appeared across the pond eating an apple and wiping his mouth clumsily on his sleeve.
The two saw each other at precisely the same moment, their eyes locking. The blond
boy, who appeared to be a couple years younger than Hannibal, approached without any
reservations. He held an apple out in his dirty hand. Hannibal accepted the offering,
"Ain't seen ya around here before, kid, what's yer name?"

"Jed Curry," came the reply through a mouthful of apple. "Just moved here from
Pennsylvania."

"You must be the family that bought the old Mason farm next to ours. My name's
Hannibal Heyes." Hannibal held out his hand like he'd seen his father do when he met
someone new and the two joined hands. In that moment, two fates were sealed as one.

***

From here, you can pretty much guess the rest of the story. There were the pranks in the
schoolyard, a couple stolen kisses from Mary Sue with the pigtails (she never told them
whose she liked better), an incident or two of frogs in the teacher's lunch pail and of
course those long luxurious summer days spent fishing and skinny dipping in the pond.

Each boy with his dreams. Each boy with hopes they expressed only to each other.
Neither one suspecting the grim reality of their future. So, it is here we will leave them, in
the blissful innocence of their youth. Basking in the warmth of the summer sun, their
futures waiting to be written.

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By Maz McCoy

Outside the window, the wind was howling on a particularly inclement evening. Inside it
was warm and cozy. Lamps burned with a comforting glow and the fire crackled, as
shadows danced around the room. Hannibal Heyes felt the warm water on his skin and
looked up into the eyes of the beautiful dark-haired woman bathing him. He smiled and
the woman smiled back.

“You know I think I love you more each day,” she said, planting a kiss on his head.

She washed his back gently with a cloth and the soap slid beneath the water.

“Oops,” she laughed and he reached into the bath to find it.

Beside him, Jed Curry was in the hands of an equally attentive young woman. Warm
water cascaded down his naked body. A pile of soft white towels lay on a nearby chair.

“So what do you think of your new cousin?” Mrs. Heyes asked her son as she finished
washing his hair.

“Pink,” Hannibal replied, shooting a quick glance at the tiny baby in the wash tub beside
him.

“He’s gorgeous,” Mrs. Curry cooed. Jed gave a slight gurgle.

“He’s going to break a few hearts when he’s older, I’m sure,” Mrs. Heyes agreed. “But I
think you’ll break just as many Hannibal,” she added as she wrapped a towel around her
son and lifted him from the bath tub.

“I do hope our boys will get along,” Mrs. Curry said as she ran a handful of water over
Jed’s fine blond hair.

“Well they’re our sons, so they are obviously going to be highly intelligent. Why
wouldn’t they get along?” Hannibal’s mother asked, as she toweled her son dry. “And if
they’re typical of the boys in my family, they’ll get into to all sorts of scrapes together.”

“Well then let’s hope they look out for each other,” Mrs. Curry said and Jed gave a loud
burp. “Oh my!”

“I think Jed just offered to watch Han’s back,” Mrs. Heyes suggested.

“Pink,” added Hannibal and the two young mothers dissolved into laughter.

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By JoAnn Baker

Hannibal Heyes eyed the newcomer with interest. The boy looked too young to have been
sent to the area that housed the older boys. Hannibal had only been moved there recently
and he was nearly fourteen. He knew they’d allowed him to stay longer than usual
because the schoolmaster enjoyed his contributions to classroom discussion and because
he helped with the instruction of the younger children. The youngest residents of
Valparaiso Home for Waywards were given instruction in reading, writing and arithmetic
while the older boys were expected to work to earn their keep.

Many of the younger children had been sent there because their fathers were fighting in
the war and their mothers couldn’t afford to feed them. By the time boys reached
Hannibal’s age, most of them either returned to relatives to help work their farms or were
apprenticed to a trade. With so many men off fighting, boys of fourteen or fifteen were
taking the men’s jobs. Hannibal however, had nowhere to go. His folks had been killed
early in the conflict and he had no relatives in Kansas that he knew of.

“Hey,” Hannibal called, walking toward the young boy. “What’s your name kid?”

The small blonde boy looked at Hannibal “I ain’t a kid,” the boy shot back quickly. “I’m
twelve.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow and the new boy looked down at the dirt, kicking up some
dust with one foot. “Almost,” he replied softly.

“I bet you could pass for ten if you tried,” Hannibal observed, looking the boy over. “You
could go to school and do light chores instead of working all day.”

“I never had much use for book learnin’,” the boy replied defiantly.

“Oh? Well its better than hoeing weeds all day isn’t it?”

“My folks were farmers,” the boy said sharply.

“Yeah? Mine too, but I don’t intend to push a plow all my life. I’ve got bigger plans.”

