Summary:  Clearing out a neglected corner of the barn leads to unexpected development for Adam and his family.

Rated: T

Word Count:  2044

 “Grandfather, look what I found! It was way down under the straw in the back stall, the one we haven’t used for a long time.

Even at 14 years of age, Mark was an exuberant boy. He opened his fist to show his grandfather a penknife on his palm.

“Look, it’s yours. ‘Adam Cartwright’ is engraved here on the handle.”

The old man hadn’t needed to be told. He had known from the first glimpse of its ivory handle that the knife was back. The jackknife that he hadn’t missed, that he had hoped was gone away forever after he lost it years ago.

The boy folded out the blade and tested its edge with his thumb.

“It’s still …” he began, just as his grandfather hissed sharply, “Don’t touch the blade. Give it to me! Immediately!”

“But…”

Adam held up his hand in a demanding gesture and the boy quickly obeyed his angry grandfather.

“I found it, and I only wanted…”

Again Adam interrupted him, “You could have cut off your finger!”

“Cut off? I would never do that! I wouldn’t even slice into my finger, I’m not a baby, grandfather.” The boy tried to smile at the old man when he saw that he was breathing heavily and clenching his teeth. “Grandpa, what’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? Everything was wrong! Everything. Adam spun on his heel and left the porch with hard strides.

He was leaning against the crossbar of the corral when he felt the presence of the boy at his side. “Grandpa, did something terrible happen with this knife? You look so…frightened. Ma always says, ‘let it out,’ when I’m upset. Maybe you can tell me about it.”

Now Adam looked at the boy…or was the tall youngster more than that? He was as tall as Adam had been as a youth, or maybe bigger. Adam felt the pain in his clenched jaw muscles and knew he had to relax them. Maybe telling was the best. He knew the boy was a good listener. Not only in this regard was he like Adam’s brother Hoss. So he nodded and let out the breath he had held without realizing.

“It was out in the prairie,” he began. “Around forty years ago I came back from Boston to the Ponderosa with my family. I had a good life in Boston, and a lot of friends. I had married your grandmother in my middle age and we had two young sons. Then I decided to raise them in the West, where my father and my brothers were, to build my house on Ponderosa land and work as an architect in Virginia City. We took the train partway, and after that, the stagecoach. We were in the middle of the prairie when…. You know your uncle’s hand?”

The boy nodded, wide-eyed.

“We had stopped at a water hole. Your uncle who was no more than two years old by then, was playing on the ground. He must have touched the rattler behind or between the stones. I heard the rattle and his yell in the same moment. I shot the snake, but it was too late. I grabbed my son and saw punctures in the index and middle fingers of his right hand. I thought of sucking the poison out, but I had read that’s normally not successful. I knew the small body of my son couldn’t bear the poison, so I had to decide quickly. …”

“You amputated his fingers? It was you who did that to Uncle Paul’s hand?”

“Yes, with that knife there, I cut off his tiny fingers.” Adam’s jaw clenched again. “I maimed him for life.”

“You did what was needed, Grandpa. I’m sure Uncle Paul knows that. Have you ever asked him about it?”

**********

After a short hesitation, Adam chose to use the stair rail when he climbed the seven white stone steps into the impressive building. Virginia City was always hot in the summer, and the two hours in the carriage had been more demanding than he liked to admit. He gave a satisfied nod as he read “Cartwright & Johnson—Lawyers” on the marble stab. Then he straightened himself up and entered the building. From the hall, he opened the office through the big door with ornamental glass.

Three young women approached him, all talking at once:

“Oh, Mister Cartwright, good morning!”

“Does your son expect you? I think not but I will ask him …”

“Please let me take your top hat. Would you like something cold to drink?”

The door to the left opened and Paul Cartwright entered the room. “Come on in, Father! Two glasses with cold water and two cups of coffee, please.” The younger man opened the door wide to let his father go in first. “Is something wrong, Father? You could have sent for me—it’s a very hot day for a trip in the carriage. Please, sit down.”

“No, everything is fine. Or maybe it’s just no worse than before.”

The younger man raised his eyebrows. At that moment a secretary brought the beverages. Adam reached for a glass and took a deep gulp. “Yes, it’s very hot outside. Here in your office it’s nicely cool,” he said, looking up at the huge ceiling fan. “Ah, son, I think it’s time to tell you something. I never told you so but I’m eighty years old now and I think I have to. I’m sorry—I’m really ashamed of what I did to you.”

“What do you mean, Father?”

“Your hand. I crippled you,” the old man said.

“My hand? Why now? It’s been more than forty years. Father, you saved my life back then! Not many men would have been so quick thinking and—courageous to do a thing like that and save their child’s life.”

Adam’s gaze was still fixed on the slowly turning fan.

“Yes, Father. Everyone who’s ever commented on my injury congratulated me on my courageous father.”

“No. It’s not only that I did the amputation and spoiled your hand. I’m guilty in another way. Guilty and selfish.”

