Summary: !5-year-old Adam is awaiting a letter from San Francisco, but his plan to  check for its arrival at Cass’ store are detoured by his father’s directive to head the opposite direction for the day instead. Something about this feels off to Adam, and he lets his frustration at being kept from his simple request billow into anger. After hearing something that seems to confirm his feeling that all is not right with this situation; he lets his emotions ride unchecked, causing a chain of  painful events he has to sort through. He settles on writing it all out just as it happened, including each step and misstep he made and the feeling that drove it. Meanwhile his father will have to examine his part it what happened as well, and we see this conclusion through Adam’s eyes as well.

Rating: K          Word Count:  16841

 

Detour Through a Snake Pit

(A prequel from Adam’s POV)

Upholding the Spirit of the Law

Dagnabit!

I’d use a word with a little more salt, but I exhausted any God-given tolerance for curses, oaths and profanity earlier today. I sometimes amaze myself with the number of colorful phrases I’ve picked up from our ranch hands over the couple of years I’ve worked with them.

Fortunately, by the time I saw Pa a little earlier, I’d experienced something that had knocked the vulgarity from my vocabulary or I would be suffering from more than my present injuries. My father neither uses nor abides such language from me or even our ranch hands (although they use it liberally when he’s not around). The few slips I’ve made in his presence—despite me no longer being a “kid”—have resulted in getting a chaw of Marie’s French-milled lavender soap, leaving me to wonder how something smelling so good, can taste as foul as the words it is meant to correct.

It’s been quite a day, and although it’s only late afternoon, I’m in bed: ordered here not as punishment but out of concern. I own up to the bad decisions that caused the split scalp, tender tailbone and colorful bruises that have put me here. Yet there is evidence to hold my father accountable for starting the series of events leading to this outcome.

I’ve decided to write a narrative of what happened today before I sleep.  Even though Pa’s order to bed for “rest” was meant as sleep, my logical mind has found a loophole in his choice of words. I am “resting” in bed, thus observing the spirit of the law, if not the letter of it.

I’m too keyed up to drift off anyway, and need to figure out what went into making things go so wrong before Pa asks again for an accounting of that same information. Penning a story seems an appropriate means of review since today’s events are tied to another story I wrote.

And this … brings me back to my original mild oath of dagnabit.

Hoss’ favorite expletive fits best because he is responsible for my current difficulties. My room is above the kitchen where the current activity is centered in the house. The thick boards separating the two floors muffle words making them unintelligible, but I can hear conversations and sounds that indicate what’s going on down there. Dishes are clinking as they’re being washed, dried and put away, and Hop Sing’s fast-fired barrage of words indicate he’s issuing orders to Pa and Marie: the other two voices I can distinguish.

What this means for me is that they’ll hear me moving around up hear just as easily I hear them. And while my “rest vs. sleep” loophole makes perfect sense to me; I fear Pa would see it differently if I’d be called on to explain it to him. My plan to avoid such an occurrence necessitates staying put, so I grabbed a pad of paper, eraser, and pencil along with a small knife for sharpening it, before crawling into bed.

In my haste to gather my implements, I failed to note that the pencil was full of tooth marks Hoss made in it yesterday when we worked on his arithmetic together. My younger brother physically chewed on the soft wood while mentally chewing through those word problems. The feel of those toothy notches is bad enough, but in his exuberance over finishing his assignment; he flipped the pencil upwards and fumbled the catch, allowing it to hit the floor and bounce a few times.

I realize now that the damage was far greater than just the tip breaking off. After whittling a nice point, I applied pencil to paper only to have a short piece of broken lead fling from the shaft and ricochet off the blanket to the dark floor beside my bed. There’s plenty of light coming through my window, but none reaches down there.  I’m imagining it sticking upwards between the floorboards like a spear, waiting to impale my bare foot when I forget it’s there, and step out of bed!

Two further attempts to fashion a point ended similarly, seeding my floor with pencil-lead shrapnel.

This whittle is holding, even though the pencil is half its original size and requires a clumsy grip. I’m unsure whether my prayers will even be considered right now in light of my earlier disavowal of all that was holy, but I sent a few anyway, asking that it will hold up long enough to write out this strange story of feelings trumping reason.

With the pencil finally moving smoothly across the paper, I now face a different assault on my efforts. My injured head has started pounding with the cadence of a blacksmith shaping horse shoes. You’d think I’d feel better “resting” in my quiet room, but the absence of external diversion has allowed the injuries I sustained in the tumble from my horse to stand front-and-center. I picture Pa and Marie looking upwards as they hear my bed creaking with each attempt to find a comfortable position.

Enough preamble! I need to move the words from my head onto paper while my pencil and brain still work.

I’ll write this as a story from my perspective—just as it happened—including the feelings that drove me.

 

Detour Through a Snake Pit

A few months back, Pa went to San Francisco to pick up the furniture he and Marie had sent by ship from New Orleans, after they’d chosen to return home by a land route to get back here the fastest way possible. Shipping these nice items seemed a good idea at the time, since the only furniture we had for the new house Pa had the work hands build while he was away, was limited to the few things that had made it on our first cross-country venture or were built out of necessity from our pines.

As good plans often do; this one went awry. While the newly married couple of Ben and Marie Cartwright made it here in record time by signing on with a supply caravan that ran a much tighter and exhausting schedule than traditional wagon trains moving families along northern routes; their furniture did not.

Once they arrived with the few items they’d been allowed to bring on the fast-moving caravan, they’d waited for word of their goods arriving in San Francisco. Pa made inquiries after a significant amount of time had passed, only to find that although the ship had made the trip successfully, their furniture had been lost from the manifest. It didn’t surprise Pa. Crews at the docks on the West Coast knew how to benefit greatly from such “lost” items. Good furniture is hard to come by out here, and the wad of cash in their back pocket from selling off Marie’s things made larceny more palatable even to the good sailors who’d show up at the harbor chapel on Sunday mornings. The vanishing completed an “old-as-time” equation: Greed plus availability and opportunity, equaled a fast sale. No one followed up on it. The owners had to admit such methods of transporting goods could result in loss. And neither the buyers nor sellers were apt to complain.

Then, more than three-years later, a letter brought astounding news: the entire consignment had been found when they’d gone to empty an old warehouse for demolition. The bill of lading had been left with the items instead of being brought to the office, effectively making it disappear. Pa added the stays and canvas to the schooner and headed to the coast with one of our ranch hands.

I’ve been to San Francisco with Pa. There is noise, crime and seediness at the docks, but new homes and shops are being built nearby. When Pa returned, he brought a necklace for Marie; store-bought toys for my younger brothers; new clothes and shoes for everyone, and for me: a small crate of books that included a flyer from the bookstore, advertising a writing contest.

Pa had spoken with the owner about it, and found out the man’s brother is a New York publisher looking to compile a book of short stories about families who left everything behind to start fresh in the West. The best part is that he wants the stories written by kids who’ve made the journey.

Figuring the best place to find these writers would be where they ended up, he asked his brother to run a contest out here. The West Coast brother accepted the challenge and gathered his best customers to be judges and establish the rules. They decided that by age twelve, youngsters would have the vocabulary and means of telling an actual story, so they established tiers of ages: 12-13, 14-15, and 16-17, figuring anyone 18 or older would be considered an adult. Their hope was to gather 15 winning stories—five from each group—to give a wide variety of experiences to the final product. In addition, they would choose a sort of grand-prize winning story that best described the pioneering spirit developed through the journey.

This wasn’t the first contest I’ve seen for younger writers, but it was the first one with a long lead-time. According to Pa, flyers for this had been sent to developing communities up and down the coast, so the committee had allowed ample time for entries to come in. I was finding out about it much later than others, but if I worked fast, I stood a good chance of making the deadline.

Pa had gleaned more information from Mr. Stark, the store owner. The judges were not looking for stories expounding on the horrors and pitfalls of such trips. He’d said there was enough written about deaths, dysentery, accidents, attacks, horrible weather and broken spirits. Because this book was being aimed towards children whose parents were considering the move, they didn’t mind a realistic look at the journey, but the overall theme was to be encouraging. What they hoped for were tales of families working through the hardest of times, trying to make life as normal as possible in situations that were far from normal. And finally, they expected that what they learned on the journey would lead to strength in faith and knowledge to assist in their new homes.

“That’s a tall order, especially for kids,” I’d told Pa when he’d finished.

“Stark and his judges aren’t expecting perfection. They feel children tend to see things in a more hopeful light than adults, and therefore the stories will be naturally more positive.”

I read the poster over again, this time seeing the instructions compared to Pa’s conversation with Mr. Stark. I understood no information had been shared to give me an advantage over others. It had only served to encourage sticking to the written rules.

Do you think I’d stand a chance?” I asked Pa and Marie.

“You won’t know unless you write something and send it in.” He’d winked at Marie. “You tell a good story around the campfire, and keep your brothers entertained with tales about our trip out here. And you might have a head start, since I taught you to keep a daily log … a journal just as I did … as soon as you could write. I recall reading a few of your entries over the years, and found them far more than a compilation of dates and places. You noted events: the ordinary, the beautiful and the ugly things that happened, and what you learned from them.”

Marie had given him a hard jab in the arm, and told me, “You’re a whole lot more than a fair storyteller. Your grammar and vocabulary are nearly perfect when you want them to be, and you have a way of writing that sparkles on the page.”

