Summary: Adam and Joe bring down some trunks from the attic and Pa relates a hundred year old family story to amuse a bored Little Joe on a winter’s day.
Rating: G (6,840 words)

Treasures in the Attic

Winter in the Sierras was a beautiful sight, but only when viewed from the warmth and safety of a fireside.  The icicles, which hung from the eaves of the great Ponderosa ranch house, sparkled in the sunlight, but their weight dislodged the shingles and caused damage.  The snow, which looked so picturesque on the branches of the pines could slip at anytime and bury the stock or a rider.  Sudden blizzards could blow up and strand the unwary traveler or even kill in the freezing cold of a whiteout.  It was just such a day today.

Through the study window of the ranch house the world was white; to open the door was to invite death.  A rope led from house to bunkhouse and from bunkhouse to barn.  Even in this weather the chores had to be done, the stock cared for, and the fires kept burning.  The rope ensured no one wandered off into the whiteout to freeze.  The morning chores had been accomplished with some difficulty by a few of the hands and the oldest two Cartwright sons; Ben Cartwright refusing to allow his youngest son to leave the house in these extreme conditions.  Now they were settled until the evening chores needed attention; settled, all but one.

“Joseph, will you please find something useful to do?  You’re beginning to irritate all of us.”  Ben Cartwright lifted his eyes from the ledgers spread out on his desk and spoke sternly to his youngest son.

Little Joe turned and paced back across the floor one more time.   He had already fallen over his older brother Hoss’ feet twice.  Hoss sighed and moved the harness he was repairing so that it didn’t get knocked to the floor on Joe’s next pass.  It was amazing how small this big room could seem when four people were imprisoned in it for days at a time.  Hoss glanced at the window.  It was still snowing and as he looked harder, he realized that the snow had drifted high enough to cover more than half of the panes of glass.

“There ain’t nuthin’ to do,” Joe complained bitterly. It was bad enough for the adults to be shut up in the house for three days, but for thirteen-year-old Little Joe it was like a life sentence.

“I’m sure you can find some schoolwork to do and Hop Sing won’t need the table until supper,” Ben replied, trying to keep his voice calm.  There had been too many confrontations with his young son in the past week.

“I done all my homework and there ain’t nuthin’ else,” Joe grumbled.

His older brother, Adam, looked up from the book he was reading.  “You might try practicing some English.  It sounds as though you could use it,” he said sarcastically, slipping a bookmark into his pages and setting the book on the table.  He stretched and looked at the grandfather clock. Another couple of hours before he and Hoss would have to make the cold journey to the barn again.oss would have to Hoss     H

Joe swung around to make some angry retort to his brother but caught a stern look from his father and decided he’d pushed things far enough for one afternoon.  It was bad enough being stuck here in the living room but at least it was warm and he had his brothers for company, such as it was.  His own room, where he had been sent on more than one occasion in the past month, was cold and lonely and only good for sleeping this time of year.  He threw himself on to the sofa and earned another pained look from Hoss who had jabbed himself with the large needle he was using.

Adam got to his feet and stretched like a cat.  “Pa, you mentioned wanting to store away some papers.  How about Joe and I go fetch a trunk from the attic?  We can clear it out and then put it back when you’ve decided what to keep.”

Ben hesitated for a moment not sure why Adam would want to go into the freezing attic now; then dawn broke.  “I think that’s a very good idea.”  He smiled at his oldest son.  “Keep you both out of mischief for a couple of hours.”

Joe groaned. The attic was cold and sorting through a lot of boring papers didn’t sound much like fun.

“C’mon, little brother, let’s see if those muscles of yours can handle some heavy work.  There’re two trunks up there.  If we bring both down and put the stuff into one, then Pa can use the other.”

Adam stood at the bottom of the stairs with a maddening grin on his face that made Joe want to hit him.  He knew this chore was only being suggested to stop him pacing up and down.  Chores that had to be done were bad enough but inventing work for the sake of it was just like Adam.  He dragged himself reluctantly to the stairs and followed sullenly as his older brother led the way along the upstairs hallway to the narrow staircase that led to the attic above the storeroom at the back of the house.

