Summary:  17-year-old Adam is learning some hard life lessons. He returns home from a cattle drive where he’s been forced to subsist on beans and endure hazing by the hired hands intent on making him prove his worth, to find his father away, Hoss ill and Little Joe in a state of panic. The results involves some very bad decisions, a dose of castor oil given in an all-out battle of wills, and hurt feelings. This story takes a serious turn when Hoss’ attempt to give his brother a “taste of his own medicine” goes horribly wrong.

Rated: K+  WC  11,300

It’s Only a Year Series:

It’s Only a Year – He Said What? – Lessons in Understanding
It’s Only a Year – The Caster Oil Caper – Lessons in Humility
It’s Only a Year – The Worst of Consequences – A Lesson in Choice
It’s Only a Year –  The Quiet of Uncertainty – A Lesson in Hope
It’s Only a Year – The Final Trial – A Lesson in Mettle

Story Notes:

This is the second in the It’s Just a Year Series. No need to read the first story to enjoy this one.

A quick summation of events so far: At age 13, Adam found a Harvard Bontany professor doing plant research for the school on the Ponderosa, and convinces him to take him on as a pupil. After three years of study, Adam was ready to accompany the professor to Boston. Unfortunately, Marie died during the third year of preparation, Ben has been slow to recover and asks Adam to remain home another year. Adam agrees and thinks he is doing so willingly, but will find out otherwise as he goes through the year at home.

As this story begins, Adam and Ben have worked out some plans to get the Ponderosa on its feet.

***

The Castor Oil Caper – A lesson in Humility

 

Beans! Yes he was reduced to hating beans and blaming them for his woes. Well, maybe include pranks, devilment, and very often cattle as well. But the beans he’d been forced to endure over the previous three days were orbicular tasteless torture that had put his stomach into a gaseous hell.

 

Adam calmed himself, by conjugating verbs as he rode towards home. “Amo, amas, amat…” but his mind went back to beans as his stomach gurgled and growled. “I hate them,” he grumbled before berating himself for having trouble concentrating on even the simplest Latin. He had to do better if didn’t want to lose all that he had learned in the previous three years working with his mentor.

It had been a while since Professor Metz had gone to Arizona, leaving behind his promise to return for Adam the following spring and begin their journey to Boston. The days had turned into weeks that were sometimes hard to keep track of, but by Adam’s reckoning, the Professor would return in nine months. Unfortunately, all the young man could think about was nine more months of beans and tomfoolery. He was tired, hungry and headed home, wanting nothing more than to find his bed, strip down to his skin and crawl under his cool, clean sheets for about 24 hours, figuring that would be about right to make up for the sleep he’d missed.

Much had improved at the Ponderosa in three months. But as with most growth, that improvement had brought along some misery—mostly for the oldest Cartwright son. When his father had “asked” that he remain on the ranch for another year, they’d been so short of help that Ben felt he couldn’t possibly handle all that he needed to do without an extra set of eyes, ears and strong shoulders at home. The man had experienced a time of dormancy after Marie had died, and that pause had ordained that there was much catching up to do in the year before Adam went away.

 

But his father had honestly assessed what they needed to accomplish, and was true to his word in getting things moving again. Even now, he was in Carson City hoping to take advantage of the number of young men passing through there on their way to California with the lust of gold in their hearts. Ben knew those big ideas were backed with empty pockets, and felt he could lure these dreamers to the Ponderosa to earn the cash they’d need to go stake a claim. He knew his ranch would attract good hands eventually, but had to make do with the best he could find in the meantime. Adam was looking forward to his father returning with men to bulk up their bunkhouse and flush out the skeleton crew they were running.

 

As they had discussed the night Adam had agreed to stay on for one more year, Ben had gone ahead with asking smaller ranchers to join his crew for a time while he advertised for men to hire on permanently. The previous year had been dry, with grass in the lowlands overused without the chance to replenish. But up in the higher country where the Ponderosa beamed like a green gem set on the brown prongs below, there was plenty of grass for everyone in exchange for their assistance. Five ranchers had merged their few head of stock with the Ponderosa’s herd, giving their fields a chance to recover.

This had all been good news for the ranch, but the beginning of Adam’s woes.

Because the ranchers serving as Ponderosa hands had families and property, his father had asked that Adam go out to the camps every other week to allow a set rotation of these men a few days off to head home and relieve the loneliness and anxiety of their separation. When they weren’t moving the herd, the absence of a man or two made little difference.

The hands Ben had managed to hire on, and ranchers working together had their individual foofaraws, but what seemed to bring these factions together faster than anything was having “Young Cartwright” in camp to have a little fun with. Adam got it. These older men disliked having a barely seventeen-year-old buck telling them what to do, even if Young Cartwright was equally skilled and had more experience than most of them. Their fun wasn’t malicious—exactly—just tiring.

He knew that he couldn’t overreact to any of it or risk losing the respect he was building by working as hard as any of them, and lending good ideas now and then. His first lesson in “reaction control” came during his initial relief trip when he’d found his boots full of sand in the morning. When he’d registered his unhappiness at the mess with an exasperated sigh, the foreman had chided, “Hey, Young Cartwright, we’s just teaching you a lesson. Ya have ta be careful out here. It was just sand, but next time yer boots might be housing a rattler.” He’d spent that day with sand in his socks that ground between his toes, leaving him feeling raw in more ways than one.

Adam honestly suspected that they now looked forward to his visits and had upped the ante a bit with shenanigans aimed to see if they could wear him down and cause a blowup that they could talk about over the evening campfires. He could imagine old Marv saying, “E-yup, Young Cartwright really lost his temper, didn’t he? He knowed we was just foolin’, but that kid’s got no sense of humor.”

At best, he figured their camaraderie in making him squirm was a glimmer of hope that the men were beginning to work together toward a common goal; he just wished he wasn’t the goal.

Adam placed their pranks into two categories. The first type were recurring ones that everyone had a hand in, and were initiated by anyone who was in the position to pull them off. One such corporate undertaking involved adjustments to the length of his right stirrup leather. The changes meant he’d mount up and find his right leg over-flexed or so extended that he was off center, forcing him to dismount and reset. The sneaky part was that it wasn’t done constantly. He’d grown wary, even marking the leather so he could do a quick visual check before kicking up. But when it didn’t happen for a while, he’d get complacent, and that’s when they’d strike again. Just yesterday they’d managed to distract him enough that he hadn’t checked. In a hurry to get moving, he’d taken a mighty swing over the horse’s back…and slid right off the other side—still in his saddle. This time, they’d removed the right stirrup completely and loosened his cinch so that as his momentum moved over the horse unchecked because he couldn’t find a foothold on the other side, he’d continued right on around the beast’s belly until he’d dropped like a rock to the ground.