***

Pa’s suggestion made sense, so I went back over my journals and found that I could connect events into categories that showed how they’d contributed to growing smarter, stronger and more confident as individuals, families and within our sort of rolling community. The story I pieced together ended with us settling here where our Cartwright determination has kept us rolling forward one small step-at-a-time, even when events or setbacks leave us unable to take a full stride.

When finished, I asked Marie and Pa to read it. Pa looked at me when he finished, grasped my arm and nodded several times. Marie allowed a few tears while telling me it was a perfect story and all it needed was for us to go through it together to correct a few grammar errors in the final rewrite. I appreciated both reactions, but it was Pa’s unspoken emotion that convinced me it was good. Pa allowed me a day off from chores to finish it, and I got it to Cass’ store for the next supply wagon returning to the coast.

***

Nothing happens fast out here, and I didn’t think much about the contest once I’d sent my story in. More honestly: not knowing how long it took that supply wagon to reach San Francisco, I had no idea if it had arrived in time.

I don’t regret any part of my life, but since we traveled from the time I was born, and left Missouri when I reached what would have been considered, “school aged,” I never attended a “real” school. I learned great basics from Pa, Inger and Marie, as well as from ladies in the boarding houses where we stayed throughout the Eastern states. There was a trained teachers in our caravan and then Hoss and I stayed with a former teacher when Pa went to New Orleans.

I’ve completed more than one series of primary books, and I’m nearly done with a set of secondary texts covering mathematics like geometry and algebra, grammar, literature and composition, basic science and Latin. Marie had a fine education in convent schools, although her expertise is in language and literature. But she’s been willing to learn science and mathematics right along with me, and has fine mind for such concepts.  Further, she insists Pa allow time for my education each day.

In reality; I’ve got as much or even more “schooling” than most, especially kids growing up with parents who don’t hold “book learning” in high regard. I don’t believe my education is lacking, but then I’ve never had my competency compared to others. I’ve always devoured books, and suspect that has helped me develop my campfire story “telling” … the verbal kind Pa mentioned. That must slip into my writing, giving it an earthier, less formal style. There’s no way to know whether a judging committee would find that acceptable for a published work.

***

Much like the surprise letter informing us our furniture had been found; I was pleased to find a letter on my dinner plate when I came in for supper a couple months back.  It was from the bookstore, confirming a timely arrival of my entry. Unfortunately, the only other information noted was the date the final judging would occur, and an anticipated timeframe for sending out the results.

I guess I’m considered competitive, but to me it’s in the sense of competing against myself, trying to improve each time I do something … becoming more proficient … or learning from mistakes. After reading the letter, I felt two competing emotions. I was elated that my story was in the contest, but deflated by the absence of any indication of their thoughts about it. It isn’t the “prize” I want so much as having it compared to other entries.

I’m also considered patient—usually. I can put up with my brothers’ shenanigans far longer than Pa, Marie or Hop Sing. But in this case, I ached to know more, and when Pa heard me sigh, he thought the letter contained bad news. He asked to read it, and in his manner, handed it back, saying, “Winning is a blessing, but what matters more is that you produced a product you were proud to submit. No matter the outcome, your story is a gift to this family: an important reminder of what it took to get here.”

Marie read the letter next, and being more intuitive than Pa, she suspected the true reason for the sigh. Her response was to give me a peck on the cheek and whisper in my ear that I’d penned a masterpiece, and she could smell victory in the breeze blowing east from the coast.

According to those dates; the judging had already taken place. All I could do was await the next letter. The estimated date for the results being sent was nearing, and doing an unscientific calculation using the date this letter had been written compared to the day I read it, indicated it had gotten to Cass’ store in six-weeks. Extrapolating forward, allowing extra days for uncontrollable delays, I came up with a window of time in which I might expect to hear more.

***

Days fly by when you’re up with the sun and in bed when it sets. That same timeframe feels eternal when you’re waiting for something. Yet, I was surprised when I walked into the kitchen a couple weeks back and saw Marie tearing a page from the wall calendar. The act reminded me that my calculation for the results to arrive was closing in. A few days later, Pa and I went to “town” for supplies, and I casually asked Mr. Cass when he expected the next wagon from San Francisco. “Soon,” he replied. The word, soon in our “on the edge of nowhere” vernacular, can indicate anything from a few hours to a few months.

Trying not to sound desperate, I asked if he could narrow that down, and after winking at Pa, and asking if I was perhaps expecting a letter from a young lady, he finally said the wagon comes around the third week of the month. “Around” is akin to “soon” but with a little more definition, and barring a spate of bad weather or a delay in the letter being sent, I might know the outcome in a “couple” weeks.

***

We call the settlement building up around the general store, Cass’ Crossing, but it’s not an official name. Yet mail finds us here because Mr. Cass became a stable place to anchor this area when he bought the trading post and turned it into what’s become a small emporium, selling a bounty of supplies brought in by supply wagons from east and west. He also lets us order one-of-a-kind items and tools from catalogs provided by his suppliers. There still aren’t enough of us to form a proper town, but we now have a small saloon, boarding house, feed mill and blacksmith spaced out along a rough main street.

The trip to “town” from the Ponderosa is long-enough that we can’t make it often, but with the “around” time fulfilled, I’d advocated for accompanying Pa and Marie earlier in the week when they’d announced they were going in on Tuesday. There was no malice in Pa’s refusal, and although disappointed, I left with the crew to cut fencing, hoping there’d be mail for me when I returned that evening.

The anticipation I’d felt was extinguished at seeing an empty table. I might have wondered about Pa’s contorted smile towards Marie as he’d sidestepped my questions like a boxer avoiding a left jab. “You might hear by the end of the week,” he’d finally told me when I asked whether Mr. Cass had news about the wagon’s arrival. Since Pa doesn’t lie, I tucked my disappointment along with renewed anticipation in my back pocket for another few days.

Perhaps I should have guessed that something was off when I found Pa and Marie with their heads together, talking quietly when I came to the table for breakfast From Wednesday until today. Yet that wouldn’t strike me as unusual. They are affectionate, and usually unnerved by being observed in these intimate moments. The odd thing was as I entered the kitchen these last days, they pulled away from each other, blushing like two teenagers caught kissing behind the barn.

I didn’t think much about it, since I find their loving demonstrations comforting. Many families we know are led by parents who seem to barely tolerate each other. Even Mr. Cass and his wife usually appear to be sucking on bitter pastilles when they’re working together in the store.

***

Pa’s words about a mail delivery by the weekend made me approach him and Marie at breakfast this morning with a simple, well-thought plan.

“I finished trimming and stacking all the undergrowth pines we cut for fencing yesterday, Pa, so I thought I could ride into town and check for mail. It’s not far from that site, so if I leave now, I’ll be there by the time the men have more ready to trim.”

Taking a quick breath before he could say no, I added, “It’s more curiosity than expectation of winning. I hope the results include why the judges chose the stories that won.”

My heart dropped a few inches deeper into my chest and was keeping my lungs from expanding when I saw Pa’s expression. I can tell when he is not taken with my suggestions, and the stony set of his jaw was a sure indication that I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.

“The men won’t be cutting trees out there until Monday. Today I want you to ride south to where we pastured those steers last week. I heard several wandered into to the canyon next to it.”

Pa must have seen disappointment wash over my face, and tried to encourage me. “You know the nooks and grazing spots where those crazy critters hide better than any of our hands. Find as many head as you can. Later, you can head home to help here. Marie and I invited a few families out to talk about making a financial offer to Miss Jones to hold regular classes for our younger children this fall. Will has offered to clear a section of his storage shed for her to use, and we’ll chip in to add a window and stove. When you’re finish with the cattle, you can keep their kids entertained while we talk.”

“I don’t recall you mentioning that,” I replied in a tone far more sullen-sounding than I’d expected.

“It came together on Tuesday when we were in town,” Marie offered, after giving my father a noticeable poke in the side. “You work such long hours, Adam; it probably never came up when you were around.” She sniffed the air. “But you probably smell the meat cooking for later, and may have noticed covered plates in the cupboard holding sweets Hop Sing and I prepared.”

I nodded and then smiled as an idea came to mind. “I bet the Cass’ will bring our mail with them.”

“It’s Saturday, Adam; the Cass family’s busiest day of the week,” Pa said. “I’m not sure they’ll make it.”

The rescheduling of my day to include hours in the saddle trailing four-legged beasts, followed by watching two-legged critters who would end up arguing and screaming at each other unless I provided distraction, along with the lost opportunity to check for contest results made me lose my appetite. Scraping the remaining eggs in the slop bucket for the pigs, I headed outside without another word.

Normally I approach Pa’s directives willingly, even if not cheerfully. The only attribute present now is begrudging obedience as I saddle a formerly wild, tall, black horse I named Mercury because he runs so fast.

I understand why gathering strays is important. The size of our herds is growing yearly, but we won’t ever become cavalier about losing any of them. It doesn’t take much to “lose” a steer either. They get spooked by a breeze or a birdcall, wander off chasing good grass, or follow the rump of the animal in front of them … equally as lost. They can go for miles if nothing stops them.

In this case, the herd is pastured near a box canyon. These natural, three-sided rocky pens work well when a brewing storm might set the entire group to itching. We simply drive the beef into one of these whenever possible to avoid a stampede, and re-pasture them after the weather settles down. We’re putting up fencing to cut down on drift, but most of our steers still roam without barriers.