The room was not large and, with its sloped roof, Adam had to duck to avoid the beams.  Joe could almost stand upright but even he had to be careful.  Stacked against the sides of the room were all manner of boxes.  Most contained contracts and letters relating to the ranch business.  Some, Joe knew, held old bits of equipment and furnishings that Pa or Hop Sing thought might be useful; both were inveterate hoarders of useless trash, in Joe’s opinion.

Joe picked his way between the boxes and piles of junk to where Adam had taken hold of a large cabin trunk.  “This one has the oldest stuff in it.  It was Pa’s sea chest.   We might find we can clear out some of it and make enough room for the things that are in that one.”  He pointed to a flat green canvas covered trunk bound with some sort of wooden bands.

Joe sighed and took hold of the leather handle at other end of the sea chest.  It was heavy and difficult to maneuver in the confined space.  His fingers were cold and he almost dropped it as they started down the stairs.  By the time both trunks were in the living room the boys were shivering and needed time by the fire to warm through again.

“It sure is cold up there,” Adam commented, rubbing his hands to warm them.  “A couple of shingles have come loose.  As soon as this storm eases someone is gonna have to get up there and do some repairs or we’ll have the snow melting into the space and down into the storeroom.”  He sighed, knowing he was the most likely candidate for the job.

Ben had barely looked up from his ledgers when the trunks had been dropped onto the floor in front of the fire and he only half heard his oldest son.  He was satisfied that Joe was being occupied constructively for a couple of hours and he could come to grips with the figures.

Hoss looked at Adam then bent his head back to his work.  He sure wasn’t about to volunteer for roof repairs and he was pretty sure Pa wouldn’t ask him to, not with his big feet.

Joe examined the green trunk, running his fingers over the wooden bands and then releasing the catches.  He opened the lid slowly and wrinkled his nose as the musty smell assaulted his senses.  “How long has this been up there?” he asked, touching the material on the top with distaste.

Adam glanced over at the desk but Ben’s head was bent over the books. “Must be about seven or eight years I suppose,” he said quietly.  “I’d forgotten I packed so much stuff away.”

Joe noted the serious note in his brother’s voice and suddenly the significance of the trunk hit him and he dropped the material he had been holding as if it had burned him.  “This stuff…this stuff was …Mama’s, wasn’t it?” he asked softly, looking at his older brother with sorrowful hazel eyes.

Adam nodded.  “Most of it, yes.   Do you want me to do it on my own?” he asked suddenly filled with concern. Maybe this was the wrong chore to offer Joe to keep him occupied.

Joe vehemently shook his head.  “No, I want to see what’s here.  I’m okay with it.”  He ran his hands over the soft green material on top of the trunk. “Why’d you keep her dresses?”

Ben glanced up as he heard Joe’s denial. He drew in a small breath as he saw what his youngest son was touching.  He had been too full of sorrow all those years ago.  He hadn’t known what Adam had been storing or what he had thrown away.

Adam knelt down and his expression became a little strange and faraway.  “Not dresses, Joe, just this one and her wedding dress.”  He indicated a second cream lace dress packed in tissue paper then he carefully lifted the dark green velvet from the box and opened it out, touching the cream and green ribbons almost with a reverence.  “She wore this for the first time when I was about fourteen and I fell in love.”  He grinned at his younger brother.  “I guess that was when I started to realize she wasn’t so bad after all.  For a long time none of my girlfriends could measure up to her, not sure they ever have.”

Hearing the sad note in his brother’s voice, Hoss looked up and saw the contents of the open trunk.  He couldn’t recall the dress but suddenly he could smell Mama’s perfume and he carefully fixed his needle in the leather and set aside his mending, allowing the memories to flood back to him.

Joe felt a lump in his throat.  He had never heard his older brother speak of Mama in this way.  Impulsively he reached a hand out and touched Adam’s shoulder, feeling a bond that hadn’t been there before.  His other hand touched the dress with the tips of his fingers.  “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”  Joe wasn’t really asking, in his memories, his mother was the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Yeah, she was,” Adam said so softly that Joe had trouble hearing him, “But not just beautiful, she was a wonderful person too.  She took on me and Hoss and a whole new way of life and made it work.”

