In the span of a breath, everything changed. It was a rattling breath, a final breath. It was drawn in September 1874. It was the last painful breath of Catherine McCarty, wife of William Antrim, and loving mother of William Henry and Joseph McCarty. It was drawn in Silver City, New Mexico where she was living when she finally lost her long battle with tuberculosis.
Shortly after their mother’s death, William Antrim placed his stepsons in foster homes. He was a miner and a matter-of-fact man. There were no excuses, or emotions associated with this development. It was simply the way things had to be. The boys, at fourteen and eleven, were too young to go into the hills mining with their stepfather. Their mother’s death was pivotal for her sons. The good people of Silver City said they had been well behaved, educated young men. They were friendly and outgoing with generous personalities, just like their mother.
Billy, the older boy was placed with the Truesdell family, owners of the hotel. He worked for his keep and by all accounts comported himself well. Eventually, he set off from Silver City and achieved some level of notoriety through his participation as a Regulator in the Range Wars of Lincoln County, where he was shot dead.
Young Josie went to the Dyers. They were saloon owners and Joe also worked. Although the nature of his work was decidedly different from that of his brother – he grew up rough and he grew up fast. He drank, he fought, he smoked a bit of opium, and he gambled.
The high deserts of New Mexico did not interest Joe McCarty. The grazing lands, where grasses thrived while the trees were twisted and beaten down by the winds, offered nothing that he cared to embrace so he took up the life of a gambler; oscillating between New Mexico, Arizona, and Colorado. In 1882 or maybe ‘83 Joe found himself in Tucson where his luck had been good. Riding a wave of good fortune, he married a bordello girl, Rose Marie Perkins, who went by the name of Amber Annie. She refused to settle down to domestic life and Joe would often find himself sitting at the gaming tables downstairs while his wife worked the bedrooms upstairs. Their union did not last long and the emotional toll served only to embitter and further harden young Joe. He left his wife and went back to Denver where he pieced together a living as a gambler.
Joe spent the rest of his life alone in Denver. A pauper’s life; he slept on the streets or, when his luck was good, he would take a room in one of the boarding houses that fringed the downtown area. He died penniless in 1930 at the age of 67 and was buried in an unmarked grave at the expense of the state. No records exist to pinpoint the exact location of his interment.
There were no children. Catherine McCarty had been dead since 1874. No records exist to identify the biological father of her sons, not even his name is known. Joe’s older brother, Billy, had been killed in 1881, also childless. His stepfather, William Antrim had disappeared into the mountains around Silver City about the same time that Joe went to Tucson. His fate was unknown. When Joe McCarty died that branch of the McCarty family tree died with him.
I need to tack on a note that while the McCarty family was real, this story is fiction. Details described herein are primarily the product of my imagination. Please do not use anything written here as reference material for your history report. Thanks.
Some Pictures Must Be Taken. Some Quotes Must Be Quoted.
thoughts from my mind to yours
A place filled with mostly unfinished stories. Begun primarily as a direct result of my association with the OC Writer's Guild
(...and some I have)
for when fingers get busy on the keyboard
Poets, librarians, archivists, gardeners, beekeepers, would-be pirates and life-long learners of all ages are especially welcome here.
irregular and irreverent thoughts about the MOOC, Modern and Contemporary American Poetry
Works of pain, guilt, pleasure and fantasy
Life as you don't expect it
My Reflections and Expressions
Wasting time on the couch.
and feisty disability advocate who loves cake
Aooga, Aooga - here there be prompts, so dive right in
An oasis of joy and wonderment
In real world, Happily Ever Afters are bittersweet miasma of memories (purely work of fiction and my psychotic imagination) also trigger warning: death, violence, disturbing imagery, etc
Bits of sparkles to entertain***** No ads, no spam, no awards - Thanks
She had the strength of an army embedded in her bones - R.H. Sin
My view, tho' somewhat askew...
Copy and Content Services
Flash Fiction, Poetry, and Short Stories
Just a different point of view
A community for writers to learn, grow, and connect.