They’d stood laughing as he sprawled in the dust, while Clem opined, “I heared that Young Cartwright is some sort of genius. Why, he even recites sweet verses to them beasts while he rides herd and speaks some foreign language to them too. But he don’t look all that smart a layin’ there under that horse, now does he?”

Adam labeled the other type of prank, “opportunistic.” These were perpetrated by individuals in a sort of contest to see who could come up with the one that would finally break him. Last night, he’d gone outside camp to check his horse prior to turning in, and found a tangle of snakes tucked under his bedroll when he got back. He found a few more writhing in the saddlebags with his clean socks in the morning. Yesterday’s mischief had also involved ants that must have been shaken into his hat when he’d taken it off to wash up…that had found their way out and bitten his face as he slept.

Adam wouldn’t complain to his father.  The hazing was a rite of passage that all new cowhands put up with. It was more intense in his case because he was the owner’s boy, and Adam knew he’d be shunned if Ben ever interceded on his behalf. While he waited to pass his initiation, he was reduced to sleeping with one eye open while continuing to hope that with hard work, time and patience, things would change.

As he now headed to the sanctuary of his own home, he reached up to scratch at the raw rash that crawled down his cheek bone just as the insects had done before he’d awakened and brushed them off. “Dang ants,” he cursed as the scratching only increased the agony of the bites. Yet despite all this, the thing that bothered him most was that he was sick of beans. How could the city where he hoped to find his future be the birthplace of the bane of his life? Here they were in the middle of an Eden teeming with small game to use for a tasty meal, but instead, these men subsisted on canned legumes—some actually bearing the label: “Boston” Baked Beans. He loathed the miserable things that were cooked with molasses into a tasteless, mushy goo that plopped out of a can. He’d once asked why the men didn’t shoot a few quail for their dinner, and they’d looked at him like he had a third eye. Apparently they were just fine with a meal that needed little ingenuity, and could be heated in the time it took the flame to kiss the bottom of the pot.

While he didn’t blame his father for the hazing in the camp, Adam figured the constant barrage of beans was entirely the man’s fault! Ben felt it would encourage morale if the men had a good meal now and then. To that end he’d have Hop Sing to go out to the camp when he could. Their cook always put on a feast with enough leftovers to last a few more days, but when that ran out, the men just ate canned beans with stale biscuits and pined for Hop Sing’s return. Since Pa thought it best to have the cook’s visits be done when the men were all in camp, Adam’s trips to give them a little time off never coincided with Hop Sing’s presence there. In fact, Adam had just passed the man on his way to the camp not more than 30 minutes ago, and had felt his stomach tumble in gastric disappointment. However, Hop Sing had assured him that there were enough sandwiches in the kitchen to feed a small army, and a fresh cake with burnt sugar and cream topping*—Adam’s favorite—as well as a pan of stew cooling in the stream behind the house for the boys to heat later.

His mouth began to water as he imagined the crisp topping on the cake and the crunch of the pickles he knew would be in a bowl next to the sandwiches. His mood lightened as he began to work on his verbs again:” laudo, laudas, laudat, laudamus, laudatis, laudant.” He finished several more tenses before he realized he was within spitting distance of the house and gave his horse an extra prod to close the gap as quickly as possible.

As he rounded the last turn into the yard, Little Joe came running with a worried look, motioning for him to follow. “Whoa little brother, what’s the matter?”  He dismounted and tied his horse to the hitch rail as the child babbled.

“Ya gotta hurry, Adam! Hoss sounds like that dyin’ elk we found out in the fields last year. You know the one Pa said sounded like a broken fog horn?”

“What’s wrong with Hoss?” He grabbed the child to calm him. As Little Joe quieted, they heard the dying elk’s bellow from the open window above them. “Is that Hoss? Did he hurt himself, Joe? Tell me what happened!” Adam fully expected that his middle brother had fallen or been seriously injured in some way to be producing such a cacophony.

“He didn’t do nothin’ that I know of,” the almost six-year-old reported. “But after he finished eatin’ he went to his room, sayin’ he weren’t feelin’ so good, and’s been honking like that ever since. You gotta hurry and see what’s wrong.”

The child became upset when his brother headed for the kitchen door instead of the front where he’d exited, yelling, “Com’on, Adam, hurry!”

“You go on, and I’ll see Hoss in just a minute, Joe. I’m thirsty and will be able to handle this better if I can just grab a drink of water to settle the dust before heading up.”

Adam made his way into the kitchen area and figured out what was wrong with Hoss without laying an eye on him. The older brother was becoming a good mathematician, and quickly formed the equation needed to solve the problem. He saw the depleted stack of sandwiches Hop Sing had assumed would feed a group the size of an army, plus the cake plate littered only with crumbs of the delicacy that had caused his salivation on the ride home, and added in the fact that even on his hungriest days, Little Joe would have eaten only a miniscule portion of the food their cook had left for them, and the conclusion became obvious. Taking his time, Adam washed up and lingered over a glass of cool water before heading up the narrow stairway to his brother’s bedside.

“What’s wrong, Hoss?” he asked as he sat next to him on the bed.

“Aw, Adam,” he moaned, “My stomach is hurting me somethin’ fierce. I’m glad you got home. It feels bad: really, really bad!”

Adam laid a hand on the boy’s gut and felt the ripples as his abdomen shifted with the movement of his overly full intestinal tract. Pressing hard enough to make Hoss yelp, he asked, “Does that hurt?”

“Yeah, sure it hurts when you press like that. Don’t do it again.” Hoss moaned again as a cramp curled him into a ball. Breathing rapidly, he asked, “Do you know what’s wrong?”

“I think I do.” Adam stroked his chin as his father did when he contemplated how to handle a problem. “And I think I know exactly how to fix you up.” He turned and left the room while Hoss hollered after him.

“What’re you gonna do Adam? Am I a goner?

 

“You’ll be right as rain in a few hours,” he hollered back. The eldest forced himself to calm down as he took up his Latin once more, “Indicative, active, present tense: porto, portas, portat, portamus, portatis, portant. Indicative passive tense: portor, portaris, portatur… As he spoke, he looked around the kitchen trying to find the medicinal equivalent to a miracle when used in proper amounts. It was stuck behind a box of oatmeal in the pantry cupboard: “Dr. Mysterio’s Elixir of Health.” Adam knew it was nothing more than castor oil, but as he read through the claims that it could soften the complexion, heal wounds and produce soft, manageable hair, he uncorked the bottle, poured a small amount into his hand and massaged it into the skin that still burned from the fire ant bites. To his amazement, the stinging stopped immediately.