Hoss felt tears prick his eyes as he watched his two brothers.  Folks said Adam and Joe was always fighting but right here and now they needed each other and he needed to be a part of it.  Swallowing hard he moved to the end of the sofa in an attempt to become part of the tableau around the trunk.

“Johntown was hardly New Orleans but I never heard her complain,”  Adam chuckled.  “Except when she was yelling at Pa because she’d had a bad day and he wasn’t being sympathetic enough.  I sure never made it easy for her either.”

Hoss could hold back no longer got up and took a few steps toward them, then bent over the trunk with his brothers.  He was concerned at their melancholy mood; Joe in particular looked close to tears.  He searched around for something to distract him.

“He sure didn’t,” Hoss commented to Joe as he spotted a dusty folder and pulled it out.  “He was a real pain…  Hey, this is full of school stuff, mine and yours,” he said, nudging Adam and holding out a picture of a rather badly drawn horse.  “I did this my first week in school.”

Adam picked up the next item in the folder. “Yeah, and this is a letter from Mr Lawson telling Pa about the frogs.”  Adam laughed, “I wonder why Pa kept it?”

“To embarrass us, I guess,” Hoss grinned.

Joe delved further into the trunk.  “Hey, what’s this?” he asked, pulling out a small white dress with a ruffle at the hemline.

“Your dress,” Adam grinned.  “Hey, Hoss, can you remember him toddling around in this?”

“I never wore that!”  Joe exclaimed in disgust.

Hoss nodded.  “Yeah, you did.  I remember Adam teachin’ you to climb stairs when you was wearing it and Mama havin’ a blue fit when you caught your foot in the hem and fell.”

The trunk continued to produce treasured memories for both Hoss and Adam but for Joe they were things he’d only heard about and he sat back and watched until Hoss drew out a wooden marionette.  “Hey, I remember that.”  He took it from his brother and tried to untangle the strings.  He looked up at his oldest brother.  “You made it for me for Christmas.”

Adam nodded, remembering the winters gone by and the things they had all done to while away the hours. “I think Pa suggested it as a way of keeping me out of mischief on a cold winter’s day,” he grinned.

Ben couldn’t contain a smile at this one.  He had been listening while pretending to be engrossed in his books.  It wasn’t often that the boys reminisced about the past and he was intrigued at their memories.  People said the three were different but right now he could only see the similarities.  The marionette had indeed been a way to keep Adam quiet on a day such as this.  He had been as restless and irritating as Joe.   Hoss was the placid one but even he had found restriction to the house hard to bear in his younger days.  In some ways Hoss had found it harder than his brothers.  He was the one who loved the outdoors and who found books a chore.  Adam could be relied upon to eventually settle with a book and even Joe could become engrossed in a good story, but Hoss needed fresh air and exercise to keep him happy.  At this moment Ben could recall days gone by that had been just like this one.

Joe looked at his brothers and smiled.  It was good to know that they had found winters hard sometimes.  Now they were grown they both seemed to have adapted to long days trapped in the house.  He didn’t think he ever would.

Adam picked up a tiny tin soldier in a scratched and faded blue, then another painted red.  “These came all the way from Boston,” he said softly.

Hoss took one from him.  “I remember playin’ with these.”

“We all did,” Adam agreed.  “Then Pa bought Joe new ones and these got packed away.  I remember one Christmas we were having a battle and I beat you and you got mad and threw one of them at me.”

Hoss nodded, remembering.  “You ducked and it went in the fire and I cried when the lead melted and you said I’d killed him.”

Joe scoffed.  “C’mon, you’re kidding me?”

Adam shook his head.  “Nope.  We fought over it and I got sent to bed,” he grinned at Hoss.  “Because I shouldn’t tease the baby…”

Hoss guffawed.  “I was only five and you were bigger than me in those days.”

“Didya fight much?” Joe asked.  “I can’t remember.”

“Oh yeah, all the time,” Adam grinned and gave Hoss a gentle push, “Until I got older and wiser.”

Again Hoss’s deep laugh rumbled around the room and he shoved back. “You mean until I got big enough to beat you.”

