Picture of the Day

Here's a new feature--these pictures may seem a bit random at times, but I thought it'd be fun to show one off each day. This is one of my favorites of Christian Bale, taken from Batman Begins. I think Bale is one of the best actors out there today, so we'll be seeing a lot of him on this site!

For Want of a Brother, Part Nineteen

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: Mature Content

LINK TO PART ONE: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-one.html

~

I was frantic to get a word alone with Adam after that conversation with Drew. He didn't mind this deal, I told myself. I knew that part of him, at least, wanted to see London or visit New York. Adam loves his Pa's ranch, after a fashion, but I suspect he's a city boy at heart.

And even if I was mistaken, Drew's deal wasn't too bad, was it? Adam would still be working on behalf of the Ponderosa. He'd just have a bit of time to see the world and test out new business ventures, that's all.

But I could be lying to myself. Three years is a long time to go without seeing your family. And as much as I wanted to trade the noose or a lifetime in prison for service in the Union Army, I didn't want to sacrifice Adam for the deal.

And so I followed Adam up to his room right before dinner and cornered him. "Is this what you want?" I demanded without prelude.

He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. He had his 'I-can't-believe-you're-questioning-my-judgment' smirk on his face. I’d seen that smirk quite a few times when I was working under him.

"Shut the door," he ordered.

I didn't appreciate that smirk, but I obeyed him regardless. Then I turned back to face him. "Is this what you want?" I repeated.

"Yes," he said. "And no. I don't want to leave my family, Reuben, but I won't mind the chance to go back east for a few years.” He paused and sighed. “But when I left for college, I missed some of Joe’s growing-up years. I’ve always regretted that.”

I thought about that as I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Hoss or Little Joe might get married if you give them three years,” I said. “That’s enough time for them to have a kid as well. And it’d be near impossible for you to get back and forth to visit. ”

Adam nodded--and his voice was tight as he answered. “I know.”

I frowned at him. “Do we really need Drew’s connections?”

“Yes,” he said at once. “First of all, if he stands up in court as the victim’s blind little brother, begging for you to hang, what judge will refuse him?”

I caught my breath at that. “None,” I owned.

“On the other hand, if the victim’s blind little brother asks the court for leniency, his word will carry weight,” Adam continued. “Moreover, Drew has excellent connections among the judges and in politics. I won’t say much for how he came by them--but that’s not the issue right now. Between his connections and ours, I think we can get you into the Union Army. But it’d be difficult without his help and impossible with his hindrance.”

I cocked my head at him. “Did you expect all along to convince him to help me?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “The best I thought I could do was convince him not to move against you.” He paused and gave me a wry smile. “But Drew is full of surprises.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I can see that. But you don’t have to do this for my sake, Adam. I can face whatever’s coming. And you’ve already been more than a brother to me.”

He gave me a warm look with those amber eyes of his. “Thank you for that,” he said. “But I’m willing to make this deal--for both our sakes.”

I made a face. “Joe won’t like this,” I said. “And I reckon the rest of your family won’t either.”

He didn’t say anything to that--not for a long while. “It’s going to be harder to tell Joe than it’ll be to tell my Pa,” he confided at last. “Of all my family, I think Hoss will understand best. As for Pa--if he knows that this is what I want, or at least that some part of me wants it, he’ll give me his blessing. But Joe will resent me. I hope he’ll come to understand before I leave. And I hope he’ll remember that it’s not forever.”

“Will you want to be a rancher again after being back east?” I asked.

“It’s not the ranching, Reuben,” he told me. “It my family and--well, something about this land gets under your skin. I won’t be able to leave it forever. But, apart from the fact that I’ll miss my Pa and brothers, I won’t mind leaving for three years. I was gone longer than that when I went to college.”

He uncrossed his arms and dug his hands into his pockets. “I suppose I should speak to my family now,” he said. “But I can’t leave you here alone, can I?”

“No,” I confirmed, smiling a little. “A representative of the law has to have an eye on me all the time.”

Adam managed a short laugh. “It’s hard to imagine where you’d get off to in this weather. Well, come on downstairs. Sheriff Coffee can watch over you. I can talk things over with Pa, Hoss and Joe up here.”

“Do you--do you want me to be there?” I asked. “Things might go better for you if they’ve got me at hand to blame. And maybe to use as a punching bag.”

He grinned at that, but shook his head. “No--I think it’s better that you stay out of it. Though I have a feeling Joe will come after you soon enough. Let’s hope he remembers that he can’t strike a fellow in cuffs.”

And so I was relegated to the great room, along with Drew and Sheriff Coffee. We had that crackling fire in front of us--but we could hear Mr. Cartwright loud and clear over it. He was shouting something fierce.

The gist of his speech was that this was a fool idea; that Adam couldn’t save the whole world; and that he’d already left home once to go to college. He was supposed to be settling down now, not running off to be near the war.

I narrowed my eyes at that. As Mr. Cartwright kept shouting, it became clear that his real fear was that while he was back east, Adam would seek a commission in the Union Army. I reckon Mr. Cartwright had been harboring that fear since the news of Fort Sumter reached Virginia City. And that made sense--Adam was an idealist. I could see him leaving the Ponderosa to fight for a cause he believed in.

And so, ironically, the deal that Adam made with Drew worked in his favor. He had to be Drew’s business partner for the full three years that he spent back east. Adam might wrangle a government appointment of his own, but he couldn’t run off into the army and leave Drew to his own devices. So he was safe from the war. And the war would be long over, surely, by the time Adam’s commitment was through.

As for Hoss--we heard his voice a few times. From what I could gather, he was sticking up for Adam’s decision and doing his best to reconcile their Pa to it. I reckon he was hurt that Adam meant to leave again--but if it was what his older brother really wanted, then he was willing to support him.

But the one voice I didn’t hear was Joe’s. I strained my ears near breaking but I couldn’t hear a lick from him. There was just a cold, angry silence.

I sighed. The last thing I wanted was to be the cause of a rift between the two brothers. I had a good idea now of just how important a brother was.

LINK TO PART TWENTY: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/03/for-want-of-brother-part-twenty.html

Bringing Adam Home...

I just love this montage--it envisions Adam coming home to the Ponderosa, after his wanderings:

The Green Bottle

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: General Content

~

I groaned as I rested against the post. It was a brutally hot day and it seemed like we had endless miles of fence to repair.

Adam took a long drink from his canteen and then slung it over the post behind me. “I’m going to go see what’s keeping Hoss,” he announced. “Don’t drink my water.”

I was tempted to stick my tongue out at him. He must have guessed that I’d already gone through my own water. Still, I was too old to be making faces behind my older brother’s back. So I decided to distract myself instead by staring at his canteen.

Actually, it wasn’t a canteen. It was one of those heavy, green-glass bottles, stopped up with a cork and wrapped around with rope so that you could sling it over your shoulder. Adam hadn’t drunk much from it yet—I could see that it was nearly two-thirds full.

What was the harm of one sip? Did older brother think I was going to drain it on him?

I picked up the bottle, uncorked it and took one deep swallow. But the next thing I knew I was choking on the stuff. I dropped the bottle, spit the evil stuff out and hoped that I wouldn’t vomit.

What in the heck had Adam put in there?

While I was still busy choking and spitting, I heard a cocky baritone talking to my back. “I told you not to drink my water,” Adam said.

I managed to turn around and glare at him. “What was that?” I demanded.

“Water mixed with vinegar,” he answered as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the post. God, I hate that lean of his.

I stared at him as I thought about wiping that smirk off his face. Good thing I love older brother so much—otherwise we’d always be at it.

“Why would anyone put vinegar in their water?” I managed.

He gave me some long scientific explanation about how the vinegar helps protect you from the heat. I stopped listening halfway through.

By then he was actually looking me over with some sympathy. “Here,” he said as he picked up the bottle, dusted it off and handed it back to me. “Try it again. It’s an acquired taste, but it really is good for you.”

I grimaced, but I wasn’t about to buckle under to the stuff. I accepted the bottle and forced myself to drink some of it down—slowly this time.

“What do you think?” he asked as I lowered the bottle.

“I’m not going to throw up,” I informed him, “but it’s still pretty vile.”

He laughed as he took the bottle back and slung it over the post again. “You’ll learn to love it,” he promised.

I rolled my eyes. Whatever you say, older brother.

~The End~

One Generous Moment

You don't have to read far into Henry IV, Part One to understand why Prince Hal prefers the company of Jack Falstaff to that of his father. Falstaff may be a shameless rogue, but his sharp banter and whole-hearted affection more than compensate for his faults. Hal matches him in wits and basks in his adoration--and sometimes even forgets that he's just using the fat old man.

Meanwhile, Henry Bolingbroke sees only the worst in his son. He has no idea that Hal is a shrewd politician, well suited to rule. In fact, Bolingbroke wishes that young 'Hotspur' Percy, and not young Hal, was his son and heir to the throne. He sees Hotspur as the embodiment of nobility and courage and makes his preference plain.

But Hal sees Hotspur for what he is: a brash, reckless, killing machine. While Hal is slumming in a tavern, he sums up Hotspur to one of his drinking buddies.

Prince: I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North, he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work!'

But to win his father's approval, and to prove his worth, Hal knows that he too will have to play his part in battle. So when Hotspur helps lead a rebellion against Henry Bolingbroke, Hal is determined to best him.