 

Castor oil and brandy were the two mainstays for illness and injury in most settlers’ homes, including the Cartwrights’. The bottle Adam held was full since his father had just brought it home with the other household staples he’d ordered a few weeks ago. Rather than heading back to his miserable brother with the “cure,” he poured a glass of milk from the stone pitcher cooling in a tub of water and sat at the table, working his way through two of the sandwiches Hop Sing had prepared. He grabbed a pickle from the bowl and crunched it down hungrily, experiencing just the right amount of tang to pep up the mildness of the creamy cheese laid thick between the slices of fresh bread. It was food heaven, and he munched away as he thought about how to handle Hoss’ illness.

 

He knew what was causing the pain and figured a dose of castor oil would solve that, but there was the greater problem of trying to help his brother understand moderation in the face of plenty. Pulling the nearly empty cake plate closer, Adam pinched up two fingers worth of crumbs and gently dropped them into his mouth. “Mmm,” he groaned in pleasure as the sweet cake and crisp topping dissolved on his tongue. He pushed the remaining crumbs into a pile at the edge of the plate and consumed it in one last bite, thinking of how wonderful it would have tasted had there been an entire piece to enjoy. “Oh well,” he muttered, “Even the crumbs are better than anything I’ve had to eat recently.”

 

Stuffing the bottle of Dr. Mysterio and a large spoon into his pocket, he left behind the remnants of his rapidly consumed lunch and headed back to Hoss.

The middle brother was still in pain, and getting testier by the minute. “What took you so long? I’m dying and you’re dilly-dallying?”

“It just took me a minute to find what I was looking for, that’s all. So stop complaining or I’ll leave again.”

The anger was replaced by repentance as Hoss realized he needed help more than outrage. “I’m sorry, Adam. Didn’t mean no harm. I’m just hurtin’ is all.” Noting that his brother’s face had softened with the apology, he asked, “So whadaya think is wrong with me?”

Adam produced the bottle of Dr. Mysterio. “There’s nothing wrong with you that a dose of this won’t fix.”

Hoss was suddenly on the defensive. He sat up with the look of a cornered coon and began decrying his cure. “No, Adam. That can’t be it! I’m dyin’ I tell you, and no dose of castor oil is gonna cure me.”

“It will.” The very logical Adam calmly explained his reasoning. “Judging from the carnage in the kitchen, I’m pretty sure you consumed an enormous amount of food a little while ago. Am I right about that?” Hoss’ cheeks turned crimson as he whimpered that he’d been powerfully hungry. “Well, Hoss, all that food is going to sit there in your gut like a brush jam in a creek unless you break it up and get things moving again. You’ve had castor oil before. You know it won’t kill you, and you’re already uncomfortable, so this will only add a tad to that and then you’ll be done with it.” He finished with a triumphant smile, sure that his reasonable explanation was all it would take to gain his brother’s cooperation. But his eyes soon narrowed as a cloud of anger began to form on the horizon.

“I don’t want to take that stuff; I’m not gonna.do it and you can’t make me.”

“Pa gives you castor oil all the time and you take it. I’m just asking you to do what Pa would.”

“Yeah, but Pa don’t have that look in his eye when he gives it to me.”

Adam was rapidly losing his patience. “What kind of look do I have in my eye?”

Hoss took a moment to consider. “Well, I’d say Pa never looks to use it as a punishment, but Adam, you got a vengeful look in your eyes right now. I’m sorry I ate the cake. I know it’s your favorite, but I figured it wouldn’t stay fresh just a sittin’ there on the table. In a way, I expect I done you a favor by not lettin’ it spoil.”

The older brother stood tall, taking full advantage of his height. “Well, that’s mighty thoughtful of you, and you’re right, I was disappointed about there being nothing left but crumbs. But I would never harm you to make a point over something like that. You’ve got to take this medicine or you’ll be in agony for days instead of hours.”

“Nope. There’s got to be somethin’ else you can do.” Hoss clenched his lips tightly and crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.

Adam looked over at Little Joe who’d been watching with the satisfied look of a person who knows they are free of all blame and punishment. He winked toward the boy as he began, “Well, Joe, Hoss thinks there’s another way. You said his bellowing sounded like that elk we found last winter with the broken leg. Maybe we should do what we did to help that animal?”

Before Adam could finish his thought, the youngster began to back away from the side of the bed, his look changing to pure fear. “Oh no, Adam, you can’t do that to Hoss. Pa shot that elk dead, but you can’t shoot our brother!”

He realized he’d gone too far when Hoss joined in the wailing, screaming that “All I done was eat some cake. It’s not like I murdered someone. I’ll never do it again. I swear!”

Adam had let his exhaustion overrule his judgment and lamented the fact that he’d underestimated Joe’s ability to understand and play along with sardonic humor. “Stop it! Both of you. I’m not suggesting we shoot Hoss. I was simply trying to make you understand that taking castor oil was nothing big in the grand scheme of things. I’m sorry. Now settle down and let’s get this done so we can get back to normal.” He grabbed the bottle, yanked the cork out with his teeth and was ready to pour out a dose when Hoss’ question made him pause.

“How come you never have to take that stuff, Adam? Pa gives it to me and Joe, but I ain’t never seen you take any in all my years.”

Adam had to think about that; his kid brother was right. Pa hadn’t ever dosed him like he did with Hoss and Joe. While he could remember there always being a bottle of the stuff around, he’d never been given any. He gave the only answer he could come up with. “Maybe I just eat better than you do.”

“We all eat the same, Adam, so how can that be?” Hoss had forgotten his pain momentarily as he argued his point.

Adam’s response was stinging: “That’s true, but perhaps I just don’t eat so much that I resemble a pi…” It hung there as he saw Hoss’ face turning pink while anger pooled in the boy’s eyes. He heard Joe catch his breath and the older brother knew he’d stepped out too far again, letting his displeasure with finding trouble at home influence his spoken words.

“You calling me a pig, Adam?”

“No, of course not.” He hadn’t meant to hurt his brother. This was all going badly. He blamed the beans…

“Then what are you sayin’?”

