Summary:  It’s not the merriest of Christmases for Little Joe and his family.
Rating:  G (4,175 words)

Bonanza
~*~*~ Advent Calendar ~*~*~
Day 9

Muscle Tough

A wide-awake, five-year-old, curly-haired little boy in his blue and white striped night shirt and bare feet – who should have been in bed and sound asleep – frowned as the door to his house closed and he watched his father walk toward his chair carrying a package wrapped in brown paper.  He’d had to wrinkle his nose and pinch it hard in order to keep from sneezing and being discovered and his head felt mighty funny!  He was supposed to be in his room.  He didn’t want to be in his room.  He’d been in his room for five whole days and he was jumpy as popcorn!  For the first four he hadn’t been allowed to see anybody but Papa ‘cause the doc said he ‘tagjious.  Yesterday he got to see Hoss – but only for a few minutes – on account of the fact that Papa didn’t believe the doc when he said he wasn’t ‘tagious no more and he didn’t want everyone else sick for Christmas. The little boy sniffed.  ‘Everyone else’.

No one else was sick.  Just him.

It wasn’t fair.

Christmas was tomorrow.  That’s why it had seemed funny when he heard the knock on the door and why he’d climbed out of bed to see who it was.  Most everybody was home with their families just like they were, even though half of their family was missing. Adam had gone somewhere far away to learn things.  Joe had no idea why since Adam knew more things than anyone else in the world already, so there couldn’t possibly be any room left in older brother’s head to add something new.  And Mama…well…Mama was just…

Gone.

Little Joe wrinkled his nose and pinched it again as he felt another sneeze wriggle up and try to get out.  This time the reason wasn’t the ‘tagious ague he had.  It was because Mama wouldn’t be here for Christmas.  So, maybe he didn’t care that he had to stay in his room, or that he wouldn’t get to decorate the tree or sing Christmas carols at the piano.  Then again Hoss had said during his visit that he didn’t know if they were going to do any of those things anyway since Papa was in a ‘mood’.

Papa had been in a mood an awful lot lately.

Which was why he didn’t dare sneeze or cough ‘cause Papa would get awful mad if he saw him at the top of the stairs when he was supposed to be in bed.

Hoss was in bed so there wasn’t no one else to catch him.  Joe knew that because older brother had been snoring when he put his ear up against his door.  Hoss sure could snore!  Zzz-zzz, zzz-zzz – just like that old saw blade at the mill going back and forth and back and forth on a big old log!  Hop Sing wasn’t snoring because he wasn’t home.  He was in the settlement visiting his papa and mama.  He said he’d be back early in the morning so he had time to cook their Christmas dinner.  It was just gonna be the four of them. Papa didn’t want no party this year.

Joe wondered if his papa would ever want a party again.

His father was seated in the big red chair by the fire now, staring at the wrapped box he held in his hand.  It had been a whole five minutes and Papa hadn’t opened it yet, which amazed the five-year-old.  If it had been him it would have been open four and a half minutes ago!  Papa took hold of the string and began to tug just as the front door opened and Hop Sing blew in with a strong breeze and a burst of snowflakes.

“Hop Sing! I didn’t expect you until tomorrow morning,” Papa said as he stood up and headed for the door.  “All is well with your parents I trust?”

Their housekeeper shivered with the cold as he closed the door, which left a pile of snow on the floor that he frowned at.  Hop Sing didn’t like snow.  He called it ‘messy foolishment’.

“Weather much too bad for travel tomorrow morning,” the Asian man replied.  “This one want velly much to be with Mistahs Ben, Hoss, and Little Joe on Christmas day, so he leave early.”

“I appreciate that,” Papa said.  His voice sounded funny.

“Need all to be together, especially this year.”

Papa nodded but said nothing.

“Mistah Ben have guest tonight?” the Asian man asked.

“Why, yes.  How did you know?”

Hop Sing indicated the package in his hand.  “Box present from friend?”

“Moses Weiss.  He stopped by on his way home.  I’m surprised you didn’t pass him on the road.”

“Hop Sing not able to tell if he did.  Very much snow falling.”  He indicated the package.  “Does Mistah Ben know what is inside?”

His papa didn’t smile much these days.  He did now.  “Yes.  Strong medicine.”