The men joke that canyons have a natural draw on steers. They find their way in but can’t find the way out. Headcounts are done often, but the hands who’ve been at this for some time can “spot” the absences without counting. We usually find the wanderers off chewing grass, but they are clumsy creatures that can get a leg stuck in a gopher hole or head into a narrow path and don’t realize they can back out. The worst situation is that loners make easy meals for coyote and wolf packs.

Much like the good shepherd noted in the Bible, we keep looking until we have an accounting. In this business, a carcass is also counted.

Pa has eyeballed this canyon at two-hundred acres of grass bordered by a sloping canyon wall. It’s wider than deep, and would normally be easily inspected. But the gentler rise here has animal trails leading up and back into areas of grass growing on small flats behind large boulders. If the steers aren’t in the open when I get there; I’ll be searching every last one of those.

I got Mercury saddled, mounted up in the barn, and ducked to get through the doors while atop the big horse, only to have Pa take the halter strap gently and look up at me once I got outside.

“You’ll be on your own out there, son. Hugh’s crew is separating the herd just beyond the western wall of that canyon for an upcoming sale. He doesn’t want you bringing strays back until they finish that so he’ll come find you when he’s ready. Just stay put until then.”

“What if it gets late? Don’t you want me home by lunchtime when those families come?”

“Don’t worry about that. Just stay put until Hugh gets to you and helps move those strays back.”

***

I could ride full-out to the canyon in minutes. But knowing Mercury will be moving continuously for the next several hours, I kept him at a comfortable canter. This grazing pasture is closest to the house, making it one where the men can come back to the bunkhouse at night during an operation like this. We don’t watch pastured cattle unless there’s some reason to suspect trouble.

Today, the crew is marking mature steers for an upcoming sale to a cavalry post northeast of here in the Utah Territory along the Humboldt River route that breaks southward from the Oregon Trail. Hugh will brush a swatch of whitewash on their backs to get a count for the bill of sale, and once Pa’s ready with the paperwork, they will separate these out and leave on that long drive.

I can’t see Hugh’s men, but an easterly wind is carrying some their whistles and the herd’s crabby bawling at being made to move around, over the rim of the canyon.

The Ponderosa is huge with Pa adding acres whenever their availability coincides with the availability of cash in the safe. Losing myself in this vast quiet is an option I indulge in when I want to think. But other times, this same openness can feel overwhelming. Don’t know what it is today. I’m jittery, and just want to find this beef and get home.

Unfortunately, the canyon floor appears vacant of runaways, so I’ve pushed Mercury to a moderate gallop, intending to go up one of the antelope paths to scan the horizon from a higher vantage, hoping for a sign of them congregated together in a shadowy place on the flat. Pa indicated there was a good number missing, so you’d think they’d stay together. That’s not so today, and it just makes me edgier.

My grouchiness at having my plans redirected continues, but an idea has come to mind for a children’s book I could write about a few lost steers and the conversation they’d have while trying to find their way back to the herd. I’ve a strong suspicion the words I’d put in the mouths of the cattle would sound exactly like my two younger brothers’ talking if they were in a similar situation!

Refocusing on my assignment; the absence of any moving objects below prompts a skyward check next. It’s a great relief to see no carrion-eating birds circling above.

My hope for quick recovery is now a game of hide-and-seek that will take the entire morning … if I’m lucky.

***

My efforts over the last several hours have been fruitless. The sun overhead indicates it’s late morning, and I’m hoping Hugh will arrive soon to help or maybe take over, so I can get home. Watching kids isn’t necessarily fun, but it would be nice seeing our neighbors and having a lunch not consisting of the jerky in my saddlebags.  I checked every hidden lea I know of, and am back on the grassland again for another quick look behind any clump of brown bush or rock big enough to hide a thousand-pound beef.

I’ve noticed that my frustration over not finding even one of these strays has resulted in abundant and stronger oaths and expletive with each fruitless search, reaching a point where I’ve called to mind and lips, every ugly description of bodily functions and anatomical parts I’ve ever heard the drovers use. My best hope now is to hear that these wayward runners somehow managed to find their way back once Hugh gets here. And that can’t happen soon enough!

Oh, good! I see a rider cresting the west canyon pass connecting to the pasture where Hugh’s men are working. It’s not Hugh, though. At this distance, I recognize horses more than riders, and the one coming towards me is Sandy, a smaller buckskin mare used by a new guy named Danny. He’s only two-years older than me, so you’d think we’d get along. But now and then I run into a ranch hand who holds a grudge because I’m the “boss’ kid.” Danny is one of those.

We work together fine, but he never passes up a chance to pounce on a misstep I make or to deliver veiled insults about my skills or intelligence. He’s openly stated that I’m too soft to ever make a good cowhand because I go home to a “real room” instead of a crowded bunkhouse, eat good food around a table and have money for whatever I want. I suspect such guys have no idea how tight money is in the Cartwright house, and are blind to the fact that after a full day working with them, when they’re relaxing in their bunks, I still have chores to do. They don’t notice the patches on my clothes, my worn boots or the fact that I do a lot of extra chores around the house, have school lessons and watch my younger brothers on days when I’m not out with them. I try not to react. In Danny’s eyes; what my family has, even if it is the result of our labor, is so much more than what he must have ever experienced.

Danny has pulled Sandy to a stop nearly nose-to-nose with Mercury. “What’cha doin’ out here?” he asked.

It seemed an odd question, but I took a long draw of sun-warmed water from my canteen before saying, “Pa sent me to hunt the strays that got away the other day.”

Tipping his head, Danny fixed me with a one-sided, raised lip expression resembling a sneer. “We got all them strays before comin’ in last evening, and had a full count this mornin’ so’s we could do the dividing.” He leaned forward in his saddle, with his expression also leaning … towards nasty. Throwing his head back, he roared out a laugh that echoed … in my head … if not actually in the canyon. The laugh continued as he shook his head, and I realized this hired hand was laughing at me, and was about to tell me why. “Seems like yer pa’s got you huntin’ down somethin’ that ain’t even lost, Young Cartwright.”

It was the use of Young Cartwright that settled this as being more than simple kidding by a fellow hand. Our foreman Hugh always says Boss or Mr. Cartwright when addressing my father. When I got old enough that Pa put me under Hugh’s wing to learn the ropes of wrangling, he’d called me “Young Mr. Cartwright,” which he’d eventually shortened to Young Cartwright, using Adam only when he wanted me—as Pa puts it—”to listen and listen good.”

Without understanding that for Hugh, he still meant “young Mr. Cartwright,” other hands had tried using the name too, and he had put an end to that fast, explaining that he can call me whatever he wants because he’s in charge, but issuing from them; it’s disrespectful. They’d settled on calling me Adam, and “kid” when out with the cattle, since I’m the youngest guy out there.

Danny’s use of the name reserved for Hugh indicates he’s feeling superior to me right now. He must know something I don’t, and he means to get under my skin with it like a wasp inserting its stinger.

I smiled, although my lopsided effort must have appeared more like a snarl. “Pa must not have heard they’d been found.”

I saw Danny consider leaving it there. He couldn’t …. “Yer daddy did know,” he told me, letting that sink in like that stinger pumping in venom to leave a painful welt in my mind after he rode away. “I told him myself when I got back yesterday.”

It’s interesting how quickly blood can reach a boiling point. Danny’s comment caused a spark, making me realize that my father had lied to me. Worse still, everyone knew it.

Cartwrights don’t air dirty laundry, though. “I probably misunderstood,” I said while maintaining my grotesque smile. “I’ll ride home and check with him.”

Danny pushed the brim of his hat up with one finger to better expose the smirk settling on his face. “I wouldn’t do that if I was you, Young Cartwright. Hugh sent me over to make sure you were still chasin’ yer tail before he sent the rest of us back to the ranch. Seems yer pa has folks comin’ over for some big picnic lunch and even us hands are invited. Yet … I heard Hugh telling Steve that Mr. Cartwright said he’s to keep you out here until it’s over.”

I swear I saw a forked tongue shoot from his mouth when he added in a sickeningly sweet tone, “Oh, I shouldn’t a said nothin. I probably let the cat outa the bag about you not bein’ included.”

After turning his horse in the direction from which he’d come, he twisted in the saddle to look back again. “I’ll let you know later how the party was.” Once he was riding away from me, I removed my hat to release the steam before my head exploded. The oaths from earlier turned profane although still quietly spoken so as not to carry on the wind.

Once Danny was out of sight, I dismounted, grabbed the only item I could remove from my saddle, and swung my canteen over my head by the strap, releasing it in an arcing path to the ground several yards away.  Still full of raw energy, I kicked angrily at the good-sized rocks along the path I was pacing. They went flying just like the canteen until one of them remained firmly entrenched, causing me to yelp as pain shot from my foot to my knee.

My bruised foot is secondary to my bruised ego, and the fire in my brain is blazing too hot to tamp down. The thought pulsing through my burning veins is to ride home to where I’m apparently not wanted and confront Pa.

Applying my heals to Mercury’s silver-black sides after mounting up, I issued a final groaning oath, and took off. When a powerful animal with a good rider is allowed to run with a rein supplying only direction; all four feet leave the ground to prepare for the next forward surge. In those moments, horse and rider are suspended above earth’s bond in flight.

It took mere seconds before Mercury was nose ahead, tail flying in full acceleration with the hot wind blowing in my face, fanning the fire of anger and betrayal inside me.

