Summary:   This was my entry for Round One of the Ponderosa Paddlewheel Poker Tournament.

It’s a typical barn dance for the Cartwrights.
Rated: K (2,690 words)

                                                              The Barn Dance

How could something as innocent as a barn dancecause so much heartache? Before the night was out, grief and sorrow would be shared by all; yet there were also exhibits of courage and heroism. Unfortunately, by the time it was all over and done I had experienced and witness both.

~~~

Friday 8:55 p.m.

The stagecoach was late, well that’s not unusual, but for it to be almost three hours late was not typical. Bert kept his office open as we waited for the absent stage, an action I’m sure he regretted since he had to tolerate my constant demands and complaints. He had telegraphed Placerville and was told the driver was running thirty minutes late when he arrived there, which was typical.

When it finally did arrive, several passengers had stiffly climbed out before Joseph stepped wearily down onto the street. Just looking at him I was able to see the fatigue etched in every line of his young, handsome face, and the slump of his shoulders. My boy was never one to tolerate being confined for a long period of time. He would barely make it through a normal trip, but to add an extra three hours locked in a cramped area, and I’m sure it was all he could do to keep from screaming out in frustration. No matter how tired he was, when his eyes landed on me his whole face lit up. I couldn’t help smiling in return as I pulled my son close. Of all my boys, Joe is the only one who not only welcomes physical contact, but thrives on it. Holding my boy in my arms I could feel the tension fade away from me now that I knew he was home and safe.

“What happened, Joe?”

“Don’t ask, Pa. It’s a long, sad story that I’m just too tired to get into.”

“Then let’s go home” I grabbed his bag for him, put my arm around his shoulders and led him to the buckboard.

~~~~

Friday 11:30 p.m.

Once we were home Hop Sing offered to make him some dinner without the usual grousing about cooking at all hours.

“No thanks, Hop Sing, all I want right now is a hot bath and my own bed.”

“Bath ‘leady vely soon. Wat’a al’eady hot.”

“You sure you don’t want something to eat, Son?” I asked.

“Thanks, Pa, but I don’t think I’d be able to stay awake long enough to take even one bite.”

He proved his point with a jaw cracking yawn.

“Bath ‘leady for number three son,” announced Hop Sing. “Al’leady have clean clothes for Little Joe.”

I nodded towards the kitchen, “Go ahead and enjoy your bath.”

The weary smile he bestowed upon me, and the droopy eyes, spoke volumes about how tired my son felt.

Forty-five minutes later Joseph come padding out of the kitchen in a clean nightshirt, bare feet, and damp curls framing his face. There was something different about him, other than being clean, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

“What?” he asked as he shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable with my scrutiny.

Then it hit me and I’m sure the look on my face turned from confusion to surprise.

“You had your hair cut!”

Joe giggled . . . Can you call it a giggle when it comes from a young man instead of a child or young woman? But I’m at a loss to find another term to describe the sound that comes from my youngest son.

“Yeah, I did, Pa. I had it cut before I left Sacramento.”

“I must say that has to be a first. What may I ask caused this miraculous event to occur?”

He just shrugged and smiled like a cat that ate the canary, and I knew I wouldn’t be getting an answer tonight.

“Night, Pa.”

I put my hand on the back of his neck and pulled him close for a short hug. “Good night, Son. Sleep in tomorrow, you deserve it.”

A smile, a nod, and he was gone.

When I turned around and spied Hop Sing standing by the dining room table smiling fondly while he stared at the top of the stairs.

“Boy say not hung’ly, humph, boy vely hung’ly. Hop Sing make number three son eat sandwich and drink milk. Not good to go to bed hung’ly.”