This time he thought more carefully before responding. “I’m sorry Hoss. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s been a tough couple of days and I’m just tired and not thinking clearly. All I meant to say was that I hope you think a little harder next time you’re presented with such a plentiful array of food. You like that cake as much as I do, so think about how much better it would have been if you had portioned it out—you know—had a piece earlier, and then saved the rest for later instead of eating it all at once: same with the sandwiches. Wouldn’t it have been nice to come back and have more when you were really hungry again? But I think you’re learning that lesson pretty well today without me saying another word. So please trust me, and take a dose of this and you’ll feel better in no time.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“Just no. I’m not takin’ it.”

“Yes you are: even if I have to sit on you.” His good will had vanished again. Reaching for the spoon he raised the bottle to pour, just as one of Hoss’ pillows hit his arm, knocking the spoon from his hand. The youngster had suddenly sprouted wings and went flying by so fast that Adam barely saw him. “Damn it,” he yelled, which brought Joe to tears as he started crying, “Stop saying bad words, Adam! I’m gonna tell Pa!”

“Go ahead,” he yelled back, “Tattle if you want to. But someone has to be in charge here, and right now it’s me.” As Adam streaked down the stairs, bottle of elixir in one hand—spoon in the other—he couldn’t help but feel some pity for what his father must put up with on a daily basis. He’d always assumed that he and his brothers were pretty reasonable. Now he knew better.

For a tall, large boned kid, Hoss moved fast and Adam was pretty sure his brother had gotten away and was probably hiding out somewhere he would never find him. He figured he could probably interrogate Joe to figure out Hoss’ favorite haunts, but wasn’t sure if he’d bother. Part of him reckoned to just let the boy tough it out. Eventually, he’d pass the mass of food and feel better and if he didn’t want his older brother’s wisdom, then amen.

But as he passed through the door to the yard, he saw his brother scrabbling to get up from where he’d fallen. Adam figured Hoss had tripped. The boy moved well and fast, but was still like a puppy with feet bigger than he needed, and they often got in the way as he tried to sprint. In fact, it happened so often that Pa had voiced his fear that the boy would fall and lose his front teeth one day.

Adam saw his chance and took it. Pound for pound, he didn’t have much on Hoss, but he was several inches taller and used that leverage to pin his brother to the ground while he sat on his legs. Tossing the spoon aside, he figured it was now or never and leaned forward, clamping the boy’s shoulders to the ground.

Hoss managed to free his arms enough to lock his hands over his mouth while moving his head from side to side so that Adam couldn’t get a clear shot. His muffled voice still pleaded, “No, Adam, please… It tastes like dirty feet smell.”

Standing in the doorway with eyes as big as saucers, Little Joe watched his brothers wrestle, and saw what neither of them could. Three horses were approaching the yard, ridden by friends from a neighboring ranch. He called out to Adam and Hoss that the Smyth kids were coming, but he knew that his voice didn’t penetrate the brawl of wills taking place in front of him.

Finally immobilizing Hoss’ body, Adam held the castor oil in one hand while he moved the other up to pinch his brother’s nose. He wasn’t sure how long he could restrain the strong youngster, but hoped that Hoss’ excited state would keep him from holding his breath too long. No one could hold their breath longer than Hoss, and Adam had often come to near panic as he’d waited for the boy to reemerge from the depths of the swimming hole. He’d done an unscientific timing once and figured the kid could stay under water for almost three minutes.

As he tired of the squirming and nonsense, Adam finally shouted in anger, “Stop acting like such a baby, Hoss, and take this!”

At the same time, the trio of horses came to stop just feet from the pair on the ground. As Hoss rolled his eyes up to see who was there, he saw Maddy Smyth and her brothers Jeb and Ned…and gasped. It was the break Adam needed, and he was able to slosh a swig of Dr. Mysterio into his brother’s mouth, then pinched his lips together to make him swallow: finally standing in victory.

Jeb and Sam were highly amused by the to-do and began chanting, “Hoss is a baby, Hoss is a baby,” before adding insult to injury, as Jeb inquired, “Hey, Hoss, was Adam changing your diaper just now?” They laughed themselves silly.

Hoss righted himself, spitting out as much of the foul tasting medicine as he could, while quickly looking to see if Maddy Smyth was laughing too. She wasn’t, but had turned away in what Hoss assumed was disgust. He fought back the urge to cry with anger he directed toward the brothers: hers and his. “Stop it! Just hush! I’m not a baby. Leave me alone—all of you!”

Adam saw the stricken look on the boy’s face as he ran past him toward the house. Now what was that all about? Hoss usually handled teasing with good will and got a few jabs back, himself. He might have expected Hoss to pull one of the boys off his horse, sit on him and then ask who the baby was as he pinned him in some uncomfortable hold. But this reaction was so unlike his brother. The look on Hoss’ face registered as Adam identified what he’d seen: embarrassment. It took an equation of the heart to add up what he’d seen. There were the pink cheeks of the pretty young girl who’d looked away in sadness as her brothers had teased her friend, and Hoss’ strange reaction, leading to only one conclusion: Hoss Cartwright and Maddy Smyth were sweet on each other. He smiled.

But the smile faded rapidly as he realized what he’d just done. He knew a guy could fight it out when he get caught in an embarrassing place with his friends, but being called a baby by your older brother when the girl you like is watching…well there was no way to fight that. “Dang it,” he mumbled as he headed for the house after sending the Smyth kids away, saying that Hoss was ill. If he hadn’t had to face those days of bad food and no sleep before he came back to the problems at home, he was sure he would have handled this so much better.

But then another thought hit him. Pa had warned that he couldn’t volunteer to stay home another year with less than his heart in it or he’d end up resentful. His pulse pounded as a wave of fear flooded his soul. Was that what was happening? Maybe it wasn’t the beans at all. Maybe he’d tamped down his anger at not being able to go to school as planned, but hadn’t given it up, letting it seep out again whenever things got hard.

His brother wouldn’t look at him when Adam came into the room. “I’m sorry, Hoss. I was just trying to help, but I guess I didn’t handle this very well. I still think you needed to take that stuff, but we could have figured out some way of doing it besides me sitting on you and calling you a baby.” He laughed then, hoping Hoss would see the humor in what had happened: he didn’t.

Rolling into a ball, Hoss turned away from his brother. “Why don’t you just get outta here, Adam, you done helped me enough for one day.”

He heard the pain in his brother’s voice. “I said I was sorry. I know I embarrassed you in front of your friends.” There was nothing more to say. Hoss would either stay angry or forgive him. The choice was up to him.

***

Adam cleaned up the kitchen and then made himself scarce, preferring to lose himself in manual labor. He fixed corral fencing, mucked stalls and greased wagon wheels until he was so tired he could barely move. Only then did he heat some water to clean up, and brought the stew pot to the house and warmed that along with some biscuits. Joe came when he was called and Hoss appeared saying he was feeling better but wasn’t hungry.