***

I love riding full-out, but my mind was sorely distracted, and I failed to consider what will happen anytime forward motion is instantly reversed. Going from full tilt, to full stop, causes the horse distress, but at least all his parts are connected by muscles, bones and tendons, held together by a tight skin. Even the saddle is attached. The man in the saddle is not, which is a good thing most times since it allows him to make instant positional adjustments to stay in the seat.

And while fully grasping the principle of “center of gravity,” I wasn’t prepared to experience the loss of it.

My heated brain told me to take the most direct route from where I was to the canyon exit. I know this area, so I know the place we refer to as a “snake pit” lay dead ahead. Flat, sun-warmed rocks in a shallow gravel ditch surrounded by grass, provide a cozy place for snakes to warm up after chilly nights. I told myself that two strides on my flying horse would propel me across that site, so I didn’t care that it was there. I should have.

The speed of our exit didn’t allow for a good inspection of the pit before we arrived, and I spotted the large, coiled reptile in full repose just as we reached the edge. The fact that these snakes tend to be a non-venomous gopher variety rather than rattlesnakes means nothing to a horse. And being rightfully upset at having its morning sunbath interrupted; this one puffed himself up, hissing loud enough to sound like a hot-off-the-forge horseshoe being submerged in cool water, and began wiggling his posterior sections to mimic a rattler.

It was too late to turn Mercury away without causing him to lose his footing or propelling me off the side of the saddle, so I prayed fervently that he wouldn’t see the same thing I was. Mercury is powerful, agile, responsive, weighs at least 1200 pounds more that this reptile, and a brave warrior afraid of nothing … except snakes.  And I can’t blame God for not granting such a prayer after hearing my curses just minutes earlier!

Of course, Mercury spied the healthy reptilian specimen still hissing like a tea kettle just as his rear legs came to earth. The reaction was immediate. He froze those muscles in the rear part of his body, sliding forward on the scree until his front legs came down in full stop.

Stopping was completed by dropping his head and neck towards the ground to provide a sort of counter-balance … for him. I managed to hang onto the pommel through that and settled back into the saddle, but there was no way to readjust enough before he shrieked and reared to near vertical on his back legs, while flailing his front legs in a show of superior size … or abject terror … over the devil in front of him. The equation for what is about to happen escapes me, but involves forward thrust, deceleration, along with reverse propulsion.

The result …? I just completed a full backward summersault over Mercury’s rump, while engaging in a bit of flailing of my own, before landing solidly on my rearend and ceasing downward acceleration when my head impacted one of those flat rocks … fortunately absent another basking snake.

My half-ton steed, exhibiting no loyalty, tore off without a look back, leaving me to face a very angry snake that I swear sneered at me before slithering into the gopher hole he called home. I did see this as at least one answer to that hastily uttered prayer. While not having venom, it could have sunk its fangs into me to show its displeasure. A venom-less fanging hurts just as much as the other kind, and leaves two deep punctures that can become infected.

As I lay here taking stock, I realize that my injuries are sending a discordant buzz from my tailbone all the way up to my brain. Strange! I can hear it as well as feel it. It’s eerie. The one good thing is that my brain is still working enough to put words to what I’m feeling.

The buzz has ended, and now it’s getting … quiet ….

Sometime later

That buzz and stillness was a preamble to passing out. I want to think I came to immediately, but as I open my eyes, the sunlight feels like a knife being thrust through my pupils, indicating it’s past noon. My memory seems intact, and I do recall that I was on my way home to make an unwanted appearance. Now it seems I may have created a situation where I won’t make it home until everything is over. I smile crookedly at the irony.

Not having looked around yet, I was surprised to hear someone clear their throat, and a sideways glance gives me a blurry view of Hugh. A few lubricating blinks allow my eyes to bring our foreman into focus. It’s hard to know exactly what he he’s thinking. His expression has elements of worry and judgment, along with a twinge of a grin.

“Thank God you’re alive Young Cartwright.” His expression settled into relief before becoming a full grin. “Thought for a minute I’d be slingin’ your corpse over my saddle to take you home to your pa. Wasn’t looking forward to that.”

The acute pain following my flight from Mercury’s back, was now a steady, pulsing ache. Added to that; my brain is hosting a miniature musician playing a bass drum to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

I knew the fire over Pa’s lies was still smoldering when I heard the tone of my voice in reply. “I’d ask how you knew I needed help, but then again, Danny did say you’d been assigned to keep me away from the house.”

He sighed and chuckled. “I think what you mean to say is that you’re glad to see me, and thank me for being here.”

Hugh’s right. There’s no reason to be angry with him. He’s simply doing the job Pa asked of him. I managed to get something sounding like, “I’m sorry,” out before my attempt to sit up set off a dizzying swirl in my head and stomach. Hugh has been mother and prairie physician to enough hands over the years to recognize what was about to happen, and rolled me onto my side to throw up what’s left of my meagre breakfast.

“How ya doing, kid?” he asked, easing me to my back again while searching my pockets until finding my handkerchief and dabbing at the spit on my chin. “You look pasty, and I saw a good deal of blood on that rock yer usin’ as a pillow, so let’s check you out before you try sitting up again.” He waited for an answer but finally asked, “Can you move your arms and legs?”

I assumed I could, and performed a few bends and raises to confirm that.

He turned my head gently then to inspect my scalp and I heard a relieved sigh.

“I expected worse,” he admitted. “It’s a shallow split in your scalp … not through to your skull. Damage to the head just bleeds a lot. Don’t ask me why.”

When I faced him again, he added, “Your head held together on the outside, but what about the inside? You’re obviously dizzy, but how about seeing double or confusion?”

My answer was a surly, “I’m fine.”

“You’re far from fine, Adam, but I don’t think anything’s broken, so let’s try sitting. Slower this time.”

With Hugh’s arm around my shoulders, I managed that and accepted a swig of that same spit-warm water from the canteen he must have retrieved from where I’d launched it. Unfortunately, the liquid didn’t stay put, shooting from my stomach out my mouth like a geyser. Turning away to finish throwing up made the dizziness even worse so I laid back down.

I know Hugh’s really concerned now and trying to make me comfortable. His folded saddle blanket has been turned into a pillow, and it feels nice. I’m hearing a good amount of miserable groaning coming from one of us. I assume it’s me, although it sounds very far away.

Our ranch hands don’t talk much about their pasts, so I have no idea if Hugh was ever married or had kids. Yet he has been a comforting, parental figure—when he isn’t chewing me out—since I’ve been learning to drive cattle.

His tenderness for this fallen greenhorn has him rubbing my back, much as I’ve seen Marie do with Little Joe when he’s having a rough time. The action has no effect on the physical ache but I appreciate him being here more than I can put into words.

“This probably isn’t how you imagined you’d keep me from the house this afternoon, but it’ll do,” I told him as I felt stronger. That whining tone wasn’t supposed to be there, but maybe my soul is as wounded as my body right now.

“You said something like that earlier. What are you talking about?”

“Danny.” I sighed. “Said the guys were heading to the house for a picnic, but Pa said you’re supposed to keep me out here until after it’s over because he doesn’t want me there.”

Hugh scrubbed at his face. “Well; that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“You’re too a good horseman and you don’t do things blindly … or stupidly … to account for ending up in this situation.”

“Huh?”

“I knew there was going to be trouble as soon as that doggoned Danny got back with that snide look on his face. He was only supposed to ride up high enough to make sure you were still here, not go talk to you.”

The laugh I tried stuck in my throat and burned it raw. “So, the problem you see is that Danny told me what’s going on, not that I was lied to and excluded? It’s a shame you’re stuck out here. From what I could see this morning, you’re missing a nice lunch. Marie said all that food sitting around was for a meeting with a few other parents from town. And Pa said I could come home later to watch their kids, but before I left, he clarified that, saying not to come back until all the missing steers were found. They conveniently missed the part about how I’d never get finished because no steers were missing. What I don’t understand is why he’d ask you to lie to me too, and have you miss the party. Or were you just supposed to wish me good luck with the search and then head in as well?”

“What did Danny say … exactly?”

“Pa sent me out here to get rid of me for the day. He knew all the strays had been rounded up and then Danny heard you complaining that you had to keep me out here so I wouldn’t go home until everything was over.” Knowing I might have stretched Danny’s word a little, I added, “Or at least that’s what I understood.”

“Danny’s a troublemaker,” Hugh said in a matter-of-fact tone. “He can seem nice, but he’ll take what others say to him or what he hears eavesdropping, and gives it a good twist before he passes it around. He amuses himself by watching the reactions and the bad feelings blossom from his tall tales.”

My confusion persisted. “That might be true, but you still aren’t saying he lied.”

Hugh doesn’t blush easy, so when his cheeks turned red like an early spring sunburn, I knew he couldn’t deny what Danny had said.

“It’s more like he bent things.”

“What things did he bend?” I demanded in a voice so soft I wasn’t sure Hugh could hear me. I suppose I want to know the truth while not wanting to face what it implies.

“Your Pa stopped me before I left this morning. Said he was sending you out to search for strays. I reminded him we already got them all, and he said it was just a way to keep you from the house until later. He didn’t seem miffed with you, and even laughed about a few head might just have wandered off during the night. He called it …” He lifted his hat with one hand and scratched his head with the other. “A couple-hour diversion.”

