by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Adam sat on the bed, stroking Liam’s hair while the kid cried softly into a pillow. Adam wasn’t surprised at the tears. He had just given the kid a pretty firm tanning, after all. In fact, Liam had let him know, in no uncertain terms, that the tanning had been worse than getting shot.
Adam had smiled at that. Thank God the bullet had done so little damage to the boy. It might be another month before Liam could walk properly and a little longer before he was completely recovered, but that was a small price to pay for a gunshot in the leg.
He continued to stroke the boy’s hair. At length Liam's tears subsided and he turned his head toward Adam with the ghost of a smile.
“Sorry `bout the figurine, Adam,” he whispered.
Adam sighed. “You’d better save your apologies for Mr. Harris.”
Liam frowned. “What if he wants me hauled off to jail?”
“I won’t let that happen,” Adam promised.
Liam twisted toward Adam a little. Then he bent his elbow and propped up his head.
“I don’t like Mr. Harris,” he said. “And he don’t like me. Are you sure it’s such a good idea for me to go with you tomorrow?”
“Sorry, kid,” Adam said, giving him a look of sympathy. “I know you’re going to hate apologizing to Mr. Harris, but I’m not letting you off the hook.”
Liam made a face. “Please, Adam? It’ll go better if you just tell him how sorry I am.”
Adam stopped stroking Liam's hair and gave the kid what he hoped was a stern look that brooked no argument. It must have worked, for Liam let himself fall back down, face first, onto his pillow.
“Guess I’ll go with you tomorrow,” he mumbled.
“Yes, you will,” Adam agreed.
There was a long moment of silence. Adam thought that Liam had drifted off to sleep, but no such luck.
“Hey Adam?” the kid said drowsily. “Can I ask you something?”
“What’s that?” Adam returned.
“Do you think you’ll need a valet when you go back to your ranch?”
Well, there it was. The question of what to do with Liam was out in the open now. Adam couldn't avoid it any longer. But a little to his own surprise, he found himself answering without hesitation.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think I will. You’re going to have to learn to do some ironing, though.”
“Oh, that’ll be a snap,” Liam promised, coming more awake. “And I can draw your baths—I know a valet is supposed to do that. And you can let me shave you each morning.”
Adam smiled. “When you’re a bit older, maybe. How did you learn about a valet’s duties, Liam?”
“From my sister,” he said. “She used to be in service in a grand mansion for someone just like Mr. Harris. The fellow had a valet, a butler, a cook and two parlor maids. Katie was one of the maids.”
“Katie is your sister?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened to her? Is she still in service?”
“Nah,” Liam answered. “She got, um, in the family way—I think by her master. The fellow’s wife wasn’t so happy, so Katie got dismissed. Up till then, Katie’d been giving me and my brother enough money to live on, but she said she couldn’t afford it anymore. She said that my brother should be helping her.”
Liam paused and sighed. “That’s why my brother and me helped this older kid, Donovan, rob a house. Donovan’s the kid who took your gun from me.”
He paused again and sunk his head further into his pillow. “But it all went bad,” he explained. “The owner came home and he shot my brother—and then Donovan shot him. Me and Donovan had to get out of there fast—we couldn’t even take my brother’s body with us. But I grabbed the old Deringer that my brother had on him. That used to belong to our Mam. My Da wanted her to have something to carry in her reticule.”
Adam peered down at Liam. He had delivered that story in a chillingly matter-of-fact tone.
“Are either of your parent’s alive?” Adam asked.
“No,” Liam answered. “My Mam died in childbed, along with the baby, and my Da died in a saloon fight. That was all a few years ago.”
‘I see,” Adam said softly. “What about Katie? Do you know where she is?”
Liam nodded. “She found a new man. He was willing to care for her and her baby—but not for me. She gave me a little bit of money and told me I’d have to fend for myself or try an orphanage.”
Adam cringed at that. Well, it didn’t sound like he’d need Katie’s permission to take Liam back to the Ponderosa with him. He would track her down eventually, but that could wait.
“Adam, you’re not going to tell on me, are you?” Liam asked, looking up at him with soulful eyes. “That robbery was a long time ago—almost a whole year back. And I didn’t shoot anybody.”
“No, I’m not going to report you,” Adam promised. “Liam, were you born here or in Ireland?”
“Here,” he answered. “Katie and my brother were born in Liverpool, though. My folks went from Belfast, to Liverpool, to San Francisco.”
“What’s your last name?” Adam persisted.
Liam took his time about answering. “It’s O’Donnell,” he said at last. “I wasn’t going to tell you—I’ve been using Flynn since the robbery. Donovan told me it’d be safer not to use my real name for a while, since the law probably found out who my brother was. But I think Donovan just didn’t want to risk me telling on him to some lawman.”
“Liam O’Donnell, huh?” Adam said, smiling a little as he tousled the kid’s hair. “That’s about as Irish a name as I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s a fine name, isn’t it?” Liam asked.
“It is,” Adam agreed.
“Do you think it’ll be safe to use it in Virginia City?” Liam persisted.
Adam considered that. At length he decided to answer honestly. “You can probably use it. If the law bothered to look for anyone, I’m sure it was Donovan. But, ah, since they had one robber dead on the scene, they were most likely satisfied. But that doesn’t change the fact that your thieving days are over, my boy.”
Liam relaxed a little and put his head on Adam’s shoulder. “I know,” he said. “I won’t rob anymore—I promise.”
He paused and then started a new line of questions. “Is Virginia City like San Francisco?” he asked.
“No,” Adam admitted. “It’s much smaller.”
“Oh,” Liam said, not bothering to disguise his disappointment.
Adam smiled at that—he had already figured out that Liam was a city kid through and through. It was unlikely that he’d ever make a rancher out of the boy. But the Ponderosa wouldn’t do him any harm. It’d be just as well for the boy to learn something of the great outdoors while he was growing up.
Truth be told, though, Adam could sympathize with the Liam’s love for the hustle and bustle of city life.
“I’ll bring you back to visit San Francisco every now and then,” Adam told him. “And someday, when the war is over, I’ll take you on a trip to New York—that’s even bigger than San Francisco. Maybe you’ll want to go to college in Manhattan.”
Liam grinned. “Rich folks don’t send their valets to college, Adam. Besides, I don’t think I’d like school.”
“Hate to break this to you, but you’ll be going to school in Virginia City,” Adam warned him. “Not right away—I’ll have to catch you up on your learning first—but eventually.”
“Valets don’t need to go to school,” Liam insisted.
Adam smiled. “You won’t be my valet forever.”
The kid bolted up at that, panicked. Adam rolled his eyes as gently pushed him back down against the pillows.
“Calm down,” he told Liam. “I’m not going to kick you out of service. Someday you might grow tired of being my valet—that’s all I meant.”
“I won’t grow tired of it,” Liam said with a fierce determination in his voice. “I won’t leave your service unless you throw me out.”
“Well, I’m not going to throw you out, so don’t worry about it,” Adam told him.
The kid relaxed at that and seemed to drift off to sleep. Adam sat on the bed for a while, thinking back on the story about Liam's brother and the robbery. This Donovan that Liam had spoken of was still on the loose, but Adam didn't see any way of fixing that fact. Not without getting Liam tangled up in the law, and Adam wasn't about to risk that.