The box was about as long as Papa’s arm.  It was wrapped in brown paper and tied up tight with string.  There was something stuck under the string, but it was awful far away and Joe didn’t dare move to get a better look.  He thought it might be a sprig of holly.

Or maybe cattle fodder.

“Box big.  Bottle of medicine big too?” Hop Sing asked.

“Oh yes.  Big, and of the best kind,” Papa said as he removed the string and the lid came off.  Then, like that magician from the circus they saw in the spring, he waved his hand in the air, shouted some magic words, and pulled a fat bottle with a label out of the box.  The five-years-old’s lips twisted with a frown.  He couldn’t read the label from this far away.

Then again, he couldn’t much read at all.

“Oh,” Hop Sing said, ‘that kind of medicine,.”

“The finest kind!”  Papa held the bottle up to the light, admiring its coppery color as it glinted in the light of the oil lamp.  “So fine it would cure anyone of what ails them!”

Little Joe’s little fingers gripped the spindles of the staircase.  He had a big brown bottle with a coppery liquid inside beside his bed too.  Papa had been shoveling spoonfuls of the awful stuff into his mouth for at least a year!  Or, maybe it was four or five days.  Anyhow, it tasted like the bottom of Hoss’ shoe.

And he knew that for a fact.

That old medicine he was taking wouldn’t do anyone any good any how.  He was still coughing and sneezing and even worse, running a fever.  Before he left the last time the doc had patted him on the head and said – while looking at his papa – ‘my prescription is that the patient take it until it’s all gone.’

Joe’s thick brows bent into a ‘V’ at the center.  Mr. Weiss had said something that sounded an awful lot like that to Papa before he left.  As the old man handed the box to his father, he’d said ‘Remember Benjamin, the patient must drink until he becomes intoxicated!’

Intox’cated.

Intox’cated?

Joe let out a sigh.  He sure wished Adam was around to talk to. That was a $10 word if he’d ever heard one!

He could ask Hoss about it, but it wouldn’t do no good.  One day he’d overheard a couple of his papa’s men talking about his mama and asked middle brother what it meant when one of them called Mama was a ‘strumpet’. Hoss got a funny look on his face and told him it meant she was gonna join a band.  That wasn’t true.

Mama couldn’t even play the pianoforte and that was something every girl did!

The sound of a cork popping returned the little boy’s attention to the great room.  His father had opened the bottle. He passed it under his nose and sniffed.  “A fine aroma.  Fruity and spicy with a hint of…” Papa sniffed again.  “I believe its chocolate!”

Chocolate?

That sure sounded better than his medicine!

“Hop Sing, please get me a glass.”

Hop Sing hesitated a bit before crossing to the locked cabinet near the dining room where Papa kept all his medicine.  After a minute their housekeeper returned with a funny glass that looked like the stem of a flower holding up a big round bowl.

“Mistah Cartwright mean to try gift now?”

“I believe I will.  I know it’s early, but there’s no harm done, is there?”  Papa took the glass from Hop Sing and filled it about half-full with the coppery colored liquid.  He took a sip, waited, and then took a second one.  “Yes, definitely chocolate and perhaps a touch of cinnamon.  You know what, Hop Sing?”

“What, Mistah Ben?”

“Fetch another glass.”

The Asian man eyes grew wide.  “Hop Sing not take spirits much.”

“It’s Christmas,” Papa said.  “Surely you won’t deny me a drink with a friend?”

Hop Sing nodded before returning to the cabinet.  A moment later he had some medicine too and Papa was raising his glass. ‘Clink!’ they went together and then Papa said that magic word again.

“Here’s to Moses and his good taste. Mazel tov!”

Little Joe Cartwright was back in his bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed with his bare feet dangling, trying to sort things out.  He wondered if the preacher knew that his father knew Moses well enough to get a gift from him.  To be honest, he was kind of surprised that Moses had dark hair and was losing most of it on top.  Seemed like in the Bible it said somewhere that he had lots of it and it was white. Then again, as Papa liked to say, God moved in mysterious ways.  A week or so back the preacher in his sermon had called Moses a ‘gift from God’, so obviously any gift he gave had to be something special!  So…maybe…what was in the bottle wasn’t just medicine.  Maybe it was magic medicine!  ‘So fine it would cure anyone of what ails them’ Papa had said.

‘Anyone’ like him.

