Rated PG-13  (Violence and Thematic Elements)

Word Count – 30,501

Summary –  Told in jigsaw puzzle fashion, follow Adam Cartwright as pieces from the past eventually come together to form his future in this story of love, courage, and sacrifice.

 

 

Cracked Up

Ben cursed under his breath as he reached down to pick up a large blue and white china platter. The filthy dish was doing its best to still appear regal wedged atop a hard packed pile of earth. Scattered nearby, numerous stones gave clear evidence as to who the culprit was. I never should have let Hoss give Little Joe that sling shot. Using his sleeve, Ben began to wipe some of the dust from the dish, and gasped when it suddenly cracked leaving a jagged line straight down the middle. A moment later, he was halfway back to the house and his youngest son’s name could be heard ringing out as far as the south pasture. “Hoss, where’s your little brother?” Ben demanded upon entering the house. He closed the door solidly behind him, and Hoss, mid-reach for an apple, stood up quickly.

“I dunno, Pa, last I saw he-”

“I’m here, Pa,” the five-year-old’s voice called from the top of the stairs. “You lookin’ for me?”

“Yes, I am, young man. Come over here please.” Ben pointed to a spot on the floor directly in front of him, and Little Joe bounded down the steps, seemingly undisturbed by his pa’s steely gaze and low tone. Hoss however had picked up on the fact that someone was soon to be in big trouble, and sank quietly into a nearby seat, hoping against hope that whatever little Joe had done, he hadn’t been a part of it.

Little Joe skipped to his pa and tipped up his face innocently. “Yes, sir?”

Ben pulled the dish he’d been sheltering inside his vest out and brought it down for his son to see. “Joseph, I just found this outside.”

“You did? Gee, Pa, what were you doin’ outside? You said me and Hoss had to stay inside ‘cause it’s gonna rain.”

“That doesn’t matter-”

“It doesn’t? Than how come we couldn’t go outside?”

“Little Joe, that’s not what I’m talking about right now-”

“Yeah, huh, Pa. I just heard you. You were talkin’ about bein’ outside, and you said that we shouldn’t go out ‘cause it was gonna rain real hard.” Little Joe crossed his arms and set his jaw, daring his pa to object.

Ben decided to try a different tack. “That brings me to another point, young man. If I told you not to go out this morning, then how did this plate end up in the dirt?”

Little Joe blinked a few times before answering. “You didn’t tell me not to go outside this morning.”

Ben sucked in a breath. “Little Joe, you just said that I told you not to go outside this morning.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Joseph!”

“You didn’t tell me that til after lunch.”

Ben slowly ran a hand across his face then glared across the room, silencing the giggles coming from his middle son. “So you took the dish outside this morning?”

“No, sir.”

Ben considered turning around and leaving for a long walk, but his sense of fatherly duty wouldn’t allow him to run. Instead, he slowly sank to one knee and looked straight into his son’s eyes.

“I found this plate outside covered in dirt. Somebody had been shooting rocks at it, and-”

“Pa, when I can I shoot a gun?”

“Young man, you would do well to stop interrupting me. Now just look at the crack on this plate. It’s ruined.”

Little Joe looked at the plate as if seeing it for the first time, and his mouth dropped open.

“Pa, you broke it!”

“Gosh, Pa,” Hoss’s voice joined in from across the room. “That’s mama’s favorite platter.”

“Boys . . . you . . . that’s . . .”

Ben stopped as a little hand reached out and patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, pa, she’ll forgive you if you tell the truth.” The curly-haired boy gave his pa a quick hug before running back to the stairs.

“Come on, Hoss, it’s your turn to find me.”

Ben stared wide-eyed as his two youngest boys ran up the steps. He jumped slightly when they slammed the bedroom door, and the abused platter promptly broke into two perfectly uniform pieces.

“Ben Cartwright!” Marie exclaimed, coming from the kitchen. “My best platter. Oh!” Grabbing the two broken pieces, she gave her husband a withering glare before turning and stomping back into the kitchen.

Ben stood frozen to the spot until a loud clap of thunder brought him back to the present. The harsh sound of rain pounding against the roof and windows was outdone by the loud banging and occasional French exclamations coming from the kitchen. He sighed and then glanced up at the sounds of his sons’ laughter as they ran across the halls, then pushing out his chest, he set his gaze and headed for the stairs. No, Little Joe, it’s my turn to find you. Let round two begin . . .