“Why?”

“I don’t rightly know. Danny was right about a party though. Mrs. Cartwright invited everyone back for lunch, just like Danny told you. Someone asked about the occasion, and she said they were going to make a surprise announcement and then celebrate.”

“It would seem Danny didn’t lie at all. Why don’t Pa and Marie want me there?”

“You’ll have to ask them.” His hand returned to scratch his head again. “One thing Danny told you wasn’t true as I think on it. Ben didn’t tell me keep you away all day. I was just to bring you in later than the rest. I don’t know how early the folks from town were arriving or if bringing you in later would mean the shindig would be over already. But Ben did look excited. Must be some good news.”

I quickly sorted through what announcement would be followed by a celebration, and settled on a new addition to the Cartwright family. There’s been nothing to indicate that Marie is feeling as poorly as she did when Little Joe was on the way. But as she told me earlier; I haven’t been around the house much lately.

The hastily reached conclusion makes sense, while shedding no light on why I’d be excluded.

A dark thought has me skipping every other possibility to settle on the fact that a new Cartwright on the way means Pa and Marie’s family is growing, and I didn’t make the cut into it. They probably need my room and I’m old enough to move into the bunkhouse with the other hired hands. I’m supposed to show up late so Pa can explain this quietly and assign my eviction date.

As unreasonable as this sounds, there is precedence. Pa was gone 18-months when he went to sell our last pelts in New Orleans, knowing that they’d be purchased for use as “fine fur” rather than for everyday items around here.  Hoss and I stayed with a woman he hired to board and teach us during his absence and I spent those long months comforting Hoss when he cried for Pa, consoling him and myself with the thought that Pa missed us as much as we missed him.

When he returned; it was obvious he hadn’t missed us quite as much as I’d thought. He had every right to get married. It was simply unexpected. Marie was beautiful, intelligent and stood up for us and herself when Pa got single-minded. Hoss loved having a mother, but I was old enough that I thought of Marie as more a mentor, while still respecting her authority as a parent. Problems came when Pa demanded I call her Mother, but I couldn’t because I’d made a vow that I would reserve this title for my own mother alone. ²

Marie understood, just as Inger had, and we were getting along fine. It was Pa who saw it as disrespect. At one point, he suggested that my reluctance to obey him would lead to exclusion from this newly forming family.

I thought we’d resolved that. He’d even apologized and said he finally understood, and hadn’t meant to say hurtful things.

I’m left wondering if that had been a lie. Had he simply tucked away his misgivings about where I fit into the future? Was my continued presence an ugly reminder of an old life filled with loss and uncertainty? A new family brought a new outlook. Was it time to rid this bright future of the outsider—the oddity—the one who never quite fit in? Had he forgotten the promise he made while we traveled all those years? The one he’d whispered to me every night before I fell asleep: “We’re Cartwrights, Adam: together forever.”

I’m 15. A man in many cultures. At this moment, I don’t feel manly. I’m a coward and no longer want to face Pa. I’ll go back when no one’s there and grab what few possessions I have.  I’d made a plan to return to Boston the last time I’d been made to feel I didn’t belong. I’m older now: this time I’ll make it.

Hugh is pacing, probably waiting for me to say more. “Are you about ready to try getting up?” he finally said to break the uncomfortable silence. “I need to know if I should get a spare horse from where we were working or bring the supply wagon instead.”

None of this was his fault, so I sat up slowly. This time without further stomach trouble.

“Lean forward, kid and I’ll wash of some of the dirt from that gash.”

I’d assumed I’d hidden the storm of emotions during the last few minutes, but what makes Hugh a remarkable foreman is that he misses very little. The water slipping inside the collar of my shirt caused a shiver, so he wrapped the blanket I’d used as a pillow around my shoulders, and crouched down next to me.

“I got here fast after Danny came back laughing about how your pa had you out here chasing shadows,” he started. “Didn’t expect that conversation sat well, and you’d be hopping mad. Young Cartwright … you’re a reasoning kid most times, but you’re like everyone else who gets shot with their own backfiring gun when you act without thinking.”

His face dropped into worried wrinkles again. “When I came over the hill, I could see your horse clearing the entrance to the canyon at full speed and was pretty sure you weren’t on him. It took a while to find you, and a while for you to wake up. I know you gotta be hurting bad, but I’m seeing some other kind of hurting I can’t put my finger on. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” I growled.

“It’s not nothing. Might be good to get it into the open before we head home, son.”

Silence seems best. Pa says daily that he couldn’t run the ranch without Hugh. He may never be part of the family, but his place on the Ponderosa is sure. Mine is not. No need to make that any more obvious. “Did you say you have an extra saddle horse along? I can rest while you get it. I don’t need a wagon.”

I didn’t hear Hugh’s sigh, but I saw his chest rise and fall dramatically with my prompt, and the lines in his face dissolved into his normal weathered hide again. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Maybe we’ll get back for some of that party after all.”

“No need to rush. They don’t want me there anyway,” slipped out.

Hugh’s eyebrows met in a solid line across his forehead before he touched my shoulder. “I’m sorry what Danny said makes you feel left out.”

While I suspected he’d meant to say more, I quickly interjected, “I don’t feel left out. I was left out … as in not invited … excluded.” I didn’t mean to say that much and I clamped my lips together and looked away.

“There could be more than one answer for that,” he said gently while pulling the blanket up around my neck.  “Maybe it’s more that your folks know how smart you are. They probably knew you’d figure things out if they let you stick around and that would’ve ruined the surprise for you.”

I lied. “That must be it.”

Hugh wants to believe I bought his explanation, but he knows better. He glanced over his shoulder after he mounted up. The look on his face tells me he’s as relieved to be getting away from me as that gopher snake.

I gave him a weak salute and he tipped his hat before riding off.

Once he cleared the rise, I flipped to my knees and pushed up to my feet. It’s like trying to stand in a rocking boat, but there are two legs under me. My hat is within reach, probably put there by my rescuer, but in placing it, I brushed the hat band over whatever injury graces the back of my head. That restarted a trickling of something down towards my collar again. A quick swipe with my wet hanky proves it’s blood. The stomach upheaval is gone for now, and a few attempts to settle my hat somewhere pain free, leaves me with it cocked well forward, allowing the hot sun to beat down on the back of my head and neck. Being creative, I draped Hugh’s blanket over my hat like a nun’s veil.

A shake of my canteen produced sloshing to indicate enough until I get to a creek. With everything in order, I made my first wobbly steps while the drummer in my head started pounding on the bass and snare at the same time. It’s not far to the upward rise of the canyon I spent the morning searching. Pa was right about me knowing this area better than others, and I can hide more effectively than a mindless steer. I just need to be out of site when Hugh returns so he’ll have to make a similar search, allowing me time to rest and then hide more thoroughly. He might decide to ride home and tell Pa I’m gone instead of looking. That’s a perfect solution. Pa would be off the hook for making some sincere and logical explanation of why I’m being booted.

***

I feel like I’ve walked for miles: puffing with the exertion; sweat stinging my eyes to blur my vision, and my head pounding loud enough I hear nothing else. Blinking away the fog, I see that I’ve made it to a grassy hideout behind a group of shading boulders, and if my brain is working right; there’s a small stream nearby. I won’t stay here, but I need to sit down.

The best I can do now is lean my hands against a boulder to stay upright while my stomach empties the sips of water I just took. With a half turn, I ease down the smooth granite-like surface until I’m sitting on the grass. A few deep breaths help shoo the dark shadow at the edges of my vision, and I’m left wondering how bad my brain got rattled when it stopped so suddenly. Pa has a medical book he uses to help figure out what might be happening when we get sick or the men get hurt. It describes what happens in a concussion. As I start drifting off, I’m imagining that if my brain was knocked so hard to cause a concussion; it’s swelling with no room to keep expanding inside my skull, so it might liquify and run out my ears as I sleep. Hugh might get to bring me home tied over a horse after all.

***

“Stop that!” I growl, swatting away the hand of someone slapping my cheeks. It’s Hugh telling me to wake up while uttering oaths and curses to rival the ones I used earlier. My smile must resemble a drunkard waking up from a bender.

His slapping ceased as he breathed loudly. “You had me worried again, kid!”

“Why were you worried?”

“The trail you left looked like you were dragged off.” He chuckled with a worried edge. “Didn’t think there were bears or cats around these parts big enough to do that, but you never know.”

For a moment I thought he was serious, but then he grinned.

“You must have needed to get out of the sun or you’d have stayed put. Luckily that blanket you’re trailing left a pretty clear track to follow.”

His grin is gone and I know he’s telling me I’m a rat to make him worry more, while being kind enough to give me a plausible explanation. I took it. “I stood up and since that worked out well, I tried walking and ended up here where it was soft and shady.”

“The fact you walked this far is good. Did you pass out again or fall asleep?”

“Took a nap,” I replied honestly. “I feel better now.” That was the truth too. Pa’s big medical book talks about something that can happen even when the actual injury isn’t bad. It’s called shock and can make even a minor injury feel serious. It’s the circumstances that cause the phenomena. Being mad and tensed up was already causing some sort of physical reaction inside me when I got tossed. Guys breaking horses get thrown like that all the time, but they’re expecting it. I wasn’t, and instead of rolling with it, I fell like a log and jarred every inch of my body.

Hugh’s talking again. I should listen.

“We gotta get moving or your Pa’s gonna have my hide. It’s getting late.”