Little Joe felt a tingle of excitement.  If Moses’ magic worked he wouldn’t have to miss Christmas dinner.  He’d be able to sing carols without coughing.  No more sneezing and no more Papa sitting by his bed all night worrying about him.  If the magic medicine worked maybe the dark circles under Pa’s eyes would go away too.

He’d have to check tomorrow to see if they had.

After all, Papa just drank some of the medicine.

But…maybe not enough of it.  After all Mister Moses said the patient must drink until he becomes ‘intox’cated’.

He’d heard the word before.  It had taken a little while to remember where.  It was a big, long word so he knew it had to be a grown-up.  Finally, he remembered!  He’d been peeking through the spindles another night listening to his papa and Adam talk.  Well, Adam was kind of shouting.  Older brother used that word then and grabbed for the bottle of medicine Papa was holding.  Maybe Adam needed medicine too!  Papa didn’t let him have it.  He’d raised the bottle and shouted that magic word – the one he’d just used.

Muzzle off.

Or maybe it was muscle tough?

Yeah, that was it.  Muscle tough.  That made a lot of sense on account of after Papa talked to Adam he went outside and put his fist through the barn wall.

So…Moses’s medicine not only cured you but it made you really strong.

Joe eyed the bottle on his night stand with disgust.

That stuff didn’t make you strong.  In fact, he was pretty sure it was gonna kill him.

Papa had better medicine.

It had been about an hour since he’d watched Papa and Hop Sing from the shadows on the staircase.  He’d heard his papa walk by earlier and Hop Sing had to get up really early the next morning, so he was pretty sure both of them were in bed. Little Joe slipped to the floor, put his slippers on this time ‘cause his toes had been cold before, and walked to the door.  He knew he should put his robe on too, but then again no one would know he’d been out of his room, so he didn’t – even though the cool air moving along the upstairs hallway made him shiver.

And stifle another sneeze.

Quickly, the little boy made his way down the stairs and into the area of the great hearth.  The fire was banked for the night, but he could still feel heat radiating out.  It felt good on account of he was shivering

Just a little.

Joe felt lucky and pretty sure he was doing the right thing since Papa’s bottle of medicine was still sitting on the table by his chair.  Papa’s glass was there too with a little of the coppery liquid in it.  The little boy picked up the glass and sniffed it like he’d seen his father do, expecting a whiff of one of Hop Sing’s chocolate cakes.

He got anything but!

The smell wasn’t…bad exactly…but it wasn’t good either.  It reminded him of his own medicine only better.  It smelled kind of like the bag in the kitchen that Hop Sing’s fruitcake hung in. Joe ran his finger around the glass and popped it in his mouth.

It tasted like fruit cake too.

Not that he would know since he wasn’t supposed to eat it.

‘Strong medicine’ Papa had called the stuff.  ‘So fine it would cure anyone of what ails them.’

The cork was awful hard to get out – so hard, in fact, that Joe dropped the bottle and spilled most of its contents on the rug in front of the fire.  It was heavy too and hard to handle and by the time he was done there was…maybe…enough left to fill the glass up a half inch or so.  The little boy took the glass in both hands and raised it and whispered Mose’s magic words – “Muscle tough!” and then he took a sip.

And made a face.  “Ugh!”

Moses’ medicine wasn’t as bad as his, but it wasn’t much better!  Joe swallowed what was in his mouth and took another little sip.  This time warmth crept through him, taking away the chill so he stopped shivering.  His head felt fuzzy like it did after the sneeze he didn’t sneeze.  And he was sleepy.

Really sleepy.

Hop Sing couldn’t sleep, troubled as he was by the impossible choice he had to make.  It had been most hard to choose between his parents and the family he loved, but in the end he knew Mistah Ben and his boys needed him more.  This year – the first Christmas without Missy Marie – it was most important he be with them.  Over the last six months Mistah Ben had lost his way.  Often he sought to find comfort in a bottle of brandy such as Mister Weiss had brought.  Today would be most hard for his employer and friend – most hard for all of them – and so he must keep watch.  Mistahs Hoss and Little Joe would need their father.

Especially Mistah Little Joe.

