Summary: The 15th story in The Battle of Wills series. Hoss fears that he’s sick and dying while Pa and Adam are out of town.

Rating: K     Word Count=3791

Disclaimer: I don’t own the Cartwrights or Bonanza. No copyright infringement is intended. Original plot and characters are property of the author. This story is for entertainment and no money was made from it.

The Battle of Wills Series:

Begins
Education is More than 3R’s
The Shadow of Jean deMarigny
A Gift Horse
New Expectations
Remembering Childhoods
A Room Full of Memories
A New Pattern
Naming the Newest Cartwright
Presents from the Heart
Love’s Labor
Big Brother Lessons
No Regrets
Baby’s Breath
Ennui

Ennui

Hoss slowly pulled on a long piece of yarn so that it slithered across the floor. A small paw darted out from behind a chair and slapped at the retreating serpentine string before disappearing from sight. The boy gathered up the yarn, tossed its length towards the chair, and began again; this time, he was rewarded with a pounce from Stormy.

The kitten leapt upon her prey and gathered it up with her paws before rolling over. She bit at it, batted it with her rear paws, and then ran for the stairs with a yowl. Hoss grinned from ear-to-ear as the kitten’s thundering paws echoed in the room.

A loud, “Go away, chaton!” was yelled and Stormy came racing back to the first floor. She stopped wide-eyed in the middle of the room, tail twitching, and then quickly lapped the perimeter before collapsing in a panting heap by Hoss.

He scratched her belly and giggled as she held onto his wrist and thumped his bare arm with her back paws, her claws sheathed. Gently, he rolled Stormy back and forth as she purred.

Marie came downstairs, weary from lack of sleep. Her normally vibrant eyes were dull and stray strands of hair had escaped her simple braid, creating a gently frazzled halo. Her husband and eldest son were due back tomorrow from a cattle buying trip and Hop Sing was in San Francisco with relatives. Petit Joseph’s care had fallen entirely on her shoulders. She missed Adam’s help with the baby and the naps she was afforded while he tended to his youngest brother. Hoss helped with diaper changes, but he didn’t have Adam’s calming influence when the baby fussed. All Joseph seemed to need was a few whispered words from his eldest brother to soothe him.

Seeing something new to play with, Stormy pounced at the hem of Marie’s dress. Feeling a tug, Marie looked down and said, “Hoss, get toi chaton. Now.”

The boy scooped up his playmate, which nuzzled his cheek and purred. Little Joe looked over his mother’s shoulder, reached a pudgy hand towards the kitten, and babbled. Stormy’s ears pricked and she mewed at the infant.

“Ain’t that somethin’, Mama? Lil Joe and Stormy are talkin’ to each other.”

Before Marie could answer, the clip-clop of a horse could be heard coming from the yard. “Pa an’ Adam are home!” The boy set his little friend on a chair and hurried across the room, flinging open the door.

Paul Martin saw the disappointment on the boy’s face and said, “Your father and brother will be back soon. May I come in?”

“Sure.”

The doctor smiled and ruffled Hoss’s hair on the way in. Hoss was a child who could entertain himself but was missing the companionship of his older brother.

“Good morning, Marie.”

“Bonjour, Doctor. What brings you this way?”

“I was on my way back to Virginia City and thought a cup of coffee would taste good.”

“With Hop Sing out of town, all I can offer you is my café, which is a poor substitute.”

“You make excellent coffee.” The doctor took in Marie’s weariness and asked, “I’m not imposing, am I?”

Brushing a stray strand of hair, she said, “Mais non. Please come in the kitchen. The pot’s on the stove.”

Paul reached for Little Joe and asked, “How’s the youngest Cartwright?”

Little Joe babbled and smiled, exposing pink gums and an emerging tooth.

Before the adults reached the kitchen, Hoss flopped onto a chair and announced, “There ain’t nothin’ to do.”

Paul’s eyebrows raised in appraisal. The boy had a vast playground to roam and chores that probably needed doing. Giving the boy a quick glance, he asked, “Are you feeling well?”