The middle brother was actually feeling pretty good by that time. He’d napped a bit, and after a few runs to the privy, realized his abdominal distress was gone. Adam had offered him stew or cheese sandwiches that were left if he’d prefer. As he considered the options, Hoss decided it might be best to forgo supper since the thought of cheese had gotten his stomach to twitching all over again. He figured it might be a long time before he would want any kind of cheese. Grabbing a biscuit, he excused himself from the table and headed outside.

Hoss soon found himself in the pen with the goats Hop Sing kept for milk. He always found solace with critters but tonight there was none. Although the pain in his gut was gone, there was still bile toward his brother pumping there, churning into anger and the need for retribution. When he closed his eyes he could still see Maddy Smyth turning away from the big baby who had to have his brother sit on him to take his medicine. “How could Adam do that?” he asked of the bawling goat he was holding. “How could he do that in front of her?”i> His anger allowed him to absolve himself of any role in the disaster as he focused a mental target on his brother’s face. “Maybe it’s time to give that know-it-all a dose of his own medicine.” He laughed at the irony of his thought. “Yeah, that’s it; a dose of his own medicine.”

***

Adam stretched as he headed down the steps, surprised to find that his brothers had already finished their breakfast and were sitting at the kitchen table talking: like normal. He breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that the ugly events of the day before had passed like the storm they’d had during the night. With a good night’s sleep and Hop Sing’s stew, Adam was feeling like his old self, and looked forward to a day of peace.

“Hop Sing’s back,” Hoss informed him. “He made hotcakes and I even left a few for you, big brother. You know, I made one of them good choices, like you talked about yesterday.”

Adam was impressed. “That’s great. I’m really proud of you.” Part of him wanted to renew his apology for the embarrassment he’d caused, but the other part told him to let a sleeping dog lie.

Hoss went quickly to the stove and grabbed the breakfast of hotcakes and sausage Hop Sing had left warming before he’d gone outside to do laundry. “You musta slept real good last night, Adam. It’s not like you to let the crack of dawn slip past without confrontin’ it head on.” He put the hot plate in front of his brother and handed him the bowl of warm syrup. “There ya go. I think you got all you need, so Joe and I are gonna head out now to get started on our chores.”

“Thanks you two. It seems you’re both in fine fettle this morning.” He added a sincere smile to the compliment, then poured himself a cup of coffee and ladled on a good amount of syrup before digging in. Something in the taste was off, but he couldn’t tell just what. He picked up a piece of plain hotcake and found it was fine, but noticed an odd flavor as he licked a dab of syrup off the tip of his finger, then sighed with resigned forbearance as he ate his breakfast before riding out to work on a damaged fence line.

***

Little Joe and Hoss were already eating their lunch when Adam arrived home from the fence repair he’d worked on all morning. He looked pale and sweaty, refusing lunch in favor of a glass of water.

“Whas a matta, Mista Adam?” the concerned cook inquired of the eldest. “You not look good.”

“Maybe I ate too much for breakfast.” He finished his water. “Think I’ll just rest a little before heading back out.”

The chicken soup Hoss was slurping suddenly lost its taste. “How bad are you feeling Adam? Hop Sing’s right, you don’t look good at all.” He squirmed in his chair as he watched his brother head up the steps.

Adam turned to salute him. “Just bad enough, Hoss”

Adam forced himself to rise after an hour. While water seemed appealing enough to drain another glass, the smell of bread baking in the oven made his stomach turn. Exiting the house, he looked for his brothers, finally spotting them chasing chickens near the garden. He called out to them, laughing with as much energy as he could marshal, “Looks like we’ll be having chicken tonight if you two can catch a couple of those hens. I’m heading back out. See you for supper.” As he nudged his horse to move, he bent over in pain, grumbling,  “Stupid beans. I haven’t had any in a day now, and they’re still making me miserable.”

***

Ben rode into his yard to the whoops of his two youngest sons. They were at his side by the time he managed to tie up his horse—both talking at once.

“Whoa, boys,” he laughed. “One at a time.”

He handled their questions: yes, he’d managed to hire on five new hands that would arrive during the week; no he hadn’t done “nuthin’” fun; and yes he’d brought them some rock candy from the general store…

As they sucked the sweet sticks of sugar, Ben inquired of his missing child. “Where’s Adam? I know he’s not out at the camp because I stopped there on the ride in.”

Joe smacked his lips while trying to speak through the sticky layer of goo. “Out fixing fence.”

“Where?”

It was Hoss who’d managed to unstick his lips enough to answer. “Out to the new pasture they’ll be bringing the herd to next week. He’ll be home by supper.”

Speaking to himself, Ben mused, “I rode past there too; must have missed him.” The boys remained outside finishing their candy while he went in to put his things away and find Hop Sing. The cook wasn’t there, but Ben could hear him chattering outside the kitchen window, probably taking some critter to task for daring to enter his garden. As he glanced outside, something caught his eye. The bottle of Dr. Mysterio was sitting out on the cupboard and the careful father reached to put it back on a higher shelf. As it passed the light from the window, Ben could see through the dark glass, finding it over half gone. This was puzzling, sending him back out to speak to the boys.

“Was someone ill while I was away? There seems to be a lot of this missing.” He held the bottle up for emphasis.

Hoss rocked from foot to foot with a sheepish look, but Joe spoke up. “Hoss ate a whole plate of sandwiches yesterday! And a whole cake too, and Adam had to give him some a that stuff to make him better.”

Ben held back a smile as he challenged his middle son. “Did you really eat all that?”

Hoss nodded. “But Adam and I talked, and I’m not gonna do that again, Pa. Ain’t that right Joe?”

“Yeah, they talked alright. Adam called Hoss a pig, and then a baby when he sat on him and held his nose, and the Smyth kids came and saw that, and said Adam was changing Hoss’ diaper. Oh, and Adam said really bad words—more than once, I think.”

“Sounds like you three had a busy day. Hop Sing was out cooking at the camp, I presume.”

Two heads nodded.

“Adam was a little tough on you, Hoss. That doesn’t sound like him. Did he apologize?”

It was Joe who answered again. “Yeah he did, Pa. Lots of times. He said he was tired and that’s why he was so cranky.”

“I’m sure he was, boys. Are you better now, Hoss? You look good.”

Hoss was mysteriously quiet and simply nodded again.