Hal gets his wish. He meets Hotspur on the battlefield at Shrewsbury--in single combat, no less--and kills him. But here's the twist:

While Hal was fighting Hotspur, Jack Falstaff was fighting one of Hotspur's allies. Falstaff plays possum rather than die. And so when Hal finishes off Hotspur, he turns to find Falstaff's 'corpse.'


Prince: What, old acquaintance! Could not all this flesh
Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell.
I could have better spared a better man.

He continues in that vein, never forgetting for a moment that Falstaff was an old hand at lying and cheating. Does Hal know that Falstaff is shamming death? I think not--I think Hal truly believes that Jack is dead.

Hal must feel as if a noose has been taken off his neck. He's known all along that he would abandon Falstaff once he inherited the crown. But now Falstaff is dead in battle--now Hal will never have to reject him. He's free to mourn him instead and remember him as an amiable devil.

But Falstaff is very much alive. Once Hal leaves, he jumps up again with a witty and curiously profound speech on counterfeiting death. He then looks over Hotspur's corpse and stabs it himself. But he's not done--he picks up Hotspur's body and begins parading it about.

Hal is astonished to see Falstaff alive and well and carrying Hotspur's remains. Falstaff assures him that not only is he alive--he is the great hero who defeated 'Hotspur' Percy!

Prince: Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw the deed.

Falstaff: Didst thou? Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying! I grant you I was down and out of breath, and so was he; but we rose both at an instant and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock.

Hal gives in with good grace and allows Falstaff all the glory of the kill. I picture Hal laughing despite himself:

Prince: (to Falstaff) Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back.
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace
I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.

It's hard to remember that Hal is still ruthless and calculating. Here we have evidence that Hal truly loves Jack Falstaff. Hal had already proved himself in battle that day, but his defeat of Percy was his crowning glory. Think what it would have meant to him to show his father that he could outfight the mighty Hotspur.

It's a beautiful moment of generosity that goes a long way toward humanizing Hal. But it's an isolated moment. Nothing has changed. Hal still means to reject Falstaff. And when he finally cuts his ties with the old rogue, Falstaff will die in earnest--of a broken heart.

For Want of a Brother, Part Eighteen

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: Mature Content

LINK TO PART ONE: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-one.html

~

It took a minute for my brain to catch up with that exchange. But I remembered last night, when Adam had unexpectedly asked me my views on the war. Now I understood why.

I shut my eyes for a moment and thought back to Jack Clayton and the shocked look on him when I pulled out my gun. His face had frozen in that expression as I kept cocking my Colt and firing over and over. And then I couldn’t see his face anymore—there was too much blood splattered on it.

Part of me never wanted to shoot a gun again. Back when I had told Adam that perhaps I had done enough shooting to last me a lifetime, I wasn’t kidding. But fighting for the Union, I reckoned, was different. I didn’t relish the thought of aiming a rifled musket at a Reb, nor of plunging a bayonet into his belly, but it wouldn’t be murder.

I reckon a Reb can bleed just as much as Jack Clayton, though.

And there was my own courage to consider. Hanging was one thing—death by bayonet was something else. But it was better to die fighting for a cause, I decided, than on the gallows. And I’d rather the army than prison.

In the end, though, it wouldn’t be my choice. Once I decided to turn myself in and not to accept Adam’s help in escaping, I’d sacrificed the right to determine my fate. Or maybe I sacrificed it back when I shot Jack Clayton. Either way, I understood that and accepted it. But I could appreciate the irony of my situation: my life was in the hands of Jack Clayton’s little brother.

I was so absorbed in these thoughts that I missed part of the conversation at hand. But it didn’t signify, for both Adam and Drew seemed to have drifted into silence. And when they did talk, it was only to discuss the valet duties that Adam had taken on for the morning--and probably until Drew had his real valet back at his beck and call.

They left the guestroom together—at which point Adam noticed the open door. He must have remembered shutting it, for he glared into Hoss’s room as he passed us with a look that threatened vengeance. Neither Hoss nor Joe looked concerned, but I felt differently. I had to figure out how to defend myself with my hands cuffed.

I had planned to take my breakfast upstairs, but at the last minute I changed my mind. I figured that Drew might as well get to know me before he begged a judge to put a noose around my neck. Why should he be content with feeling my face?

That was my thinking, at any event. But I got more than I bargained for.

Hop Sing set an extra long table for breakfast. Mr. Cartwright sat at the head of it, with Drew Clayton on one side of him and Sheriff Coffee on the other. Adam sat next to Drew and Joe sat next to Adam. Hoss sat next to Sheriff Coffee and I sat next to Hoss.

I saw no sign of Drew’s driver—nor had I noticed him in the house last night. I reckon the fellow was relegated to the bunkhouse.

The meal was peculiar only in that it seemed so normal. I suppose everyone had gotten used to the idea of a murderer, the brother of the victim and a sheriff all under the same roof. But we kept to safe topics of conversation: the storm, its effect on the livestock, news on the railroads, an upcoming wedding in Carson City and so forth.

What did feel odd, though, was the way Drew would glance in my direction—despite the fact that he couldn’t actually see me. I did my best to ignore him and the eerie whiteness of his eyes.

But as Hop Sing cleared the dishes, Drew spoke to me directly. “Do you play chess, Reuben?” he asked.

I swallowed my last bit of salted pork. “Yes, sir,” I answered. “A little, I mean. I know how the pieces move, but I’m only just learning the strategy.”

I could have kicked myself for calling him ‘sir’ again. That annoyed me almost as much as hearing him refer to me as a ‘boy.’ Drew couldn’t have been more than five years my senior.

“Well, let’s see what we can do to improve your game,” he said.

My mouth dropped open at that and everyone else fell silent. Was this some kind of peace offering? Not likely. I supposed it might be a test of some sort—either that, or he just wanted to destroy me anyway he could.

“Mr. Cartwright,” Drew continued, “may we use your board?”

Ben Cartwright looked apprehensive—I don’t think he liked this idea any more than I did. He sent me a questioning glance, but I just shrugged. I was too curious to turn Drew down.

“Certainly,” Mr. Cartwright said. “Adam, will you set it up?”

“Sure, Pa,” he answered.

Adam left the table and crossed over to the great room. I watched him bring out the board and the pieces. He didn’t look as disturbed by Drew’s request as everyone else did. I suppose that should have eased my mind. He knew Drew better than anyone else here, after all.

I turned back to Drew. “How—how do you manage to play?” I asked. “Do you have to feel all the pieces to see where they are?”

He smiled at that and shook his head. “No,” he said. “You just have to tell me which piece you’re moving on your turn—and where you’re moving it to. And you’ll have to move my pieces for me; I’ll tell you which square. Are you familiar with chess notation?”

“No,” I answered.

“Each square has a name and number—Queen’s Rook 3, for example. Adam can show you the board and explain how it works.”

I furrowed my brow as I took that in. If Drew wasn’t going to feel the pieces—and I could see how that would be awkward and messy—he’d have to keep track of every single move in his head. Even if the rest of us refreshed his memory from time to time, that’d be quite a feat.

“How do you want to choose colors?” Adam asked.

“Reuben can take white for the first match,” Drew answered.

He stood up as he spoke, took hold of his cane and made his way into the great room. Adam took his arm and led him to the correct chair. I sighed and excused myself from the table so that I could join them.

Drew demolished me in the first game—and he never once had to ask me or anyone else to remind him where each piece was. He carried all that information in his head.

He didn’t gloat about his victory, though, and that surprised me. He tutored me instead, explaining not only what I’d done wrong, but why it was wrong. And he wasn’t condescending or sneering about it. Adam, meanwhile, would add his two cents. Generally he agreed with Drew, but sometimes they got into arguments about what advice to give me.

We played for hours. Adam stayed with us the whole time, while the others took turns playing checkers along side us or braving the storm to check the barn and the bunkhouse. I got better with each game, but it would be a long while, I realized, before I could provide a challenge for the likes of Drew or Adam.

After Drew checkmated me for what must have been the tenth time, I sighed and leaned back in my chair. It was just me, Drew and Adam now. I was on one side of the chess table, Drew was on the other and Adam was sitting on the edge of the fireplace.

Hoss and Little Joe were in the bunkhouse. Sheriff Coffee and Mr. Cartwright, meanwhile, were sitting at the dining table drinking coffee. They weren’t far from us, but they were deep in their own conversation.

I stared at Drew long and hard—and then I decided to take advantage of our privacy in order to speak my mind. And this time I promised myself that I wouldn’t call him ‘sir.’

“I appreciate these lessons, Drew,” I said. “But what’s the point of them? You want me to hang as soon as possible—I won’t get good enough to give you a game before I reach the gallows.”

He gave me a wry but appreciative grin. “I know,” he owned. Then he paused and cocked his head at me. “Do you know what Adam wants for you?”

I sent Adam an apologetic glance—I reckon he was still sore about the spying.

“Yes,” I answered, turning back to Drew. “And I know you’re not keen to help him.”

“That’s true,” he said. “And even if I agreed to help Adam, I couldn’t guarantee you that his plan would work. We’d have a reasonable chance, that’s all. But I can’t promise you that you wouldn’t swing or end up in prison for the rest of your life.”