Adam grinned.  “That’s what I said, older and wiser!”  He reached into the trunk again and brought out a few books and papers and a whole heap of contracts.  He flicked through the contracts and sneezed as the dust flew into his eyes and nose.  “Eighteen forty eight, nine, fifty…fifty four…” he recited.  “Well, these can go. None of our current contracts need these to support them.”   He set the pile aside.

“Now, let’s see what’s in this one and then try to fit it all into one.”  He shifted his position and moved a pile of papers to give them room to attack the other trunk.  This one was black, its wooden bands ran around it horizontally and the lid was barrel shaped.  The catches were rusted and when Adam tried to pry them open they didn’t budge.   He tried again using more force and one sprang open showering him in tiny particles of rust.  The other barely moved despite his best efforts.

“How long has this been closed up?” he grumbled.

Ben finally gave up the pretence of working and closed the ledger.  “I don’t think it’s been opened since we moved from the cabin, so about fourteen years.” He looked at the trunk and sighed.  “I’m not even sure why I brought it here.  Memories, I guess.”  He got up slowly and walked over to the fireplace.  He had to pick his way through the contents of the first trunk, which the boys had strewn across the floor, table and chairs as they sorted through it.

Adam was still trying to force open the old sea chest and suddenly the second lock broke off completely and the lid creaked open an inch.  Joe eagerly made a grab for it and threw it back.   The trunk had a tray at the top about eight inches deep and resting on ledges above the rest of the contents.  Joe picked up the first thing to hand: a black book with faded writing on the cover.  “What’s this, Pa?”  he asked, turning it over and opening it.  “The writing’s all strange.  It ain’t English, that’s for sure.”

Adam winced and tried to see what Joe was holding but it meant nothing to him.

Ben sat down on the hearth facing the trunk.  Taking the book from Joe he gently opened it.  “This belonged to your mother, Hoss.  It was a journal she wrote when she was a girl in Sweden.  I’d forgotten it was in here.  I’ve never been able to read it but I couldn’t bring myself to part with it.  Maybe we could find someone to translate it for us.”

Hoss took the book from his father and gently turned the pages.  He swallowed hard; there was so little of his mother in the house and any memento was treasured.  It didn’t matter that he couldn’t read what she had written; it was enough that her hands had touched this book.

“Hey,” Joe interrupted Hoss’s thoughts. “What are these?”  He held out a bundle tied with ribbon.

Ben smiled and held out his hand.  “Letters Adam’s mother wrote to me before we were married.”

Joe giggled and with a dramatic gesture held the bundle closer to his chest, his eyes closed and he gave a sighed.  “Love letters, huh, Pa?”  he said with an expression that he considered romantic but which made Hoss laugh.

Ben’s smile was indulgent. “Yes, Little Joe, love letters…and private,” he said, holding out his hand.

Adam was too far from his father to see the handwriting but he could imagine it from the faded inscription in his worn copy of “Paradise Lost.”   He wondered what was in those letters and he hoped Pa might let him read some of them or at least read out passages to him.  Pa rarely talked of his first wife, and Adam rarely asked.  In fact they could only remember one real conversation about her and that had been more than ten years ago when he was just a kid.

Joe added another dramatic sighed and handed over the letters.  Ben took them and stared at the handwriting on the top envelope; it had faded until it was almost illegible.

He turned to Adam. “She wrote these every week while I was at sea even if she couldn’t send them.  I guess they are rather like a journal, too.”

Adam held his father’s eyes and tried to send the right signals but Joe was tugging at Pa’s sleeve and the moment was lost.

“Did Mama write a journal, Pa?”  Joe asked eagerly.

Ben’s mood changed and he laughed.  “Your mother was like you, she never sat still long enough to write.”

Adam sat back on his heels and tried to hide his disappointment.  He would have liked Pa to say more about the letters but as usual Little Joe was the center of attention again.

Ben settled down beside the trunk and began to explore its contents for himself.  He was so engrossed in things from his past that he didn’t notice Joe picking up a worn leather pouch and a picture wrapped in oilcloth.

“Who’s this, Pa?”  Joe asked holding up a small miniature of a soldier.

