Summary: Marie Cartwright comes home from assisting a neighbor woman in need to find …

Just a short little piece written for the 3rd Quarter Chaps and Spurs Challenge.

Rating: K/G

Word Count: 2,077

The Weaker Sex

Wearily, Marie de Marigny Cartwright guided her buggy into the Ponderosa yard, muzzily wondering why something seemed very much “off” this morning.  She’d left the Halderson ranch right after breakfast, after nearly four days away from home aiding Becky Halderson to give birth and then get settled in with her new baby.  The very young mother, only about seventeen herself, had been grateful to have Marie to help.  Her poor husband, Tom, had been a bundle of nerves since it was childbirth that had taken his first wife, and he feared the worst for his beloved Becky.

“Miz Cartwright, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know who else to send for,” he’d apologized, pale as a sheet as he took the reins from her, helping her down from her buggy.   “Miz Shaughnessy ain’t nearby, bein’ in Sacramento with her sister.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Halderson,” she’d smiled, patting his hand. “This is what neighbors are for.  Becky is inside?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he’d nodded, grateful he didn’t seem to have to explain anything else and turned to put up the horse for her.  He hesitated and glanced her way again. “Ma’am?”

Marie paused at the door and turned back.

“Please…” the frightened young man had swallowed hard. “Please, help her.”

She smiled gently at him.  “Try not to worry,” she reassured him, careful, however, not to make any promise she knew she could not keep… either about the young mother or the child.  She was someone who knew firsthand how very wrong this endeavor could turn out.

But all had gone reasonably well.  Becky’s confinement had been very long, lasting more than twenty-four hours.  But though her labor had been long, it had not been overly hard, proceeding slowly and gradually. Once the baby decided that enough was enough and it was time to be born, he had obligingly positioned himself perfectly and was not too large.  Young Thomas Halderson, Jr. launched into life with a powerful set of lungs, a voracious appetite and an appealingly sweet little face.

Marie stayed longer than she normally would have done to help at a birth.  She stayed to make sure that Becky was out of danger and that she could nurse easily, but also because the young mother had been completely exhausted by the longer than usual labor and needed to rest or she’d have no milk.  Marie wanted to be well-satisfied that the young father wasn’t useless about changing diapers or providing food or drink to his wife. So, she sent word back to the Ponderosa and remained, cleaning the little house, cooking for Tom and his two hands.  Marie baked several loaves of bread leaving them in the larder and had both a crock of soup and a hearty stew bubbling on the stove so that Becky would only have to worry about herself and the baby for a day or so. It turned out that Tom was a capable young man, thanking her profusely for her help, but able to warm up supper without burning it, and clean up after himself in a kitchen.  And loved his wife completely, making sure her needs were met before his own.

So, on the morning of the fourth day, Marie paused at the door, her heart filled with warmth as she saw the couple together on the bed, the proud husband gazing down at his pretty little wife, sitting beside her as she nursed their child. Smiling tiredly, she bid them goodbye and allowed the ranch hand who’d come to beg her for help four days earlier to assist her and her bag into her buggy.

As she drove home, all she could think of was cuddling her own sweet child, two-year-old Joseph.  This was the longest she’d been away from him since he was born, and though she knew her husband was more than capable of managing without her, she’d badly missed her little angel; her stepsons, as well.  Though, she chuckled to herself wryly, at the time she’d left she had to admit that her two youngest were less than angelic.  Little Joe was cranky and fussy – making Marie think perhaps he had a stubborn molar coming in – and eight-year-old Hoss was being unusually stubborn and difficult to redirect.  Hoss was generally the most biddable child imaginable, sunny in temperament and full of smiles.  But something must have been troubling him, since he’d been pouty and obstinate over just about everything, to the point that at breakfast Ben had needed to be stern and ask if Hoss and he needed to go to his room for a ‘necessary talk.’ The pouts didn’t disappear but the orneriness abated a bit.  At least until word came from the Halderson ranch that Mrs. Halderson’s time was upon her and there was no one else who could help. Could Mrs. Cartwright please come?

“Don’t wan’ you to go, Mama,” Hoss had whined as she gathered a bag with everything she knew she would need to assist in childbirth, a fresh dress in case the confinement was longer than normal, along with some teas Hop Sing prepared for her to take along… including one to calm down a nervous father.

“Now, my Hoss, Maman must go to help Madame Halderson,” she’d said, a trifle distractedly as she mentally ticked off items on her list.

“Don’t worry, Marie,” reassured 14-year-old Adam, smiling at her as he balanced a fussy Joe on his hip, “I’ll make sure they’re all right.”  It was a declaration she was thankful to hear.  Even at this young age, Adam’s word was his bond, and she knew she could count on him to do exactly as he said he would. She reached up a hand, smiling and cupped his cheek.. she frowned slighly.  He seems a little warm.  But his eyes were clear and bright, and he seemed his usual, capable self.

“Merci, mon fils,” she said gratefully, then leaned in and kissed her small son, and giving Hoss a quick hug as she hurried out the door.

Now, as she pulled the horse to a stop in front of the hitching post to the side of the Ponderosa’s kitchen, Marie frowned at the silence around her.  Not a sound.  Normally, she’d at least hear one of her sons playing – or arguing! – in the yard or the house.  Or she’d hear Hop Sing talking to himself in Chinese, scolding one of the boys – or a runaway chicken! But there was nothing.

Worriedly, Marie secured the reins and hurried up the steps to the front door.