“Mon fils seems to have a terrible case of ennui.”

The doctor nodded as he appraised his patient.

“Why don’t you read a book or play with your animals, mon fils?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Satisfied that Hoss was in good health, Paul said, “How about that coffee?”

With the adults out of the room, Hoss felt tendrils of dread slowly spreading through his body. What did Mama say he had? Was it bad? The doctor didn’t even get his bag. Shouldn’t he look at my throat or feel my head? he thought.

He scooped up Stormy and snuggled her against his neck. “I wish Adam was here. He’d know what to do.” Pulling his boot-shod feet under his body, he took comfort in the kitten’s presence. The sounds of conversation and laughter carried in from the kitchen.

Marie and Paul returned to the main room and she noted with disapproval the manner in which Hoss was sitting. “Ahem. Boots off the chair, mon fils.”

Hoss kicked his boots off and curled his feet back under him. A small pout formed on his lips as he noted the adults were busy with his little brother.

Reaching the front door, Paul handed the infant over. “He’s doing just fine. A bit of fever is to be expected as his teeth come in. Give my regards to Ben when he returns.”

“I will. Bonjour.”

A loud sigh from Hoss grated Marie’s fragile nerves. “Find something to keep busy, mon fils. I’m putting Petit Joseph down for a nap.”

With another sigh, he listened to his mother’s retreating footsteps as he stuffed his feet back into his boots. Giving Stormy one last cuddle, he left the kitten on the chair and selected the largest apple from the fruit bowl. Stormy watched with interest as he opened the front door, but she soon curled up into a tight ball on the warm leather and fell asleep.

Entering the barn, Hoss went to Bonnie’s stall and pulled the treat from his pocket. He ran his fingers along her neck, under her mane, as he listened to the noisy crunching. Any other time he might have laughed at the juice trailing down the horse’s chin, but not now.

“I think I got some kinda sickness—Mama called it awnry or somethin’ like that. Doc Martin was here but he didn’t even check me over. Seems like he would’ve looked at my throat.” The boy wrapped his arms around Bonnie’s neck and said, “What if I die before yer baby gets here? Or before Pa an’ Adam get home?” Hoss began to sniffle a bit; Bonnie only nuzzled his pocket in hopes of getting another apple.

Bill Palmer, the Ponderosa’s foreman, entered the barn to see The Boss’s son with Bonnie. “She should be foalin’ in a week or two. I shore could use yer help.” He barely heard Hoss’s soft, “I hope I can.” The foreman thought it a strange answer from a boy who always wanted to help with the stock.

Hearing The Boss’s wife, Bill said, “Yer mama’s callin’ ya, Son. Best go on in.”

“Yessir.”

After one last soft stroke for the horse’s neck, Hoss ran for the house. Bill raised a questioning eyebrow and placed a calloused hand on Bonnie’s soft nose. “What was that about?”

Bonnie pricked her ears, nuzzled Bill’s vest in hopes of finding an apple, and then snorted in frustration.

Without thinking, Hoss slammed the front door behind him. He came to a sudden stop and grimaced as he thought of the scolding he knew was coming when he heard crying from upstairs. Maybe if I try to help, Mama won’t be mad, he thought.

Marie was walking back and forth, trying to soothe her fussing child. She spoke softly in French, hoping the sound more than the words would calm him.

Hoss stopped at the doorway, unsure if he should go inside and offer to lend a hand. He caught his mother’s eye and his shoulders slumped at the look of disappointment on her face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I know, mon fils.” She sat down in the rocking chair with her precious burden and settled into a slow, steady rhythm.

“Adam taught me a Swedish song. Can I try it?”

Little Joe’s cries were temporarily stifled by the small fist he was trying to work into his mouth. Marie gently pried the slobber-covered hand away, which resulted in a loud whimper as her petit’s faced scrunched up in the beginnings of another round of wailing.

“Sing to your frère,” she instructed Hoss.

He couldn’t remember all of the words, but he knew the melody. The boy took a deep breath as he’d seen Adam do and then belted out what he could recall.