I glanced at Adam again, but his eyes were trained on Drew. I bit my lip and then addressed Drew.

“Do you still want me to swing?” I asked.

He mulled that over and then smiled a little. “Yes,” he said. “But I’ll be just as satisfied if a Confederate shell blows you to bits.”

I grinned back at him. “I couldn’t guarantee you that I’d get killed,” I told him, mimicking his voice. “We’d have a reasonable chance, that’s all.”

He and Adam both laughed at that. “I suppose your odds depend on how long the war lasts,” Drew commented. “But I’ll wager it’s going to be longer than anyone realizes.”

Adam nodded. “It’s not going to be a six month affair, as promised.”

“No, certainly not,” Drew agreed.

He paused for a moment, considering. At length he turned toward Adam. “My help won’t come for free,” he warned.

“I figured as much,” Adam said, leaning toward him. “What’s your price?”

Drew didn’t answer that directly. “Come Spring, I’m going to Washington in order to work for the government,” he said instead. “I’ve been offered a post there before, but—well, Jack was here. But there’s nothing to hold me in Virginia City now. And there might even be a diplomatic post in London in the offing.”

Adam frowned at that. “I can understand why you want to leave, but what about the mines you own?”

Drew took his time about answering that. “I can sell most of my shares—they’ll fetch a pretty penny already. I'm sure your father will gobble them up and then waste his money on new safety measures for the miners," he added dryly.

Adam smiled. "Probably."

"I’ll need the cash for new investments," Drew went on. "As for the remaining shares—well, I’ll need someone here to look after them. Someone I find capable.”

Adam folded his arms across his chest. “Is that what you want me to do for you?” he asked.

But Drew shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s a pity, because you’d be ideal. But I’ll need you with me, whether I land in Washington or London.”

Adam’s face went white at that. I reckon that was the last thing he expected to hear.

Drew must have sensed his shock. “Adam, I can’t do this on my own,” he said softly. “I need a business partner I can trust at my side.”

Adam was still too stunned to speak, so Drew kept at him. “There’s a world of opportunity back east and across the Atlantic,” he said. “You know what kind of money we can make during a war—think of the investments you can make on behalf of the Ponderosa. And all on the up and up, I mean. I’m not talking about profiteering.”

Adam shut his eyes for a moment and sighed. Then he found his voice. “I know,” he managed. “But I’m not your brother, Drew. I can’t spend the rest of my life helping you guard your business interests.”

“I don’t want the rest of your life,” Drew said. “I want three years of your partnership.”

That gave Adam pause. I could tell that he was tempted—three years didn’t sound all that long. And I knew what the chance (or maybe the excuse) to see London meant to him. Hell, I reckon he’d be happy even in Washington. At least he’d be reasonably close to New York and everything that a real city had to offer.

“That’s your price?” Adam asked, speaking up again.

Drew nodded. “Yes. Give me three years as my business partner and I’ll do everything in my power to dissuade a judge from sentencing Reuben to hang—and to have his sentence commuted to service in the Union Army.”

I gave Drew a skeptical look. “You don’t think the war’s going to last three years, do you?”

“No,” he answered, without looking my way. “But I’ll need Adam that long regardless. And perhaps a bit longer if we end up in England.”

Adam said nothing. He was looking out the window now. I glanced that way too, just in time to see Little Joe, all bundled up, making his way back toward the house.

“Well, Adam?” Drew prompted. “Do we have a deal?”

There was a spark of regret in Adam’s eyes as he stared at Little Joe. But he turned back to Drew with a resolute look on his face.

“Yes,” he answered. “I’ll talk to my family tonight.”

LINK TO PART NINETEEN: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-nineteen.html

Wake-up Call from the Cat...

For Want of a Brother, Part Seventeen

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)

Rating: Mature Content

LINK TO PART ONE: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-one.html

~

Hoss was standing at his window when Joe and I crept into his room. He wasn’t dressed yet—he was wearing this checkered night shirt that only he could wear without looking ridiculous. Well, maybe he looked a little ridiculous. But it would take a brave man to tell him so. He’s a big fellow, Hoss.

His mind was on the weather. “Look at that snow coming down,” he said to us, by way of greeting. “There ain’t no end in sight. I hate to think what’s going to happen to the livestock.”

Joe nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I’ll bet Pa’s worrying himself to death over it. But we’ll get through.”

I stepped up next to Hoss and stood by the window as well. But my first thought wasn’t about the livestock—it was about the roads between here and Virginia City. They wouldn’t be clear anytime soon. It looked like I had a reprieve from whatever fate awaited me. I’d have to put up with the cuffs, but not with a jail cell.

“You reckon your Pa minds me being here?” I asked. “It’s the devil of a situation for him.”

Hoss put a hand on my shoulder. “Pa don’t mind. He’ll do his best by you, Reuben--for Adam’s sake if for no better reason.”

“Speaking of Adam,” Joe said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “he’s in the guest room now with Drew. Let’s see what we can hear.”

Hoss frowned. “Not much, I reckon, unless they left their door open.”

Joe crept back to Hoss’s door. Then he peeked out at the guest room door, but it was closed. But that didn’t stop him from tip-toeing up to it and nudging it open. I held my breath, certain he’d be caught, but that door didn’t creak a lick. Joe got back to Hoss's room without incident.

Judging by their voices, Adam and Drew never noticed that the door was now open. I ought to have objected. We couldn’t even pass this off as casual eavesdropping—it was outright spying. But my curiosity was such that I was willing to make my peace with that. Especially as I caught the drift of their conversation.

“What do you want me to say?” Drew was asking Adam. “I know Jack’s faults—none better. He was arrogant, thoughtless and the worst sort of nouveau riche. God help us, he never fooled anyone with his pretensions. But he was still my brother.”

“Tilt your head back,” Adam ordered. “And stop fidgeting—I’ve got a razor near your throat.”

“And wouldn’t you love to do me in with it,” Drew commented.

He sounded as if he were smiling, at least a little. Adam chuckled, at any event.

Drew fell quiet for a while after that, but when he spoke up again there was a harshness to his voice that seemed to mingle with the grief in it. “Damn it, Adam, I always knew that Jack would get himself killed over some bit of muslin. You can add that to his faults: he was a fool where women were concerned.”

I felt myself freeze up at that—and I felt my anger start to churn. Both Hoss and Joe put their hands on my arms to keep me from doing anything stupid.

“Rosalind wasn’t just a ‘bit of muslin,’” Adam said softly. “She was someone’s sister, Drew.”

Drew snorted. “I know,” he said. “That’s been made abundantly plain.” He paused to sigh. “If Jack had asked me, I’d have told him to marry the girl. Or, at the very least, to provide for her and the child.”

“You wouldn’t have cared if he married her?" Adam asked. “Even if she had no dowry or, ah, ‘blue blood?’”

“Why should I?” Drew answered. “I never forgot what we were. Our father was just a two-bit gambler. For all Jack’s pretensions, he came from nothing. He just happened to get lucky in the Forty-nine.”

He paused again and sighed. “I’m sorry the girl is dead—and I can imagine what sort of death it was. But don’t expect me to forget what happened to my brother.”

“I’m not defending what Reuben did,” Adam said. “You know that.”

“But you don’t want him to hang for it--you're all compassion, aren't you? But if you care so much for him, why do you want him to spend his life in prison?”

Adam kept silent.

Drew seemed to sneer—or so I pictured him—as he spoke up again. “Now we come to it,” he said. “You don’t mean to see him hang or spend his life in prison. You want him sentenced to life and then you want the sentence commuted.”

“Yes,” Adam said.

"Commuted to what?” Drew asked. “Never mind—I can guess. I suppose you’re willing to let the boy take his chances as cannon fodder for Lincoln. But you don’t have the connections to pull that off, Adam. For a lesser crime, perhaps. But not for murder.”

“Between us we have the connections,” Adam pointed out.

I reckon that Drew considered that some before he answered. “Yes,” he said at length. “I suppose we do. But I’m not going to play along. Unlike that boy, I’m not your devoted slave.”

Adam sighed. “I don’t want your devotion, Drew,” he said. “Just your cooperation. Rosalind is dead; Jack is dead. Isn’t that enough?”

Drew's voice was cold and hard as he answered. “Not for me,” he said.

LINK TO PART EIGHTEEN: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-eighteen.html

Banter and Deceit

I'll say one thing straight off about Shakespeare's Henry IV, Parts One and Two: Prince Hal--the pretty young man who becomes Henry V--is a ruthless, calculating bastard. I like him well enough regardless, but only because I'm imagining Christian Bale in the role.

We first meet Hal when he's hanging out with Jack Falstaff, who turns out to be a fat, comedic rogue. I can't help but picture Zero Mostel in the role--albeit with an English accent. Hal and Falstaff like to banter back and forth, teasing each other as they match wits. But while there's whole-hearted affection on Falstaff's side, Hal's feelings for Falstaff seem to be affection mixed with contempt.

Hal makes it clear to the audience that he's only using Falstaff and his crowd. He's playing the part of a dissolute youth so that he can astonish everyone by turning out to have a good head on his shoulders. He seems to resent the fact that he's going to inherit the responsibilities of a crown, so he's determined to live as wildly as he can for now. But once the crown is on his head, he'll wash his hands of his present companions.