Adam sighed. At length he stood up and started getting ready to catch some sleep of his own.
LINK TO PART SEVENTEEN
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The Old Deringer, Part Fifteen
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Liam heard Adam get up from the desk and move to check on him. And when he walked over to the bed, he heard Adam pause by the night table and pick up the figurine.
Next thing Liam knew, Adam was gently shaking his shoulder.
“Liam, where did this come from?”
Liam didn’t bother rolling over to face him. “I found it at Mr. Harris’s office.”
“Then what’s it doing here?” Adam asked.
Liam shrugged. “I took it.”
There was a long moment of silence. “I don’t recall you asking Mr. Harris if you could have this.”
“I didn’t,” Liam informed him, rolling over at last and looking Adam in the eye.
Adam took a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest. “Haven’t we talked about stealing?” he asked, giving Liam a level look.
“I promised I’d never steal from you again,” Liam said. “I didn’t say nothing about Mr. Harris. He deserved to have it stolen.”
Adam narrowed his eyes at Liam. “You went through some trouble to make sure I’d see this,” he said at length. “I take it you think that I deserve a thief for a valet?”
Liam started to feel uncomfortable. “I like you Adam—I like you a lot. But you shouldn’t have let him say those things—you ought to have asked for a real apology. You don’t think—you don’t think that the Irish are just good for servants and factories and taking bullets, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” he said softly. “But remember that there’s no shame in being a servant, or working in a factory, or soldiering.”
“I ain’t ashamed to be your valet,” Liam said evenly. ”But are you afraid of us Irish because we’re papists and we have lots of children?” he persisted.
“No,” Adam answered.
“Do you think we’re all drunkards?”
Adam favored him with a wry smile at that. “No, not all of you.”
Liam smiled back a little, but then he sat up and folded his arms across his own chest, in imitation of Adam. “You don’t—you don’t want me to go off and fight Mr. Lincoln’s war, do you?”
“No,” Adam said at once, shaking his head. “I’ve no intention of losing a good valet to the Union army.”
“Then why—why didn’t you ask for a real apology?” Liam asked in a small voice.
Adam sighed and leaned forward. “Liam, one of the things you learn as you grow older is that you’ve got to choose your battles. I didn’t think demanding a more sincere apology from Mr. Harris was worthwhile. I might have been mistaken in that—but that doesn’t excuse your thievery.”
He paused and gave Liam a look that was both stern and measuring. “If you wanted to get my attention or make a point with me, my boy, this was not the way to go about it. Now I warned you not to make me regret being lenient earlier.”
Liam felt his face turn bright red as he stared down at his hands. “What are you going to do?” he asked.
“Blister your backside,” Adam answered evenly. “And first thing tomorrow, we’re going to return to Mr. Harris’s office so you can give him back that figurine.”
Liam gave him a hopeful look. “You’re not going to fire me?”
“No, I’m not,” Adam confirmed. “Didn’t I just tell you that I’ve no intention of losing my valet?”
Liam smiled a little. “Yeah,” he said. “Can I—can I sing you something? It’s a song my brother used to sing.”
Adam raised his eyebrows at him. “Stalling for time?”
“Yeah,” Liam owned. “But I’d want to sing it for you anyway.”
“Go ahead,” Adam invited.
Liam took a deep breath and began singing. He was a bit shy at first, but he could tell that Adam liked his clear, high voice and so he gained confidence as he went:
Well it’s by the hush, me boys, and be sure to hold your noise
And lend an ear to my sad narration
I was by hunger pressed and by poverty distressed
So I took a thought to leave the Irish nation
Well myself and a hundred more, to America sailed o’er
Our fortune to be made, we were thinking
But when we got to Yankee-land, they put a gun into our hands
Saying, “Paddy, you must go and fight for Lincoln!”
And here’s to you my boys, and now take my advice
And to America, don’t be coming.
There ain’t nothing here but war, where the murdering cannons roar
And I wish I was at home in dear old Dublin…*
He let his voice trail off after the last verse. Adam stared at him a moment and then got up and walked over to the large wardrobe in the room. Liam’s eyes lit up, for he pulled out a guitar case from inside.
“Can you play that?” he asked excitedly.
Adam nodded as he took out the guitar and sat back down on the edge of the bed. He strummed the instrument a few times, and then sang out:
But when we got to Yankee-land, they put a gun into our hands,
Saying, “Paddy, you must go and fight for Lincoln…”
Liam grinned. Adam even knew how to ape a light Irish brogue. He called out another verse as Adam refined his grasp of the tune:
Oh, there ain’t nothing here but war, where the murdering cannons roar…
Adam smiled and finished the last line with him:
And I wish I was at home in dear old Dublin...
Liam smiled shyly as he watched Adam set the guitar down. “That’s a good song, isn’t it?” he asked.
“It is,” Adam agreed.
Liam gave him a wide-eyed, pleading look. “Good enough to spare me the tanning?”
Adam grinned. “No,” he said. “Not that good. Let’s go this over with, Liam—and I don’t expect any more thieving on your part. Agreed?”
Liam sighed in the closest approximation he could manage to a condemned man facing the gallows. “Agreed,” he said.
* Traditional Lyrics
LINK TO PART SIXTEEN
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Liam heard Adam get up from the desk and move to check on him. And when he walked over to the bed, he heard Adam pause by the night table and pick up the figurine.
Next thing Liam knew, Adam was gently shaking his shoulder.
“Liam, where did this come from?”
Liam didn’t bother rolling over to face him. “I found it at Mr. Harris’s office.”
“Then what’s it doing here?” Adam asked.
Liam shrugged. “I took it.”
There was a long moment of silence. “I don’t recall you asking Mr. Harris if you could have this.”
“I didn’t,” Liam informed him, rolling over at last and looking Adam in the eye.
Adam took a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest. “Haven’t we talked about stealing?” he asked, giving Liam a level look.
“I promised I’d never steal from you again,” Liam said. “I didn’t say nothing about Mr. Harris. He deserved to have it stolen.”
Adam narrowed his eyes at Liam. “You went through some trouble to make sure I’d see this,” he said at length. “I take it you think that I deserve a thief for a valet?”
Liam started to feel uncomfortable. “I like you Adam—I like you a lot. But you shouldn’t have let him say those things—you ought to have asked for a real apology. You don’t think—you don’t think that the Irish are just good for servants and factories and taking bullets, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” he said softly. “But remember that there’s no shame in being a servant, or working in a factory, or soldiering.”
“I ain’t ashamed to be your valet,” Liam said evenly. ”But are you afraid of us Irish because we’re papists and we have lots of children?” he persisted.
“No,” Adam answered.
“Do you think we’re all drunkards?”
Adam favored him with a wry smile at that. “No, not all of you.”
Liam smiled back a little, but then he sat up and folded his arms across his own chest, in imitation of Adam. “You don’t—you don’t want me to go off and fight Mr. Lincoln’s war, do you?”
“No,” Adam said at once, shaking his head. “I’ve no intention of losing a good valet to the Union army.”
“Then why—why didn’t you ask for a real apology?” Liam asked in a small voice.