The angle of light now indicated it was early-afternoon, and while I might be doing better physically; I still had raw edges over what I’d learned about my father. “Just leave the horse and go, Hugh. I’ll rest more and come back later.”

“You’re one hard-headed kid. And I mean that in a couple of ways. You are looking better and I’ll attribute that to your hard skull, but inside that head, you’re still stuck hard to a burr you don’t know is true.”

He was squatting next to me, but then stood and extended his hand. “Get up, Adam. I know you’re hurt, and its’ not just your butt and head. Yet … it’s not like you to run away. I’ve seen you face up to your pa, and from my own experience that ain’t easy. You’ve taken my criticism to heart and squared up with other hands who might try to disrespect you. You speak your mind and then work harder than anyone to earn their respect. Danny’s got a chip on his shoulder. He sees that you’re younger, smarter, harder working and frankly, he knows you’re gonna inherit this one day. It eats at him. Today he put a worm in your ear that’s eating clear to your brain. Who knows; you might be right about everything you’re thinking, but let’s get home and sort it out. Your pa teaches you from the Bible, so you know there’s such things as deceiving spirits. From what I see, one’s got hold of you.”

Hugh was right. I can’t figure out why this feels so bad and I’ve already attributed Pa’s response to the worst of motives. The disappointment from a change in my plans earlier has grown to uncertainty at hearing something I should have shrugged off and taken to Pa instead of riding off cocked and ready to fire. My blind anger ended with a painful injury that will be a reminder of my foolishness for days to come. That isn’t me, and it is time to face up to whatever’s going on at home.

***

Pa just rode up to us. I’ve remained steady in the saddle although going any faster than a brisk walk is painful to my tail and head, so progress is slow.

“Mercury came home without you, and the rest of the crew got back two hours ago.”

My sensible reasoning from 15-minutes prior was lost as I mumbled, “Isn’t that exactly how it was supposed to go?”

He did a head-to-toe perusal, taking in my bloody shirt and my hunched forward position. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”

Knowing I’d played my hand too soon for any real victory, I took the easy way out and folded with a lie. “I said I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“You’re a mess, Adam. What happened out there?”

“Mercury reared at a snake and I went flying.” I hoped he’d be appeased. I was wrong.

“Was the snake hiding under brush?”

Even though Pa had told his share of lies today, in this case he expected the truth. “It was sunning itself where we usually see them.”

“You took that snake-shy horse through that … snake pit? Why would you do that?”

The reply I was about to make about being angry at finding out my father had lied to me, stalled at my lips when replaced by solid yelp of surprise and agony, as a lightning bolt of pain shot from my tailbone straight forward into my tender bits, making everything from there to my ribcage clench.

“Maybe I should get a buggy?” Pa suggested as his concern returned to my condition.

My “I’m fine,” made Hugh laugh and shake his head for the third time since finding me. It gave me just enough time to nudge my horse to a trot while adjusting the way I was seated to withstand the jolting.

***

At the edge of our yard, while still behind the barn, Pa pulled up close and said to stop.

“Let’s get you into the barn. I’ll sneak into the house and have Hop Sing and Marie come out to help clean you up and check your head. It’s till oozing bad back there.”

He lent an arm after I slid from the saddle, escorting me through the back door, past the stalls into the tack room, and left me with Hugh while he retraced his steps. I watched unobserved from the small window in the room, and finally noticed him behind the bushes leading to the kitchen door. Hop Sing and Marie were following him a few minutes later when I saw them sneaking this way. Our cook was carrying a bowl and pitcher while Pa and Marie seemed to have towels, bandaging and a clean shirt.

***

Marie wrapped me in a loose hug and tsked in a motherly fashion before checking out the damage. After a few minutes of her and Hop Sing examining the back of my head, I asked if she would need to ply her skills as a seamstress to close the gap.

To her credit; she didn’t press for an accounting. She simply kissed the top of my head and reassured me. “There’s no gap, sweetheart, so with some of Hop Sings amazing ointment and a tight bandage, it will heal fine without stitches.

Hop Sing wet my hair down with soapy water that stung like a wasp attack, and used a comb he pulled from his pocket to remove the bits of gravel stuck in the dried blood. With the dripping head-wash finished, Marie helped me out of the dirty shirt.

I heard her gasp after pulling it from my arms. “You have so many bruises!” I noticed her quick look towards my father. “Maybe he should go straight to bed instead of ….”

“We’ll keep it short, Honey,” Pa responded. “He’s doing all right for now and we’ll keep an eye out for any trouble.”

Not one to let a good opportunity for chiding go to waste, Hop Sing said, “You remember foolishment each time you use hair brush for much time,” as he applied an ointment that instantly stopped the stinging. He finished by wrapping what felt like 10-pounds of sheeting around my head. I am sure I now looked to be wearing a turban.

“So, what was the big announcement?” I said after Hugh slipped next to me and whispered that I should ask.

“We didn’t make it yet,” Pa said as he openly grinned at Marie. “Hugh must have spilled the beans about a reason for the party since we didn’t tell you that. What do you think we’re announcing?”

“Are you two hoping for a boy or a girl this time?” I said with as much bravado as I could muster and then watched as Pa and Marie eyed each other wistfully before laughing.

“That would be wonderful, but it’s not the news for today,” Marie answered.

Pa gave me a once over, and declared, “You look presentable. I have more questions as to how this happened, son, but we’ll talk later. Our guests went ahead with lunch since you were delayed, so we’ll just make the announcement now.”

With my best idea for this revelation being wrong, I was considering other possibilities when Pa grabbed my elbow and tugged me out the barn door through the small assembly of friends towards a small table set next to the larger one holding the food.

I immediately noted the Cass family, adding another lie to Pa’s repertoire. Yet … he had never said they weren’t coming out, just that it was a busy day. I provided the erroneous conclusion. When we stopped, I spotted a framed certificate along with a gold medallion attached to a ribbon on that extra table.

Pa turned me around before I could get a clear view, so I am still confused.

“Now that the guest of honor has arrived, even if a little worse for wear, we can get to the purpose of this get together,” Pa began.

I remained dense as a three-inch-thick slice of hard timber, wondering what guest of honor he meant. So dense, as to turn around to see who he might be moving towards us for the announcement.

“Some months back, we encouraged Adam to write a story for a contest describing his journey to the West. Marie mentioned that she read it to you while waiting for the author to arrive, so you’re aware of how good it is. He’s always been a good storyteller; you’ve all seen him with his nose in a book any time he has a minute and most of you have had your grammar corrected by him a time or two. He brought all those skills together for this.” Pa stopped to chuckle. “I admit that even though I was with my son through every incident he wrote about; I was on the edge of my seat, anxious to see how it all turned out.”

“Me too!” Hoss offered enthusiastically. Others in the group agreed that it had been well told, and I began to blush both with the compliments and with a growing excitement of what might be written on that framed paper.

“Will Cass knew Adam had sent in an entry, and that the results could arrive with a shipment from the coast about this time. He was holding a large envelope and had a big smile when Marie and I walked into the store on Tuesday.” Pa looked over at me and grinned. “Lest Adam think I opened his mail; this was addressed to the Parents of Adam Cartwright.”

Marie handed Pa the frame.

“The letter enclosed, said this was the best story they received by a longshot. In fact, the director of the contest wrote that he did some investigating to make sure it truly had been written by someone just 15-years-old. What he heard about Adam convinced the judging committee that he was capable of writing so well.

“Will suggested we do something special, and Marie reminded me that Adam has always come up short on the party side of things. Were we in a more settled place, he would have had a graduation and confirmation party or even birthday parties. But we never got to commemorate those occasions. This seemed the perfect time to do it up good with a surprise party.”

“Were you surprised, Adam?” Nels Pritchard hollered.

“Completely!” I replied in what was the understatement of my entire life.

“So, just what’d he win?” Someone else in the group asked.

Pa’s chest puffed a little. “He took first place for his age category, but he also won the grand prize for representing the pioneering experience most vividly and positively!” He held the frame up. “The package included this certificate, a gold medal and a $25 currency draft from the Bank of San Francisco.”

Pa nodded toward the Cass family. “Will graciously volunteered to frame the certificate and he cashed the draft because he can draw against it more easily than Adam can.” He turned next to Marie. “Thanks go out to my wife and Hop Sing as well for pulling this gathering together in a short time, all while Adam was out working so he wouldn’t suspect anything.”

Marie lifted the ribbon and gently placed it over my head, letting the medal drop in place onto my chest once clearing the bandages. She followed that with a quick peck on my cheek. “I knew you’d win,” she whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”

Figuring Pa was done, I smiled at everyone and thanked them for their enthusiastic applause and for coming out to share the celebration. My hope was to sit somewhere and read the certificate after I convinced Hoss to make a plate for me from the remaining food. I am surprised to feel hungry. Maybe my injuries are minor after all, but it’s more likely I have room in my stomach now that the boulder of doubt is gone. My desire for Hoss’ assistance stems from his likelihood to choose sweets over meat. But as I tucked the frame under my arm and turned to find a chair, Pa touched my shoulder indicating I should stay put.

He’s leaning in so as not to be overheard, so I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

“I realize you’re hurting, but you seem to be doing well enough that you can make a quick round to thank these fine folks and apologize for the delay. It shouldn’t take long because most of them have to leave soon for chores. You are learning a lesson in being a Cartwright man today. We do what’s expected even when it’s hard or uncomfortable. Marie and I will intervene if you begin to fade.”