Ben squared his shoulders and marched to the stairs taking them two at a time. He opened his mouth to call for his youngest son, and an ear piercing wail sounded. He quickly closed his mouth, confused for a moment as to whether or not the sound had come from him, but then more shrieks began to echo through the hall and he sped toward Hoss’s room.

“What happened?” he asked, bursting into the bedroom.

Hoss, in an apparent state of shock, merely pointed to his younger brother. Ben crossed the room to Little Joe who was clutching a bloody hand to his chest. Grabbing the wailing child, he rushed him downstairs where he was met by a wide-eyed Marie. After the usual, “what happened-I don’t know-give me my baby” routine, Ben followed Marie into the kitchen. Hop Sing, having heard the cries, had already put a pot of water on to boil and had his medicine bag ready. Ten minutes of screaming the scales in the key of F later, they managed to get Little Joe to let go of his hand, and it was determined that the boy’s left ring finger was going to need a few stitches. Little Joe’s cries rose two pitches in both volume and intensity, as Marie left to retrieve her sewing basket, and Ben took on the unpleasant task of restraining him. He managed to dodge most of Little Joe’s kicks, but a few made contact, and Ben half sat half fell into a chair at the kitchen table. Unfortunately, Ben couldn’t hold his son down and cover the boy’s mouth at the same time, and at the end of the first stitch, He was pretty sure he was going to be permanently deaf. By the time sixth and final stitch had been neatly delivered, Little Joe’s finger was wrapped up tight, and all signs of blood removed from his sight, both father, son, mother, brother, and cook were exhausted.

“What’s going on here?” Adam asked, entering the kitchen through the outside door. His eyes grew wide as he took in the mess in the room and the disheveled appearance of the person’s residing there.

“Hoss slammed my finger in the door,” Little Joe hiccupped from his mother’s lap, slowly lifting his bandaged finger.

“I did not! Well . . . it were an accident,” Hoss defended.

Ben was too spent to speak, but he rolled his eyes in Hoss’s direction.

“Pa, he was my prisoner. He was tryin’ to escape.” Hoss threw his hands up in the air, the expression on his face clearing stating that was all the explanation that was necessary.

Ben was trying to decide whether he should start laughing or start yelling when Marie stepped in.

“Come, mon ange, it is time for bed. You need rest to get strong again.” Little Joe held onto his mother as she carried him from the room.

“Pa,” Little Joe said, suddenly lifting his head from his mother’s shoulder. “You aren’t still mad at me about that plate, are you?”

Ben started. Of all the . . . For a brief moment, he wondered if Little Joe had planned the whole ordeal as a distraction. Forcing himself to remain calm he answered, “We’ll discuss that in the morning, son. For now, you just get your rest.”

“Yes, Pa.” Little Joe snuggled back down into his mother’s arms, and the last thing Ben heard was his son’s sleepy, “I love you, Pa.”

Ben leaned toward the table and let his head drop onto his hand. Round two with his youngest had just about done him in.

“Well, boys,” he said standing up and stretching the knots out of his back. “I’m think I’m going to turn in early.”

Both boys said goodnight, and Ben headed for his bedroom. As an afterthought he turned to Hoss. “Son, next time your brother tries to escape . . . let him.”

Hoss nodded his head solemnly, and Ben patted his head.

Stopping at the cabinet near the stairs, Ben poured himself a brandy, then saluting toward his youngest son’s room said, “Here’s to round three.”

The next morning, Ben was up early ready to have more than a few words with his youngest son. Marie had gone on and on about losing her platter for, what Ben was sure, must have been long past midnight. Opening the door to Little Joe’s bedroom, he stepped inside and started to call his son’s name, but then realized the boy’s bed was empty. He stepped into the hall and pulled out his pocket watch to double check the time.

“Hm, six fifteen,” he mumbled, knowing instantly something was up. His youngest had never been an early riser. Considering it was Little Joe missing, he wasn’t sure if he should check the corrals or the kitchen first. Being closer, he headed for the kitchen. As he neared the dining table he heard a scraping sound coming from the kitchen. Since he knew Hop Sing usually did his outside chores early, he figured he’d found Little Joe. Sure enough, as he rounded the corner he saw Little Joe, and slowly crossing his arms across his chest, watched his son for a minute. The small boy was on his tippy toes on the counter, feeling around on top of one of the cabinets. Finally, Ben cleared his throat.