I'll own that Falstaff isn't a sterling character--he's a crook, after all. But that doesn't make it easier to watch Hal use him. Falstaff is really taken with this kid. He's not in it just for laughs.

Is Falstaff's love entirely disinterested? Probably not. He keeps mentioning the crown that Hal will eventually wear and he loves to imagine the day when he will be the best friend of the King of England. That day will never come--and in a shocking bit of roleplaying, Hal makes that plain. But Falstaff refuses to recognize the roleplaying as truth.

The relationship between the two men is the best part of the plays. I can't figure out the boundaries of that relationship, however. Are they lovers or aren't they? I'm leaning toward yes, despite the difference in their ages and looks. Better men than Falstaff have robbed the cradle--and he's so damnably charismatic that Hal might not care that he's no super model.

Most critics see it only as a father-son relationship, with perhaps a bit of longing on Falstaff's side. That's certainly possible. I see a flirtation in the banter between Hal and Falstaff, but perhaps I'm imagining it. Or maybe it's there, but it doesn't mean as much as I think it does.

I'll say this much, though: Hal is ruthless enough to make Falstaff adore him as a son or a lover--despite the fact that he knows he's going to dump the old man.

For Want of a Brother, Part Sixteen

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: Mature Content

LINK TO PART ONE: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-one.html

~

Joe, Hoss and I watched as Adam stepped into the room. He blinked at the sight of all our eyes on him and paused to lean sideways against the doorframe. Then he folded his arms across his chest as he regarded us with a half-hearted smile.

“Do you know,” he said, “I almost expected to find one of you outside Drew’s door?”

We all shook our heads at that. Even Joe, who had been eager to place himself in that exact spot, put on a face that proclaimed his innocence.

“How’s Drew doing?” Hoss asked.

“Not so good, I reckon,” I said. “Not judging by the way his voice was breaking.”

“No, not so good,” Adam agreed. “He and Jack were close.”

Joe sighed. “I guess about the only good thing you can say for Jack Clayton is that he always looked after his little brother.”

Adam furrowed his brow at that. “That’s partly true. But Drew also looked after Jack.”

“How so?” Hoss asked, raising his brows.

“Jack could never have handled their business interests on his own,” Adam explained. “Drew’s the one with the head for investments. But he can’t read books or write down figures, so he needs someone he trusts completely to do that part. Someone he knows won’t skim off the top. The wrong partner could rob him—”

He stopped and bit his tongue.

“Rob him blind,” I finished.

Adam nodded.

I shut my eyes for a moment. “And now he’s got no one that he can trust.”

“Just so,” Adam said. “And he’ll have the devil of a time finding someone—Drew’s not exactly the trusting sort. But if I know him, he’ll figure out how to manage.”

“He trusts you, don’t he?” Joe asked. “Can’t you help him?”

Adam shrugged. “If he asks me, I’ll do what I can for him. But that’s not the same as having his brother at his side.”

I swore under my breath and shook my head. “I wish I had known all this before I went in to confront Jack Clayton about Rosalind.”

Joe grimaced. “That would have stopped me too,” he confided. “Not that Drew is a saint—he doesn’t care much for the lives of his miners, does he Adam?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Adam said. “No more than Jack did. He doesn’t want them dead—he just doesn’t want to pay to improve their chances.”

I already knew that, but I digested it again. But it didn’t help alleviate my guilt—and I don’t suppose it should have.

I ought to have known better. I ought to have seen Jack Clayton as a real person. My Ma raised me up on the Bible and my Pa raised me up on Shakespeare and somewhere between those two I should’ve known the cost of removing a fellow from this world. I should have caught a glimmer of how it would affect the folks he left behind.

At length Adam left his position at the door and crossed over to Joe’s chair. I watched as he patted his little brother on the shoulder. “Get to bed,” he ordered. “I’ll take the first watch."

Joe nodded as he stood up and began to undress. Adam took his spot in the chair and put his feet up on the chest.

Hoss, meanwhile, was easing himself out of his seat. “Reckon I’ll get some sleep too,” he said. “Goodnight all.”

Joe finished changing as he left and then slid under the covers beside me. And he didn’t waste much time getting to sleep, I noticed. But I was still wide awake.

I sat there thinking for a long while. At length, Adam broke in on my thoughts.

“How do you feel about the Union?” he asked me.

I started at that. I hadn’t expected him to talk politics just now. But I managed a shrug. “I think we should fight to preserve it,” I said. “But Mr. Lincoln—President Lincoln, I mean—well, he strikes me as the worst person to lead us in a crisis like this. Hardly anyone’s even heard of him.”

Adam smiled. “Yeah, he seemed to come out of nowhere. But he has to be pretty canny to have gotten as far as he has. We’ll see. At least he’s committed to keeping this country together.”

“But he ain’t committed to abolition,” I said. “It seems to me that keeping this country together is only half the battle.”

“If the North wins, Reuben, it’ll be the end of slavery.”

I shrugged again. “Well, I think Mr. Lincoln ought to spell that out.”

“I hope he will,” Adam said softly.

We both fell quiet after that. At length I shut my eyes and managed to drift off. When I woke up, it was past cock-crow. Adam was beside me, Joe was in the chair and someone was knocking on the door.

“Adam?”

It was Drew’s voice—he was the one knocking.

Adam climbed out of bed, tied on a robe and went to answer the door. Sure enough, Drew was standing on the other side of it, holding his cane. He had his trousers and shirt on, but no waistcoat or cravat. He was unshaved too and his hair wanted combing.

“What can I do for you, Drew?” Adam asked.

“I don’t have my valet,” he answered, keeping his voice low. “Would you—would you mind helping me make myself presentable?”

I could guess what it cost Drew to make that request—especially after last night, when he had refused any comfort from Adam and slammed his door in Adam’s face. But Adam took his request in stride.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I’ll be over to your room in a few minutes.”

Drew nodded and began feeling his way back down the hall. Adam watched him go and then shut the door behind him.

Joe yawned from his spot on the chair. “I hope things go better this morning than they went last night,” he commented.

Adam shrugged. “They didn’t go as badly last night as they seemed,” he said. “Drew may decide that there’ve been enough deaths in this affair without hanging Reuben.”

Joe gave his brother a skeptical look. “That seems like an awful lot to ask of someone like Drew Clayton.”

“I know,” Adam said. “But he’s our best chance.”

We all fell silent as Adam washed up, got dressed and then left the room. But Joe sprang out of his chair as soon as his older brother was gone.

“Come on,” he told me, grabbing me by the arm.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To Hoss’s room,” he answered. “He’s a lot closer to the guest room—we should be able to hear better from there. I don’t know why we didn’t think of that last night.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Joe, we oughtn’t spy on them like that.”

“Yes we should,” he said with a maddening certainty in his voice. “Besides, you don’t have a choice.”

“How do you figure that?” I demanded.

He grinned at me and put his arm around my shoulders. “I’m a deputy,” he explained, “and you’re my prisoner. You got to obey orders and follow me around. Now are you coming?”

I grinned back at him—I couldn’t help myself. “I don’t have a choice, right?”

LINK TO PART SEVENTEEN: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother.html

For Want of a Brother, Part Fifteen

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: Mature Content

LINK TO PART ONE: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-one.html

~

Hoss and Little Joe were not satisfied with my report. They both gave me a look that made it clear I had failed in my brotherly duties.

I was sitting up in Adam’s bed now. Joe had borrowed the key from Sheriff Coffee and unlocked my cuffs long enough for me to change, so I was back in the night shirt that I had borrowed from Adam last night. Hoss and Joe were still dressed, lounging in chairs on either side of the bed.

Little Joe would be sleeping in here tonight, so that Sheriff Coffee could have his room. He and Adam would take turns staying up to watch over me. I felt kind of guilty, knowing that they'd only get half a night's rest, while I'd have this plush bed the whole night. But somehow I made my peace with that.

“That can’t be all that happened between Adam and Drew,” Little Joe was complaining.

“Yeah,” Hoss agreed. “But then you didn’t know those two before the accident, Reuben--they despised each other. Drew would never have let Adam help him back then.”

Joe nodded. “They must of reached some kind of understanding in the wake of the wreck.”

I thought about the sparse way Adam had told the story--he had given me the events, but not, I suppose, the meaning behind them. But I couldn’t bring myself to blame him for that. I still felt that he was entitled to some privacy. Besides, some things are hard to explain.

“I reckon they did,” I said at last, “but that’s between them, ain’t it?”

Hoss and Joe exchanged glances. I could read them perfectly--they had decided that I was hopeless.

“You know what this is?” Joe asked Hoss.

“What?” Hoss returned.

“It’s hero-worship. Reuben is too busy kissing the ground that older brother walks on to be of any use to us.”

Hoss looked at me, made a kind of ‘hrrrmph’ sound and crossed his arms.

I rolled my eyes. “It ain’t hero-worship,” I said.

They exchanged glances again--significant glances.

I sighed. “Ok,” I said. “It’s a little bit of hero worship. But remember, I never had an older brother before. And I kind of like it. Besides,” I added, glaring at Joe, “I seen the way you look up to Adam sometimes.”

“But I have enough sense to hide it from him,” Joe retorted. “He’s a tyrant, Reuben. If we gave him his head, he’d be controlling everyone and everything on the Ponderosa. It’s our job to keep him in check, not to encourage him.”