The Boys were suddenly distracted by shouting from a group of boys across the yard.

“My pa’s killin’ rebs like you!”

“My pa’s killin’ blue bellies and he probably killed yours!”

There was a cloud of dust as the boys hit the dirt and rolled, locked in battle. The other
boys gathered round and began cheering.

Hannibal and the young blonde boy stayed where they were and watched silently.

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“Hey, what side are your folks on?” the blue eyed, blonde boy asked hesitantly.

“The dead side,” Hannibal replied without expression.

The younger boy stared at him in confusion.

“Does it matter?” Hannibal asked.

“No, I guess not, my folks are dead too,” the younger boy replied. “I’m Jed--Jed Curry.”

“Hannibal Heyes,” the older boy told him, extending his hand.

“You’d best get on over to the school house. Tell ‘em you’re ten.”

“Naw, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay here.”

Hannibal considered this, and then nodded. “Ok, kid, stick with me,” he said and started
walking toward the building where the boys slept.

Jed grinned and followed his new friend.

By Anita Sanchez

“Watch your back tonight,” said Plunkett, narrowing his eyes and staring at each of the
gang in turn. “This is going to be a dangerous job, men. The First National is built like a
fort, and that sheriff is the most suspicious guy I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s why I think we should check the place out first–“ Heyes began.

“Shut up, boy!” Plunkett snapped. “When are you gonna learn to stop interrupting me?”
He tapped his fingers on the handle of his gun, and Heyes closed his mouth reluctantly.

“Now here’s how it’s gonna go tonight,” Plunkett went on. He proceeded to outline the
plan, and Heyes listened impatiently, biting his tongue to keep from pointing out the
flaws. “And, Heyes, you stand outside and do sentry-duty,” Plunkett finished.

“Again?” Heyes groaned. “Why is it always me? When do I get to do something

interesting?”

“When you can shave, kid,” said Plunkett, and the others sniggered.

“You know, I bet I could get that safe open,” Heyes said. “And I could do it quietly, too.

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Sheriff wouldn’t hear a thing.”

“For the last time, shut up!” Plunkett turned his back. “We’re using the dynamite and
that’s it!”

Heyes strode out of the shack where the meeting had been held, muttering under his
breath He stopped under the snow-draped pines that sheltered the outlaw camp, his breath
frosting in the cold air. Then, glancing over his shoulder, he quietly made his way to the
corral and saddled his horse. Plunkett left way too many things to chance; Heyes decided
that he was going down to Red Rock to have a look at the bank for himself.

Kid Curry rode into Red Rock from the south. He slowed his horse as he passed the First
National Bank, and gazed in awe at the big double doors, flanked by tall pillars. He’d
heard it was the bank that housed the biggest payrolls in the territory. Yessir, in that bank
was the solution to all his problems, the answer to all his prayers: money.

He stabled his horse and then went to the saloon for a drink. He needed a place to warm
up, and to consider the next step. Maybe Red Rock was the place where his luck would
finally change.

Heyes’ first stop in Red Rock was the saloon, to see if he could pick up any gossip about
the sheriff’s habits or personality. The saloon was quiet, with only three or four guys
lined up against the bar. Heyes joined the line and ordered a whiskey, then eyed the other
men idly as he sipped his drink: there was a plump man who was obviously a shopkeeper
of some sort, a black-suited man with a cadaverous face who could only be an undertaker,
and a sandy-haired young guy in a sheepskin jacket, who was doubtless a cowboy from a
local ranch.

Heyes quickly grew bored with sipping and staring into space. He finished his drink, and
went outside, still burning with the injustice of Plunkett’s tyranny. He was dying to tell
someone exactly why his idea was better, but there was no one who would listen.

But there had to be a way to get Plunkett’s attention. One lucky break, that was all he
needed.

Jed Curry finished his drink, and left the bar. He sauntered back towards the bank, drawn
as by a magnet. He walked around the building, and stopped at the back, rubbing his chin
and gazing at the barred windows. The money was in there, he just needed a way of

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getting it out. He knew that he could outdraw or outshoot any sheriff. But what good
would that do, faced with a locked safe?

Footsteps crunched in the snow behind him, and he tensed. He had learned the hard way
that once you got known as a gunslinger, people would sneak up behind you, looking to
test you. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a man approaching, the tin star on his coat
glittering in the thin winter sunshine. Kid pulled his floppy-brimmed brown hat low over
his eyebrows, and ducked down a side alley.