I didn’t mean to talk back, but I did still have a bur in my boot from the way Pa had handled things. “I didn’t intentionally mean to be late, Pa. After Mercury bolted, I had to wait for Hugh to bring a horse over ….”

Pa doesn’t have to shout or scold. A simple touch communicates his displeasure, and his hand on my shoulder again brought my half-truth to a halt.

“The men arrived a good while before you, son. A little bit later would have made sense, even if with that accident. But there was a long delay. I’ll want the truth about this whole incident later.” His smile was real, yet had the unmistakable set of holding the moral high ground.

My mind went immediately to his lies, and smiled back, knowing that in this future discussion, I wouldn’t be fighting uphill for long.

***

I could end the story here with a framed winner’s certificate, a gold medal and money in my pocket, but that’s not the best part.

***

After making the rounds Pa had required, Hoss did provide me with a heaping plate … heavy on the sweets as I’d hoped. An empty bench near the barn provided enough room to use as a table and chair, and with a comfortably full belly and the afternoon sun warming me, I finally began to relax from the whiplash of emotions and the summersault. There was one satisfying moment when I’d looked over the heads of those gathered after Pa announced my victory and the surprise party to celebrate it, and saw Danny. I’m aware that he was woven into some of the pain I’d felt, especially the betrayal parts. Yet he’d only given his thoughts on a set of circumstances.  I let that sting irritate to the point of ripping myself up over it. He gave me a wry smile and raised his cup before walking away with the other men who were going back to work. The best outcome will be if he learned something about himself just as I did about myself.

***

The yard emptied quickly because of evening chores, and as things quieted, Pa sat next to me on the bench.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“So far, so good.”

This prompted the question I’d hoped to avoid.

“You’re a careful horseman, son, so why were you were riding too fast without your mind on what you were doing?”

The medal still hung around my neck declaring my story the best of the best, but that question put me on my back in the canyon again: dizzy, nauseated and angry. The difference is that now there is clarity that I’d lacked back when I’d sent Mercury ahead in a blind rage. Pa’s lies weren’t meant to be hurtful. He’d just needed a way to keep me from town so I wouldn’t find out inadvertently about the surprise. Sending me to the canyon put me where Hugh could make sure I got back for my party, not keep me from it.  Those moments where Pa and Marie had stopped talking when I walked in, and the gathering they’d forgot to mention …. It all made sense now.

What I was struggling to understand, was how I’d grown so sure that I’d not only been excluded from the party, but from my family too. Perhaps the knock to my head kept me from thinking clearly. Yet there is a raw spot deep inside me that will always question whether I fit in. From the time I can remember; I’ve heard others call me “different.” Sometimes that’s meant in a good way, but often it’s meaning leans more towards odd. I’ve been accused of being bookish, aloof, too smart for my own good …. Danny’s words this morning opened a channel to all those things I’ve tucked away without confronting them head on, and I believed that I wasn’t worthy of being in this family. They weren’t discarding me. I just didn’t belong.

We are given chances to learn from our errors in judgment when we unleash that dark side of our soul and believe what the devil whispers in our ear. I’m still sorting through this lesson.

Looking over at Pa, I realize his question is still hanging in the air between us. I ducked it by saying I wasn’t sure, and unlike Pa, he just patted my knee. “You look ridden hard and put away wet, son. You should rest. Head to your room now and turn in.”

The Beginning of the End

I’ve been writing about an hour. My pencil has held, but I am finally getting sleepy.

There’d been constant cleaning activity in the yard that’s quieted now, and some minutes ago I heard a knock on the back door followed by a lengthy conversation in the kitchen below. I can hear voices that belong to Hugh, Pa and Marie, and I can tell there’s information being given and questions asked. It makes me wonder if there’s trouble.

I guess everything is fine, because after hearing the door’s squeaky hinge indicating Hugh’s departure, Pa and Marie talked for a bit longer and now my father’s sturdy footsteps are coming up the stairs.
There’s an orange glow on the wall opposite my window so I know it’s evening. And I heard some unhappy retorts after Marie called Hoss and Little Joe to come inside, so I assume Pa’s bringing Little Joe up to get him settled.

It will take a good deal of rocking and soothing to get Joe to sleep after all the excitement and sweets. Pa always starts this process since Joe knows not to try finagling him into more time awake. Marie will take over once he’s relaxed, providing the soothing he needs to finally give up and sleep. During that; Pa gets Hoss settled.

It’s a little early for my middle brother, but he’s probably spent too, and everyone in this household knows that once Joe is asleep, he needs to stay asleep. Since the two boys share their bed, Hoss must be asleep as well. The only thing worse than the lengthy process they’ll go through tonight with an overtired Joe, is what would happen tomorrow if they allow him to stay up until he wears out on his own!

I was so sure I was right, until Pa’s footsteps stopped outside my door and I heard the soft knock ….

The Actual End to this Day!

(Light is fading quickly, but I want to write down what just happened.)

Suspecting Pa’s knock indicated he would do a quick check on how I was doing before finishing with my brothers, I shoved the paper and implements under the covers, and feigned being asleep.

It’s impossible to fool Pa.

“Stop pretending, son. I knew you were too keyed up to sleep, and I figured you’d find some way to uphold my order in your own way,” he said as he walked towards my bed and took a closer look. “Your color is better now. Marie and Hop sing will redo the salve and bandage when they finish downstairs.” He took another step forward. “Would a liniment rubdown help?”

“I’m comfortable. Maybe I’ll need that rubdown in the morning.”

He nodded. “I’ll stop first thing.”

When he didn’t say goodnight, I knew he hadn’t come to offer a massage. His eyebrows pulled together as he stared down at me. This often indicates Pa’s anger, but I didn’t sense that emotion.

“So … have you figured out why you ended up in a snake pit with a gash on your head?”

My writing over the last hour provided an answer I was ready to give. “I heard something that made me confused and angry and I suddenly felt trapped in that canyon, Pa. I had to get out of there! But that anger also meant I didn’t consider the danger and I didn’t keep my head in the ride.”

His head moved in a steady nod. And then he surprised me for the second time today.

“Hugh stopped to tell us what prompted your actions out there. I’d like to talk about it if you can stay awake a little longer.”

Hugh is a good man, but my heart … and head … were now pounding as I considered how much of what he’d witnessed was revealed to Pa and Marie. The nausea from earlier returned as well, creating a whirlpool of those cookies and pastries wanting to boil upwards. I took a few deep breaths and nodded. I couldn’t have slept anyway without knowing what was said.

Pa sat on the foot end of my bed. “Hugh told us he sent Danny over to eyeball you were still in the canyon when it was time to send the men on ahead for the party. He didn’t want you running into the guys when they left.” He scrubbed his face as he does when he’s thinking through his next statement. “Hugh said Danny went and talked to you instead, and came back thinking it was funny that I’d lied to you about the steers being missing. Is that what made you angry?”

“Yes,” I admitted quietly.

“Hugh also reported that Danny told you about everyone being invited back to some party, and when you seemed unaware of that, he implied that you’d been sent out to do something fruitless because you were willfully excluded. He was so brazen as to say Hugh would be coming over to keep you out there so you didn’t barge in where you weren’t wanted.”

Pa let out a long breath that ended with him hunched over, elbows on his knees while shaking his head.

I assumed Pa was building steam to begin his lecture about not allowing words to affect me or prompt stupid decisions. He detests displays of weakness and I also assumed he was sorely disappointed that he’d held a party to honor a coward. I felt as trapped in my room as I had in that canyon, and stayed silently unmoving, anticipating the worst.

I assumed wrong … again.

“Marie knew how wounded you’d be by hearing that and asked Hugh if this boy took pleasure in hurting others or whether there really had been speculation among the men that you were excluded.” Pa sat up and looked me in the eyes. “Hugh believes Danny manipulated the little bits he’d heard to make it sound as bad as possible. Imagine the power he felt telling the Boss’ kid that he wasn’t considered part of his own family and that everyone knew it except him.”

A strong red streak ran up Pa’s neck into his cheeks. “When Hugh left, I started fuming at Marie about how I was going to tear into you about believing such lies …. That’s when Marie pushed me down onto a kitchen chair and said what happened wasn’t that Danny made you think less of your family. What Danny did was make you believe you weren’t … worthy … of being included. She said you didn’t doubt us; you doubted your value to us.”

I have always admired how Marie can pin Pa down with a look and words, when others can’t do such a thing with their fists. “How’d she figure it out?” I asked in all sincerity.

“She grabbed your story from the cupboard and pointed to the part where you told about our stop at my brother John’s place. I’d admitted once to her that I’d had a moment back then where I let my brother and his wife convince me that I wasn’t making the right choices concerning you. They had all sorts of names for it, and they managed to make me doubt myself enough to believe so deeply that I wasn’t worthy of being a father that I drove off without you.”³

“I remember.” I hadn’t written about that in my story, just about meeting my actual family for the first and last time. But I can still feel the cold emptiness I felt that day as I watched him drive off, and the elation when he came running back for me. “Grandma said I should just wait where I was because you’d be back. You were only gone a few minutes, Pa,” I said while hiding my grin over his discomfort in telling this story.