Little Joe’s eyes widened in surprise as his brother’s attempted crooning echoed in the room. Marie’s frazzled nerves tensed as a bowstring and she found she could no longer think in English.

“Arrêt! Arrêt!” She repeated her request louder so Hoss could hear her over the baby’s bawling.

“What?”

“Stop!” She touched fingertips to her temple and exhaled slowly. Hoss meant well so she didn’t want to upset him. “Why don’t you go downstairs while I try to get your frère to sleep?”

“But…,” he said with a pout.

“You can help me by chopping the vegetables for our soup.”

The boy’s eyes lit up at the idea of assisting with a different chore. “I’ll be real quiet, too,” he said in a loud whisper as he left the room.

“Tres bien,” Marie sighed out as she listened to the clomping of boots on the stairs. “Now, mon petit, let us be quiet as well.” She began humming a song she’d heard along the waterfront in New Orleans; the words weren’t fit to say aloud in mixed company but the tune was pretty.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Hoss happily hummed as he scooped flour from the barrel into a bowl. He’d watched Hop Sing make biscuits many times, so he knew there wasn’t much to it—flour, butter, salt, some sourdough from the stoneware pot, then a whole lot of kneading on the worktable. Pulling another measure of flour, he generously sprinkled it on the table’s surface as he’d seen the cook do.

After briskly mixing all of the ingredients together and dumping the dough onto the work table, he stood on a stool and punched the gooey mass in the manner he’d seen Hop Sing do it. Puffs of flour wafted up and gently dusted his hair and cheeks as he lifted the dough up and dropped it back onto the table. Working up a sweat, he swept the back of his hand along his cheek and forehead.
“Done,” he announced to the pots, pans, and stove. He brushed his palms together briskly over the table, in imitation of Hop Sing, before reaching for the rolling pin. With each pass, he said, “forward” or “back,” and the mound was soon flattened to a thin sheet. Before setting the wooden pin aside, he plucked off stuck pieces of dough and popped them into his mouth.

A burning smell caught his attention and he realized that the pot containing the vegetables he’d chopped was sitting on the stove. The handles were warm, so he used one of the dish towels to move the pot to a small table. He’d have to add some chicken stock before placing it on the stove again.

Turning his attention back to the biscuits he’d cut, he picked up a baking sheet and plopped them on in neat rows. Some overlapped but that would just make for bigger, fluffier biscuits. Using the dishtowel, he opened the firebox to add a few sticks of wood and then placed the pan in the oven.

This awnry Mama said I got sure makes a person tired, Hoss thought. Climbing on to the stool, he leaned his arms on the floured surface of the worktable to pillow his head. A short nap couldn’t hurt anything.

Upstairs, Marie swung her arms after putting her son in his crib to banish the feeling of pricking pins. Joseph was getting bigger by the day; she wondered if he’d favor Adam or Hoss in size. Gently squeezing the back of her neck, she moved her head from side to side and felt some of the tension relieved with loud cracks and pops. She knew Hoss was bored without Adam to talk with and he only meant well when tried to sing Joseph to sleep. Maybe a meal more than plain old soup was called for to raise his spirits.

**********

Ben and Adam reined in their horses and admired the view of the house in the cheerful glow of the evening sun. Sometimes it seemed a lifetime ago that the two of them had worked from morning to night, selecting and felling majestic Ponderosa pines to build a sturdy home that would stand for generations.

“That sure is a beautiful sight,” said Adam.

“I know what you mean. In all my travels, no sight has ever been finer than the place I call home.”

“It’s gonna feel good to sleep in my own bed and not hear or smell cattle.” He pulled his shoulders back in a stretch and said, “I sure hope Hop Sing has a fine meal in the oven.”

“Remember, Son—you can sleep on the softest sheets or eat in the finest restaurants, but nothing will feel or taste the same as it does in the place you call home. Someday you’ll have a spread that’s all yours and you’ll feel the same.”