Adam sighed and leaned forward. “Liam, one of the things you learn as you grow older is that you’ve got to choose your battles. I didn’t think demanding a more sincere apology from Mr. Harris was worthwhile. I might have been mistaken in that—but that doesn’t excuse your thievery.”
He paused and gave Liam a look that was both stern and measuring. “If you wanted to get my attention or make a point with me, my boy, this was not the way to go about it. Now I warned you not to make me regret being lenient earlier.”
Liam felt his face turn bright red as he stared down at his hands. “What are you going to do?” he asked.
“Blister your backside,” Adam answered evenly. “And first thing tomorrow, we’re going to return to Mr. Harris’s office so you can give him back that figurine.”
Liam gave him a hopeful look. “You’re not going to fire me?”
“No, I’m not,” Adam confirmed. “Didn’t I just tell you that I’ve no intention of losing my valet?”
Liam smiled a little. “Yeah,” he said. “Can I—can I sing you something? It’s a song my brother used to sing.”
Adam raised his eyebrows at him. “Stalling for time?”
“Yeah,” Liam owned. “But I’d want to sing it for you anyway.”
“Go ahead,” Adam invited.
Liam took a deep breath and began singing. He was a bit shy at first, but he could tell that Adam liked his clear, high voice and so he gained confidence as he went:
Well it’s by the hush, me boys, and be sure to hold your noise
And lend an ear to my sad narration
I was by hunger pressed and by poverty distressed
So I took a thought to leave the Irish nation
Well myself and a hundred more, to America sailed o’er
Our fortune to be made, we were thinking
But when we got to Yankee-land, they put a gun into our hands
Saying, “Paddy, you must go and fight for Lincoln!”
And here’s to you my boys, and now take my advice
And to America, don’t be coming.
There ain’t nothing here but war, where the murdering cannons roar
And I wish I was at home in dear old Dublin…*
He let his voice trail off after the last verse. Adam stared at him a moment and then got up and walked over to the large wardrobe in the room. Liam’s eyes lit up, for he pulled out a guitar case from inside.
“Can you play that?” he asked excitedly.
Adam nodded as he took out the guitar and sat back down on the edge of the bed. He strummed the instrument a few times, and then sang out:
But when we got to Yankee-land, they put a gun into our hands,
Saying, “Paddy, you must go and fight for Lincoln…”
Liam grinned. Adam even knew how to ape a light Irish brogue. He called out another verse as Adam refined his grasp of the tune:
Oh, there ain’t nothing here but war, where the murdering cannons roar…
Adam smiled and finished the last line with him:
And I wish I was at home in dear old Dublin...
Liam smiled shyly as he watched Adam set the guitar down. “That’s a good song, isn’t it?” he asked.
“It is,” Adam agreed.
Liam gave him a wide-eyed, pleading look. “Good enough to spare me the tanning?”
Adam grinned. “No,” he said. “Not that good. Let’s go this over with, Liam—and I don’t expect any more thieving on your part. Agreed?”
Liam sighed in the closest approximation he could manage to a condemned man facing the gallows. “Agreed,” he said.
* Traditional Lyrics
LINK TO PART SIXTEEN
The New Hand, Part Sixty-Four
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
When the carriage came to a halt David helped Marty alight from it and escorted her into her flat. He would have left her in her maid’s capable hands, but Marty asked him to remain for a few minutes. So he took a seat in the cramped room that passed for a parlor and waited.
At length she emerged from her bedroom, dressed only in a thin chemise and a silk dressing gown. David narrowed his eyes at her as she took a seat beside him and placed one hand over his.
"Are you still determined not to make love to me?" she inquired sweetly.
David grinned. She was darling—he had to give her that much. He would have liked to tell her the truth, but he couldn’t possibly trust her with such information.
"I’m engaged, Marty," he said at last. "And I’ve no intention of betraying my fiancée by making love to another woman."
"Then why did you claim two waltzes with me tonight and take such good care of me when I fell ill?" she asked, looking directly up into his eyes. "Did Adam ask you to check up on me?"
"Yes," he owned. He paused long enough to take her chin in his hand and give her a mildly reproving look. "I want you to promise me something, Marty," he said softly. "Don’t marry Gregory Miller until you’ve talked this over with Adam."
"What does Adam have against Gregory?" she asked.
He took his time about answering, but he kept her chin in his hand. It was still possible that she was working with Miller, he reminded himself. He didn’t want her running to him and telling him that Adam was suspicious of him.
"I don’t know that Adam has anything against him," David said evenly. "But I do know that if you marry Gregory Miller, you’ll be giving him almost complete power over you. You strike me as a girl who enjoys her freedom, Marty. Are you ready to give that up?"
She sighed. "What do you want me to do, David? Even an artist has to be careful about breaking society’s rules. I don’t want to bear a child out of wedlock."
"I understand that," he answered, releasing her chin. "But Gregory Miller is an ambitious and driven man. He’s proud, too. I doubt that he would sit idly by while you cuckold him with every attractive man you meet. And he doesn’t have a reputation for gentleness, Marty. If you marry him, he’d have the right to beat you—and no court would stop him."
That arrow went straight home. David watched Marty go pale as she considered the implications of his words. She even stood up and began pacing the room.
"I lied to you," she said at last. "Gregory and I are already married—not just engaged. We had a secret wedding a little over a month ago. It was right before Stephen left for Europe. Gregory was afraid to tell Niles—he didn’t think Niles would approve."
David sighed as he shut his eyes for a moment. "Does Gregory know that you’ve been cuckolding him?" he asked at length.
She shook her head. "No—he just thinks I’m a notorious flirt. He knew that he wasn’t my first, but he doesn’t know that there have been others since we married."
"I’m surprised that he hasn’t figured that much out," David said grimly.
Marty shrugged. "Well, we’ve hardly seen each other since the wedding."
David grinned at that despite himself. "And you’re not the sort of girl to be kept waiting at home," he commented. Then he stood up and bowed. "I’m going to take my leave of you. Adam and I will be back tomorrow—we’ll figure out what to do from here."
She grabbed hold of his arm. "There is more to this story, isn’t there?" she asked. "You do have another reason to mistrust Gregory."
David leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "Isn’t his short temper enough of a reason to distrust him?"
"I suppose—but I expect that Adam will have more to tell me tomorrow."
"Perhaps," David agreed. Then he bowed once more and made his way out of the apartment.
LINK TO PART SIXTY-FIVE
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
When the carriage came to a halt David helped Marty alight from it and escorted her into her flat. He would have left her in her maid’s capable hands, but Marty asked him to remain for a few minutes. So he took a seat in the cramped room that passed for a parlor and waited.
At length she emerged from her bedroom, dressed only in a thin chemise and a silk dressing gown. David narrowed his eyes at her as she took a seat beside him and placed one hand over his.
"Are you still determined not to make love to me?" she inquired sweetly.
David grinned. She was darling—he had to give her that much. He would have liked to tell her the truth, but he couldn’t possibly trust her with such information.
"I’m engaged, Marty," he said at last. "And I’ve no intention of betraying my fiancée by making love to another woman."
"Then why did you claim two waltzes with me tonight and take such good care of me when I fell ill?" she asked, looking directly up into his eyes. "Did Adam ask you to check up on me?"
