by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Adam stood out in the barn, staring at the one lantern that was hanging nearby. In a few minutes he would pull himself together. He would go back inside and say everything that was proper. He’d thank people for coming. He’d check on Hoss and Little Joe. And he’d defend his Pa from the tactless fools that wanted to pester him with questions about the accident.
But he couldn’t face the house yet—not with Marie laid out.
"Pardon, lad, but you look like you could use this."
The words startled him out of his thoughts. Adam turned his head and found himself facing the crinkled Irish priest who had come to give Marie her last rites.
He was offering Adam a flask.
"Forgive the intrusion, but I noticed you when I stepped out for some air," he continued. "Take the whiskey, lad. You’ll feel the better for it."
Adam hesitated a moment, but then he accepted the flask. He drank deep and felt the whiskey burn his throat.
"Thanks," he said as he handed it back.
The priest shook his head. "No, my boy. You keep that. You’ll be needing it more than I will. Now shall I say how sorry I am for your loss, or are you tired of hearing it?"
Adam managed a smile. "I can stand to hear it again. It’ll be good practice for when I step back inside."
"Well in that case, I’m most deeply sorry. It seems she was a lovely woman."
Adam fell silent at that. "She had her moments," he said at last. "But I spent most of my time wishing that she wasn’t my stepmother."
"Did you now?" the priest asked. There was no shock or judgement in his voice, just a mild interest. Adam leaned up against the wall of the barn and watched as the man drew a snuffbox from his pocket.
"Care for a pinch?" he asked.
Adam shook his head. "No thank you."
The priest took a pinch himself and then put the box away. Then he followed Adam’s lead and leaned up against the wall.
"My boy, if there’s something weighing on you, I can hear your confession right now."
"I’m not Catholic, Father."
"Ah. Well, perhaps you’d just like a sympathetic ear. Why didn’t you want her for a stepmother?"
Adam hesitated, but the priest must’ve guessed his thoughts.
"If you’re going to confide in someone, lad, it might as well be me," he said. "After all, I’m just passing through here. You’ll never see me again—so what do you care what I think of you?
Adam grinned at that and took another gulp of the whiskey. "All right," he said.
He took his time, trying to find the right words. "There were times when I wanted to forget that she was my stepmother just so I could throttle her," he explained. "Marie knew that. She even teased me about it. But I never told her—"
Adam paused and felt himself blush. "Well, there was another reason that I wished she wasn’t my father’s wife. And I was all the more brutal to her because of it."
The priest gave him a wan smile. "Ah, so you weren’t immune to her charm. I’m not surprised. Me, I’ve only seen her laid out, but had I met her before—well, me bucko, I’d have regretted joining the priesthood."
He paused and pulled out the snuffbox again. "No, lad," he continued after taking another pinch, "don’t brood over that. Just keep a warm spot for her."
Adam considered that as he took another sip from the flask. "Father," he said at length, "I knew she meant to ride Mulciber. I could’ve stopped her. And I should have—even if it meant dragging her out of the barn."
"Well, there’s that problem of her being your stepmother again. T’aint exactly good form to go dragging your stepmother about."
Adam shook his head. "I could’ve told my Pa. He would have stopped her. But Marie and I never carried tales about each other…" he let his voice trail off.
He sighed and downed the last of the whiskey. "And the worst of it, Father, is what I said last night. I told her that I hoped Mulciber would toss her. I—I wanted her to learn a lesson."
He was looking down now, but he felt the priest place a hand on his shoulder.
"You didn’t mean for this to happen," the priest told him. "And you can be sure she knows that."
He paused and gave Adam a long look. "All right, me bucko," he said at length. "I can see that you're determined to beat yourself up. We need to get you away from here. Now, you’re not the son that plays the guitar, are you?"
Adam nodded. "I am."
"That’s grand. Go on and fetch it, will you? Let me just look to your family and then I’ve got just the thing to help with your guilt and your grief—it’s drink and song you need."
LINK TO PART FOUR
No comments:
Post a Comment