Heyes stood in front of the bank, watching customers go up and down the steps. He
studied the door locks, and reflected bitterly that in a few hours he’d be standing
shivering on the steps, doing sentry duty, while Plunkett ordered the rest of the gang
around inside. He wished there was some way to get Plunkett to take him seriously, make
the stubborn fool do it his way, the right way…

A voice broke into his thoughts. “Got a problem, kid?”

A tall man with a star on the lapel of his wool coat stood just behind him. “Problem?”
Heyes stammered. “Oh, no sir, nope, no problem at all.”

“Ah,” said the sheriff, not returning Heyes’ smile. “Any special reason you’re loitering in
front of the bank, then?”

“Oh, just waiting for my grandmother,” Heyes said promptly. “She likes to have me help
her down those icy steps. Yep, here she comes now. “He trotted up the stairs and
courteously offered an arm to a surprised and delighted old lady. He escorted her past the
suspicious sheriff’s nose, and then parted with her at the end of the street.

Retrieving his horse from the livery stable, he began the long, lonely ride back to camp,
trying to cheer up. Tonight, he thought. He was due for a lucky break. Maybe he’d run
into it tonight…

Kid went back to the bar and ordered another drink. He sipped slowly, spinning it out; he
didn’t have the money for another one. But the saloon seemed to be the only place he
could linger without arousing suspicions.

He pondered for a long while, and then abruptly came to a decision. He drained the glass,
and set it down on the counter with a bang. It was settled. He would have a crack at the
bank. Tonight, he thought. He was due for a lucky break.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be waiting for him tonight…

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By CD Roberts

The trail was dry and dusty. A lone rider walked his horse slowly on, leaning slightly side
to side in a drowsy manner. He missed the company of his partner. His presence would
make the time pass faster as he always had something to talk about.

He’d thought about a lot of different topics to pass the time: women, food, drink, cards,
food, women, food and food. He’d run out of stuff to muse about. It was dull. He lowered
his Stetson to shield his face from the sun.

His partner would have something interesting to say, well maybe not so interesting, but
something at least, and if he didn’t like what his partner was talking about, his being
irritated would pass the time.

Partner. Partner for six years. Partner in good times and bad. Partner in crime. How’d
they meet? Oh yeah, Big Jim had brung him into Devil’s Hole, and there was the other
fella playing cards with that cat grin across his face. It was like he’d known him for
years, ‘cause they seemed to think just alike. The brown haired fella had laughed, ‘that’s
‘cause they we’re cousins, ya know,’ he had said. Knowed each other for years, and
fished together and been at the Home together.

No that wasn’t it; the brown haired fella had been in some other gang before they met.
Heck whose gang was that? Plummer, that’s right. Not the real Plummer mind you, the
fella who not only robbed but murdered too, but a sort of downsized Plummer who tried
to scare widows out of their saloons.

The rider frowned. What about those years at Valparaiso? You know the home for
waywards where they had first met after their folks had died. Let’s see, their folks had
died, when? Oh yeah, during the war between the North and South, and that wasn’t too
long after they had met, because he, or was it the other fella had just moved to a farm
nearby in Kansas where he or the other fella had lived.

Kansas was where they were from, and where they had been born, or would have been
where they were born if people had been allowed to settle there when they were born.
‘Cept people weren’t allowed into Kansas Territory until later after they were born which
meant they both hadda been born elsewheres and moved to Kansas, and then met, and
then had their folks killed and then ended up in Valparaiso, which was all well and good
‘cept Valparaiso didn’t really exist.

The rider was getting a headache. If they were cousins and born in Missouri, then they
woulda had Southern sympathies, unless they were from Ohio and had Northern
sympathies, none of which mattered anyway to a couple of ten year olds, or ten and
twelve year olds, who had just met, and fished together.

Unless that is, they were cousins, one born in Missouri, and one born in Ohio, and they

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moved to Kansas, and then their folks died and then they met on the wagon on their way
to Valparaiso. Poor orphans, huddled together in the cold, finding out they were cousins,
or weren’t cousins, and being sent to the home, all abandoned by the whole world, except
by the state authorities, the home, the teachers, and the local community. He liked the
picture he was painting. It would get a lot of sympathy especially from the female folk,
and that was a good thing, he figured.

‘Course they could have been mismatched twins separated at birth, and only found that
out when one of ‘em recognized the birthmark shaped like the state of Kansas on the arm
of the other. Or maybe one was stolen by gypsies, and that’s why they didn’t meet until
Big Jim brought ‘em together, or they met in Wichita, at a poker game of course, or
maybe they met during a bank robbery, and then had a fight, and then split up for six
years, and then met again in Wyoming, and then been successful outlaws and then rode
into Porterville, Wyoming, which didn’t exist either, and asked Lom to ask the governor
for amnesty. Was it worth it? Waiting for that amnesty for nigh on thirty years? In the
west? Being stuck somewheres in the 1880s for thirty years and in the west yet? Most
places in the west didn’t even have indoor plumbing in the 1880s.