"Yes," he owned. He paused long enough to take her chin in his hand and give her a mildly reproving look. "I want you to promise me something, Marty," he said softly. "Don’t marry Gregory Miller until you’ve talked this over with Adam."
"What does Adam have against Gregory?" she asked.
He took his time about answering, but he kept her chin in his hand. It was still possible that she was working with Miller, he reminded himself. He didn’t want her running to him and telling him that Adam was suspicious of him.
"I don’t know that Adam has anything against him," David said evenly. "But I do know that if you marry Gregory Miller, you’ll be giving him almost complete power over you. You strike me as a girl who enjoys her freedom, Marty. Are you ready to give that up?"
She sighed. "What do you want me to do, David? Even an artist has to be careful about breaking society’s rules. I don’t want to bear a child out of wedlock."
"I understand that," he answered, releasing her chin. "But Gregory Miller is an ambitious and driven man. He’s proud, too. I doubt that he would sit idly by while you cuckold him with every attractive man you meet. And he doesn’t have a reputation for gentleness, Marty. If you marry him, he’d have the right to beat you—and no court would stop him."
That arrow went straight home. David watched Marty go pale as she considered the implications of his words. She even stood up and began pacing the room.
"I lied to you," she said at last. "Gregory and I are already married—not just engaged. We had a secret wedding a little over a month ago. It was right before Stephen left for Europe. Gregory was afraid to tell Niles—he didn’t think Niles would approve."
David sighed as he shut his eyes for a moment. "Does Gregory know that you’ve been cuckolding him?" he asked at length.
She shook her head. "No—he just thinks I’m a notorious flirt. He knew that he wasn’t my first, but he doesn’t know that there have been others since we married."
"I’m surprised that he hasn’t figured that much out," David said grimly.
Marty shrugged. "Well, we’ve hardly seen each other since the wedding."
David grinned at that despite himself. "And you’re not the sort of girl to be kept waiting at home," he commented. Then he stood up and bowed. "I’m going to take my leave of you. Adam and I will be back tomorrow—we’ll figure out what to do from here."
She grabbed hold of his arm. "There is more to this story, isn’t there?" she asked. "You do have another reason to mistrust Gregory."
David leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "Isn’t his short temper enough of a reason to distrust him?"
"I suppose—but I expect that Adam will have more to tell me tomorrow."
"Perhaps," David agreed. Then he bowed once more and made his way out of the apartment.
LINK TO PART SIXTY-FIVE
Picture of the Day
Ok, I've missed so many pictures-of-the-day that I'm going to quit trying to catch up! We'll have a two for one special today, however.
Judging by the feedback I've received, both public and private, we have two contenders for the role of Drew Clayton in The Eyes of the Wind, The Monstrosity and For Want of a Brother. The contenders are:
Judging by the feedback I've received, both public and private, we have two contenders for the role of Drew Clayton in The Eyes of the Wind, The Monstrosity and For Want of a Brother. The contenders are:
Gregory Peck
and
Christian BaleOk, I'm all for Christian Bale--he's been the inspiration for a number of my characters. But Gregory Peck, despite a certain gravitas, is a pretty good call...
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The Monstrosity, Part Six
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R
LINK TO PART ONE
~
I won the second game of chess. Drew was not a magnanimous loser—he made it clear that it was a bit of carelessness on his part that had allowed my victory. It was not, in his opinion, any skill of mine.
I bit back a smile at that. Drew had a good deal to learn about social graces. That was puzzling, because Jack Clayton could be suave enough when he chose, even if he couldn’t quite hide his air of self-importance. But he hadn’t taught Drew anything but the most basic civilities.
I suppose I couldn’t fault Jack, knowing how difficult their early lives had been. The fact that Jack had stuck by Drew, no matter the cost to his own comfort, spoke volumes for the man. But I wondered if Jack had been too easy on Drew when it came to discipline. I could imagine just how trying Drew was as a child, yet I doubt that Jack had ever spoken a harsh word to his baby brother.
I was still mulling that over as I dressed for dinner. How would I have handled a brother with as many difficulties as Drew? It wasn’t only that he was blind. He had also been so wary of people as a child that he had refused to speak to anyone but Jack. And considering his history, I couldn’t blame him for that.
I gave myself a wry smile in mirror as I adjusted my cravat. I’d been sorely tempted to take Drew in hand any number of times since we’d met—his adulthood not withstanding. And if I’d had the raising of him, I’d have given him all the affection and warmth that Jack had, but I wouldn’t have put up with his tantrums or ill manners. I’d have been every bit as strict with him as my father had been with me (and as I'd been with my own brothers, especially Joe.)
My God, that was arrogant of me. I shut my eyes. Who in hell was I to judge Jack Clayton for the way he had raised his little brother? Why did I assume that I could have done better?
This smug, cock-sure arrogance is what Kane saw in me, I reminded myself. It’s the reason he set out to destroy me.
I opened my eyes again and stared at the mirror. It was an ugly piece that was far too ornately framed. But that's not what caught my attention. It was my own reflection--I couldn’t stand the sight of it. Before I could stop myself, I slammed my fist into the glass, shattering it instantly and slicing my hand open in the process.
It took me a moment to realize what I had done. It was so unlike me that I stood there gaping. Only the sound of Drew’s voice broke me out of the spell.
“Adam?”
I turned to find him standing in my doorway. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him; his room was just across the hall. But I was so shocked by my actions that I hadn’t even heard him open the door.
“Everything’s all right, Drew,” I managed.
“What happened?” he demanded.
I shrugged. “I, uh, broke the mirror. That was carelessness on my part—I’m sorry.”
I’m not sure what I would have said if he had asked me to explain how I had broken the mirror. And I could tell by the look on his face that the question was on the tip of his tongue. But for some reason he swallowed it.
“Are you hurt?” he asked instead.
“I cut my hand on the glass, but it’s not serious.”
“Ring the bell for a servant,” he ordered. “We’ll get the glass cleaned up and your hand bandaged.”
I obeyed him. Soon a housemaid and footman were sweeping away the glass while Brian helped me wash the blood off my hand. Then he applied bandages to it.
I knew Brian well enough; he’d experienced the coach wreck with Drew and me. He was a sharp young man with an Irish lilt to his voice and an easy going temperament—a necessity, no doubt, for anyone who worked closely with Drew. Even Drew admits that he’s a prickly, difficult master.
But Brian was devoted to Drew, ill temper or not. And Drew, in his own way, was fond of Brian. I knew for a fact that he paid the valet—and his wife, who worked in the kitchen—quite handsomely.
Fortunately neither Brian nor the other servants asked how the mirror had come to break. I’m sure they knew that it hadn’t shattered on its own, but they were well trained enough to keep their questions to themselves.
At length the servants left. Drew remained standing by the door, however. I sank down into a chair and told him to sit down.
He hesitated, but then he stepped inside and began feeling along the wall as he walked, searching for a chair. I could have kicked myself at that—I don’t know why I had expected him to know the layout of one of the spare bedrooms.
I stood up, walked over to him and took his arm. “Here,” I said.
He didn’t refuse my arm—but he didn’t let me lead him to a chair straight away either. Instead, he put his hand out. “May I?” he asked.