“Well, I don’t mind him controlling me,” I said with a shrug. “Not right now, anyways. But I’ll wager that Drew ain’t going to let Adam control him. That’ll keep him in check.”

Hoss frowned and uncrossed his arms. “That’s true--Drew don’t hero-worship Adam.” He paused and gave me a worried look. “Are you sure you ain’t afraid of hanging?”

I bit my lip, trying to figure out how to put my thoughts into words. “I don’t think I have a right to be afraid--not after what I did to Jack Clayton,” I said. “Besides, I keep reminding myself what Julius Caesar said in Shakespeare’s play : ‘Cowards die many times before their death; the valiant never taste of death but once.’”

Joe considered that. “That ain’t a bad line,” he said.

“Yeah,” Hoss agreed. “That Shakespeare had a way with words.”

I managed a nonchalant nod at that understatement and went back to the matter at hand. “I’ll tell you something, though. I am afraid of life in prison.”

“Well, don’t think about that now,” Joe advised. “If Adam can stop you from swinging--and don’t get your hopes up on that--he’ll figure out some way to make your life bearable.”

He paused and gave me a grudging look. “And for what it’s worth, I hope Adam’s successful. I don’t really want your Pa’s Shakespeare books. So I’ll give Adam whatever help he needs.”

“Me too,” Hoss said, reaching over to pat my knee.

I smiled at them both. “Thanks.”

Joe was about to say something back, but Hoss grabbed his arm with one hand and raised his finger to his lips with the other. “Shhhh,” he said. “Just listen.”

We all shut up and perked up our ears. Adam and Drew were coming up the stairs, talking amiably enough. Or so I thought at first. Their words weren’t amiable at all.

“Come into my room and have a drink,” Drew was saying. “Your servant was kind enough to bring some sherry up earlier. Unless you feel the need to tuck in that devoted spaniel you’ve adopted.”

“Drew,” Adam said in a warning tone.

“You’re right--my mistake,” Drew said. “He’s more like a violent pit bull who needs to be put down.”

Joe and Hoss both gave me a look warning me to keep my temper in check, but there was no call for it. I could tell that Drew was trying to get a rise out of Adam. Or maybe out of me, since he must have guessed that I could hear him. His voice was soft--but not too soft.

Adam said something back to Drew that I couldn’t hear. But whatever it was, it caused Drew to laugh quietly.

“I do,” Drew owned. “It’s almost worth it, Adam, just to picture the frustrated look on your face as you remind yourself that you can’t strike a blind man.”

“Don’t try me too far,” Adam advised. “How about that drink?”

We heard the guest room door open and then close and for a long while we couldn’t hear anything else. Whatever Adam and Drew were saying, they were keeping their voices too low for eavesdropping--at least from Adam’s room.

Joe was all for sneaking down the hallway and standing outside the guestroom door, but while Hoss and I were trying to dissuade him, we heard the guest door open and then Drew’s voice again. His voice stopped all of us cold, because there was no mistaking the genuine anger and grief in it.

“He was my brother, Adam!” he said, his voice harsh and tight. “Take your arm off of me--I don’t want your comfort.”

“Drew--”

“You saw the body, Adam. He was riddled with bullets.”

Adam responded and Drew said something back, but we couldn’t hear them. Both men were speaking in whispers again. But I could tell that Drew was crying--or nearly crying--as he spoke.

At length the guest door slammed shut and we heard Adam making his way toward us. I found myself taking a deep breath. I wasn’t upset--not at the moment--at how things had gone between Adam and Drew. There’d be time for that later. It sounds crazy, but right now I was just jealous of Drew. He might be blind and he might have lost his brother, but at least he could cry and grieve and mourn.

But me, I still couldn’t grieve for Rosalind. I couldn't find the tears for her. I’d seen her pale and lifeless after losing all that blood--but some part of me still couldn’t acknowledge that she was dead.

LINK TO PART SIXTEEN: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-sixteen.html

A Reason to Go On?

Hamlet …Horatio, I am dead.
Thou livest: report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.

Horatio Never believe it.
I am more an antique Roman than a Dane:
Here’s yet some liquor left.

Hamlet As thou’rt a man
Give me the cup. Let go! By heaven I’ll ha’t!
O God, Horatio, what a wounded name,
Things standing thus unknown, shall I leave behind me!
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart
Absent thee from felicity awhile
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain
To tell my story.

Whenever I watch a film version of Hamlet, I always skip ahead to the end. The first thing I want to see, before I watch the whole of it, is how the film handles this scene.

Does Hamlet, already stabbed and poisoned, have to wrestle the venomous cup away from his friend? Or does Horatio hand it over upon Hamlet’s request? I don’t mind either way; I just want to see the interaction between the two men as Horatio makes it plain that he would sooner die than live without Hamlet.

Hamlet gives him a reason to go on. It’s not clear whether that reason is permanent—in theory, he could be saying, “My friend, if you love me stay alive long enough to tell my story; make sure the truth gets out. Then by all means join me in the oblivion of death.” But that’s a cynical take. I suspect Hamlet knows that Horatio will not finish telling and retelling the tale until he reaches the length of his days.

I find it interesting that Hamlet doesn't argue the Roman notion that death by suicide is acceptable and even respectable. He doesn't remind Horatio that suicide is against their faith.

Yet earlier in the play, when dealing with his own grief and misery, Hamlet had wished that “the Everlasting had not fixed His canon `gainst self slaughter.” Either Hamlet himself no longer takes his faith into account, or he knows that his friend is too Roman in thought and character to be swayed by an appeal to the God of Abraham.

In either case, the result is the same: Horatio will go on living. This may be a harsh world and Horatio may indeed draw his breath in pain—especially as he thinks on the loss of Hamlet. But his mission to tell Hamlet’s story, to set the record straight, will give his life purpose.

I’m of that same mind. This world is every bit as harsh as Hamlet says--but as long as there's a story to tell, life is still worth living.

For Want of a Brother, Part Fourteen

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: Mature Content

LINK TO PART ONE: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-one.html

~

As curious as I was about Drew, I couldn’t stomach the notion of sitting down at a dinner table with him--and I didn’t think he’d be able to stomach my presence either. So I took my meal up in Adam’s room.

There always had to be a lawman watching me--and preferably more than one. With that in mind, ‘Deputy’ Adam spent the first half of dinner up with me and then ‘Deputies’ Hoss and Little Joe spent the second half.

So Adam and I had the chance to talk alone for the first time since we’d gotten to the Ponderosa. And I had my chance to worm the story out of him--but, in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I told him about the conversation over the whist game instead. That drew a laugh from him as he cut my meat for me, in deference to the cuffs.

“Hoss and Joe have made far too much of that,” he said, shaking his head. “Drew and I, two of his servants, and a couple of strangers were all in a coach accident. It was serious one. One of the strangers--a fellow from Carson City, it turned out--died of his injuries. The only good thing is that we weren’t too far from one of the old way stations.”

He paused, thinking back on the accident. “There was no doctor, so we had to manage as best we could for the night. One of Drew’s servants rode off for help. The rest of us did what we could to get the injured parties comfortable. I came down with the devil of a fever, and Drew and his valet were the only two who were well enough to help me through it. But by early afternoon the next day, help arrived. I was still sick, so I don’t remember getting out of there, but Drew saw to it that I made it home.”

“And that’s all there is to the story?” I asked, smiling a little.

“That’s all there is,” he agreed, smiling back.

“Then why doesn’t he mind you helping him?” I asked.

Adam shrugged. “You were probably right--he probably feels that I owe him. He also knows that I respect his business acumen. And he knows that I won’t condescend to him. Blind or not, he’s a formidable opponent.”

I thought about that. “He must trust you more than he trusts most folks,” I ventured.

Adam just shrugged again.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “So even though you owe him, you're still willing to oppose him in business matters?

"Yes,” Adam answered. “I've had to--and, to his credit, Drew doesn’t think less of me for that."

"Why have you had to?" I asked.

"We both hold a large number of shares for the same mine," he explained, "and we clash over the operation of it.” He paused and sighed. “Unfortunately Drew is just like Jack in one respect--he won’t spend money merely to improve the safety of the miners. As far as he’s concerned, the men who work the mines know the risks they’re taking. No one’s forcing them to accept the job.”

I snorted at that and looked away. “Well, why should he?” I asked. “I reckon they’re not real to him, those miners. Any more than they were to his brother. Or any more than Rosalind was to his brother.”

I caught Adam nodding from the corner of my eye. “That’s about the size of it,” he agreed. “On the whole, though, I’d say that Drew’s a better man than his brother was. Or at least he has the potential to be.”

I turned back to him. “Adam, if Jack Clayton was anything to judge by, then Drew is a powerful man. He’ll pull every string he can to get me hanged--and I doubt he’ll have to pull all that many. I think a judge and jury will be predisposed to see me swing. Maybe you oughtn’t waste your time and money on the fancy lawyer. You should spend your efforts where you can do some good. Like fighting Drew over the welfare of the miners.”

Adam stared at me for almost a full minute after that. “Tell me something, Reuben,” he said at length. “Why are you so anxious to get your neck into a noose?”