“Young man, what do you think you’re doing?”

Little Joe jumped and began wildly swinging his arms, trying to keep his balance. Ben quickly stepped forward and helped the boy to the floor.

“Pa, you scared me!”

“I imagine I did. Now, I asked what you were doing?”

Little Joe grabbed the front of his knee-length night shirt and began twisting it in his hands. “Well, I was just lookin’ for something.”

Ben placed his hands on his hips. “Would that something happen to be the jacks Hop Sing took away from you a few days ago?”

Little Joe started to shake his head, but then thought better of it. “I was just checkin’ to make sure they’re still there.”

Ben had to steel his heart, as Little Joe’s expression began to resemble that of a lost puppy. He decided to let the matter of the jacks drop as it was, at the moment, the lesser of two evils. His son hadn’t told the truth about the platter.

Lowering himself to one knee, Ben motioned for Little Joe to come closer to him. The boy took tiny steps, but finally stood before his father. The look on his face reminded Ben of the cow he’d had to put down the week before, scared and miserable.

“Okay, son, never mind about the jacks. I want to finish talking to you about your mama’s platter that broke yesterday. Little Joe looked a little less worried, but still cautious. “I’m only going to ask this once, and you had better tell me the truth.” Little Joe nodded solemnly. “Did you crack that dish?” The little boy hesitated for a moment then shook his head. Ben drew his mouth into a straight line and then standing, took his son’s arm. Little Joe instantly started talking as Ben pulled him out of the kitchen. “Pa, it just was chipped, and the rock did it, not me.” Ben didn’t stop walking as he spoke. “Joseph, you were the one that shot the rock. That means you cracked it.” Little Joe, having run out of things to say began whimpering, but Ben had made up his mind.

Twenty minutes later, Ben descended the stairs alone and joined his family at the breakfast table. Three sets of eyes immediately fastened on him; one curious, one mournful, one angry. He had no doubt that they had all heard his dealings with Little Joe. In fact, the young boy could still be heard.

“Come on, Hoss, eat those flapjacks before they get cold,” Ben said, trying not to let Hoss’s sad expression make him feel guilty.

He decided to ignore the cold stares coming from the opposite end of the table, and turned instead to Adam.

“So what did he do?” Adam asked before Ben had a chance to speak.

Normally, Ben would have told his oldest to mind his own matters, but he was desperate to get back into good standings with Marie.

“He broke your mother’s favorite platter and then refused to tell the truth about it.” Ben turned to watch Marie’s reaction, and noted with some satisfaction the way she was now shifting uncomfortably. His moment of grace was short lived however.

“You mean the one he was bringing you yesterday afternoon?” Adam asked.

Ben turned back to him in confusion. “Bringing to me?”

“Oui, I told him to bring you sandwiches,” Marie spoke up.

“I never got any sandwiches,” Ben defended.

“Well, no,” Adam said. “Little Joe said when he passed the chickens he saw a bull snake inside the coup. He dropped the platter and shot rocks at the snake until he killed it. He asked me to skin it for him. I thought for sure he would have told you about it. He must have forgotten, what with cutting his finger and all.”

Ben felt himself losing color and Marie’s angry glare had returned with a vengeance.

“So, you’re telling me he wasn’t shooting at the dish,” Ben asked keeping his eyes on Adam.

“Well, not at first. One of the rocks he was shooting at the snake chipped a piece off the back, so I told him it would be okay to use it for target practice,” Adam turned to Marie. “I guess I should have asked you first, but I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“No, Adam,” she answered, keeping her eyes glued on Ben. “I would not have minded.”

Ben swallowed hard, and slowly rose from the table. “I, uh, think I’ll go talk to Little Joe.”

Marie huffed and Ben hurried past her. Halfway up the stairs, he tried not to roll his eyes when he heard Hoss begin recounting the misfortunes of his “poor” little brother.

Later that night, Little Joe sat asleep on Ben’s knee on the big leather chair in front of the fireplace. That day, he’d been given his jacks back, been allowed to go to the “big” corrals with Adam, go crawdad fishing with Hoss, had his favorite desert made by Marie, and spend the entire evening playing checkers followed by a bedtime story with Pa.

As Ben laid the small boy on his bed a short time later, and pulled the covers up around his shoulders, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“ . . . and,” he said smoothing back the boy’s hair. “I declare you the winner.”
The End