I knew what he was asking. He wanted to explore my face with his hand. This wouldn’t be the first time—although I knew that Drew rarely made this request of anyone.
“Of course,” I said, releasing my hold on his arm. I didn’t mind him taking that liberty. In fact, I wanted him to feel as comfortable with me as he felt with his brother or his valet.
Still, it was an odd experience. Each time I felt his fingers trace my chin, my lips, my cheeks and my forehead I had to force myself not to redden in embarrassment. I wondered if he knew that. And I wondered if he was just as embarrassed himself.
At length he let his hand drop. “You’ve changed,” he commented.
“How so?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You’re harder somehow—and more on edge. I noticed that in your voice when I came to see you at the Ponderosa—when I asked you to visit me here, I mean. And now I can feel it in your face as well.”
I smiled a little. “Are you disappointed in that change?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m just commenting on it, Adam. I’m not judging it one way or the other.”
A lengthy silence fell between us at that. I was the one to break it.
“Would you care to sit down?” I asked.
“Let’s make our way to the sitting room instead,” he told me. “Jack will be home soon—I know he’ll want to give you the ‘grand tour’ before dinner.”
I grinned at his words. He was likening a tour of the Monstrosity to the traditional ‘grand tour’ of Europe. I wondered suddenly if Jack Clayton appreciated his little brother’s barbed wit. Probably not, I decided. Firstly, Drew rarely directed it at his brother. Secondly, it was just the sort of thing that would sail over Jack’s head.
“To the sitting room,” I agreed, taking up Drew’s arm again.
LINK TO PART SEVEN
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R
LINK TO PART ONE
~
I won the second game of chess. Drew was not a magnanimous loser—he made it clear that it was a bit of carelessness on his part that had allowed my victory. It was not, in his opinion, any skill of mine.
I bit back a smile at that. Drew had a good deal to learn about social graces. That was puzzling, because Jack Clayton could be suave enough when he chose, even if he couldn’t quite hide his air of self-importance. But he hadn’t taught Drew anything but the most basic civilities.
I suppose I couldn’t fault Jack, knowing how difficult their early lives had been. The fact that Jack had stuck by Drew, no matter the cost to his own comfort, spoke volumes for the man. But I wondered if Jack had been too easy on Drew when it came to discipline. I could imagine just how trying Drew was as a child, yet I doubt that Jack had ever spoken a harsh word to his baby brother.
I was still mulling that over as I dressed for dinner. How would I have handled a brother with as many difficulties as Drew? It wasn’t only that he was blind. He had also been so wary of people as a child that he had refused to speak to anyone but Jack. And considering his history, I couldn’t blame him for that.
I gave myself a wry smile in mirror as I adjusted my cravat. I’d been sorely tempted to take Drew in hand any number of times since we’d met—his adulthood not withstanding. And if I’d had the raising of him, I’d have given him all the affection and warmth that Jack had, but I wouldn’t have put up with his tantrums or ill manners. I’d have been every bit as strict with him as my father had been with me (and as I'd been with my own brothers, especially Joe.)
My God, that was arrogant of me. I shut my eyes. Who in hell was I to judge Jack Clayton for the way he had raised his little brother? Why did I assume that I could have done better?
This smug, cock-sure arrogance is what Kane saw in me, I reminded myself. It’s the reason he set out to destroy me.
I opened my eyes again and stared at the mirror. It was an ugly piece that was far too ornately framed. But that's not what caught my attention. It was my own reflection--I couldn’t stand the sight of it. Before I could stop myself, I slammed my fist into the glass, shattering it instantly and slicing my hand open in the process.
It took me a moment to realize what I had done. It was so unlike me that I stood there gaping. Only the sound of Drew’s voice broke me out of the spell.
“Adam?”
I turned to find him standing in my doorway. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him; his room was just across the hall. But I was so shocked by my actions that I hadn’t even heard him open the door.
“Everything’s all right, Drew,” I managed.
“What happened?” he demanded.
I shrugged. “I, uh, broke the mirror. That was carelessness on my part—I’m sorry.”
I’m not sure what I would have said if he had asked me to explain how I had broken the mirror. And I could tell by the look on his face that the question was on the tip of his tongue. But for some reason he swallowed it.
“Are you hurt?” he asked instead.
“I cut my hand on the glass, but it’s not serious.”
“Ring the bell for a servant,” he ordered. “We’ll get the glass cleaned up and your hand bandaged.”
I obeyed him. Soon a housemaid and footman were sweeping away the glass while Brian helped me wash the blood off my hand. Then he applied bandages to it.
I knew Brian well enough; he’d experienced the coach wreck with Drew and me. He was a sharp young man with an Irish lilt to his voice and an easy going temperament—a necessity, no doubt, for anyone who worked closely with Drew. Even Drew admits that he’s a prickly, difficult master.
But Brian was devoted to Drew, ill temper or not. And Drew, in his own way, was fond of Brian. I knew for a fact that he paid the valet—and his wife, who worked in the kitchen—quite handsomely.
Fortunately neither Brian nor the other servants asked how the mirror had come to break. I’m sure they knew that it hadn’t shattered on its own, but they were well trained enough to keep their questions to themselves.
At length the servants left. Drew remained standing by the door, however. I sank down into a chair and told him to sit down.
He hesitated, but then he stepped inside and began feeling along the wall as he walked, searching for a chair. I could have kicked myself at that—I don’t know why I had expected him to know the layout of one of the spare bedrooms.
I stood up, walked over to him and took his arm. “Here,” I said.
He didn’t refuse my arm—but he didn’t let me lead him to a chair straight away either. Instead, he put his hand out. “May I?” he asked.
I knew what he was asking. He wanted to explore my face with his hand. This wouldn’t be the first time—although I knew that Drew rarely made this request of anyone.
“Of course,” I said, releasing my hold on his arm. I didn’t mind him taking that liberty. In fact, I wanted him to feel as comfortable with me as he felt with his brother or his valet.
Still, it was an odd experience. Each time I felt his fingers trace my chin, my lips, my cheeks and my forehead I had to force myself not to redden in embarrassment. I wondered if he knew that. And I wondered if he was just as embarrassed himself.
At length he let his hand drop. “You’ve changed,” he commented.
“How so?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You’re harder somehow—and more on edge. I noticed that in your voice when I came to see you at the Ponderosa—when I asked you to visit me here, I mean. And now I can feel it in your face as well.”
I smiled a little. “Are you disappointed in that change?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m just commenting on it, Adam. I’m not judging it one way or the other.”
A lengthy silence fell between us at that. I was the one to break it.
“Would you care to sit down?” I asked.
“Let’s make our way to the sitting room instead,” he told me. “Jack will be home soon—I know he’ll want to give you the ‘grand tour’ before dinner.”
I grinned at his words. He was likening a tour of the Monstrosity to the traditional ‘grand tour’ of Europe. I wondered suddenly if Jack Clayton appreciated his little brother’s barbed wit. Probably not, I decided. Firstly, Drew rarely directed it at his brother. Secondly, it was just the sort of thing that would sail over Jack’s head.
“To the sitting room,” I agreed, taking up Drew’s arm again.