Adam glanced up from his sulk, his curiosity aroused as he noted the uniform and he took the picture from his younger brother.  “Yeah, Pa, where did you get a picture of a British Redcoat?” he asked, peering at the miniature.

Ben’s head snapped up, an eyebrow raised and the beginnings of a smile on his face.  Adam’s obvious curiosity amused him.  “It’s a long story.”

“Tell us, Pa,” Joe implored.

“Yeah, Pa, we got plenty o’ time before chores.”  Hoss relished a good story and this one sounded as though it might be good.

Adam leaned back against the chair and folded his arms.  “Go ahead, Pa.  I’ll admit to being intrigued on this one.”

Ben slid back into his chair and looked at his three sons: Joe, kneeling by the trunk with the leather pouch still in his hands, looking up eagerly; Hoss, keen to hear the story; and Adam, with his expression of intense curiosity.  He slowly leaned back and reached for his pipe and tobacco.  Once he had filled the bowl and tamped the tobacco down firmly he struck a match and lit the pipe, drawing deeply on it to ensure it was fully alight.

All three boys sighed with impatience; there was no hurrying Pa when he was in this mood.

“It’s a family story…” Ben began, “One from long ago.”  He took the picture from Adam and stared at the miniature as if thinking where to start.  Finally, he looked up and allowed his eyes to settle on Adam, the others would enjoy the story but Adam was probably the only one who would truly understand the sacrifices and hardships involved   “This man, this soldier, was your great-great-grandfather…” he said, slowly.

“Huh!”  Joe exclaimed, his jaw dropping open.  “But he’s a Redcoat. I thought the Cartwrights fought with Washington.”

Ben grinned. “The Cartwrights did but The Honorable Frederick Knollys Fitzsimmons was my mother’s grandfather.”

Joe gasped. “Does that mean he was royal or somethin’?”  Joe asked.

Ben laughed. “I don’t think so, though the family may have had connections, I suppose.  My mother told me that he was the fourth son of an Earl.  In those days, the eldest son inherited everything and all younger sons went into the army or the church.”

Adam chuckled and reached out to ruffle Joe’s hair. “Pity we don’t keep up that tradition.  Can’t you just see Joe as a preacher?”

Joe scowled.  “Go on, Pa.  Was your mother English, too?”

“Not exactly but, in a way her grandmother was.”  Ben smiled at his youngest son.  “You know that before independence all the colonists were answerable to the British crown.  The colonies were ruled by the British and all the people living there were considered British, even those who had been born here.”

Joe nodded “Ain’t that what they argued about?  I mean payin’ taxes when they didn’t get to choose who the government was.”

“That’s kind of a simplistic way to look at it,” Adam started to explain in his best school teacher manner, making both Hoss and Joe groan.

“Tell the story, Pa.  It don’t matter about why,” Joe complained.

“Yeah, Pa,” Hoss agreed, throwing Adam an uncomplimentary look.  He didn’t want Pa sidetracked into a history lesson.

Ben smiled and rested a hand on Joe’s shoulder.  “All right, for now, we’ll stick with the story.” He touched the tiny portrait again.  “Your great-great-grandmother Ellen lived in a small community just outside of Boston.  Her father was a judge and very respected in the area.  Not far from where they lived there was a British garrison and the soldiers were often seen in the town.  They mixed with the local people and were part of the community.  My uncle kept the family Bible but I seem to recall that Ellen was born in about 1745.”

“Do you remember her, Pa?” Joe asked.

“Of course he doesn’t,” Adam said, scornfully.

“Oh, but I do,” Ben disagreed.

Joe’s smile was triumphant and he stuck out his tongue at his older brother, which earned him a gentle shove and he retaliated with the same.

“Hey, you two, let Pa tell the story.”  Hoss was impatient as he put a hand between his two brothers to stop any further nonsense.

Ben waited patiently until all three were paying attention again. “I remember being taken to see her when I was very small, maybe five or so and John a year younger.  She was a tiny lady with white wispy hair and a blue dress and she smelled of lavender.  I recall her rocking in her chair and telling me I was a sweet child,” he laughed.  “John and I were chasing each other and I fell over and hurt my knee but before I could cry, she told me to be a brave little soldier.”