No it wasn’t worth it, and he didn’t like this headache he got from thinking all this
through either. Which was why he was on his way to shoot that Roy Huggins fella.

By Calico

SOMETHING IN COMMON …

Carefully, Hannibal added another convoluted coastline to his map. He enjoyed drawing
maps. He enjoyed most things in Geography. As long they were learning – where things
were. Cities, rivers, mountains, borders, lakes. Real, PROPER Geography. When they
did main crops, industries and exports – that kind of stuff – that was just DUMB! That
was not PROPER Geography! Tongue protruding slightly, Hannibal added a couple of
indicative waves to show ‘Sea’. After a moments thought, a small sailing ship bobbed on
the indicative ocean.

“Class!” Miss Allen’s voice. “Class… say ‘Hello’ to a new pupil...and I am sure…a new
friend…”

Hannibal looked up. Miss Allen’s hand rested on the shoulder of a curly haired lad he
had never seen before. Blue eyes, with just a hint of ‘first day’ shyness – gazed back at
the thirty-odd staring faces.

“…His parents have just moved to the area …so, we must all make him very, very

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welcome…mustn’t we?”

Miss Allen did go on like that. She meant well, but, like a lot of women – she gushed!

“…This is Jedediah. Say ‘Hello’ Jede…”

Miss Allen stopped. She frowned, warningly. The nudging and sniggering that had
greeted the name died away. The odd remaining snicker received the full force of her
folded arms ‘I’m waiting’ pose.

“Class!” she reproved. “There is nothing at ALL funny about that! Jedediah is a fine
name with, with…” she drew in her breath “…fine historical connotations!”

A smothered spurt of derision from the back row. A girlish giggle.

The new boy’s cheeks flushed. A firm little chin rose to stare, a hint of challenge in the
blue eyes, at his new companions. Hannibal felt a twinge of sympathy. He too was
lumbered with a name carrying ‘fine historical connotations’. You did not carry the
moniker ‘Hannibal’ through school without attracting more than your fair share of
teasing. Hannibal squared his shoulders. NOT that he could not handle any amount of
teasing, huh? Still, once he grew up, he was dropping his silly Christian name. Or rather
- his own brand of pedantic exactness with words came into play - his silly PRE-Christian
name.

However, it was not merely fellow feeling that constantly drew Hannibal’s eyes back to
the new boy as morning class continued.

Jedediah, huh? Jedediah. His mind worked. It could be… Maybe… Nah! …But,
maybe? You never knew!

Miss Allen asked a question about railways. Easy! The new boy’s hand shot into the air,
half a second before Hannibal reached for the ceiling. Hey! That was FAST!

Jedediah? Maybe…?

When the rest of the class spilled out to play, Hannibal hung back. He took his time tying
and retying a dangling lace, until Miss Allen, too, walked out into the sunshine.

His eyes on the door, in case of interruptions, Hannibal darted up to Miss Allen’s desk.
The class register flicked open. A small finger ran down to the newest entry, still darker
ink than the rest. His full name…Jedediah Curry…

Hannibal closed the register with a satisfied smile.

---oooOOOooo---

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Hannibal found the new boy down by the oak tree.

“…You’re Jedediah Curry,” he grinned.

A bottom lip stuck out. Blue eyes stared at him belligerently. A small fist curled.

“Yeah!” the new boy shot back. “…Wanna make some’n of it?”

“No. You see I’m…” Hannibal took a breath, “…I’m Hannibal Heyes!”

Instant recognition. The fist relaxed. The scowl disappeared, to be replaced by an

incredulous – and delighted - expression.

“So,” Hannibal could see the new boy’s mind racing, “…your mother…?”

Hannibal nodded and ‘Uh huh’ed’ to Jedediah’s stream of questions.

Brown eyes met blue.

“…If I hafta watch that dumb pair strutting around on DVD one more time!” complained
Jed, shaking his head. “…And, with Mum yakkin’ in those sappy chat rooms ALL the
time AND checking the stupid boards ev’ry five minutes, I NEVER get to go on the
computer! NEVER! T’isn’t FAIR!”

“Same here!” Hannibal sighed, ruefully. “…MINE,” he confided, “…MINE writes

fanfic! Real dumb stuff! Think’s she’s funny!”

“Sheesh!” sympathised Jedediah. “…They’re the worst, huh?”

A glance was exchanged. Eyes rolled.

For Hannibal Heyes Bhattacharya and Jedediah Curry Satterthwaite – it was the
beginning of a beautiful friendship!

---oooOOOooo---

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