LINK TO PART SEVEN
Sunday, April 27, 2008
The Serpent's Slave, Part One
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Forgotten Realms)
Rating: PG
Summary: A young man leaves his home and his broken heart behind, determined to forge his own path. This story is set in the Forgotten Realms, a Dungeons and Dragons world. I wrote it as the background story for a character that I never really got the chance to play...
~
Aviram stalked through the crowded streets of Hlondeth, heedless of his surroundings. The serpentine statues, the green marble that glinted everywhere and the constant smell of salt air were so familiar that he scarcely noticed them.
He did not pause until he reached his destination--an aging marble mansion in a quiet section of the city. It was not as showy as the noveau-riche monstrosities that dominated the more fashionable districts. No, this house had the restrained dignity that only old money could muster.
The house also lacked the endless snake carvings of the newer mansions. The family who lived here had no need to prove their yuan-ti heritage. They were too secure in their bloodlines to bother carving serpents everywhere.
The guards at the gate recognized Aviram and admitted him without question. Then the kobold slave who served as a butler greeted him at the door.
“Shall I announce you to her Ladyship?” the small, lizard-like creature asked in Draconic.
Aviram shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ve come to see Tirtza. I’ll announce myself.”
The kobold nodded and stepped out of his way. Aviram headed toward the sound of a harp that was wafting from a withdrawing room. He flung the doors open and stepped inside.
Tirtza was standing at her instrument, her fingers caressing the strings. Her dark hair was tied back in a severe braid, but that only complimented her slanted, serpentine features. Avi stopped abruptly, captivated. He couldn’t help himself—in his eyes the yuan-ti were endlessly alluring.
Tirtza was a pureblood. She could pass for human if she chose. But in Hlondeth there was no need for such a masquerade. The yuan-ti were rulers here—not a despised and distrusted enemy.
Aviram had a slight serpentine cast to his own features. His grandmother's blood had given him the yuan-ti-like slant to his amber eyes and the dark hair that matched Tirtza's. But his grandmother's blood wasn't enough. Too much human blood ran through his veins.
He sighed and shook himself. Then he pulled a package of letters out of his haversack. “This must stop, Tirtza,” he said. His voice was gentler than he had intended—somehow it was impossible to remain angry with her.
She glanced at the letters and then turned her attention back to the harp. “If you had any courage, Avi, you would ask my mother for my hand,” she said as she began another melody.
Aviram rolled his eyes. “You know better than that. Your mother will never let you marry a mere human.”
Her eyes flashed at him. “You’re not a mere human—you have our blood in you.”
“Too little to satisfy your mother,” he said, shaking his head.
She opened her mouth to object, but her mother’s voice stopped her. “Aviram is quite correct,” the grand dame said, her voice carrying easily from the doors that Avi had left open.
Tirtza paled and let her hands drop from the harp. Avi sighed and turned to face her ladyship.
She was small of stature for a pureblooded yuan-ti, but that in no way lessoned her air of authority. She held out her hand to Avi. He accepted it dutifully and raised it to his lips.
“Your ladyship,” he muttered, bowing slightly.
“Leave us, Tirtza,” her ladyship ordered.
Her daughter spared one last look of longing for Avi and then left without a word. Avi watched her go, her muslin skirts trailing behind her.
Her ladyship, meanwhile, seated herself and motioned for Avi to do likewise. He sat himself opposite her on an uncomfortable marble bench. Her ladyship had quite austere tastes and didn't approve of plump cushions cluttering her home.
She didn't approve of rugs either, Avi thought as he stared at the floor. Not that he blamed her--both the walls and the floors of the house sported intricate, tiled mosaics. No point in covering them.
“Are those letters from my daughter?” her ladyship inquired.
He looked up at her and nodded. “Do you wish to see them?”
She shook her head. “Certainly not—I’m sure one is more pathetically lovesick than the next. Throw them into the fireplace before you leave.”
Avi nodded again. “Tirtza means the world to me,” he said. “But I assure you that I haven’t encouraged her or compromised her—”
Her ladyship held up a hand to stop him. “I’ve always trusted you with her, Aviram. I know you have more sense than to take advantage of the little fool.” She paused, giving him a measuring look. “She wouldn’t do for you, you know, even if you were a yuan-ti. You two wouldn’t suit in the long run.”
Aviram sighed. “You may be right,” he owned. “But I think—I think it will be best if I leave the city for a time. Tirtza will forget me soon enough and I—well, I’ve no mind to watch her marry whatever pureblood or half-blood you’ve picked out for her.”
He didn’t bother disguising the bitterness in his voice. It would have been pointless—her ladyship knew him too well.
She took his proposal with surprisingly good grace, however. “When do you intend to return?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Should I bother? In the end, I’m only a capable slave as far as you’re concerned.”
“Let us say a capable servant instead,” she corrected. “It’s a pity you were born a human—I’ll not deny that. And to think that your grandmother was a pureblood! But that’s the danger of the yuan-ti living so closely and comfortably with your kind.”
Aviram grinned. “Better to keep us in our place?”
“Just so,” her ladyship retorted, grinning back. But then her eye caught the gleam of silver around his neck. “What is that?” she demanded.
He fingered the medallion. “It’s Azuth—the human god of arcane spell casters.”
Her ladyship let out a string of uncouth swears. “Why are you bothering with some false human god? You know better than that—Sseth is the only true deity.”
He shrugged again. “I’m a human myself,” he reminded her. “I thought it appropriate.”
She sighed. “Come, Avi; you’ve always accepted your place here. Why is it so insupportable now? Why the sudden urge to embrace your human heritage?”
He took his time responding. “I don’t know,” he said at length. “Perhaps it’s because of Tirtza—or perhaps I’m just chafing under the bridle.”
Her ladyship leaned back in her chair, considering that. Avi stared at her for a moment--she was still a beautiful woman, despite her age. Tirtza was not as petite as her mother, but otherwise she would look just like her when she was older.
"Well, I’ve no mind to see you take the bit between your teeth,” her ladyship said at last. “You’re too valuable a servant for that. Go with my blessing.”
He managed a wry smile. “Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t bother thanking me,” she told him. “I’m only letting you go because that fool daughter of mine is so heartsick for you—and because I know you’ll return in due course.”
“Probably,” he said, grinning again despite himself. “I love Hlondeth too much to stay away for long. And, Sseth help me, I love your damned race—even knowing that you're determined to make slaves of the rest of us.”
“Servants, Avi,” she corrected again. “The term ‘slaves’ is too harsh. And for the love of Sseth, don’t marry the first girl you run into on your travels. I can’t let you have Tirtza, but I still intend to make a good match for you. I’ll find some human girl here with our blood as well—someone with a tidy fortune.”
Avi raised his eyebrows at that. “And what have I to offer a girl with a tidy fortune?”
“Your close connection to my house, of course,” her ladyship answered.
He laughed. “There is that, I suppose. Very well—I’ll leave the matter in your capable hands. But give me time. I don’t intend to return before a year, at least.”
Her ladyship nodded and stood up. Aviram correctly interpreted that to mean that his audience was over.
He stood up as well and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll not take my leave of Tirtza,” he said. “I couldn’t stand that. You’ll say everything that’s appropriate, won’t you?”