Upon opening it, Marie entered, listening.  And heard what she’d feared.

Whimpering.

Tossing her wrap on the back of the settee she hurried up the stairs, wrinkling her nose at the stale, sweat-ridden air that greeted her as she reached the top.  Her heart hammering, she glanced in alarm to see Hoss and Joseph’s bedroom doors open, and the rooms messy, but empty… even of their beds!

“Ben?  Boys!?  Joseph?!” she cried, hurrying on down the hall.

“In here!” came her husband’s hoarse voice from Adam’s room, and a bellowed, “Mama!!!”

She quickly pushed open the partially ajar door, stopping short in shock, leaning against the wall for support.

In addition to Adam’s bed, Hoss’ and Joe’s had been wedged into the room as well, and all three boys were tucked in, as well as their father, all pale, sporting fluid-filled blisters on every visible part of their bodies not covered by rumpled and sweat-sodden nightshirts.  Joe burst into tears holding his arms up for her, wiggling free of his father’s arms… and, poor man, he wearily let him do it.

“Mama!” the toddler bawled.  Hastily, Marie gathered him up patting his back in comfort, gently as she felt the blisters under her hand, still trying to assimilate the scene in front of her: Ben and Hoss had been squished together in Adam’s bed, with Joe’s cot abandoned as he clung to his father.  Adam lay listlessly in Hoss’ bed, his face slightly more flushed than the others.

“Sacre tonneur…” she breathed.  “Chicken pox? ALL of you?!”  She quickly reached out a hand to her oldest stepson, grasping his wrist. “Non, Adam, do not scratch!”

“But it itches,” he complained, fretfully, then succumbed to a coughing fit.

Tiredly, Ben nodded at his wife, so relieved she was finally home and he could just lay back in his misery.  “Hoss came down with it first, about two hours after you left,” he shared, apologetically, leaning back on his pillows, starting to scratch at his own blisters, but stopping, shame-faced, at his wife’s glare.  “Then the eruption of Joe’s rash hit just before suppertime.  Adam and I woke up with it the next day… he’s the one I’m most worried about,” the man sighed, glancing at his oldest. “His fever – cough!! – his fever’s pretty high.”

“But where is Hop Sing?” demanded Marie, kissing her baby, grateful to notice now that his blisters actually weren’t as numerous, nor his temperature seeming to be as high, as his brothers’ or his father’s.  Tenderly, Marie leaned over and kissed her husband’s hot temple and shook her head in sad amusement: he looked dreadful.  She gently disentangled Joseph’s hands from her dress and kissing him, tenderly but firmly tucked him back into his father’s lap, covering them both then went to sit beside Hoss, lovingly stroking his hair, and still leaning out a hand to Adam’s forehead in comfort and assessment.

“Went to find some herbs,” Hoss answered, tiredly.  He smiled at his stepmother. “I sure am glad you’re home, Mama. I feel better, some.  Just awful itchy.”

Helplessly, Marie looked around at her at the wreck of her family and started to laugh, ruefully.  Then she shook herself, pushing her own exhaustion to the back burner and taking charge. “First things first,” she said briskly, rising and opening the window to let in some blessedly fresh air.  “Once Hop Sing returns, ALL of you are going to take oatmeal baths. Non! Pas de disputes!” she warned, a single finger raised, as fussing began… and just as suddenly stopped. “Not only will it help with your itching, but I  will feel better not to have to smell you all the way down the stairs!”

Later that evening, watching over her sick men, Marie smiled at Hop Sing in exhausted thanks as he placed a cup of tea beside her and nodded, padding away nearly silently.

Marie gently rocked Little Joe, snuffling a bit from his runny nose, as he dozed in her arms, attaching himself to her, limpet-like.

Marie and Hop Sing had compared notes and were thankful to know both had had this ailment already and were thus immune.  Between them they’d banished the infected motley crew to the washhouse while they changed beds and aired the rooms, making the entire house much more pleasant.  Then, while the invalids settled once more into fresh beds, Marie and Hop Sing washed sheets, nightwear, and towels, started some willow bark tea to steep and put on a pot of good chicken soup.

Hop Sing told her he’d learned the older a person was the harder the disease seemed to be for them, but luckily Ben appeared to have a very light case.  He was a dreadful patient all the same, nearly driving both her and the Chinese major domo mad with his stubbornness, but he wasn’t that ill.

Adam was their gravest concern, but even he felt much better after his oatmeal bath, some of Marie’s stinging nettle salve dotted on the blisters to ease the itch and his dose of willow bark, and was now asleep, if still a little restless.  She smiled remembering his adolescent outrage at her firmly placing mittens on his hands.

“If you cannot stop the scratching, the sores they will become infected and leave marks.  These, mon fils, will help.”

“But I feel ridiculous!” he’d argued hotly, waving his pink-mittened hands at her in indignation.

“Better to be ridiculous than have unsightly scars all over your handsome face!”

That had finally shut him up and he’d miserably sunk deeper under the covers in defeat.

Now, as she gazed at all four of her dozing, cranky menfolk and thought of her four long, weary days helping a young girl barely older than Adam work for more than twenty-four straight hours with little rest, laboring to bring new life into the world, Marie Cartwright shook her head in wonder.

How could anyone call women the ‘weaker sex’!?

THE END

Written for the 2025 3^rd Quarter Chaps and Spurs Challenge.  The challenge words we were required to use were wreck, eruption, launched, wall, and declaration.