Ben sat on the porch and motioned the boys to join him. “It sounds like Adam handled the situation right, even if he might have had a little trouble along the way. And I’m sure he was sorry for those mean things. It’s not like your brother to be cruel. You know he’s got a lot of responsibility when I’m gone, and I’ll need you two to help him out as much as possible.” He glanced again at the bottle in his hand. “He didn’t give you all of this, did he Hoss? It seems like there’s so much gone.”

A furtive glance passed between the two boys, with Hoss finally offering, “I saw Adam rubbing some of it on his bug bites last night. Maybe that used it up.”

“That’s a possibility.” Ben rose and was headed to the house when Joe asked a question.

“Pa, we was wondering somethin’. How come you give us castor oil, but Adam never has to take any? Doesn’t seem fair somehow to our way of thinkin’. Adam says it’s ‘cuz he eats better and doesn’t need it, but Hoss says that he and Adam had the same problem once and you made him take castor oil, but not Adam. Why was that?”

“Adam didn’t tell you?” Ben’s eyes widened as his eyebrows arched under the brim of hat.

“Tell us what?” Hoss was fidgeting again.

“You know, maybe it happened so long ago that he doesn’t remember, but I’ll have to remind him.”

“Forgotten what?” Hoss’ voice was developing a frightened edge.

“It was back when we were with your mother, Hoss. Adam had eaten some green apples and was miserable, so Inger and I gave him castor oil, dosing him with no more than a drop or two.” Ben drifted in recollection, the lines in his face exaggerated by his frown. “He got sicker instead of better. What he went through… I remember he cried out in with the pain of it and couldn’t find relief. A doctor told us that for some people it acts more like a poison than a medicine, and that’s what happened to your brother.”

Hoss was feeling sick and asked softly, “How’d you get him better, Pa?”

“It just wore off after a few frightening hours. But I never gave your brother any more after that for fear of what another dose might do…” Ben thought about it a moment and then turned ashen. “Adam didn’t take any of this, did he?”

Carefully choosing his words, Hoss replied, “No, Pa, he didn’t ‘take’ any.”

“That’s a relief. I’ll talk to him about it tonight. I really thought he remembered.” He rose to return to the house. “You two go on playing or whatever it was you were up to when I got home. I need a few minutes of quiet to go through some paperwork, and then it should be about suppertime.”

Hoss waited until his pa was inside before pulling Joe behind a tree. “Don’t you say a word to no one, Little Joe. You saw Adam ride outta here. He was just fine. He even laughed at us chasing those chickens, so maybe he don’t have that problem no more. That’s what we got to hope. He’ll be home for supper any minute now and it will all be a funny joke—just like we planned.”

“Whatdaya mean, ‘we’ planned,” the little brother hissed. I just heard about it this mornin’ when you’d already done it.”

“Well you didn’t say nothing to Adam even after you knew, so ‘we’ kinda did it together, didn’t we?”

Little Joe’s tears began as Hoss pulled him further from the house. “Stop that, Pa’ll come out to see what’s wrong with you. I said everything is gonna be fine. Just you wait and see.”

***

“Well let’s eat.” Ben was at the table with his youngest boys to his left and right while Adam’s chair remained empty. “Hop Sing’ll keep some chicken warm for your brother. You know Adam; he won’t come home until the sun sets.” The father didn’t understand why the boys just picked at their food, but figured that perhaps the events of yesterday had some lingering effect on Hoss, and Little Joe sometimes ate like he was starving, while other times consumed little more than a bird.

Following dinner, Ben leaned on the hitch rail while smoking his pipe, watching the horizon for signs of his son’s return. He still wasn’t worried since Adam might just throw his bedroll down and sleep where he was to finish the last of the job in the morning rather than making the ride home and back. Yet something seemed off; Ben could feel it. Not knowing that his father had returned, he doubted that Adam would stay away from the house overnight without telling Hop Sing. Ben had told the boys to get ready for bed, but now he heard a commotion by the door. “I thought you two were changing into your nightshirts. How come you’re still downstairs?”

Even in the dimming light he could see that Little Joe gave Hoss a mighty shove. It wasn’t enough to make Hoss move, but it did get him talking.

“Pa?”

“Yes Hoss, what is it?”

“Well, I got somethin’ to tell ya.”

With that, Little Joe came running to clutch at Ben’s legs. “I think we killed him, Pa. We didn’t mean to. It was just to be a joke.” His tears soaked through the fabric of his father’s pants.

After removing the youngster from his leg, he gathered him under his arm and took Hoss by the shoulder, leading him inside the house. Sitting them both on a bench, he demanded, “Now what’s this all about? Who have you possibly caused mortal harm to?”

“It was just s’posed to be a dose of his own medicine. Get it, Pa? A dose of his own medicine.” Hoss looked hopefully at his father, but it was very apparent from the hard look lodged there that he did not “get it.” “Joe and me, we didn’t know that Adam couldn’t take castor oil, but after he was so mean to me in front of my friends and they teased me about needin’ a diaper and all, I just figured maybe Mr. Smarty-pants should know what it felt like.” He stopped to sob and breathe.

“Finish this now! What did you do?”

Joe took over, “Hoss put some of that oil stuff into the syrup we gave Adam this morning. I didn’t know he did it until after it was done.”

Ben’s face was becoming redder by the second, “How much ‘stuff’ did you put in it?”

“I dunno.” Hoss was no longer crying. The fact that he might have truly harmed his brother had begun to sink in and he was numb. He finally breathed, “Lots.”

Ben was confounded. “Adam didn’t complain about the taste? Surely he noticed it.”

The youngest drove a nail into Hoss’ coffin. “Hoss took care of that, Pa. He added sugar and honey to it to, to make it sweeter.”

“Now son,” he looked deeply into Hoss’ eyes. “I want a truthful answer. Of the oil that’s missing from that bottle, how much did you slip into Adam’s breakfast?”

Hoss knew he would have to live with whatever happened. “All but a couple a spoonsful, I reckon.”

Ben was out the door without another word, retrieving his coat, hat and saddlebags as he exited. He ran to the barn and saddled a fresh horse. Then, looking around, he grabbed a lantern, canteens and blankets. With those tied in place he froze, wondering what else he should take along, finally realizing there was nothing more. If Adam was alive, he would have to fight it through the way he did when he was five. He just hoped the boy’s size and age would be enough to offset the large amount he’d had slipped to him by a hurt child bent on evening a score. He couldn’t even think about that now, and led the horse out by the well to fill the canteens, then mounted up and rode off as fast as the animal’s legs could move. The pounding hooves provided a rhythm to his prayer: “Please God, please God, please God.” Ben had no idea what else to say and figured it might be one of those moments when the Spirit would have to search his soul and take his needs on high.