Joe giggled at the thought of his father being a sweet child, or a brave little soldier, come to that.

“But how come she married a Redcoat, Pa?”  Hoss interrupted, impatiently.

“I’m coming to that.”  Ben settled himself more comfortably before continuing.  “Your great-great-grandfather was quartered at the garrison and he saw Ellen in the town and asked her father if he might call on her.”

“Why didn’t he ask her?”  Joe wanted to know.

“Because it wasn’t etiquette for a man to speak with a young unmarried lady unless they had been introduced,” Ben answered.

“That’d kinda make life hard for ya, wouldn’t it Adam?”  Hoss chuckled.

Adam grinned. “Make it impossible for you,” he retorted.

A pink glow rose up Hoss’ neck and he glared at his brother.  He might have known that Adam would get the better of him.

This time it was Joe who tugged at his father’s sleeve.  “Go on, Pa.”

“Well, they courted in her parents’ front parlor, probably for about two years.  That was quite usual then.”

“That sounds awful, having to make small talk to a girl’s parents.”  Adam nudged Hoss, whose good humor had returned and the two brothers shared a pained expression as they considered the restriction of eighteenth century manners.

“Hmm…”  Ben grunted.  “Might not be such a bad thing for a bit more of that now.  Anyhow, eventually they got married and Ellen moved to the garrison with her knew husband.”

“Was she a Duchess or somethin’ then if she married this fella with a title?”  Hoss asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Ben replied.  “He was only a younger son.  She wasn’t very old when she married, perhaps about seventeen.  Yes, younger than you are now, Hoss.  Her husband was much older, of course.”

“Didn’t her family mind her marrying a British soldier?”  Joe queried.

“Not then, Joe.  It was quite common for the soldiers to marry local girls.  They were far from home and many stayed here for years, some never going back to England.  You have to remember that up until that time, they weren’t thought of as an enemy.  They were here to protect the settlers from Indians and then to act as a sort of police force.”

“Yah mean like Sheriff Coffee and such, Pa?” Hoss asked, puzzled.

“Yes, in a way, but more like the forts we had around here when we first came west.  They represented the law,” Ben explained.  “They also kept an eye on the activities of the French, because England was at war with France.   Some resented their presence but most accepted it.  It wasn’t until about the time of her marriage that things began to be difficult.  I don’t know much about their early marriage but they had two children and I do know that your great-great-grandfather was re-assigned to Boston to keep the peace after the riot in the summer of 1768.  Ellen and the children must have moved there with him, perhaps to a house in the city.  My mother had some of her letters and they were living there at the time of the massacre and she wrote about the hardships that followed.  She wrote about how her husband was set upon by people in the street and how he was often offered money for his flintlock or even offered inducements to desert.”

“But he didn’t, did he?”  Joe asked.

“No, he didn’t,” Ben agreed.

“What happened to him then, Pa?  Did he fight?”

“Yes, Joe, he fought.  He was an infantryman; his uniform is of the 10^th Regiment of Foot.”  He waited to see if it meant anything to his sons.

Joe and Hoss made no comment but he heard Adam draw in a sharp breath.

“He was one of the soldiers who marched into Lexington, and then on to Concord,” Adam said quietly.  Suddenly he saw this unknown relative in a new light.

Ben nodded, solemnly. “Yes, he was.  He wrote a letter to his wife about the march. I remember my mother reading it to me when I was about your age, Little Joe.”

“Why did she keep the letter Pa?  I mean it was so old why would she want it?” Joe asked.

“She said she kept it because it was the truth and not what some politician wanted to be the truth,” Ben replied.

“Whaddya mean by that, Pa?  Ain’t what’s in the history books the truth then?” Hoss asked.

Ben smiled.  “Most of it, yes.  But a lot of what we read in newspapers and then later in books is either innocently altered in the telling or deliberately changed to make people think a certain way.  It’s called propaganda and politicians use it to manipulate people.”  He saw Joe’s puzzled expression and smiled.  “Little Joe, remember when you sneaked some food from the kitchen to go hunt raccoons a while back and when Hop Sing yelled about it, you convinced me it was Hoss?”