I shrugged. “I’m not,” I said. “But my odds aren’t good, Adam. Besides, there’s an argument that says I deserve to hang for what I did. And I’m not afraid to,” I added defiantly. “Don’t think I’m a coward. I’m not afraid to pay the price for killing Jack Clayton.”

“Is it that you aren’t afraid to hang?” he asked. “Or is that you are afraid to face life in prison?”

I drew a sharp breath at that. But I managed to turn it into a bitter laugh. “You’re right,” I owned. “I told you already, Adam, that I’d rather hang than spend my life that way. I don’t want to face the lash and I don’t want to face--well, whatever I’d have to face from the other prisoners. If it were a matter of fifteen or twenty years, maybe I could stand it. But not life. What would be the point of going on? How could I make anything worthwhile of myself?”

He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Whatever happens,” he said, “I can make sure that you’re not put in a prison where you’ll be whipped within an inch of your life.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I reckon Cartwright influence can prevent that. But you can’t protect me from the other horrors a prison has to offer, Adam.”

He looked away from me this time. “That’s true,” he admitted. But then he forced himself to turn back to me. “Reuben, as long as you’re alive, I can work on your behalf. But I need to know that you’re going to have the courage to face prison.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll find the courage, Adam--if you really think it’s worth finding. But I still don’t see how you’re going to prevent me from hanging in the first place.”

“You’ll have to leave that to me,” he said.

But I wouldn’t let him get away with that. “Tell me, Adam, please. This is my life, after all. What do you have in mind?”

He considered that. “All right,” he said at last. “If Drew were to ask for leniency in your case, I think we could ensure that you don’t get the noose.”

I stared at him. “Didn’t you hear Drew earlier?” I asked. “He wants me dead. And I don’t even blame him. Why would he change his mind?”

Adam favored me with a wry smile. “Well, just knowing that you’d rather face the noose than life in prison will go along way with him, I suspect.”

I couldn’t help but smile back at that. “Well, yeah,” I agreed. “That might induce him toward leniency.”

“Just so,” Adam agreed. “But I have to know that you won’t give up once you’re behind bars, Reuben.”

I sighed and set my plate aside. “I don’t suppose I’ll try to hang myself, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“Good,” he said. “Now I’ll see if I can reason with Drew.”

I cringed, remembering the feel of Drew’s hand on my face--not to mention the fury of his expression. “Good luck on that,” I said.

LINK TO PART FIFTEEN: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-fifteen.html

For Want of a Brother, Part Thirteen

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: Mature Content

LINK TO PART ONE: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-one.html

~

I had ample time to study Drew Clayton that night. And one thing I noticed, consistently, is that he wouldn’t allow anyone but Adam to help him. I think it hurt his pride to accept help--he couldn’t stand to admit that his blindness made it necessary for him to rely on other human beings. Yet he could tolerate Adam’s assistance.

But despite Adam’s presence, he still wanted to be as independent as possible. And to that end, in the hours before dinner, Adam took him up to the guest room and helped him learn how to get from it to the great room, and then back upstairs again. They did this by counting the steps it took him to get from one place to another.

I heard snatches of their conversation as I sat down in the great room playing whist with Joe, Hoss and Sheriff Coffee:

“So it’s about eight steps from the doorway of your room until you can reach out and touch the railing,” Adam was saying.

“And another two to the top step of the stairs,” Drew added. “I’d like to try the hallway again, just using my cane.”

Joe, meanwhile, was shaking his head over their efforts. “It ain’t like he’s going to be here that long,” he commented. And then he laid down the worst card possible, causing Sheriff Coffee--his partner--to let out a string of curses.

“Joe, you know that Reuben is out of Spades! He’ll trump that.”

Joe cringed. “Sorry,” he said.

I bit back a smile, grateful that I had Hoss for a partner. Hoss has to take his time and think things through, but he invariably makes the right play.

“I can understand Drew wanting to be able to get around on his own,” Hoss put in. “If this new storm is as bad as the last one, we could be stuck indoors all day tomorrow.”

Joe shrugged. “I suppose,” he said, grudgingly. “But Hoss, why’d you bring him back here to begin with? What were you thinking?”

“Easy Joe,” Sheriff Coffee said. “Drew was in the jailhouse, waiting for news from the posse when Hoss arrived. I think he was annoyed to death that he couldn’t ride with the posse himself. Once he heard that Reuben was at the Ponderosa, willing to turn himself in, nothing was going to prevent him from driving out here.”

I felt a sharp pang of guilt. It wasn’t that I liked Drew--I’m pretty sure I despised him--but I could imagine how frustrating it must feel to be incapable of joining the posse that was hunting for your brother’s killer.

I let out a sigh, but I kept quiet as we played out the hand. Meanwhile, I could still hear Adam and Drew upstairs. I had to strain my ears, but I could hear them. They were in the guest room, but they must have left the door open, at least a little.

From what I could figure from their conversation, Adam was bringing Drew over to each and every piece of furniture and helping him count the steps between them all. Drew needed to understand the layout of the room so that he could get from the bed to a chair easily enough, or find the pitcher of water and the basin with his hands, or find the chamber pot.

One thing I found curious was that Adam seemed to know, without being told, just what sort of help Drew needed. What they were doing--counting steps and all--made sense, but I wouldn’t have known how to help a blind man without someone explaining it to me first. Adam must have done all this for Drew before.

I stared across the table at Hoss. “Why does Drew accept Adam’s help when he scorns everyone else’s?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “Has Adam helped him out before?”

Sheriff Coffee raised his head at that and stared at Hoss. He was just as curious as I was, I think. But Hoss and Joe exchanged glances, as if debating how much to say. Or, on second thought, maybe they were trying to figure out how much they actually knew.

“Yeah,” Hoss said at length. “Adam has helped him out before. When Jack Clayton built the new house--that monstrosity in the center of town--Adam stayed as a guest for almost a week, helping Drew get acquainted with it.”

I blinked at that. “Adam and Drew are that close?”

Hoss shook his head. “Not exactly. I’m not sure they even like each other. They’ve been rivals in business more than once.”

“But they’ve been allies in politics,” Joe put in. “They’re both fervent supporters of Northern aggression,” he added with a wry smile.

I grinned at him. By `Northern aggression,’ Joe meant Lincoln’s desire to preserve the Union. “I take it you support Southern independence?” I asked.

He grinned back. “I do,” he confirmed. “And where do you stand, Reuben Cobbs?”

But I shook my head, refusing to be drawn in. “I ain’t touching that,” I said. “Not just now. I’d rather know why Drew accepts help from Adam.”

Hoss set down his cards and furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure I can explain it. For one thing, they got a history together. Drew had to nurse Adam through a fever when they were both stuck at some old way station. Wonder how he managed that, being blind and all? 'Course, I think he had a servant with him. I wish I knew the whole story, but Adam’s never told it.”

I frowned as I considered that. “Maybe Drew don’t mind taking help from Adam because he feels that Adam owes him?” I ventured.

Hoss mulled that over. “I reckon that’s part of it,” he said. “But it ain’t everything.”

Joe set down his cards suddenly and leaned toward me, all eager-like. He even put his arm around my shoulders. I instinctively hid my own cards--Joe’s a good fellow, but I wouldn’t put it past him to cheat. One quick peek, they say, is worth hours of strategy.

“You could get the story out of older brother,” he said.

Sheriff Coffee bit back a grin at that, but Hoss brightened. “Yeah,” Hoss said, “I reckon you could. He won’t be expecting you to try and worm it out of him--you ain’t been plaguing him to death about it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Look, I’m as curious as you two are, but I ain’t about to ‘worm’ something out of Adam. I’d have to respect his privacy.”

But Joe dismissed my scruples with a snort. “Reuben,” he said, “a real brother wouldn’t think twice about invading Adam’s privacy.”

I narrowed my eyes at that. “I always tried to respect my sisters’ privacy!”

“And look where that got you,” Joe retorted. “If you’d have invaded Rosalind’s privacy, maybe you’d have known that she’d gotten herself tangled up with Jack Clayton before it was too late.”

The table fell dead silent at that. Hoss and Sheriff Coffee both picked up their cards and examined them as if they’d never seen them before. Joe kept his arm around my shoulder, but he was giving me a hard look.

For a moment I wanted to strangle him--or at least punch him in the gut. Fortunately, the cuffs made it hard to do either. I don’t think I would have anyway, though. For one thing, I don't think Joe meant it as a barbed comment. And for another, if I wanted to be honest with myself, I'd have to admit that he was right. I was Rosalind’s brother--her older and only brother. I ought to have found out what she was up to.

I shut my eyes. “I knew she was seeing someone,” I managed, dropping my voice to a whisper. “She had a glow to her, you know? But I figured that she had met some young fellow from town. I never dreamed that--well, my Pa and Ma and later my aunt raised her right. I thought she knew not to allow a man like Jack Clayton such liberties.”

Joe shrugged. “God only knows what he promised her,” he said. “And even if you had known, you might not have been able to stop her from seeing him. Not unless you locked her up somewhere, anyway, and that might not have worked either. But my point is that sometimes family members have to invade each other’s privacy.”

It was my turn to snort. “Even when it’s just to gratify our curiosity?”

Joe had the grace to blush at that, but he managed a smile too. “Yeah,” he said. “Even then.”

