by J. Rosemary MossGenre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
When dinner was over Ben walked Roy to the door and bid him goodnight. Then he turned around to find Hoss handing Adam his guitar.
"I’ll get us drinks," Little Joe put in, "and we’ll have some toasts and some songs in honor of Father Ronan."
Adam smiled. "What song shall it be, me buckos?" he asked, aping an Irish brogue.
"Well, if it’s death songs," Hoss said, "I like that one you learned about Rosin the Beau."
Adam nodded. He gave his guitar a couple of tentative strums and then he began to sing:
Well, I’ve traveled this wide world all over
And now to another I go
But I know that good quarters are waiting
To welcome old Rosin the Beau!
To welcome old Rosin the Beau, me lads, to welcome old Rosin the Beau
I know that good quarters are waiting, to welcome old Rosin the beau.
And when I'm dead and laid out on the counter
Then a voice you may hear from below
Saying 'Send down a hogshead of whiskey
To drink with old Rosin the Beau!'
To drink with old Rosin the Beau, me lads...*
Ben smiled as Hoss and Little Joe joined in the boisterous chorus. He shook his head at the three of them, but he offered his own private toast up to the spirit of Father Ronan.
~
“I can’t believe you lost your virginity on the night of my mother’s wake,” Joe said, shaking his head at Adam.
Their father had long since retired, so only the three boys remained downstairs. They were gathered around the fireplace.
Adam sighed. “I’m trying to think of something to say that will make that sound better.”
“Come up with anything yet?” Hoss asked him.
Adam took another swig of whiskey and then passed the bottle on. “Only that she was a redhead,” he answered.
“A redhead?” Joe repeated, impressed. He took a mouthful from the bottle and then handed it to Hoss. “All right, that does make it better. Now what verse were we up to?”
“I don’t even remember what song we were on,” said Hoss.
“`Finnegan’s Wake,’” Joe answered in unison with Adam.
“Now let’s see,” Joe continued, frowning in an effort of memory. “We introduced Tim Finnegan and his tippler’s way, we saw him crack his skull, we laid him out for the wake in nice clean sheets, put whiskey and porter about his head and started the brawl. I think we must be on the last verse.”
“I believe you are correct,” Adam said with a respectful nod. He picked up his guitar and began to sing:
Now Mickey Malone raised up his head
When a gallon of whiskey flew at him
It missed and landed on the bed
And the whiskey scattered all over Tim!
Hoss and Joe both joined in for the final lines:
By God! He revives, see how he rises
Tim Finnegan is jumping from the bed
Crying as he ran around like blazes
'Thundering Jesus, did you think I’m dead!'*
Hoss slapped the table in time as they finished with a final chorus and then all three boys collapsed in laughter.
“So what was the name of the little lady?” Hoss asked when they recovered.
“Nancy,” Adam answered.
“Nancy,” Hoss repeated reverently.
“Let’s have a toast to her,” said Joe. “Wait, where’s our glasses? We can’t toast straight from the bottle.”
“They’re on the table over there,” Adam said as he set down his guitar.
Joe, who was now perched on the corner of the settee, glanced in the general direction of the dining room.
“That’s too far,” he decided. “Sorry Nancy, no toast. Hand over that bottle, Hoss.”
“Poor Nancy,” Hoss sighed as he dutifully passed the whiskey.
“Doesn’t matter,” Adam said as he settled into the settee and put his feet on the table. “It wasn’t Nancy that I held in my arms that night.”
Joe put the bottle down at that and raised his eyebrows. “What are you saying, older brother?”
Adam shrugged. “Only that your mother was the most charming minx I ever knew. And that’s one of the reasons I couldn’t stand her.”
Joe stared at him. “You’ve never told me that before.”
Adam shut his eyes. “I’ve never been drunk enough to admit it before—at least not to you.”
“Ah-ha!” Joe exclaimed, shaking his head. “Now I understand why you always got on better with Hoss than with me.”
“I could’ve explained that to you, little brother,” Hoss put in. “You see, when Adam looks at me, he don’t see Marie.”
Little Joe smiled at that. “I should’ve known you had a soft spot for her, Adam.”
“I did. But I still wanted to throttle her. In fact, I came damn close to spanking her once.”
Joe laughed. "That must have been the day she hurled Inger's picture at your head. But she wasn't trying to kill you. She knew you'd duck."
"Don't be too sure," Adam insisted. "We were both riled up. And she had surprisingly good aim."
"Is that what happened to that picture?" Hoss asked. "That had a heavy frame on it. Good thing you did duck, Adam. But you shouldn't have kept comparing her to my Ma. You knew that made her crazy."
Adam gave them a sour smile. "Why do you think I did it?" he asked. "But there's more to that story. Ask me about it when I'm sober." He paused and looked up. “Do you two realize that we’ve got to be awake by cockcrow?”
“Yup,” Hoss answered. “But I’m going to fall asleep right here in this chair. I don’t want to chance the stairs.”
Little Joe promptly surveyed the staircase. The whiskey made it look menacing.
“That’s smart thinking, Hoss,” he owned. He climbed down off his perch, sat next to Adam and likewise rested his feet on the table.
“Tell me something, Adam,” he said. “How long does it take to recover from someone like my mother?”
Adam shrugged again. “I don’t know,” he answered in a flat voice. “I never did.”
Joe rested his head on his older brother’s shoulder. “That’s not true,” he said.
“Yeah, Adam,” Hoss put in. “You ain't exactly been pining.”
Adam managed a smile. “No, I haven’t pined. But I’ll always measure every woman I meet against your Ma, Joe.”
Little Joe grinned. “That’s fine,” he said as he closed his eyes and stifled a yawn. “In fact, that’s the way it should be.”
* Traditional lyrics
LINK TO PART SIX
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