Hoss growled. “Yeah, you sure did and I didn’t have nuthin’ to do with it?”

Joe rose to his feet in protest.  “I never said it was Hoss.”

“Exactly,” his father replied his eyes twinkling.   “You didn’t come out and tell a lie but you made me think it was your brother’s doing by the way you spoke.

Joe swallowed hard. Pa had known all along and suddenly he realized what Pa was telling them.

Ben saw the dawn of understanding in Joe’s eyes and smiled.  “That’s what I mean.  Sometimes it’s not what is said but what is left unsaid, or the way a story is told.”

Adam had remained silent but now he was impatient to hear what the letter had said.  “Go on Pa, what did he say happened?”

“He said his regiment was supposed to go from Boston to Concord but that there were not enough boats to transport the troops across the river.  It was night and they had to wade through the marshes to reach the road.  They were so delayed that they were marched in double-quick time toward Lexington but it was almost daylight by the time they arrived, tired and nervous at what lay ahead.  Your great-great- grandfather related that there was a double row of minutemen on the green and the officer in charge rode forward and ordered them to disperse.  There was some argument which he did not hear and then a few of the minutemen started to move away apparently following their own commanding officer’s orders.”

“But they didn’t go, did they, Pa?  Miss Jones told us they fought,” Joe insisted.

“No, they didn’t all go.  Frederick says a shot rang out, he knew not from where, and as he looked around to determine its origin the order came to fire a volley over the heads of the Americans.   When this was done some dispersed but others stood their ground and the British commander order his men to advance with bayonets.  The British numbers were overwhelming and the result a foregone conclusion.  That single shot started a revolution but no one knows who fired it.”

Joe shrugged.  “Miss Jones told us it was the British.  She said that the American General told his men not to fire unless the British did.”

Adam chuckled. “You just proved Pa’s point, little brother.  It was a Captain not a General, and he told his men to stand their ground. He did say not to fire unless fired upon but he also said, ‘if they mean to have war let it begin here!’”

“That don’t mean one of the American’s fired though does it?”  Hoss queried, not sure what was being suggested.

Ben nodded.  “That’s a good point, son.  It doesn’t prove a thing.  Two armies facing each other… One tired after a long night march, probably comprising a good few youngsters who were scared and had never been in a situation like this before, and the others thinking that they needed to defend their homes and families, most with no experience of warfare of any kind.  Tired and scared men can react in many ways, a nervous hand on a flintlock and a war is started.”

“It would have happened anyway.  If not at Lexington then within a few weeks elsewhere,” Adam said, confidently.

Ben sighed.  “Yes, it probably would have, but on such small incidents whole nations fall.  Who’s to say after all this time whether it was a deliberate act or an accident?”

Adam sat back feeling a little put out at Pa’s response.   He had always considered that war had been inevitable.  Pa’s remark made him wonder if his view was too simple.  Had other powers been at work?

It was Hoss that put his thoughts into words, “Why would someone do it deliberate, Pa?  I mean if the orders was not t’ fire…?”

“Who knows, Hoss?  Maybe someone there on one side or the other had a hidden reason to want war.”

The two older boys remained silent, thinking over the implications of Ben’s words but Joe was impatient for the story to continue.  “But what happened to our great-great-grandfather, Pa?  Was he killed?”

Ben came back to the present and ruffled Joe’s hair.  “No, he wasn’t killed; no British soldiers were killed at Lexington.  He marched on to Concord and then fought in several skirmishes.  His letters found their way back to Ellen but only some of them survived to be handed on to my mother.  It was the letters afterwards that mother kept. The letters smuggled to Ellen after the surrender.  He was imprisoned with other junior officers in Maryland and more or less forgotten.  But he never forgot his wife and children and for several years he managed to get letters to them.”

“Did he ever see them again?”  tender-hearted Hoss asked.

Ben smiled. “Yes, he did.  Over time the prisoners were given more freedom to work and he managed to escape and return to Ellen. She was proud of her husband, and despite being ostracized by her neighbors she welcomed him home.  Their life became impossible because no one would give him work so they moved north and he started to work on farms as an itinerant worker.  For many years he couldn’t reveal that he had once been a British infantryman and they moved from place to place to hide his identity.   He and Ellen paid dearly for being on the losing side, but she never doubted him.”  Ben looked thoughtful.  “I’ve often wondered where his loyalties really lay.  He never returned to England, though many of his fellow officers did and presumably in England he would have been a hero with a comfortable way of life.”