LINK TO PART FOURTEEN: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-fourteen.html

For Want of a Brother, Part Twelve

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: Mature Content

LINK TO PART ONE: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-one.html

~

Joe and I stared at the blind man outside while Adam shrugged himself into his coat and put on his hat. He ordered me to do whatever Sheriff Coffee said, without argument, and then he strode outside. Joe and I stayed by the window.

Ben Cartwright, Sheriff Coffee and Hoss were all talking together outside while Drew Clayton was standing a little apart. Mr. Cartwright paused to direct the driver of the Brougham toward the barn and then turned back to the others. I watched as all four of them turned to come inside.

I saw both Hoss and Mr. Cartwright offer Drew their arm, so as to help him in, but he refused them. He just used his cane and, I think, the sound of their voices to guide him toward the door.

All four of them stopped when Adam got out there and exchanged a few more words. Then Adam offered Drew his arm—and though Drew hesitated, this time he didn’t refuse.

I took a deep breath as they entered the house. Once they were all inside, Sheriff Coffee gave me a long, slow looking-over.

“Do you admit to shooting Jack Clayton?” he asked.

I swallowed hard and managed to nod.

“And you came back here with Adam in order to turn yourself in?” he continued.

I couldn’t seem to find my voice, so I just nodded again.

The sheriff nodded back. “Well, then, I’m placing you under arrest. We won’t get you back to Virginia City tonight—but that doesn’t change your situation.”

He paused and turned to Adam, who was still arm and arm with Drew. “You, Hoss and Joe can swear yourself in as deputies,” Coffee ordered. “That way we can make sure that Reuben is always under the watch of a lawman.”

“All right,” Adam said, speaking on behalf of all of them.

Sheriff Coffee turned back to me. “Come here, son,” he said, holding out a pair of handcuffs. “I’m going to have to put these on you.”

“Roy,” Mr. Cartwright said, “is that really necessary?”

“He turned himself in on his own,” Joe added. “We don’t need the cuffs.”

I glanced at Joe in surprise. I hadn’t expected him to take my part.

But Roy just shrugged and addressed himself to Mr. Cartwright. “Sorry, Ben,” he said. “I ain’t taking any chances.”

I walked over to him and let him cuff my hands in front of me. I couldn’t help staring at Drew Clayton as I did so. He was looking in my direction—but with unseeing eyes. There was this sort of cloudy look to those eyes and too much whiteness, but he didn’t wear any shaded spectacles to cover them.

They were hazel eyes, like Joe’s. But Drew Clayton was taller than Joe; in fact, I’d reckon he was an inch or two taller than me and Adam. He looked a lot like his older brother—I couldn’t help but notice that—and he had himself dandied up the same way.

The tailored look suited him, though. The only thing that marred his looks—apart from his cloudy eyes—was the fact that he had some crooked teeth, like me. But maybe that just kept him from being too pretty.

Drew must have felt me staring at him. “Do you have a voice, Reuben Cobbs?” he asked.

That’s when I realized how strange this must be for him—he knew his brother’s killer was near him, but he couldn’t see me and he hadn’t heard me speak yet.

“Yes—yes, sir,” I stammered. Damn—I don’t know why I added the ‘sir.’ But it didn’t matter. Drew seemed to take it as his due.

He kept staring at me—or at least staring in my general direction. “I heard what happened to your sister,” he said at length. “You have my sympathies.”

I nodded—but then I remembered that he couldn’t see me nod. “Thank you,” I managed. “I’m—I’m sorry for what I did to your brother. If I could take it back I would.”

He curled his lips at me. “Jack didn’t mean for your sister to die—her death was a tragic mistake. But you shot him down in cold blood.”

My blood wasn’t cold now—it was starting to boil as I remembered Clayton saying he'd be glad to pay for my sister's funeral. But I glanced at Adam before I spoke up. Good thing, `cause I could see him willing me to keep my temper in check.

“Your brother wasn’t naïve and sheltered, like Rosalind was,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “He knew what he was doing. I am sorry for shooting him. But don’t pretend that he didn’t know what might happen to Rosalind when he sent her to that butcher.”

Drew let go of Adam’s arm and took a step toward me. There was a cold fury on his face now. And there was no mistaking that look—he wanted my blood.

Adam placed a hand on his shoulder. “Drew,” he said. His tone was somehow warning and pleading at the same time.

Drew spoke over his shoulder to him. “Don’t worry, Adam,” he said softly. “I just want to know what my brother’s killer looks like.” Then he turned back to me. “Let me feel your face,” he ordered.

I stared at him for a long moment—I didn’t want Jack Clayton’s brother touching me. But it was the only way he had of seeing me, so I couldn’t rightly refuse him.

“All right,” I said at last. And then I took a step nearer to him.

He put one hand out and found my face. I stood stock still as he felt every inch of it, but at length he let his hand fall. Then he reached out for Adam, who took him by the arm again.

“You mean to keep this boy from hanging, Adam?” Drew asked.

“Yes,” he said. He spoke quietly, but Drew didn’t miss the determination in his voice.

“Well then,” Drew told him, keeping his voice equally soft, “it looks like we’re at odds again.”

LINK TO PART THIRTEEN: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-thirteen.html

For Want of a Brother, Part Eleven

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)

Rating: Mature Content

LINK TO PART ONE: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-one.html

~

Breakfast was an awkward affair. My shooting of Jack Clayton wasn’t exactly proper table conversation, but it was damned hard for anyone to think of anything else—not with me sitting there. But at length Adam began talking of a potential business deal out in San Francisco and the rest of the Cartwrights seized on that. They spoke about it with more animation, I reckon, than they would have at any other time.

There was another serious conversation after breakfast—and this time I was part of it. Adam had already told Mr. Cartwright and Hoss about Rosalind last night. And I had told Joe about her, so we all knew the story. We sat down in the great room and started discussing my legal options.

I can’t say for certain what Mr. Cartwright thought of me. I don’t think he would ever have offered to help me escape, as Adam had. And I wondered again if Adam had mentioned that offer to his Pa.

But one thing was clear: Mr. Cartwright was appalled by the way Jack Clayton had treated my sister. And, as the father of a hot-headed son, I think he was hoping that I wouldn’t hang for my crime.

I don’t think Hoss wanted me to hang either, but only Joe really understood what I had done. Somehow, I think, he could picture himself doing the same—or at least coming close—if it had been his sister.

The conversation was mostly about finding a lawyer for me. Joe had little to add to that, so he went out to see to the hands and to assign what work could be done, weather providing. Hoss kept wondering over to the window, checking on the sky. But Mr. Cartwright and Adam discussed every defense lawyer they had ever met.

When they reached a decision they could both agree on—some San Francisco big shot—I just went along with it. I didn’t know any lawyers myself, so I would just have to trust their judgment. And I would have to accept their charity, for I knew that I couldn’t afford the kind of defense mastermind they wanted for me. I had known that all along, but I hadn’t given it much thought before now.

When the conversation was finished, I walked over to Adam. He was standing behind his Pa’s desk, looking over a ledger.

“I’m not sure—I’m not sure your Pa will appreciate spending the Ponderosa’s money on the likes of me,” I whispered as I stepped up beside him.

“He's willing to spend it, considering the circumstances," he said. "You've impressed him somewhat by your decision to turn yourself in. And it doesn't matter anyway," Adam continued with a shake of his head. “It’ll be mostly my money.”

“I have some saved—”

But he stopped me from saying anything more. “I know,” he said as he placed an arm around my shoulders. “But you have to keep that aside for Celia, in case the worst comes to worst.”

I forced myself to crack a smile at that. “And how are you going to feel about all that money you wasted if they go and hang me anyway?”

He grinned back and tousled my hair. “You’re worth wasting the money on,” he assured me.

Just then Hoss announced that he was going to make a try for Virginia City, providing the roads were in decent enough condition. The sky looked ominous, he said, but nothing was happening yet. It might just clear up. And he could send a wire to the lawyer while he was there.

Adam agreed. He wanted Sheriff Coffee here as quickly as possible. The sooner I turned myself in, he figured, the better.

Joe came back in after Hoss left and stayed down in the great room with me, along with Mr. Cartwright and Adam. Once again, I suspected that Ben Cartwright wanted as many eyes on me as he could spare.

Adam decided to teach me how to play chess. I knew the basic moves of the pieces, but I didn’t know the strategy. So we sat down by the fire and talked about openings, middles, and end-games. I enjoyed that—it was a pity I’d never really learned the game before. With some practice I might be able to provide Adam with reasonable competition.

It began to snow again late in the afternoon, before Hoss got back. He’d had enough time to make it into Virginia City, but we weren’t sure if he would make it back today.

But we needn’t have worried. He got back right before sundown—not on his horse, but in a Brougham carriage. That ain’t the hardiest of carriages and it wasn't the one I would have chosen for rough weather. But it handles nice, given that the fore wheels are capable of sharp turns. And it takes only one horse to drive it, so I could understand the choice.

I saw it from the window, where I was standing behind Adam and Little Joe. Poor Hoss was sitting out in the box seat, shivering with the driver. I couldn’t see who was inside, but a Brougham will generally fit two in relative comfort.

Mr. Cartwright went outside to greet Hoss and whoever else was with him. Joe, Adam and I stayed inside, riveted to the window.

“Who do we know that drives a Brougham?” Joe asked his older brother.