Adam smiled. “Don’t worry, Pa—you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Why you . . .,” Ben got out in mock anger before Adam sidled Beauty out of his father’s reach.

“Race ya!” yelled Adam over his shoulder as his horse sprang forward.

Ben let his horse set its own pace for the house.

Adam was tying Beauty to the hitching rail as his father arrived in the yard. “I’ll put the horses up after I get my bath, Pa.”

Dismounting stiff-legged, Ben replied, “Maybe I should claim the privilege of age and get the first bath while you see to the horses.”

“How ‘bout I take yer horses so you can both git baths?”

“We’d appreciate that, Bill,” said Ben extending his hand towards his foreman. “Everything been okay while we’ve been gone?”

“Yes, Sir, ‘cept for Hop Sing havin’ to leave to take care of a relative. Missus Cartwright’s had her hands full without Adam to mind Lil Joe.”

Adam’s face lit up at the mention of his youngest brother’s name. He headed for the door, eager to see if that stubborn tooth had cut through the gum yet.

“Don’t make a mess in the house,” said Ben, taking in his eldest’s dusty clothes.

“I’ll take my boots off.”

Ben smiled and shook his head.

“Boss?”

“Yes?”

“Hoss was behavin’ might peculiar this afternoon.”

“How so?”

“Somethin’ seems to be troublin’ him. He don’t seem inclined to talk about it, though.”

Before Ben could answer, he heard his wife’s voice. A smile lit up his face as his eyes feasted on the sight of her. She made the house a home, his safe harbor in a vast, untamed sea. He knew that when they were old and surrounded by grandchildren, he’d still bask in her beauty.

“I’ll see to yer horses. Evenin’, Ma’am.” Bill headed for the barn.

Reaching her husband, Marie greeted him with a kiss and then lightly brushed at the dust on his clothing. “Tsk, Monsieur Cartwright. You must be wearing half of Nevada.”

Ben inhaled deeply, savoring the scents of perfume and baby spit. “A flower as beautiful as you needs plenty of soil to flourish.”

Marie snorted as she laid her check against his broad chest. “Flatterer. I look terrible, Mon Cher.”

“You’re as beautiful as the day we met.”

“Now I know you flatter me.”

“If I only wanted to flatter you, I’d tell you that your hair is as golden as a palomino’s coat.”

She broke into laughter and hugged him tighter. “I didn’t expect you home until tomorrow.”

“We made good time and I figured it was worth it to push a little harder to make it home today.” In a teasing tone, he added, “Of course I can always head to town and come home tomorrow if you’d prefer.”

“I would not prefer that, Mon Cher.” She emphasized her point with a lingering kiss. “I’ve missed you both.”

With a shake of his head, Ben said, “All Adam could talk about on the way home was Joseph. When is our boy ever going to discover girls?”

“Not for some time, I hope,” said Marie, squeezing her husband’s waist. “Besides, I appreciate all of his help with his frère. If he found filles far more interesting, I’d never have a moment for you.” She added a wink to make her point.

“Well then, Mrs. Cartwright, perhaps it’s best that Adam’s too busy for other pursuits.” He kissed her gently and then held her close as they walked to the door.

“What’s that smell?” asked Marie as she wrinkled her nose.

“Probably cattle. It’ll come off in the bath.”

“Pa! Come quick!” yelled Adam from the kitchen door. Black smoke poured outside.

“Joseph!” yelled Marie, fearing the worst.

Ben grabbed a nearby bucket and scooped water from the trough before running inside. He was relieved to see there weren’t any flames. Instead, thick smoke was pouring from the open oven.

Adam was shaking Hoss, trying to wake him. Ben dipped a hand in the bucket and gently rubbed his son’s flour-dusted cheek.

“Is the fire out?” asked Marie from the big room.

“There’s no fire. Just burning biscuits,” said Ben.

She entered the kitchen to see a very pasty Hoss sitting on the stool, leaning against his father’s chest, blinking owlishly. The boy’s straw-like hair stuck straight up on one side and flour was smeared on his face and clothing.

“What happened, mon fils?” she asked with concern.