“As I said, Father…”

Adam’s gesture stopped him.

“Paul, why were you in the middle of nowhere when you touched that rattler? Why did you have to travel such a long way as a toddler? Because I decided I would live here in the West. It wasn’t necessary! We had a fine life in Boston. It was my decision to leave, but you paid the price. In making that choice I took so many choices from you.”

“Do you think so?”

The older man nodded.

“What choices?”

“Playing the piano…or…”

“Oh yes, maybe I could have been a crack shot. Or a dentist.” Paul grinned. “I’m happy with my life, Father. I’m a successful lawyer, I have a family, a house, I sing in the choir…”

“But all that you could have done in Boston, too.”

“Maybe, but I would never have known my grandfather Ben or my uncles and cousins. I wouldn’t have had a childhood on the Ponderosa, wouldn’t have found my wife right here in VC.”

The older man still looked unconvinced.

“Father, do you blame Grandpa Ben about Grandmama Inger’s death?”

“Yes,” Adam answered after a short pause. “Sometimes I did, especially after your accident. It wasn’t far from Ash Hollow, and it hit me in that moment how dangerous it was to travel with a young family, with a pregnant wife. A man with responsibilities shouldn’t risk the lives of young children or his wife. Yes, in that way, my father was selfish, too.”

Both men sipped from their coffee cups at the same moment.

“I have just such a case on my desk, Father, from a man who lost his young son. A runaway wagon killed the little boy as he played on the sidewalk. The father wants to accuse the coachman or the owner of the coach, but the horses were spooked because another man shot and killed a rat. Who’s guilty, Father?”

Adam’s brow shot up. “Are you telling me that accidents happen, boy?”

“Yes! And I think decisions lead to new facts, but not making decisions can also lead to new facts—different facts. My grandmother died in childbed in Boston. Who is to blame? Would Grandpa Ben have been happy as a storekeeper? Would Grandmother Inger have been happy with him? Or was she fascinated by a man with dreams, a man who wanted to take control of his life? What about Uncle Joe? He wouldn’t exist if Grandfather had made another choice.”

“Why do I have a son who’s a lawyer? You even can best me in a logical argument.”

“Do you think Grandfather Ben blamed himself?”

“No, he didn’t. I read all his diaries to make certain. He was devastated, but for him it was destiny, not guilt.”

“You see, Father.” The younger man put on his business smile. “I never blamed you, be assured,” He stood and extended his hand to his father. “In ten minutes a client is due. I need to read my notes before we meet. Sorry.”

Adam held the injured hand with both his hands, and then caressed it cautiously.

“I don’t have much time,” Paul said, but he didn’t make a move to withdraw his hand. It appeared he’d been caught off-guard by his father’s soft touch. “Be certain, Pa, I was always proud of you, but…”

“But what, son?” Adam’s voice was low now and he searched his son’s eyes. “I did too much pain to you on that day? You couldn’t love me anymore?”

“Oh, I don’t even remember that day. No, I was ashamed as a boy that I was such a sissy, that I always let you down.”

“What?”

Now Paul’s voice was very low. “Sometimes the hand hurt, I think when it grew, and Ma put a cool salve on it and you always left the room with a stony face.”

“Paul, you thought…”

“You always went easy on me, even if I did something real bad. I was never sure if I maybe wasn’t worth the effort for you, such a little sissy.”

“Oh, Paul, I’m sorry you felt that way! Why didn’t you say anything?” Adam asked, baffled.

The younger man looked at his father with a lopsided grin, “Maybe because I am a son of yours, Pa? Telling our feelings isn’t our forte, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. But we will learn!” With that Adam pulled the forty-five-year-old man around the big desk with a strength his son hadn’t thought the old man still possessed and drew him to his breast for a tight hug.

“I love you, son, and always have. And I’m proud of you without any buts.” And he kissed the scar on his son’s hand, the scar he hadn’t dared to look at for so many years.

**********

In the carriage on the way back Adam sang with a loud voice the gospel hymn about “Joshua’s Battle.” He knew why this song had come into his mind and he winked at himself as he sang, or maybe at the memory of Marie, who had tried so hard to break through his walls and to teach him to trust again, even after so many blows of fate. Yes, he always had had his walls; he had learned this day a lot about how walls that were built to protect feelings could become barriers and ice-cold lumps in the breast, and even could be passed on through generations, but still they could come down! Paul and he had destroyed the barrier between them today.

And then in his freed heart a warm flow of creativity shaped words and rhymes about joy and trust, love and happiness, and he was impatient to tell Mark how well his advice had worked and to recite his new poem, and maybe to fit it to a tune so he could sing it with all his children and grandchildren.

The End

Author’s Note:

Written for the 2022 Ponderosa Paddlewheel Poker Tournament.   The game was Five Card Draw and the words and/or phrases I was dealt were:

poetry
runaway wagon
rattlesnake
engraved penknife
diary