SUMMARY: An older brother mourns his believed failure in keeping a promise.

RATING: K/G

WORD COUNT: 1,335

Author’s Note:  Written for the 3rd Quarter 2025 Chaps and Spurs Writing Challenge.  The words required were wreck, launched, eruption, declaration, and wall.

The Declaration

The young father paced outside the wagon, gently jiggling and patting the eleven-month-old in his arms, who was having none of his comforting and howling in feverish, fractious misery.

“Why’s he cryin’ all the time, Pa?” murmured his older brother, peering out the gap in the Conestoga’s canvas at the back of the wagon.  “Is he gonna… is he gonna die?” the small boy whispered, frightened. This child had known far too much death in his short life.

The father, on the verge of scolding the seven-year-old for not being usefully asleep at this time of night, caught the fear in his son’s voice and got his patience back into his grasp once more.  He soothingly patted the baby’s bottom, walked over to the back of the wagon and leaned over, kissing his older son’s dark head.

“No, of course, not,” he smiled in reassurance.  “Hoss is just having a hard time cutting a tooth, son, that’s all.”

Eyes widening in surprise, the boy stared at his baby brother.  “All o’ this noise over a tooth?” he asked, in amazement.

The father chuckled and raised an eyebrow. “You raised the roof when you were trying to cut your molars, Adam.” Then the father sighed, ruefully. “Well, you would have if we’d had a roof…”

The boy blushed and ducked his head, glancing up at his father from under sooty black lashes.  It made his father’s heart ache with the memory of how his mother used to do exactly that.

“Here,” said Pa suddenly, reaching in with his other strong arm and lifted the little boy in his too short and too tight nightshirt out into the warm spring night, setting him in front of the wash bowl.  “Wash your hands. Be sure you rinse them very well.”

Puzzled, Adam picked up the clump of soft soap and did as he was told. He then came back to his father, now leaning against the side wall of the wagon while perched on his folding camp chair holding Hoss in his lap.  His baby brother was distracted a little from his discomfort by watching his beloved big brother, though his face crumpled in sudden pain and he fussily rubbed at his eyes while drooling profusely.

“Now, really gently,” said Pa softly, guiding Adam’s little fingers into his brother’s mouth, “feel along the lower left side of Hoss’ gums.”

Adam’s eyes popped wide to feel the hard ridge under his finger, with an almost pointed, sharp edge there, and saw Hoss both frown and yet also close his jaws, rubbing his gum harder against his brother’s finger, nearly closing his eyes in relief.  The small boy look in astonishment at his father. “Is that his tooth?”

Pa nodded. “It feels good to have that rubbed, eases the pain,” he told his older son quietly.  “It hurts quite a bit sometimes for little ones to cut their teeth.  Rubbing the gum sometimes helps the eruption.”

Adam looked up, quizzically at his father over this new word.

“Eruption… “ The tired father tried to think of a way to explain it to a seven-year-old… a bright one, but just seven, nonetheless.  “Something pushing through to the surface.  Do you remember me telling you about when I saw that volcano in Hawaii when I was sailing with your grandfather Stoddard?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then the memory quickly slipped in and the boy nodded, excitedly.  “When the rock was so hot it melted and spit up in the sky!”

Pa smiled at him, then, feeling a little proud at the small boy’s memory and ability to put words to his thoughts. “Yes, that’s right.  That’s called an eruption,” he agreed.  “Something pushing through to the surface… that time it was hot, molten rock that needed to get free from the earth.  This time,” he smiled, kissing Hoss’ warm cheek, “it’s your little brother’s tooth needing to get free of his gum.  But the skin is tough.  It has to work hard to cut through, and sometimes it’s quite painful.”

Adam nodded, thoughtfully, and very tenderly massaged his baby brother’s chubby leg. “I’m awful sorry it hurts, Hoss,” he said gently, giving his little brother a kiss.

Whimpering soulfully, Hoss sighed, exhausted, and put up his arms to his hero, his beloved big brother, and launched into his arms.   Adam expertly gathered the solid baby into his own arms and slipped between Pa’s knees, leaning back against his Pa’s chest while holding Hoss protectively close in comfort.  Pa’s arms came around them both, and Adam was content to feel Pa’s cheek against his dark curls.

“I’ll always do my best to keep him from hurtin’, Pa.”

Surprised, Ben Cartwright looked down at his small son, hearing the too-old-for-his-years conviction in that declaration. He knew he’d be a sleep-deprived, worn-out wreck when it was time for him and the boys to move on in just a few hours from now, but he also knew something else.

His sons would always be there for each other. And knowing that, Benjamin Cartwright could face anything.

~-oo0oo-~

The old man with the white leonine head of hair walked carefully up the slope toward the beautiful resting place of the beloved members of his family.  His wife, Marie.  Several dear, cherished ranch hands who’d had no other family than his to share.  And the newest grave, that of his middle son.

Standing there, beside that grave was a tall, dark man, his beard more salt than pepper, and his black hat in his hands.  Ben Cartwright’s heart ached for his oldest son.  Hoss had passed more than two years back, but Adam had been in Europe and not only had been too far to get there for the funeral but had – as often happens – missed receiving the telegram and letters that had explained how it all happened until they caught up with him finally, far too late.

Ben sighed seeing the palpable pain etched on his son’s gray, haunted face. He’s gotten old, too…

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Pa,” the man whispered, unable to wrench his eyes away from the headstone.  “I broke my word.”

Frowning, Ben cocked his head, not sure he’d heard correctly, and walked up beside his eldest. “What do you mean, Adam?”

The man drew in a shuddering breath and shook his head. “I said I’d always keep him from hurting,” he murmured, and winced. “I failed in that as I have much of everything else…”

Ben sighed, and drew himself up, thinking how best to respond.  “No.  You said you’d always do your best to keep him from hurting.”

Adam glanced at him.

Ben smiled sadly. “I was there. I remember,” he said.  Then he winced as his old shoulder protested, but he made himself stretch his right arm up to gather in his son’s own broad shoulders.  “And you didn’t fail.  You did protect him, kept him from hurting as best you could.  Your baby brother, too… all your life.  You taught Hoss well.”

Puzzled, Adam looked at him, questioning.

Ben’s dark eyes gazed back into Adam’s pain-filled amber ones.  “Hoss died trying to ‘keep someone from hurting,’” he said, gently but insistently, squeezing his eldest’s shoulders. “Just as you taught him. Just as you taught Joseph.”

Adam’s face crumpled then, and a sob escaped his lips, forcing him to try to turn away from his father, ashamed of his tears.

But Ben Cartwright wouldn’t let him and gathered his oldest son into his arms, holding him as tenderly as he’d held both his little boys that night on the Kansas prairie more than forty years ago, hoping the love he felt for them both would help to leach out some of his oldest boy’s bitter pain.

Not to his surprise, Hoss had never felt as close to him since he’d died as the old man felt him right now. As if the big man were right there, hanging onto to father and brother, offering his own comfort.