Hoss and Little Joe watched from the house as their pa rode off, and then sat down in the doorway to wait. Hop Sing had heard enough of the conversation to know what had happened, and came over to bring the boys inside. They remained glued to their spots, eyes fixed with fear, and after a time, he covered the two with a blanket and took up his post on a chair he’d drawn up beside them.

***

Moonlight was plentiful, illuminating the road before him as he started out. But the evening was breezy, with each gust of air making Ben think the shadows moving in the grass bordering the road might be Adam. He’d stopped to investigate several times already and discovered rocks and stumps that had born similarities to a man curled in pain…or death. He was encouraged by not finding his son in such a condition, yet resented the time it was taking away from progress toward the pasture where he’d seen the damaged fence earlier. It finally struck him that he should just make his way there since it held the most likelihood of being where Adam had gone, and return to explore the shadows if he didn’t find him. While he was sure it had been no more than 30 minutes from the house to where he needed to be, he was so anxious to get there that it felt like he’d been riding for hours.

His mind raced with possibilities, the hardest to face being the fact that even if he found Adam, he wouldn’t be able to offer him any relief. But in one corner of his fears, was the hope that he’d find the boy sound asleep, having decided to rest until sunup—just as he had postulated earlier. Perhaps he’d grown out of his intolerance to the medicine and had no idea of the anxiety he was causing his family by not returning home.

The sliver of light that had clung to the horizon at Ben’s outset had disappeared by the time he came upon the damaged fence line. He lit the lantern and began his inspection of the area and found what he’d hoped to: the canvas bag of tools Adam would have had with him. “Adam! Adam are you out there?” He called to the silence.

He called again as the wind carried his voice back to him rather than out into the darkness. But on that same current of air, he thought he heard the restless snort of a horse. Curling his lip to his teeth he let out a piercing whistle. This time a high whinny returned to him on the breeze, yet it was hard to establish the exact direction it had come from. As he surveyed the openness before him, Ben decided it had to have issued from the dark inset on the grassy plain created by the canopy of a small wooded area. It made sense. There was a stream that ran through the woods and the shade would have provided relief from the hot July sun for someone not feeling well. He spurred his horse and closed the distance, seeing Adam’s mount loosely tied to a bush. He lit the lantern again and began his search, but just as earlier, stumps, logs and rocks became shadowy distractions that increased his frustration with each passing minute.

The quiet in the woods spoke the words that the father could not—that he was too late. He called to his son over and over with maddening silence responding to his demand. Then he heard it…off to his right, “peto, petis, petit, petimus, petitis, petunt.” What he heard made no earthly sense: Was Adam so near death that he could no longer form words? He stopped briefly to listen again as the volume rose to almost a scream, “petor, peteris, petitur, petimur, petimini, petuntur.” The silence that followed spurred Ben to continue his race to find the confused man uttering the nonsensical phrases. A thought occurred that perhaps it wasn’t gibberish at all, but that the boy had passed from an earthly realm to speaking in tongues. He realized then that he was losing a grip on his fear. “Speaking in tongues! And maybe I’ll find him being attended to by angels,” he mumbled to himself.

Ben’s heart leapt when he saw the dark figure leaning against a tree, head moving rhythmically against his bent knees as if counting out unheard notes in a measure of music. Grabbing the canteen and blankets as he dismounted, he made it to Adam’s side and touched him to make sure this wasn’t another apparition of shadow and stone. It was his son, and he was very much alive.

Adam wore a mask of agony as he looked up at his father. “Hello, Pa. Gosh it’s good to see you,” he laughed wearily before being overtaken by a groan.

Embracing him, Ben was in mid-sentence inquiring how he was doing, when Adam threw his head back and through clenched teeth began reciting the strange words again. “Petam, petas, petat, petamus, petatis, petant.”

The father was frantic, fearing he’d found his son when it was too late to do anything more than spend a few minutes with him before… “What are you saying? Is there anything I can do?”

His head lolled from side to side as he cleared his mind after the pain eased again. “Just conjugating Latin verbs, Pa. Helps focus on somethin’ besides the pain, and I figure it’s more useful than screaming.”

“Only you would figure out a way to study while you suffered.” Ben laughed as he hugged him again.

Adam reached for Ben’s arm as he became animated, “Pa, get back to the house and get rid of that cheese before Little Joe eats any. I’m pretty sure that must be what’s causing this.”

How could he tell one child that his brothers had poisoned him? “It wasn’t the cheese. It was the syrup you had this morning. It had something in…”

“You mean the castor oil? Nah, it’s got to be more than that: maybe those canned beans at camp are bad.”

The conversation was broken as pain once again contorted the young man’s face and he screamed out, “Pete, petebam, petebas, petebaris.” A deep breath ended the recitation. “Hey, Pa, it’s getting better.” He spoke breathily, “I used to get all the way through indicative passive imperfect of one verb before they would ease up, now I’m only going through a tense at a time.”

“Ben patted the boy’s hands. “That’s great son. Maybe the worst is over now, although I’m not sure if that’s what you just said.” He chuckled at his incredible child while offering him a sip of water from the canteen. “So you knew that Hoss had put the something in the syrup and you still ate it?”

“Sure I knew. I figure he put in a bunch of sugar too, but it still had the distinctive flavor he’d described yesterday: dirty feet.” He chuckled before calling out the subjunctive active imperfect tense of the verb petere until he could rest again. “That’s a good verb, Pa. It means to attack.”

“Why’d you do it, Adam. Why eat something you knew was altered?”

“I was a louse to Hoss.” He took a minute to rest and sipped more water before continuing. “I was mad: not so much that he’d eaten all that food, but just about a lot of things, and I lost my perspective.”

“I think you did the right thing, even if you made a few mistakes in the way you went about it. But that doesn’t explain why you went ahead with eating the syrup.”

“Did you know that Hoss is sweet on Maddy Smyth? He probably won’t admit it, but she saw me sitting on him, pouring that stuff into his mouth and I think it nearly killed him. I figured he was just giving me a dose of my own medicine this morning, and I really couldn’t blame him. It’s kind of like the hazing I get out at the camp for being young and your son. They don’t like taking orders from me either. So they gang up and pull their tricks too. I figure it’s all just a way to see how much I can take. It’s like what you told me you went through, right, Pa?”

Ben thought back to his early days on the sea and the pranks and downright meanness he’d had to endure as the new ship’s mate. “I do, but I’d hoped things had changed since my days.”

