Summary: Ben pays for the night before, much of which he can’t remember.
Written for day 24 of the 2021 Advent Calendar.
Rating: G
Word Count: 1400

Bonanza
~*~*~ Advent Calendar ~*~*~
* Day 24 *

Hair of the Dog

Crash!

Darkness!

Trapped!

The two thoughts collided in Ben’s head like dynamite.  Something large covered his head but he could see a pinprick of light through a gap, his salvation.  Breathing hard, he clawed his way into the light and immediately regretted it—his eyes felt as if ice picks were stabbing deep.  He scrunched his eyes shut and groped around, realizing he was in his bed and it was the pillow that had covered him. Rolling onto his back, he pulled the quilt up over his face and burrowed into the darkness.

His mouth felt as if it were wadded with cotton and he ran his tongue over his lips.  Getting a drink of water meant emerging into the light again, an experience he was wary to repeat.

He couldn’t remember getting home but home he was and in his own bed, clad in his nightshirt.  And socks.  Fragments of last night’s Christmas party came to mind.  A vague recollection of dancing.  Soft lips.  A glass or two of punch.

As he lay in the warmth of his den, he tried to think of what the crashing sound had been.  It didn’t sound like dishes splintering into thousands of shards, nor did it sound like furniture being knocked over by Hoss and Joe roughhousing.

Ben flipped back a corner of the quilt to let in a small amount of light and to reach for his pocket watch on the side table.  He squinted at the watch face then snorted at the hour.

He would’ve liked nothing more than sleeping in or staying in bed all day but the ranch didn’t run itself.  He threw back the quilt and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Ben scrunched his eyes closed and waited for the nausea and dizziness to pass.  When it finally did, he took advantage of the moment and stumbled to the end of the bed, picked up his robe, and struggled into it.

The pounding in his head returned and Ben rubbed his temples to banish the noise.  But it didn’t work.  Padding out into the hall, he leaned against the wall to steady himself.   If I wasn’t home, I’d swear I was shanghaied and on a ship sailing God knows where.

Ben held the stair rail in a death grip as he made his way to the first floor.  He grimaced at the squeak of the stair that had long needed fixing but he’d put it off for years because the noise alerted him when his sons were home safe and sound after a long night in town.

Two of his sons sat at the table.  The sound of an axe banging against wood carried in from outside.

Joe hid his grin with his cup but the merriment in his eyes couldn’t be disguised by the steam rising from the coffee.

Enjoy it while you can, Joseph.

Adam said, “Hop Sing!  Pa’s up!”

Hoss strode in with an armload of wood for the fireplace.  He slammed the door shut with his foot.

Ben winced and raised his shoulders nearly to his ears.

“Sorry,” said Hoss as he let each piece of wood heavily land on the sturdy hearth.

Ben adjusted his robe and made his way to the table.  Stubble rasped against his fingernails as he scratched an itch on his cheek.  Reaching his chair, he closed the shutters to block out the offending light.

Adam smirked over his cup but poured steaming coffee for his father.  “Did you sleep well?”

Ben answered with a noncommittal grunt.

Hoss joined his father and brother at the table, figuring to get a second breakfast with Hop Sing cooking up more scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Exercise self-control when drinking liquor. A hangover is punishment enough for overindulgence,” said Adam.

“Public displays of drunkenness are an embarrassment to yourself and to the Ponderosa.  People are quick to judge and gossip spreads like wildfire,” said Joe.

Throwing my own words back at me, thought Ben.  He started at the sound of Hop Sing’s voice.

“You look like Little Joe with overhang.”

“That’s hangover,” Joe said.

“You need special remedy,” the cook said as he set down a serving bowl of freshly scrambled eggs and a platter of bacon

Ben lifted a hand in refusal.  “No, coffee will do just fine.”  Having watched his boys’ reactions to Hop Sing’s “special remedy” over the years, he wasn’t eager to sample it.  Stuff smelled like ginger-laced mud.  A wave of nausea rippled from Ben’s belly to throat and, fortunately, only yielded a belch.

Hop Sing grabbed up the coffee pot and returned to the kitchen to refill it.

Ben nearly spilled the contents of his cup at a pounding on the door.  He put down his cup and set an elbow on the table so he could rest his forehead in his hand. “Someone get that.”

The sound of boot steps let Ben know one of his sons obeyed him.

“Miz Hawkins, what are you doing here?” asked Hoss.

“I’ve brung a remedy for your pa.”

Ben clutched his robe and pulled it close across his broad chest.  He stood and walked round the table only to be confronted with his pint-sized guest.

Clementine Hawkins carried a small basket, which contained a pint jar with a bright red ribbon looped around the jar’s neck. The ribbon was tied in a fancy bow.

The widow took in Ben’s hair in need of smoothing down and his bloodshot eyes.  “Coo, Ducky, you need hair of the dog this morning, you do.”

Hop Sing trotted into the room with the refilled coffee pot.  “Hair of dog?  Get fleas,” said the cook.

Joe couldn’t hold back a high-pitched giggle and it was joined by Adam’s deep chuckle.

Clementine offered the basket but Ben hesitated, as if it were filled with roiling rattlesnakes instead of a jauntily-decorated jar.  At a nudge from Hoss, he accepted the basket.

“What is it?” Ben asked, afraid to learn the answer.

“Egg nog with a generous dollop of Jamaican rum.”

“Thank you, Clementine, but this isn’t necessary.”

“It were a grand dance last night, but we ‘ave unfinished business.”  She pulled forth a bedraggled sprig of mistletoe from her reticule.

Ben’s eyes widened and flashes of the night before played in his mind.  Clementine cutting in when he danced with other ladies.  Clementine trying to lead him under the mistletoe when they did dance.  Seeking refuge by the punchbowl.

She handed the mistletoe to Hoss, who hadn’t moved since the encounter between his father and the widow.  He craned his neck to get his brothers’ attention then winked.  Hoss held the mistletoe high over the widow’s head.

Clementine leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and puckered up.

Ben held his robe tighter and looked as if he were ready to bolt for the stairs.

Hoss took his elbow to make sure his father couldn’t escape.

Ben nervously licked his lips, as if this he was a nervous young man about to plant his first kiss.  At a squeeze on his elbow, he leaned over and gave the widow a brief peck.

“That were hardly a kiss at all,” she said.  Clementine grabbed Ben by the shoulders and stood on tiptoes as she pulled him to her for a long kiss.

She sighed with content when they separated.  “Merry Christmas!”

A flush as deep as the red robe colored Ben’s face and neck.

Hoss escorted her to the door and watched until her buggy rounded the barn.

Joe leaned back in his chair, holding his stomach, as he laughed so hard tears streamed down his face.    Adam slapped the table as he laughed.

Ben handed the basket to Hoss.  He then headed for the stairs to the refuge of his bed. “Merry Christmas,” Ben muttered.

“If you ain’t sobered up now you might as well give this a try,” said Hoss as he pulled the jar from the basket and held it aloft.  He dissolved into a gale of laughter, adding to the cacophony raised by his brothers.

Ben didn’t even look back as he climbed the stairs; he just clung to his robe and what remained of his dignity as he turned the corner on the second floor.

The End

Character: Ben

Activity: Sleeping in