“Of course,” she said, fiddling with a pouch attached to her belt. “Here, take this platinum—”
But he shook his head. “No,” he said, raising her hand to his lips again. “For the next year, at least, I’ll rely on myself.”
“And when you return?” she asked.
He smiled grimly. “When I return I’ll be your devoted slave—er, servant—once more. And then you may shower me with all the platinum you please.”
She laughed. “Well, I’ll shower you with a wealthy bride, at least.” She paused, and there was an uncharacteristic affection in her voice when she spoke again. “Do try to stay safe, Aviram,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “You know how tedious it is to replace a good servant.”
Genre: Fan Fiction (Forgotten Realms)
Rating: PG
Summary: A young man leaves his home and his broken heart behind, determined to forge his own path. This story is set in the Forgotten Realms, a Dungeons and Dragons world. I wrote it as the background story for a character that I never really got the chance to play...
~
Aviram stalked through the crowded streets of Hlondeth, heedless of his surroundings. The serpentine statues, the green marble that glinted everywhere and the constant smell of salt air were so familiar that he scarcely noticed them.
He did not pause until he reached his destination--an aging marble mansion in a quiet section of the city. It was not as showy as the noveau-riche monstrosities that dominated the more fashionable districts. No, this house had the restrained dignity that only old money could muster.
The house also lacked the endless snake carvings of the newer mansions. The family who lived here had no need to prove their yuan-ti heritage. They were too secure in their bloodlines to bother carving serpents everywhere.
The guards at the gate recognized Aviram and admitted him without question. Then the kobold slave who served as a butler greeted him at the door.
“Shall I announce you to her Ladyship?” the small, lizard-like creature asked in Draconic.
Aviram shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ve come to see Tirtza. I’ll announce myself.”
The kobold nodded and stepped out of his way. Aviram headed toward the sound of a harp that was wafting from a withdrawing room. He flung the doors open and stepped inside.
Tirtza was standing at her instrument, her fingers caressing the strings. Her dark hair was tied back in a severe braid, but that only complimented her slanted, serpentine features. Avi stopped abruptly, captivated. He couldn’t help himself—in his eyes the yuan-ti were endlessly alluring.
Tirtza was a pureblood. She could pass for human if she chose. But in Hlondeth there was no need for such a masquerade. The yuan-ti were rulers here—not a despised and distrusted enemy.
Aviram had a slight serpentine cast to his own features. His grandmother's blood had given him the yuan-ti-like slant to his amber eyes and the dark hair that matched Tirtza's. But his grandmother's blood wasn't enough. Too much human blood ran through his veins.
He sighed and shook himself. Then he pulled a package of letters out of his haversack. “This must stop, Tirtza,” he said. His voice was gentler than he had intended—somehow it was impossible to remain angry with her.
She glanced at the letters and then turned her attention back to the harp. “If you had any courage, Avi, you would ask my mother for my hand,” she said as she began another melody.
Aviram rolled his eyes. “You know better than that. Your mother will never let you marry a mere human.”
Her eyes flashed at him. “You’re not a mere human—you have our blood in you.”
“Too little to satisfy your mother,” he said, shaking his head.
She opened her mouth to object, but her mother’s voice stopped her. “Aviram is quite correct,” the grand dame said, her voice carrying easily from the doors that Avi had left open.
Tirtza paled and let her hands drop from the harp. Avi sighed and turned to face her ladyship.
She was small of stature for a pureblooded yuan-ti, but that in no way lessoned her air of authority. She held out her hand to Avi. He accepted it dutifully and raised it to his lips.
“Your ladyship,” he muttered, bowing slightly.
“Leave us, Tirtza,” her ladyship ordered.
Her daughter spared one last look of longing for Avi and then left without a word. Avi watched her go, her muslin skirts trailing behind her.
Her ladyship, meanwhile, seated herself and motioned for Avi to do likewise. He sat himself opposite her on an uncomfortable marble bench. Her ladyship had quite austere tastes and didn't approve of plump cushions cluttering her home.
She didn't approve of rugs either, Avi thought as he stared at the floor. Not that he blamed her--both the walls and the floors of the house sported intricate, tiled mosaics. No point in covering them.
“Are those letters from my daughter?” her ladyship inquired.
He looked up at her and nodded. “Do you wish to see them?”
She shook her head. “Certainly not—I’m sure one is more pathetically lovesick than the next. Throw them into the fireplace before you leave.”
Avi nodded again. “Tirtza means the world to me,” he said. “But I assure you that I haven’t encouraged her or compromised her—”
Her ladyship held up a hand to stop him. “I’ve always trusted you with her, Aviram. I know you have more sense than to take advantage of the little fool.” She paused, giving him a measuring look. “She wouldn’t do for you, you know, even if you were a yuan-ti. You two wouldn’t suit in the long run.”
Aviram sighed. “You may be right,” he owned. “But I think—I think it will be best if I leave the city for a time. Tirtza will forget me soon enough and I—well, I’ve no mind to watch her marry whatever pureblood or half-blood you’ve picked out for her.”
He didn’t bother disguising the bitterness in his voice. It would have been pointless—her ladyship knew him too well.
She took his proposal with surprisingly good grace, however. “When do you intend to return?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Should I bother? In the end, I’m only a capable slave as far as you’re concerned.”
“Let us say a capable servant instead,” she corrected. “It’s a pity you were born a human—I’ll not deny that. And to think that your grandmother was a pureblood! But that’s the danger of the yuan-ti living so closely and comfortably with your kind.”
Aviram grinned. “Better to keep us in our place?”
“Just so,” her ladyship retorted, grinning back. But then her eye caught the gleam of silver around his neck. “What is that?” she demanded.
He fingered the medallion. “It’s Azuth—the human god of arcane spell casters.”
Her ladyship let out a string of uncouth swears. “Why are you bothering with some false human god? You know better than that—Sseth is the only true deity.”
He shrugged again. “I’m a human myself,” he reminded her. “I thought it appropriate.”
She sighed. “Come, Avi; you’ve always accepted your place here. Why is it so insupportable now? Why the sudden urge to embrace your human heritage?”
He took his time responding. “I don’t know,” he said at length. “Perhaps it’s because of Tirtza—or perhaps I’m just chafing under the bridle.”
Her ladyship leaned back in her chair, considering that. Avi stared at her for a moment--she was still a beautiful woman, despite her age. Tirtza was not as petite as her mother, but otherwise she would look just like her when she was older.
"Well, I’ve no mind to see you take the bit between your teeth,” her ladyship said at last. “You’re too valuable a servant for that. Go with my blessing.”
He managed a wry smile. “Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t bother thanking me,” she told him. “I’m only letting you go because that fool daughter of mine is so heartsick for you—and because I know you’ll return in due course.”
“Probably,” he said, grinning again despite himself. “I love Hlondeth too much to stay away for long. And, Sseth help me, I love your damned race—even knowing that you're determined to make slaves of the rest of us.”
“Servants, Avi,” she corrected again. “The term ‘slaves’ is too harsh. And for the love of Sseth, don’t marry the first girl you run into on your travels. I can’t let you have Tirtza, but I still intend to make a good match for you. I’ll find some human girl here with our blood as well—someone with a tidy fortune.”
Avi raised his eyebrows at that. “And what have I to offer a girl with a tidy fortune?”