“You mean he was a spy?”  Joe asked, in awe.

“No, I don’t mean that.  I think he was a man who believed in duty and he had taken an oath to his King and country.  He fulfilled his duty, but after it was over he allowed himself to make his own decisions and he tried to make a new life in his adopted country for the sake of his wife and sons.  After all, Ellen and his sons had never been to England; they were Americans.   His family had suffered for his loyalty more than he had.  I believe at one point Ellen’s father disowned her because she wouldn’t leave Frederick.”

“She must have really loved him,” Hoss said softly.

“Yes, she must have,” Ben agreed. “He came back to Boston just before he died and he’s buried in Charlestown within sight of the battlefields on which he fought.  His sons never mentioned him after he died but Ellen never let his memory die and she kept this painting of him beside her chair.”

“What’s this in the pouch, Pa?”  Joe tipped up the dried and stiff leather purse and then pulled out the contents.

“This is his pay book.”  Ben opened a yellowed and worn booklet and showed Joe the pages.

“But there’s nothing written except for the first few pages!”  Joe exclaimed pushing the book back to his father.

“That’s because his pay never reached him,” his father replied.

“You mean he fought for nothin’?” Hoss asked, shocked.

“Fought on the wrong side too,” Joe put in.

“No, son, he fought for what he believed, just as Washington’s troops did.  He did his duty as he saw it and money wasn’t a part of it. A man can only do what he thinks is right at the time.  Who’s to say that if the British had won, we wouldn’t be sitting here discussing whether your great-great-grandfather Cartwright was a traitor for fighting against the Crown?”

Adam raised an eyebrow; it was a view he hadn’t considered before and it shocked him.  “That would make Washington a traitor, too,” he blurted out.

Ben lifted an eyebrow and surveyed his eldest son.  “Yes, I suppose it would.  It all depends on where you are standing.”

Hoss was more interested in practical things than philosophical arguments and he had been examining a horn with a carved silver top. “Is this what he kept his powder in, Pa?”

Adam took it from his brother. “Pa had one just like it when we were coming out here.  I remember it took ages to prepare a shot.”

Ben laughed.  “Not for an expert like your great-great-grandfather.  He would be able to re-load while the second rank fired.  Two ranks of soldiers could set up almost continuous fire.  I only used it for hunting. If my life had been at stake I’m sure I would have been faster.”  He fished out some small black lead balls. “This is the shot and somewhere in the bag there will be some gun cotton to make the wad and a rod to tamp it all down.”

”There’s no powder.”  Joe poked into the bag and looked up disappointed.

“You’d hardly keep black powder in a chest in the attic,” Adam said, scornfully.

Ben raised an eyebrow and smiled at his oldest son. “We used to have some in the old cabin in a metal container but once I stopped using it I got rid of it.  I recall a small boy trying to make fireworks with it.”

Joe and Hoss both stopped what they were doing and looked at their older brother.  Joe with a cheeky know-it-all grin and Hoss chuckling as he half remembered the incident.

Adam blushed.  “I was only a kid then.”

“Yes, and didn’t know any better, or at least you said you didn’t when I discovered your secret.”  Ben chuckled.  “But that’s another story.”

“Tell us, Pa,” Joe implored.

Ben shook his head.  “Not this afternoon.  It’s getting late and we need to pack all this away and go feed the stock.”

Adam looked relieved, there were far too many stories Pa could tell if he had a mind to, and this was one of the worst.

“Tomorrow then Pa, please?”  Joe pleaded; his eyes alight at the thought of hearing a story about Adam doing something he shouldn’t.

“We’ll see, Little Joe.  Now let’s get this cleared up before Hop Sing sees it.”

As Hoss and Joe began clearing things from the floor, Adam looked up at his father with a silent appeal.

“It keeps him out of mischief,” Ben whispered.

“Yeah, at my expense,” Adam whispered back.

THE END