Summary: In a rare moment of solitude, Ben reflects on the characters of his sons.
Rated K+ (1,180 words)
My Favorite Son
Ben settled comfortably into his red leather chair. He had just stoked the fire in the big stone hearth, and his pipe rested nearby next to a snifter of his best brandy. He didn’t often take time just to sit down alone, but this day had presented the perfect opportunity to do so. For the first time, Ben’s three sons were handling the roundup themselves, while Ben stayed home. All that remained for him to handle was the ranch. “Just” the ranch, he thought and smiled.
He took a deep breath and allowed himself to feel the pride and satisfaction of a man who had built a ranching empire and could afford to sit back to enjoy it, albeit briefly. The scions of that bonanza were certainly a source of pride as well. He thought about those disparate scions now, each son born of a different mother, and allowed himself the indulgence of reminiscing.
Adam, the first, of course. Adam had always been a serious boy, but one who could be counted on no matter what the situation—and still could be. He rarely acted without thinking first. Self-sufficient, a scholar, a cool head.
Ben well remembered when Adam encountered James Callan, or “squaw man” as he was known in Sheep Head, a town run and terrorized by McDermott. Though often drunk, Callan was a gifted artist whose work often depicted the plight of the Indian in America. Adam’s sympathy to the hungry natives led him to offer fresh meat to Esther. Callan’s Indian people, and also to encourage James Callan to travel to Washington, D.C. to allow his talent to illustrate the situation to government leaders. The Cartwrights together enabled Adam to force McDermott to a stand-down which shook Sheep Head loose of his hold. That was Adam Cartwright.
That same man, whose life was saved from drowning by Tom Wilson, didn’t hesitate to hunt him down for murder once he ascertained his new friend’s guilt. It pained him greatly, but to Adam, right always won out over wrong. Ben frowned slightly as he furrowed his brow, thinking about the past. Those same principles had spurred Adam to listen to Bob Jolly and dig into his story, ultimately proving that Carl Jolly, Bob’s father, was innocent and had been wrongly hanged on trumped up charges.
Adam wasn’t one to show affection readily, but his heart was good and true. Ruth Halvorson and Regina Darien had captured that heart, but they were exceptional women. Adam had certainly seen more than his fair share of heartache, and had served as a surrogate parent in many ways to his younger brothers. Ben leaned back as his gaze reached across the room. Indeed, Adam was a son to be proud of. A son dark, urbane and chiseled… Ben just smiled to himself. In many ways, Adam was his favorite.
His second son, Hoss, was very different from Adam. Hoss had superbly lived up to his name right from the start. “A big, friendly man.” He was open, accepting, generous and forgiving. His strength was legendary in and around Virginia City. If you wanted a job done, and done right, Hoss was the man for the job. He was also the friend and champion of every living thing he encountered, which explained the menagerie that frequently inhabited the Ponderosa. Hoss could be bashful, though, even with his heart as big as the entire sky. Strong and bashful. Ben’s eyes crinkled in a smile as he bit down on his pipe with its aromatic smoke wafting above him, thinking about young Billy Allen. Hoss had taken Billy under his wing after his mother’s death, deftly sifting through Billy’s anger until he found the scared little boy underneath. Hoss had needed all his strength to face Billy, too, after he had been forced to kill Billy’s father. It had been one of the hardest things Ben had ever had to watch.
But Hoss was very gracious too, even to a fault. Such was the case when Hoss allowed himself to be Professor Klump’s guinea pig in the demonstration of Klump’s flight invention. Ben shuddered; Hoss was lucky to still be alive after that fiasco. Flying through the air, indeed! Nevertheless, Hoss’ good humor made him a friend to people for miles around. Ben chuckled. Such a son to be proud of! Honestly, if he had to admit it, in many ways, Hoss was his favorite.
Lively. That was the word for Joseph, his youngest son. But other words served as well: quick, funny, rash, righteous, principled. They all fit Joe. Little Joe. There wasn’t much little about him anymore. He had grown up, which was what he’d wanted from the very start. He had a temper, Joe did. He got that from his Creole mother, Marie. But although he was quick to anger, he was equally quick to smile and shake hands. He was fast, that just about said it. Fast with a gun, fast with the girls too, people said. An eyebrow elevated on Ben’s forehead at that thought. Still and all, Joe was the one they all watched over, whether he liked it or not. His father and brothers couldn’t help themselves; they had all watched out for him as the youngest member of the family. He kept life interesting, that much was certain.
Joe’s fearlessness had led his fellow stage passengers through the desert in a sand storm after the coach had crashed. Not everyone had made it through alive, but Joe’s intrepidity had not failed. He also gave of himself willingly, reuniting a blind girl with her grandfather, and teaching a deaf girl sign language. And, of course, those many affairs of the heart, a fair number tragic. Ben’s head shook back and forth slowly, but his attitude was benevolent. If pressed, he would have to admit that in many ways, Joseph was his favorite.
Three fine sons and a ranch he had built from mud and sticks into the Olympian holdings that the Ponderosa had become. Ben finished off the brandy and leaned back, relishing this respite stolen from duties of running the Ponderosa. He guessed he could almost call himself a tycoon. He snorted at that, and brought himself back to reality. A tycoon, yes, but one who after a quick catnap was headed to his desk to balance the books, and then into town for a dinner meeting with his lawyer about some mining contracts.
Amused by that thought, he could feel himself drifting off to sleep, and so deliberately chose to think about those three favorite sons of his. Despite what could be called his many losses over the years, life had been very good to him, and he was a man truly blessed.
THE END
Author’s Note: This remembrance is dedicated to Judd Evan, January 31, 1980 – September 17, 2010. You led us a merry chase. In many ways, you were my favorite. Wherever you are, I adore you.
September 2011