The Asian man glanced at the clock as he moved past.  It was nearly five o’clock – time for the day’s preparations to begin.  He could tell Mistah Ben he had been cleaning and somehow misplaced Mister Weiss’ gift.  Since it was not his he would return it the next day, much as he had no desire to do so.  If Mistah Ben saw it he would not be able to resist.  By nightfall – when it came time to light the candles on the tree and celebrate as a family – he would be worth nothing to his boys.

There were other bottles in the locked cabinet, but he could also say he had misplaced the key.

When Hop Sing rounded the settee, the first thing he did was look for the brandy bottle.  Mistah Ben had left it on the table by his chair, but it was not there.  It was lying on its side.

Little Joe was lying near it, pale and shaking.

The second thing he did was scream.

Little Joe blinked.  He opened one eye, and then the other, and then clamped both shut as the room began to spin.  His mouth felt dry as the desert and his throat hurt.  When he licked his lips, someone held a glass of water to them and said, “Small sips.  Otherwise you’ll get sick.”

Joe did what he usually did – he didn’t listen.

When he’d finished vomiting into the chamber pot, the little boy leaned back and looked up – only to meet his father’s stern gaze.

“Dd’di do sumthin’ wrong?” he asked.

“That depends.”  His father reached down, picked up something, and showed it to him.  It was the bottle of medicine.

“Did you drink this?”

Joe winced at the sound of his papa’s voice.  “Yes, sir,” he said, his voice small.  “S’rry I spilled your med-cin…”

“My medicine…?”  Papa’s dark gaze moved to the bottle on his nightstand and then back to the bottle he held.  “You thought this was medicine?”

“It’s…what you said…”  Little Joe felt funny.  All he wanted to do was sleep – and he really wanted to get away from those dark eyes.

His father’s fingers dug into his arm, bringing him wide awake.  “How much?  Son, tell me how much you took!”

Tears flooded the little boy’s eyes.  “S’rry, Papa….  I didn’t take much…promise.  I…spilled most of it.  ”

Papa’s fingers did not let go, but they didn’t pinch as tightly.  “Joseph, I need to know how much you took.  Was it more than the spoonful I normally give you?”

‘Joseph’.

He better answer.

“About,” Little Joe replied.  “Maybe a little more….”

Papa released his grip.  He leaned back in the chair he had pulled up to the side of the bed and ran a hand over his face. “Why?” his father asked, his voice utterly weary.  “Whatever possessed you to….  Wait, were you listening when Moses was here?”

Joe winced and wished he could melt into his pillows.  “The reverend said Moses is an awful important person and we should….”

Pa frowned. “Should what?”

“List’n to him.  And…”

“And what?”

“I should listen to you too.”

“Me?” Papa looked puzzled.  “About this?  What did I say?”

Joe was drifting again and finding it hard to find the words.  “You called it strong…med-cin.  You…said it would cure what’s…wrong with anyone.”  He opened and closed his eyes a couple of time.  “Like…you.  Wanted to be…muscle tough….”

Papa shook him gently.  “Little Joe, you need to stay awake.”

“Don’t want to….”

“If you do, I’ll take you downstairs.  Hoss and Hop Sing are just about to light the candles on the tree.”

That woke him up.  “I can go downstairs?”

Papa nodded.  “If you put your feet over the side of the bed now and show me you can stand.”

Joe pushed the covers aside and slid to the floor.  “’Course I can stand….”

Papa sure was quick with that chamber pot!

His father knelt beside him.  He placed one hand on Joe’s shoulder and the other on the top of his curly blond hair.  “Now you listen to me, little boy.  You’ve been through something.  You need to take it slow.”

What had he been through?

Wait…

Joe licked his lips again.  Hop Sing and Hoss were lighting the candles?

“It’s Christmas…night?” he asked.  “What happened to Christmas Day?”

Joe got to feeling better as the night went on, though – sadly – his tummy didn’t.  It turned somersaults when it saw all the yummy food Hop Sing had fixed, so he had to settle for some tea and toast.  He did enjoy lighting the candles on the tree and singing carols, as well as Papa carrying him out into the snow bundled up as tightly as an Indian lady’s papoose.  In the end it was just him and his papa left in the Great Room.  Hop Sing was in the kitchen cleaning up.  The Asian man was singing Christmas carols in that funny way he had where half the words were in English and the other half in Chinese.  Hoss had tuckered out early and gone to bed.  The two of them were sitting on mama’s fancy settee listening to the fire snap and pop and watching the snow pile up outside the windows.  Papa had brought the red, black, and white Indian blanket from the staircase and wrapped him up in it, and then sat beside him with his arm around his shoulders.  For the longest time Papa said nothing, then….