I had a feeling that’s what took Joe so long. When Joe went to have his bath I was certain the Tyrant of the Ponderosa wouldn’t let him out of the kitchen until there was something in my boy’s stomach. As always I’m grateful to the man for how well he has always taken care of my sons, especially Joseph.

~~~~

Saturday 5:00 a.m.

“Mornin’ all.”

My head popped up in when I heard Joseph’s voice as he rushed down the stairs. It wasn’t the greeting that surprised me, but the hour it came at. Joe isn’t the easiest or most pleasant person to get up in the morning; with little sleep and permission to sleep in, it was nothing short of miraculous to see him this early, and in a good mood.

Adam saluted him silently with his cup of coffee.

“Mornin’ Little Joe,” Hoss responded as he jabbed at a piece of ham that was on a platter in the middle of the table.

I held out the coffee pot and waited for my son to lift his cup so I could fill it; and watched as he filled his plate and dug into it as if he had been taking lessons from Hoss.

“I thought I told you to go ahead and sleep in.”

“You did. Hey! Leave some of those for me, Hoss,” he complained as his and Hoss’ forks made a dive at the fresh plate of pancakes that Hop Sing had put on the table.

I could see the mischievous twinkle in those hazel eyes, and I knew he was up to something . . . What it was, was beyond me.

Draining the last drop of his coffee, Joe wiped his mouth, set his napkin on his empty plate and stood up. “I don’t know about the three of you, but I’ve got work to do.”

When Joseph turned from the table I caught both Adam and Hoss watching me, and I’m sure the confusion I was feeling over Joe’s early morning enthusiasm must have been showing. Judging by the identical smirks they wore I was convinced they knew something I didn’t.

“I’ll tell the Allens ya’ll be along once you’re done lolly-gaggin’.” The sound of Joe’s laughter was echoed at the table by his brothers.

The Allens! Now I remembered. It explained the haircut and the early morning mood. There had been a fire that had destroyed the Allen’s home. Friends and neighbors were all pitching in to help them rebuild. A barn dance was to follow this evening. Of course Joseph wouldn’t miss that, even for the luxury of sleeping in; especially when it involved a certain young lady by the name of Samantha Allen.

~~~~

Saturday 7:00 p.m.

The day had been a success, the Allens had a new home and it was time to celebrate. While the men worked on the house, the ladies cooked and decorated. The old barn was spruced up to the hilt. Golden light spilt from the open doors inviting one and all to step inside and join the fun. The sound of a lively reel filled the air along with shouts and laughter from all inside.

I stood next to Roy Coffee and watched my sons on the dance floor. Hoss spun Betsy Sue down the row of dancers, and only a few couples down Adam and Linda Prescott were clapping in time with the music as couples sashayed past them. I looked around for Joe, but couldn’t find him, or Samantha.

The music changed to a slow waltz. Roy and I both laughed as we watch Hoss try to lead Betsy Sue off the floor, but the girl was having no part of it. Like it or not my middle boy was not getting out of that waltz.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Joseph step onto the crowded dance floor and pull Samantha into his arms. They were both flushed and I could see the sparkle in Joe’s eyes from where I stood. Apparently, “Romeo” had already had a midnight walk with his “Juliet”.