Adam’s voice was tight as he answered. “Only one person I can think of,” he said.

I stared at the carriage as Sheriff Coffee climbed out of it, followed by a man I’d never seen before. He was a little older than me—I’d guess that he was in his mid-twenties. And he was a good looking fellow from what I could see of him. He walked with a cane, though. That wasn’t uncommon, but it seemed like an affectation in someone his age.

Adam swore under his breath. At that same moment, I realized that the cane wasn’t for show. The fellow was using it to ‘feel’ the ground in front of him.

I swallowed hard and turned my head toward Adam. “Who is that?” I demanded. But I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

He sighed. “That’s Drew,” he said. “That’s Jack Clayton’s little brother.”

LINK TO PART TWELVE: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-twelve.html

Pesky Classifications

I've always wondered why Julius Caesar isn't counted among Shakespeare's 'history plays.' I finally discovered the reason, thanks to an on-line discussion group: only Shakespeare's English history plays are reckoned as such.

Huh? Then why not categorize them specifically as Shakespeare's 'English history plays'?

And, of course, the plays aren't strict history. Look at Richard III: the real Richard might not have murdered his nephews. And look at Henry IV, Part One: the real Hotspur was the same age as Prince Hal's father--not a teenager with Hal. And Hal himself might not have had the wild youth that Shakespeare describes.

Oh well. Shakespeare wasn't after literal history--history was just a jumping off point for his dramatic genius.

That said, his histories are accurate enough to give you an idea of the events they describe. I was always baffled by the War of the Roses before I read Shakespeare--now I have a rough idea of the different players in the House of York and the House of Lancaster.

For the record, here's a list of the history plays: King John; Richard II; Henry IV, Part One; Henry IV, Part II; Henry V; Henry VI, Part One; Henry VI, Part Two; Henry VI, Part Three; Richard III; and Henry VIII.

No Julius Caesar...sigh. But I've promised myself not to get hung up on these pesky classifications. Besides, it seems silly to try to pin Shakespeare down. He'll always defy our efforts to categorize him.

A Grave Man

Leonard Whiting as Romeo & John McEnery as Mercutio (Zeffirelli's Romeo and Juliet, 1968)

I'm working my way through Romeo and Juliet with a seventh-grader that I'm tutoring. She's a delight--she throws herself into each part. And the story is fresh to her, so I feel as if I'm reading it for the first time too.

Oh, she knows that Romeo and Juliet both die--we learn that much from the opening lines--but Mercutio's death shocked her. ("Oh my God! He dies?!") I understood her reaction; his death shocked me too, even though I knew that it was coming.

Despite the opening lines of this play, Shakespeare lulls us into a false sense of security. Yeah, Romeo and Juliet are just a pair of kids who don't know the difference between love and lust. But they are cute together. And Mercutio-- with his vile, lewd puns and his constant mocking of love--seems to balance out Romeo's excessive passion.

So we feel that things can work out for the best. Who knows? Romeo and Juliet might make it as a couple, despite the fact that they fell too hard and too fast. And the Capulet and Montague feud? Well, that can sort itself out. Old Capulet seemed well enough disposed toward Romeo at the feast. Mercutio, meanwhile, will have a field day with his friend's romance. But Romeo will put up with the ribbing.

But Mercutio never learns about Romeo's marriage. He dies in that damned duel with Tybalt--a duel that might not have turned deadly if Romeo hadn't tried to stop it.

Mercutio shouldn't have died. I agree with the way the 1968 film choreographed the fight: Tybalt, who pretends to be so blood-thirsty, didn't mean to make it a killing matter between himself and Mercutio. And poor Romeo doesn't realize, at first, how badly his friend is injured. How could he, with Mercutio still making jests? "Ask for me tomorrow," Mercutio says, "and you will find me a grave man..."

The whole tone of the play changes when Mercutio dies. The light-hearted feel is gone. Now we know that things are going to spiral out of control. The rest of the play feels like watching a train wreck--you know it's going to be a bloody mess, but you can't take your eyes off of it.

For Want of a Brother, Part Ten

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: Mature Content

LINK TO PART ONE: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-one.html

~

Adam took a bath once I was done—he was almost as muddy and ragged as I had been—and then the household turned in for the night. I slept in Adam’s room. I’d never slept in a room that nice before, nor in a bed that plush. I promised myself to savor it, as I was unlikely to have such an experience again.

They had thought about giving me the guest room, but there was that issue of trust again. Mr. Cartwright, I think, wanted as many eyes on me as possible, lest I try to escape into the night. Can’t think why I would do that, especially with the roads nigh impassable, but he was taking no chances.

He didn’t tell me his thoughts, mind you. In truth, I scarcely spoke two words to him. But I reckon he thought I might have second thoughts about turning myself in. And considering what I had to face from the law, I can't say I blamed him.

So I was to stay with Adam—and Joe and Hoss would stay up in his room as well, taking turns keeping watch on me. But no one had a gun trained on me, I reminded myself. And no one cuffed me or put me on a tether, so I had no cause to complain.

And I didn’t mind sharing the room. After all, this wasn’t like one of those cramped hotel rooms where you have to fit two or three men to a bed with scarcely an inch between them. And there were no bed bugs or lice either.

I think Adam and I both fell asleep as soon as we hit the blankets—leastways I know I did. I hadn’t really slept since before the shooting. I suppose I should have had nightmares after what I did: nightmares about Clayton falling backward, all bullet holes and blood—or maybe nightmares about a noose around my neck. But I was just too exhausted to dream.

I woke up early the next morning, right at daybreak. Adam was still sleeping on the other side of the bed. Joe was dozing in a rocking chair with his feet up on a chest. And Hoss was sprawled in an old, worn, cushiony chair—giving the impression of a man who was somehow comfortable and alert at the same time. He nodded at me when he saw my eyes open, but he didn’t say anything.

I put my hands behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. I had some thinking to do.

Did I regret spurning Adam’s offer of freedom? To some extent, I suppose. But I thought about Adam again and how he would have had to live with his conscience after aiding and abetting my escape. He was my brother now and a man doesn’t do that to his brother. Besides, I was no coward, I told myself. I had decided to shoot a man to death—with good cause, I thought—and I wasn’t afraid to pay the price for it. Even if that price was a noose.

But if I had it all to do over, I wouldn’t have pulled that trigger. I would have found some other way to make Clayton pay for what he did to my sister. Some way that left him with his life and the chance to make amends.

For I had robbed him of that chance, hadn’t I? Not that it was possible for him to make amends—Rosalind was dead, after all, and he couldn’t undo that. But maybe, if he still had his life, he could have found some way to make his miserable existence worthwhile.

Not that I think he would have. Like as not, he’d have stayed just as selfish and cutthroat as he’d always been.

Of course, there wasn’t much I could do to make my own life worthwhile now. That was a fine piece of irony, wasn’t it?

But I could make sure that I didn’t let Adam down—that was one thing I could do. And, to that end, I promised myself that I would never regret my decision to face the law. Not even if I hanged. I would just make what arrangements I could to provide for Celia, and then I would face my fate like a man.

Adam began to stir just about then. I heard him yawn as he rolled over to face me. His eyes had a sort of glassy, just-woke-up look to them.

“How you doing, kid?” he murmured.

I managed a smile. “Well enough,” I said. “I ain’t never stayed in a room this nice before.”

He chuckled at that as he propped himself up on his elbow. Then he stifled another yawn. “Listen, Pa, Hoss and I talked about your situation last night,” he told me. “We decided that it’d be best if Hoss went to fetch Sheriff Coffee. We want him with us when we bring you to Virginia City—that way, if we run into the posse, no one will have an excuse to shoot you.”

“But I may not be able to get in today,” Hoss put in. “Depends on how the roads are—and there looks to be another storm coming.”

Joe must have woken up at the sound of the conversation, for the rocking chair creaked suddenly and he put in his two cents. “It don’t matter,” he said after a long yawn of his own. “If we can’t get anywhere, than neither can the posse.”

Adam nodded in agreement as he pushed himself up and out of bed. “We want you to keep to the house, though,” he said to me. “I’d just as soon not have the other hands realize you’re here.”

“Let’s talk about it over breakfast,” Hoss said. “I’ll bet Hop Sing’s getting ready to cook flapjacks and to perform some miracle with that salted pork we've saved up for the winter. I'd best go see what I can fetch for him.”

Joe and Adam just shrugged, but Hoss took that as an indication of approval for his plan. He eased himself out of the chair and then scurried out of the room. If a man his size can be said to scurry, that is.

Joe shook his head in his wake. “Nothing gets him moving like the thought of food.”

Adam was already getting dressed by now. “You can borrow some clothes from me,” he told me as he buttoned up his shirt. “We’re almost the same height—just help yourself.”

“Thank you,” I said as I climbed out of the bed and glanced at his wardrobe.

He nodded and left the room in search of his Pa, promising to return directly. I turned to look at Joe.

“Am I—am I supposed to eat breakfast with you all?” I asked.

“Of course,” he answered, raising his eyebrows at me. “Why wouldn’t you?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never been invited to dine with your family before.”

He grinned at that. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But you’re here—so I suppose we’ll just have to lower our standards.”

LINK TO PART ELEVEN: http://jrosemary.blogspot.com/2008/02/for-want-of-brother-part-eleven.html