“Joseph.”

There is was again, that name – only this time Papa didn’t shout it.

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t you ever do anything like that again!”

Joe knew what ‘that’ was.  He shook his head. Then he nodded.  “No, sir.  I mean, yes, sir.”

“You could have died.”

Joe looked up sharply.  “From med-cin?”

His father’s dark eyes closed and remained shut for a few seconds Papa let out a sigh.  “Yes.  Medicine far too strong for a little boy.”

“Are you mad I took it?” he asked.

“I should be, but, no.  This was my fault and not yours.”  Papa gave his shoulders a little hug.  “Plus, son, you taught me a valuable lesson.”

Joe’s green eyes went wide.  “Me?  What could I teach you?  You know everything!”

“Maybe not everything,” Papa chuckled.  “You see I miss…”  He cleared his throat.  “If your…mother…had been here she would have given me an earful for taking my…medicine… on Christmas Day.  I don’t have her anymore, but I do have you.”  Papa touched his cheek.  “You taught me that one must watch what they say; that little ears are always listening.  That the words you choose are important.”

He nodded.  “Adam would agree with that one.”

Papa chuckled again.  “He would indeed.”

They were silent for a moment and then Joe asked, “So was it really medicine in that bottle?”

His father shook his head.  “No.”

“So what is it then?”

Papa thought a moment before he replied.  “A crutch.”

“Huh?”  Joe peeked over the blanket and looked at his father’s legs and arms.  “You got something broken?”

His father nodded.  “Yes, but it’s not something you can see.  I was under the mistaken belief that what was in that bottle could mend it or at least numb me so I couldn’t feel the pain.”  Papa  paused.  “I am so sorry, Little Joe.  I have been a terrible father since…”

“Since mama died?” he asked.

The older man cleared his throat.  “Yes.  I thought…”

“That that old medicine would make your heart not broke?”

His father smiled – a real smile this time.  “How did you come to be so wise?”

Joe shrugged.  “Adam says it’s ‘cause I’m like my mama.”  When his father remained silent, the little boy asked, “Am I in trouble?”

Papa sighed. “You should be, but no.  Just don’t ever do anything like that again!”

“What about you?  Are you gonna ever do anything like that again?”

“No.  I told Hop Sing to empty the rest of my…medicine…bottles.  I’m better now, son.” The older man’s hand ruffled his thick curls.  “All better.  Thanks to you.”

“Soooo….do I have to take the rest of my medicine or can Hop Sing empty it out too?” he asked hopefully.

His father’s hand moved to his forehead.  “Hmm.  No fever.  I think we can call you ‘cured’.”

“Does that mean I’m in…in tocs…”  He scowled.  “Intox’cated then?”

Pa’s black brows leaped. “What?  Whatever would make you ask that?”

“It’s what Moses said.”  He closed his eyes to think better. “The…patient must drink until he becomes…you know…that word.”

“Little ears indeed!”  His father shook his head.  “Do you ever do what you’re told?”

Joe thought a moment.  “Well…I would if you told me to go to the kitchen and get a piece of Hop Sing’s chocolate cake,” he said with a big grin.

They were sitting in the kitchen, wolfing down what was left of Hop Sing’s cake, and watching the sun come up. Papa had fixed a cup of coffee and brought him a big glass of milk.  It was early in the morning, so everything in the kitchen had a coppery glow, even the snow on the windowsill.

“Papa?”

“Yes, son?”

Joe held his glass up and out. “Muscle tough!” he shouted.

Papa blinked.  “Muscle…tough?”

“Yeah, you know, like Moses said.”

His father chuckled. “I think you mean Mozel tov.”

“Do I?”

“Moses is…and was a Jew.  Mozel Tov is their way of wishing someone health and happiness.”

“Does it work?”

His father raised his cup and touched it to Joe’s glass with a clink.  “Oh, yes.  Mose’s gift definitely brought me both.”

“But you didn’t get to drink any of it.”

Pa’s smile was big as Nevada.

“I know.”

Prompt: The patient must drink until he becomes intoxicated.

Link to the Bonanza Brand Advent Calendar – Day 9.2 – Clara – McFair_58