I watch the young couple float across the floor and couldn’t help but smile. Memories of when I was Joe’s age came to me. I could remember looking as Joe did at another dance years long past . . . A magical dance with Adam’s mother Elizabeth. That was the night I asked her to marry me. Could that magic be happening again? Maybe Joseph has found the one. He had been courting Samantha for a while now, much longer than what was normal for my son.

~~~~

Saturday 9:30 p.m.

The band had stopped for a short well needed break; the buzz of conversation and laughter filled the air. Spirits were high and the evening was turning out to be a success, just like the day had been.

“Ya know, Ben, this must be the quietest barn dance I ever heard of. Not even one disagreement tonight.”

“You sound disappointed, Roy.”

“Ya jest listen here, Ben Cartwright—”

Before another word could leave Roy’s lips, a loud crack filled the room, bringing an abrupt end to all conversation as everyone looked for the source of the disruption. A scream and a rumbling groan shot through the air just before front posts of the loft started to sag, sending an avalanche of hay from above. I watched in horror as beams and boards came crashing to the ground. I saw Joseph push Samantha out of harm and spin around to snatch up a young boy who was crying behind him, and start for safety. Terror stole my very breath from me when I saw my youngest look up and panic fill his eyes. He made a lunge for freedom. At the last minute, before the loft completely crashed to the ground, he flung the boy ahead of him, out of harm’s way. My son wasn’t so lucky.

The second the dust cleared I was able to see the devastation all around. On top of and in the wreckage the injured and . . . dead . . . lay. Lord only knew what all was underneath it. I stood paralyzed, unable to comprehend what had happened; and terrified to know what was still to come.

A flurry of action in one corner drew my attention. Adam and Hoss were already tearing through the wood and hay. They were in the last spot I had seen their younger brother.

Come on, Ben, move! Your sons need you.

Shaking off the stupor that had overtaken me, I hurried over to where my older sons were frantically throwing boards to the side and joined in their efforts to find Joseph. The whole time I dug through the debris I sent a continuous prayer Heavenward begging for the safety of my son.

Suddenly, a splash of green material appeared, which served to spur us on. That bit of color turned into an arm. After what seemed an eternity to me, but in reality was only a matter of minutes, we had Joe uncovered, except for one beam that lay across his chest, trapping him underneath it.

With a shaking had I reached out and placed my fingers against the side of his throat. When I felt his pulse beating strong and steady, I released the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I looked up at Hoss and Adam and nodded my head.

“Little Joe? Can you hear me?” I called while I lightly slapped his cheek, trying to bring him around. His eyes started to flutter before finally opening. To my relief Joe looked up at me with clear green eyes.

“Pa . . . Is Billy alright?” His voice was barely a whisper.

I couldn’t help laughing; here my son had a hayloft, more or less, collapse on top of him and he was concerned about someone else.

“He’s fine, Son, thanks to you.”

He gave me a slight nod before his breath hitched and he closed his eyes.

“Joseph?”

“I’m fine, Pa.”

“Sure you are Little Brother.”

“Ya only have this here beam lying across ya. You’re just Jim Dandy.”

“Yep, I’m fine as frog’s hair,” Joe laughed.

His laugh turned in to a grimace. I took hold of his hand and tried to will my strength into him.

“Joe, where does it hurt?”

“Ch-chest . . . Hhard to . . . breathe.”

Adam was kneeling next to me looking under the beam, analyzing the best way to free his brother.

“You’re Lucky, Joe. The full weight of the beam isn’t on you. There’s some other pieces underneath propping it a little.”

“Pa, when I lift it, you pull Little Joe out.”

“Hold on, Hoss.”

I turned to look behind me and saw Dr. Martinapproach.

“I don’t want him moved until I’ve had a chance to examine him. Now, what have you gone and done to yourself, Joseph?”

“Nothin’, Doc. Just restin’ for a bit.”

Paul shook his head and chuckled. “I can see that. I want you to tell me where it hurts.”

“Chest.”

“Can you feel your legs?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, let’s see you move them, one at a time.”

I didn’t dare breathe until I saw my son raise first his left, then his right leg slightly off the ground.

“Good, now try your arms.”

Joe repeated the actions with his arms.

“That’s good, Joe. Do you feel any pain in your back?”

“Just some soreness . . . I guess that might be cuz I’m holdin’ this little ole piece of wood up.”

“Well, let’s see what your brothers can do about that.”

“Hold tight, Little Joe.”

I watched as Hoss put everything he had into lifting that piece of timber high enough for Adam to slide Joseph out from under it. I saw Joe clench his jaw and close his eyes when he was moved, yet my youngest son didn’t let a single sound slip past his lips.

“Alright, Adam, lay him down here. Easy now. Okay, Joe, how are you feeling now.”

“Ow! I’d feel better—Ow—if you would stop your—ouch—doggone pokin’.”

“If I didn’t do that, then how would I know what’s wrong with you. Lord only knows you’d never tell me.”

I joined in with my older sons laughing at the expression one Joseph’s face. Paul knew my son well, but he should, he’s been dealing with him for almost twenty years.

“Boys, why don’t you help your brother up off the ground and sit him in a chair.”

Paul stood up and stretched his back before turning in my direction. Don’t worry, Papa Bear, that cub of yours is going to be just fine. His ribs are pretty bruised and he’ll be sore for a while, but he’s going to be just fine. Have him take it easy, no work and definitely no riding until I say otherwise.”

“I’ll make sure he follows orders.”

Paul chuckled before motioning over to where Joe was sitting. “I have a feeling he’s not going to mind at all. Not with a nurse like that. You know, Ben that boy of yours not only showed an extraordinary amount of courage, but the same amount of unselfishness tonight. Not many people would do what he did. Not only saving Samantha, but putting Billy’s safety before his own. You should be proud of him.”

I watch as Joe sat in a chair holding his ribs while Samantha fussed over him. My boy who hated being coddled was not only allowing her to, but was also smiling.

Yes, it was a night of tragedy, but it was also a night when heroes were made.

“Yes, Paul. I’m proud of my boy, more than you’ll ever know.”