The cramping seemed to be easing as Adam stretched out and slid down to rest his back on the cool ground. “I don’t suppose people will ever get over making others prove their worth. I figure this is all pretty good practice for when I go to Boston.  I’ll be an oddity there and will have a lot of proving to do.”

Ben sat next to Adam and checked his forehead for fever. While he was sweating from the pain, his skin was cool and the frightened father began to relax. “You’re as intelligent as any of them are, son. You’ll just have to show them that coming from a different background makes you a better person, not less than them in any way.

“Yeah, I guess this is pretty good practice though, huh? But now you should ride home and get that cheese out of the house and send Hop Sing out to the camp with new canned goods, just in case.

“It wasn’t those things, Adam. It was the castor oil.”

“Well, the first part was: the bottle says it works in five hours, so the initial symptoms were from that. I figured that when I got home for lunch and Hoss saw that I had suffered a little, he’d know he’d gotten back at me. But whatever’s hit me this afternoon and evening, well that’s something else entirely. Feels like my insides are being torn apart and tied back together in knots. It’s got to be something else.”

With the cramps subsided, Ben got Adam more comfortable by wrapping him in blankets, rolling the last one into a pillow that he placed on his lap. “Son, do you remember back to when you were about five? You were very ill and Inger and I stayed with you while you suffered much like this?”

Adam had to think hard, but did remember some images. “You kept calling me ‘Little Bear’ didn’t you? I remember you sitting there and saying that name over and over. Was it some Indian name you gave me?  I think I got sick eating apples, right?”

“It wasn’t the apples. I really thought you remembered, Adam. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“It wasn’t the apples. It was the castor oil we gave you to get rid of the apples. It doesn’t work like it’s supposed to in you, but lingers inside and makes your body go crazy. I should have reminded you about that as you got older, but I thought you remembered.”

“Yup, that could have been some useful information. But I know it now and I won’t get near a bottle of Dr. Mysterio from now on. Ya know though, it really worked good on those bug bites.” Adam began snickering. “Hey, Pa. What happens when you mix holy water and castor oil?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“I said, what happens when you mix castor oil and holy water?”

“I don’t know, son. Why don’t you tell me?”

“You get a religious movement. Get it?” Adam snorted. “Hugh, our camp foreman told me that one.”

“I get it, but I’m not sure I think it’s all that funny.” Actually Ben thought it was very funny, but he’d never heard a coarse joke from his son before and realized that working with men from varying backgrounds was exposing him to a many new things. Running his hand across his son’s hair, he thought back to his time with Inger and the joy she had brought to his life. “Little Bear,” he recollected softly.

“You can’t call me that without telling me what it meant.”

“You were in such pain, and much like this time, you wanted to think about something else instead. Since you didn’t know any Latin back then, we kept your mind occupied with stories. Inger had told you a fairy tale that you loved and we kept retelling it whenever you would be in the throes of your torment.”

Adam remembered. “It was about an old woman and three bears. We’d each do a voice of one of the bears and I was the little one.”

“And for some time after that, whenever you needed comforting, I’d call you Little Bear.”

“You stopped doing it after Inger died.”

“I stopped a lot of things after Inger died, son. It just seemed that the sun had stopped shining on me for a long while.”

“Felt the same way for me, Pa… Yesterday, after I’d embarrassed Hoss in front of the Smyth kids, he looked over at me before he ran away. It was Inger’s eyes looking back at me and I felt sick inside, knowing I’d let her down by not protecting my brother as I promised her I would.”

He brushed his son’s cheek. “I can’t imagine that Inger has any reservation about how you’ve cared for her son. I didn’t get the whole story from your brothers but figure that Hoss holds as much responsibility for what happened as you.

Both men paused as their thoughts of Inger lingered on in images of golden hair and freshness.

Ben sighed as a final sweet memory of his second wife touched his heart. “After the last two days, I bet you wish you’d gone away to school instead of staying around.”

“There are times when I feel that way. You asked me if I could stay here and not resent it and I truly thought I could. It’s not being with you, Hoss and Little Joe that I resent…but sometimes…it’s just hard being here instead of there.“

“I understand.”

“But I’ve had some time to think in the last 24 hours. I’ve blamed the hired hands, my brothers, you and even baked beans, but I’m the one responsible for my own misery. I think my feelings are very obvious sometimes. I’m distant out at camp and impatient at home. If I keep this up, you’ll all really wish I’d gone. But it’ll be better, Pa; I’ll be better. I promise.” He drifted off to a restful sleep with his head on his father’s lap.

Ben relaxed in thankfulness, looking down at his first son and whispered softly, “I don’t know how you can be any better than you already are, but I’m sure you’ll show me.”

***

Exhaustion enfolded both men in sleep for a few hours before they mustered enough strength to head for the comfort of their own beds. Despite his desire to help, Ben made Adam sit on a grain box while he got the horses settled in the barn, and then wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders as he helped him toward the house. Seeing the three figures filling the open door—all asleep, but keeping vigil—Ben pointed to the trio and whispered, “Do you suppose we should wake them up?”

“We have to, Pa.” Adam gave his father a weak smile, “’I haven’t got enough energy to climb over them.”

He moved forward to roust his brothers out of their dreams as Ben watched on with the sad realization that there would be a variance in the passage of time on the Ponderosa over the next months. For his son, the days would drag on endlessly until it was time to go away, while for him they would pass like wildfire over dry grass, searing his heart with the impending loss.

As Hoss and Joe shook off their stupor, they were revitalized with relief at finding their brother standing over them.

Ben raised his eyes to the starlit sky in thanks, realizing that his prayers had been answered perfectly, even though he hadn’t been able to form them.

Having made his way to Ben’s side during the sibling reunion, Hop Sing inquired, “Everything is okay, Missa Cartlight?”

The worry lines in the father’s face softened. Everything was not okay. There was discipline and punishment awaiting his attention, behavioral boundaries to be set, and so much work to do he didn’t know where to start. And he knew that as his sons grew older they would butt heads more often as their personalities became even stronger. But in that moment, he responded truthfully, “Everything is just fine.”

The End

*I was thinking of a recipe I make called Lazy Daisy cake – basically a yellow cake with butter, cream, brown sugar and coconut topping that you broil!

Next Story in the It’s Only a Year Series:

It’s Only a Year – The Worst of Consequences – A Lesson in Choice
It’s Only a Year –  The Quiet of Uncertainty – A Lesson in Hope
It’s Only a Year – The Final Trial – A Lesson in Mettle

End Notes:

The next story in this series will put Adam in great peril as he disobeys his father and risks his life to defend his family.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.