“On my 100th birthday, I want someone to find out the truth of who murdered my wife, daughter and me!” This inscription was burned into the headstone of Philip J. Simmons. The dates were listed as, Born- June 22, 1861------Died- May 8, 1889.
A young woman and man stood at the gravesite staring at the headstone and shaking their heads. None of the other headstones held their attention as this one did in the windswept, forlorn old cemetery.
“Well, you wanted to do something different today and this is what I came up with,” said Clint Ward.
“I admit it is different!” replied Sandy Bowen. “I just never expected something like this, looking at headstones in a cemetery, and including a picnic.
“We did decide to take our month long vacation together, and I was hoping this would be something you’d never forget,” reminded Clint
“I’m not complaining and I won’t forget it, but I’ve been thinking we should look into this one. Maybe it would turn into an adventure if nothing else.”
“You think so?” asked Clint.
“Why not? We both have plenty of time, and we could celebrate old Philip’s 100th birthday before we have to go home. Shouldn’t be too hard to track down the information.”
“Let’s have our picnic right here and we can make some plans,” said Clint. He went to his Chevy and grabbed the blanket from the back seat and the picnic basket filled with the goodies Sandy had purchased at a deli type store. He headed back to where Sandy waited.
They spread the blanket and sat down, then ate their lunch while discussing the steps they needed to take, knowing it could take at least a week, if they worked quickly and were lucky.
Over their second glass of wine, Clint was watching Sandy intently. Her green eyes snapped with excitement. Her light brown hair curled around her face. On the tallish side, but filled out in all the right spots. He knew he could span her small waist with both hands and still overlap them behind her back. Clint was five inches taller than Sandy. He stood six foot, had blonde hair and blue eyes that were set off by a great tan.
They sat gazing at each other and before they knew what had happened, they were locked in a deep passionate embrace.
Sandy caught her breath and said, “Maybe we should continue this in a more private place.”
“How much more private do you want? The only two breathing are us, which I might add, is on the heavy side. Besides, who would be watching? All the others here are dead!”
They started laughing, gathered their belongings, and rushed to the Chevy. After a night of complete bliss, they set off on their quest.
First, they went to the town’s courthouse. The sign over the door stated it was the Show Low, Arizona, Court House. A medium size building, painted white, located in the middle of the block with no other buildings around it. It sat in a park like setting.
Clint and Sandy found the door marked, Death Certificates. They encountered a buxom, older woman working at the counter. They explained what they needed, to Mrs. Irene Dutton. She retrieved with the information and handed the death certificates to the young couple. They read the cause of the deaths: Philip J. Simmons, shot once, leaving a bullet hole in the heart. Elizabeth and Anna Simmons killed in a wagon accident. They both thanked Mrs. Dutton for her help.
The next stop was the newspaper office of the Show Low Daily Record, established in 1880. They asked to see any records from 1885 through 1889. They sat pouring through the information, then realized it would take at least a couple of days of searching in order to finish.
On Friday, Clint and Sandy were once again pouring through the old papers. Clint said, “I’ve found something concerning Philip!”
“Great! What does it say?” asked Sandy.
“I’ll read it to you and you can take notes. Okey, dokey?”
“Fire away.”
“The headline reads: Three Dead Due to Mysterious Events. This is dated, May 9, 1889. It goes on to say, Philip J. Simmons, 28, wife, Elizabeth, 26, and daughter, Anna, six years old, were found dead along the road leading from town to their small ranch.
Simmons was shot in the heart, and Beth and Anna were killed when their wagon over turned, crushing both. Apparently, the horses went out of control at the sound of the gunshot, bolted, and hitting large rocks, proceeded to flip the wagon over, resulting in Beth and Anna’s deaths.
There are no living relatives for Philip or Beth.
“That’s it for this one. I’ll look at the next day for a follow up story.” Clint located the article in the following edition. “Aha! Found it. Wait until you hear this!” Clint said excitedly.
“So, hurry up, will you!”
The headline is entitled, Killer Surrenders, dated, May 10, 1889. Fred Knight Sr. of the Bar FK ranch had been trying to purchase the Simmons’ ranch for sometime. Simmons wouldn’t sell. Knight needed the land and water, as he planned purchasing a larger herd of cattle. Knight started threatening Simmons and scaring his family.
“I need to look at the May 16th paper.” Clint said. “Here it is.” He went on reading the next account. “Headline states, Knight to be Hanged, June 15, 1889. Fred Knight Sr. will be hanged on June 15, 1889. He will leave his wife, Rachel, and two sons, Fred Jr., age 10, and Brad, age 8.
“There is one more follow up on June 16, but just reiterates what we’ve already found, other than the sentence was carried out on June 15, with a large crowd attending. That’s it.” Clint told Sandy.
Finished reading the transcripts, Clint and Sandy decided they should try to contact the Knight brothers, if they were still living.
Sandy told Clint, “We should ask Mrs. Dutton at the courthouse. She would surely know one way or the other. Being as it is after 5:00, the courthouse will be closed until Monday. We could go back early and if she can tell us at least one is alive, we might find out something a little more conclusive.”
“Great idea! In the meantime, we have the weekend to play and do more exploring. We might be able to locate a few antique stores.”
The following Monday, it was back to the courthouse. “Yes, both Knight brothers are still living at the ranch where they were raised. Neither in good health and they have never married. Fred Jr. is now 82 and Brad is 80,” replied Mrs. Dutton to their question.
She gave Clint and Sandy the directions how to get to the ranch.
Six miles outside of town, they turned onto a dirt road where a sign proclaimed, The Bar FK Ranch. Driving up to the sprawling ranch house, Clint and Sandy saw two elderly men sitting in rocking chairs on the front porch. The older of the two looked like a shell of a man. The younger man wasn’t in much better shape.
Sandy and Clint stepped from the Chevy and after introductions, were asked to pull up rocking chairs and plunk their bottoms down and take a load off. Miss Janet, the housekeeper and caregiver of the elderly gentlemen, served them cold lemonade and homemade cookies. She was middle aged, short, and stocky, and had a touch of gray to her dark hair.
Clint explained why he and Sandy were there and would like to ask a few questions of the brothers if they were up to it.
Fred Jr. told the two youngsters, as he called them, “Our mother passed away of pneumonia eleven years after the death of Fred Sr. It should have been me swinging on the end of the rope instead of Pa.”
“Why is that?” asked Sandy.
“The only ones that knew this are dead except Brad and I, and we are about up to that point. It doesn’t matter anymore. Pa taught me how to shoot and said I was very good. I was the one who hid in the brush and shot poor Mr. Simmons, thinking it would help Pa secure his ranch. I was only ten years old at the time and Pa took the blame for me and made the three of us promise never to tell a soul. I’ve regretted it all of my life.”
Hearing what Fred Jr. had to say and what Brad could add to it, Sandy and Clint thanked the old gentlemen and left the ranch.
“What a complete tragedy for everyone involved. I feel like crying,” Sandy said.
Clint and Sandy gave Philip a one hundred year birthday party and explained to him what really happened.
Every year they continued to go to the cemetery in Show Low for a party beside Philip’s grave. It turned into a family/birthday tradition. The first year they returned, Sandy and Clint had gotten married. The second year, Sandy was expecting. The third year, they came back with a set of triplet boys. They introduced the babies to Philip. The young couple had named them: Fred, Brad, and Philip.
When the boys were old enough, it was explained to them why their family did this. They never got tired of hearing the story. The boys told their parents they understood, but asked, “Who put the inscription on the headstone? Grandpa Simmons couldn’t have done that.”
Clint and Sandy looked at each other, and answered, “Why, Fred Jr., of course!”