“Am I gonna die, Mama?” Hoss asked in a trembling voice.

“Mais non. Neither your pere nor I will kill you for burning some biscuits.”

Adam cocked his head and looked at his brother. “If Pa hasn’t killed you yet, I don’t think he will now.”

“That’s enough,” said Ben with a stern look at his eldest. “Why would you think you’d die?”

Hoss tilted his head back to look at his father. “Mama said I had awnry.”

Marie mouthed the word as she shifted Joseph to her other hip.

“What’s ‘awnry’?” asked Ben.

“Mama told Dr. Martin that’s what I got.”

Realization hit Marie—she’d told the doctor that her son had ennui. She hadn’t bothered to think that he wouldn’t know what it meant.

Handing Joseph to Adam, she gently caressed Hoss’s cheek and said, “Ennui means bored. I know you’ve felt lonely with Adam away and no one to share your secrets and treasures with and we’ve both been kept awake by Petit Joseph’s crying at night. I’m so sorry, mon fils, for scaring you.”

Hoss slid off the stool and hugged his mother tightly. She smoothed his hair and was astonished by the flour that covered her palms.

“You ain’t mad?” he asked.

“Mais non,” she answered. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“I think the vegetables burned, too.” He began to sniffle.

“Don’t worry, mon fils. We’ll find a way to use them.”

He drew back and looked up into her eyes. “You mean I can still help?”

Seeing the excitement among the tears, she said with a warm smile, “Of course, mon assistant.”

Despite the flour on his face, she kissed his forehead and then hugged him to her. Ben exhaled a sigh of relief that all was okay with his family.

“Come on, Adam. Let’s get cleaned up while your mother and brother get supper together.”

Marie inspected the pot of vegetables while Hoss plucked the burned biscuits from the pan.

“Hey, Hoss?” called Adam from the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna come help me?”

“With what?”

“Little Joe needs changing.”

Hoss stopped and briefly thought of tossing a hard biscuit at his brother but knew Mama would fuss if he did. “It’s your turn,” was all he finally said as he again busied himself with the pan.

“I’ll tell you all you need to know about driving cattle,” said Adam to Little Joe as they headed for the stairs.

“Put mon petit in his crib while you get your bath,” Marie called after him.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he answered.

Ben gave Marie a quick kiss and ruffled Hoss’s hair, raising a small cloud of flour that made him sneeze.

“You’d better clean up before all of that dust makes you ill,” advised Marie as she separated out the remaining burned vegetables.

“Yes, Ma’am,” answered Ben rubbing his nose before leaving the kitchen.

“Hey, Mama?”

“Oui, mon fils?”

“Can I make an apple pie? I’ve watched Hop Sing make lots of ‘em.”

She glanced over at Hoss and noticed the hopeful yet excited look on his face. “Let me finish this and then we’ll make it together. How does that sound?”

“I’ll go pick out the apples!” he said enthusiastically.

She shook her head and chuckled. Hearing Adam pass through the big room, talking to Joseph, who babbled in response, she felt blessed to have two sons who enjoyed helping her with such mundane chores as baking and diaper changes.

Feeling a tug at the hem of her dress, she looked down to see Stormy. “Hoss! Get this chaton out of my kitchen!”

Hoss came rushing in with the fruit bowl and set it down so quickly an apple fell to the floor. Stormy immediately forgot Marie and pounced on her new toy. The boy laughed and said, “Stormy wants to help us with the pie.”

“Chatons don’t belong in the kitchen. Why don’t you put her in the other room for now?”

“Come on,” said Hoss as he scooped up his little friend. The kitten sniffed at his face and he giggled as her raspy tongue touched his cheek. “How about you help Adam with his bath?” he asked.

Marie shook her head and hoped whatever Hoss was up to didn’t include dipping Stormy into his brother’s tub. She soon heard Adam shouting, Hoss cackling, and Ben yelling. Joseph’s wailing was soon added to the cacophony. The Cartwright household is certainly never boring, she thought as she selected apples for the pie.

The End
June 2010