“Yes, but Marie pointed out that it wasn’t just one episode that had gone into the decision. Those doubts had been seeded slowly over those first years we were on the road each time someone said I was selfish to be dragging you along; was in over my head or should have left you with a family who could raise you better. John’s comments ripped into that dark place to release all those demons whispering in my ear at once. Then she reminded me that you lived through all that as well, and had as certainly heard other negative comments about you and him during the trip. And then there was the shock of me showing up and then a new brothers ….  There was bound to be a moment when all your fears collapsed in on you. That was today.”

“She’s a smart woman,” I offered.

“I agree. And she didn’t stop there. She reminded me that in my excitement to keep this a surprise, I did lie to you, and she’d stretched the truth to cover my lie. And once I lied, I had to keep it up with half-truths and distractions. Danny might have put sand in the axle grease to start your heart to grinding, but I handed him the bucket of sand to use.”

“You absolutely shouldn’t lie, Pa.” I grinned openly this time. “It’s not that I worry for your immortal soul in this regard. You don’t lie ever, even when it would be easier, so if you do lie, people will believe it with all their heart.”

Pa blushed again, while my smile faded and I continued, “Today … once I knew you’d lied about something so trivial to get me from the house, I was ripe to believe you’d done it to hide a much bigger truth. A truth that I have often thought might be true.”

Pa pushed his way up along the bedside until he rested his hand on my arm. “Did you truly think you didn’t belong with us?”

It was time for a full confession. “I didn’t want to, Pa, but I do hear people say I‘m the odd one in our family, and there was a chance that … maybe … you had all grown weary of it: of me.”

I was surprised when Pa stood and turned to sit next to me and pulled me towards his chest.

“I am sorry, Adam. I wanted this day to show you how much you mean to us, and ended up making you think you weren’t even invited.”

We looked towards each other, and started to laugh. The friction from where his arm was on around my back moved across the bandage and caused a searing pain that I felt all the way to my toes, but I wasn’t about to ruin this moment. “I shouldn’t have lied,” he said.

“If Danny had simply done what Hugh asked, I’d have showed up at the right time today, and would have seen things as harmless as you’d meant them,” I told him honestly.

When our silence indicated we’d said as much as we could for now, I brought up something Pa had said about the contest. “Did that man from the bookstore really have doubts about whether I wrote that story?”

Pa pulled a folded paper from his shirt pocket. “This letter came with the prize. He admitted that the judges declared yours the best entry from the first reading. It was so uniquely organized and colorful in relating similar events that drew into wider conclusions, whereas the rest of the entries were episodic travelogues. However … that disparity in construction led them to believe a skilled writer had penned it.”

My father isn’t prone to use tender gestures with me any longer, but he tightened his hold around my shoulders and shifted himself more comfortably on the mattress edge. “One of those topics that made Mr. Stark try harder to verify the authorship was where noted me telling you why I was so careful lining up the wagons when I led the group from Ash Hollow to Fort Laramie. You were around 7-year’s old, and wondered why I kept changing the order.  I’d explained that I’d watched how each family managed themselves, and used what I learned to position the strongest among us to help those who were less skilled or less able to handle the stresses of travel. Our best wagon handlers were at the front and back to keep things moving, and the best problem solvers were spaced intermittently along the line to spot trouble and lend a hand. This allowed less-adept families become more confident, and the stronger of us learned that everyone needs help at times. Mr. Stark wrote that he was amazed at how you brought that forward into every part of life since then.”

Pa sighed heavily. “However, the judges weren’t sure a boy your age would have the insight to do that.”

“How were they convinced otherwise?”

“When I bought your books, Stark mentioned he might have used copies in the back and arranged to find them and deliver the box to where I was staying. Because of our conversation, he recognized the name Cartwright when your entry arrived, as well as that I’d been staying at a boarding house owned by fellow travelers in our caravan. When concerns arose and the committee was considering disqualification, Stark decided to visit that boarding house.”

“That’s the one Mr. and Mrs. Rice own?” I asked. He nodded. “We stayed there each time I went with you to San Francisco too.”

“That’s right. Stark wrote that he had to make this effort because unlike the other judges, he sensed a youthful wisdom behind your story rather than an adult’s perspective. He got an earful from the Rice family about travelling with us, and their absolute certainty the Cartwrights wouldn’t ever cheat to win a contest. Sally told of having you as a student during that trip whenever classes could be held in their wagon. She testified to intelligence and understanding far beyond your age allowing you to blaze through lessons and learn tasks that some adults couldn’t.”

“I liked learning all those things,” I offered. “And it all came in handy on our own. Was that enough to change Mr. Starks mind?”

“The final puzzle piece came when she talked about how you and I had put on short skits to entertain the group in the evening, and later when I was busy as wagon master, you did the same thing with other kids. She laughed at how you weren’t even able to write the words out yet, but you mapped the story in your head and verbally told the kids what to say.  She further concluded that every incident you had described in the entry she’d been allowed to read, had taken place exactly as you presented them.”

“I’m grateful she was able to do that for me,” I said. “I’ll write a thank you note and get it to Cass’ soon.”

I reached for the letter Pa was still holding, but he placed in on my desk. “You can read that tomorrow.” He chuckled. “And by tomorrow, I mean tomorrow … not later! Right now I’d like to discuss something else, and then you’ll go ‘to sleep’.”

I assumed the silence that followed his declaration meant it was time to hear of my penance for risking Mercury’s safety in a blind rage.

Nope!

“Adam … you have always been; still are and will always be part of the glue that holds this family together. You have been at my side since the day you were born. You always trusted me; always encouraged me, and you were always willing to do what it took to reach our destination … and destiny.” His arm around me tightened again. “I am proud of who you are becoming, and so sorry that my missteps caused you pain … in more ways than one.” The embrace grew stronger as he sighed softly. “You never have to doubt your place with us because we love you … I love you.”

My father is a solid man. He’s been accused of having a hard head just like me, but this granite-like presence is comforting. In the life we lead out here, a less formidable or wavering presence would leave us all less secure. I remember him saying he loved me when I was little. But with time, I heard less of that and more of his pride in my accomplishments. Hearing him say it tonight was as soothing a balm on the inside of me, as the stuff Hop Sing had put on my head.

I was about to try to explain this to him when a breeze pulled through my room as a light tap on the door was followed by Marie’s entrance. She stopped next to Pa, put her hand on his shoulder and kissed the top of his head.

She winked at me. “Your father tells me that your intelligence; your way with words; your kindness and gentleness are traits you inherited from your mother. What you got from him is that solid, single-minded, granite will that makes you true and honorable … and makes you tuck your feelings inside.” She planted another kiss on Pa’s head and laughed before asking me, “Has he told you that he’s sorry his ineffective lying nearly made you miss your own party?”

I nodded, while Pa replied, “Yes, Dear.”

“Did he also tell you how proud we are of you?”

Pa stood from my bed, towering over his petite bride. “I have. But now I’d like to ask him what he learned today.” He locked eyes with me. “So?”

“I should never doubt that I am part of this family. I should ask before assuming anything, and always consider my response rather than putting myself, others or any critter in danger.”

Marie moved Pa aside to stand next to my bed and address me directly. “You’ve gotten so tall this last year, and your skills and intelligence have grown as much as your legs. Your father and I love you and you still have a few years before you won’t need at least a little guidance. We promise that we will always be honest when you ask.” She turned back to Pa and chuckled. “Even if it would mean revealing a surprise or at least using a better ruse.”

After examining my turban and leaving a kiss on my cheek, she declared, “Everything looks good, so we won’t disturb it until morning. But now,” she said forcefully, “No more stalling. Go to sleep!”

The breeze shot through the room again as she exited, leaving the scent of her lavender soap in her wake. Pa’s smile was on the pained side of joyful as the door shut behind her.

“She’s quite the woman.” He chuckled quietly and leaned forward to whisper. “Sometimes I’m downright scared of her, but I wouldn’t want her any other way.”

What could I possibly say to that, so I smiled and nodded. This time the movement produced a whirl. “Marie’s right, Pa. I need sleep.”

“Can I get anything before you do that?” When I replied I was fine, he made the two steps to the door and stopped with his hand on the knob and looked back. “You’re right, Adam. You are different. But that difference is what keeps you grounded, kind and encouraging to others while also being incredibly unique.”

Pa became quiet while not moving and finally shook his head. “I’ve experienced how feeling different can haunt and hurt at times, but with time, the joy of being different will become clearer. In the meantime; never try to fit in quietly or be ordinary.” He chuckled softly. The truth is … with me and Elizabeth as your parents: It’s against your nature anyway.”

***

It’s quite an experience to get an apology and high praise from Pa in the same conversation. My father and I have similar traits that will make us bump heads … probably frequently … but after today, I believe we can face them and take life a step at a time as Cartwrights always do.

The End

• This scenario of Marie and Ben coming by wagon and shipping her furniture is entirely my construction. It never really says how they got home, but I’m sure Ben was getting anxious to be with his children. It is clear in Marie, My Love that they were back home.

There were a couple of references to things that happened to Adam in the past that come from my other stories.

²When Adam talks about another time when he’d left his family after a misunderstanding over why he couldn’t call Marie by the name, Mother, it comes from Sacred Promises, Malicious Lies.

³Ben speaks of leaving Adam briefly at his brother John’s farm in Ohio after being made to feel he was risking his son’s life in selfishness. That is from A Decision in Ohio.

Great thanks to whomever placed the picture of the snake in the library!