“Your close connection to my house, of course,” her ladyship answered.
He laughed. “There is that, I suppose. Very well—I’ll leave the matter in your capable hands. But give me time. I don’t intend to return before a year, at least.”
Her ladyship nodded and stood up. Aviram correctly interpreted that to mean that his audience was over.
He stood up as well and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll not take my leave of Tirtza,” he said. “I couldn’t stand that. You’ll say everything that’s appropriate, won’t you?”
“Of course,” she said, fiddling with a pouch attached to her belt. “Here, take this platinum—”
But he shook his head. “No,” he said, raising her hand to his lips again. “For the next year, at least, I’ll rely on myself.”
“And when you return?” she asked.
He smiled grimly. “When I return I’ll be your devoted slave—er, servant—once more. And then you may shower me with all the platinum you please.”
She laughed. “Well, I’ll shower you with a wealthy bride, at least.” She paused, and there was an uncharacteristic affection in her voice when she spoke again. “Do try to stay safe, Aviram,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “You know how tedious it is to replace a good servant.”
Saturday, April 26, 2008
The New Hand, Part Sixty-Three
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
As soon as the carriage door closed David drew Marty to him and began to unhook her gown from the back. She raised no objection to his forwardness—in fact, she nestled against him and kissed his neck.
He rolled his eyes. "I’m not making love to you, Marty," he informed her.
"You’re certainly giving a good imitation of it," she retorted, undaunted. "Is there some other reason for you to undo my gown?"
"We need to loosen your stays," he replied evenly. "You should know better than to have them laced so tightly in your condition."
Marty laughed but allowed him to proceed. "You’re just as strict as Adam, aren’t you?" she asked.
David couldn’t help but smile at that. "I’d put you over my knee if you weren’t with child," he admitted. "Why would you subject yourself to tightly-laced stays and the rigors of a ball?"
She shrugged. "Should my life come to a halt when I’m not even showing?"
"I’m afraid so," he answered. "You’re going to have learn to put the child first."
She closed her eyes as she continued to rest against him. "How easy for a man to say. Are you going to tell Adam?"
Her gown was unhooked now, so David set about undoing her laces. "Why haven’t you told him yourself?" he asked. "He’ll find out sooner or later that you’ve born a child out of wedlock."
"Oh, the child won’t be born out of wedlock," she assured him. "Even I’m not brave enough for that—I have a man who’s willing to marry me."
"That young buck who fetched the punch for you?" David inquired.
Marty giggled. "No, although in a pinch I’m sure I could entice him to propose to me. No—I’m going to marry Gregory Miller. Niles might not approve, though, so be careful to keep that to yourself."
David felt himself go cold as he continued to loosen her stays. "Is Gregory Miller the father?" he asked.
She shrugged and nestled even closer to David. "It’s possible."
David sighed. Despite the fact that she was gorging herself on young men, there was still an air of naiveté about her. Perhaps Adam was right—maybe she didn’t know anything about how Niles had cut Stephen from his will, leaving Marty herself as the sole heir. And maybe she really didn’t know about Stephen’s subsequent suicide.
Her stays were loosened now, so David began to hook her gown back up. "Why would Niles disapprove of you marrying Gregory Miller?" he asked.
"I don’t know," Marty admitted. "It’s a more than respectable match for me, don’t you think? But Gregory’s afraid that Niles won’t appreciate him marrying the ‘boss’s daughter.’ Even if that daughter is illegitimate."
"So Niles never told you himself that he’d disapprove?" David asked. "You only have Gregory’s opinion on the matter?"
She shrugged again. "Why would Gregory lie to me about that?" she asked. "Why else would he want a secret engagement?"
David sighed once more as he rested his chin on top of her head. "I can think of one or two reasons," he said softly.
LINK TO PART SIXTY-FOUR
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
As soon as the carriage door closed David drew Marty to him and began to unhook her gown from the back. She raised no objection to his forwardness—in fact, she nestled against him and kissed his neck.
He rolled his eyes. "I’m not making love to you, Marty," he informed her.
"You’re certainly giving a good imitation of it," she retorted, undaunted. "Is there some other reason for you to undo my gown?"
"We need to loosen your stays," he replied evenly. "You should know better than to have them laced so tightly in your condition."
Marty laughed but allowed him to proceed. "You’re just as strict as Adam, aren’t you?" she asked.
David couldn’t help but smile at that. "I’d put you over my knee if you weren’t with child," he admitted. "Why would you subject yourself to tightly-laced stays and the rigors of a ball?"
She shrugged. "Should my life come to a halt when I’m not even showing?"
"I’m afraid so," he answered. "You’re going to have learn to put the child first."
She closed her eyes as she continued to rest against him. "How easy for a man to say. Are you going to tell Adam?"
Her gown was unhooked now, so David set about undoing her laces. "Why haven’t you told him yourself?" he asked. "He’ll find out sooner or later that you’ve born a child out of wedlock."
"Oh, the child won’t be born out of wedlock," she assured him. "Even I’m not brave enough for that—I have a man who’s willing to marry me."
"That young buck who fetched the punch for you?" David inquired.
Marty giggled. "No, although in a pinch I’m sure I could entice him to propose to me. No—I’m going to marry Gregory Miller. Niles might not approve, though, so be careful to keep that to yourself."
David felt himself go cold as he continued to loosen her stays. "Is Gregory Miller the father?" he asked.
She shrugged and nestled even closer to David. "It’s possible."
David sighed. Despite the fact that she was gorging herself on young men, there was still an air of naiveté about her. Perhaps Adam was right—maybe she didn’t know anything about how Niles had cut Stephen from his will, leaving Marty herself as the sole heir. And maybe she really didn’t know about Stephen’s subsequent suicide.
Her stays were loosened now, so David began to hook her gown back up. "Why would Niles disapprove of you marrying Gregory Miller?" he asked.
"I don’t know," Marty admitted. "It’s a more than respectable match for me, don’t you think? But Gregory’s afraid that Niles won’t appreciate him marrying the ‘boss’s daughter.’ Even if that daughter is illegitimate."
"So Niles never told you himself that he’d disapprove?" David asked. "You only have Gregory’s opinion on the matter?"
She shrugged again. "Why would Gregory lie to me about that?" she asked. "Why else would he want a secret engagement?"
David sighed once more as he rested his chin on top of her head. "I can think of one or two reasons," he said softly.
LINK TO PART SIXTY-FOUR
The New Hand, Part Sixty-Two
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
David leaned up against a tree as he watched Marty alight from her carriage and make her way into the crowded ballroom. Once again he was trailing the young woman as Adam and Joe kept an eye on Gregory Miller.
She was quite the socialite—at least in certain circles. The stiff-lipped bourgeois wouldn’t have her, of course, for she was not respectable. No one knew anything about her parents and it was scandalous the way she lived alone with all those young bucks flocking to her.
But stage-folk and artists loved Marty, recognizing her as one of their own. The same could be said for the patrons of the arts—like Mrs. Haley. That rich widow was blue-blooded and thoroughly respectable, but she was not adverse to throwing her home open to actors and artists on occasion.
Tonight was one such occasion. David had no invitation to this ball, but that didn’t stop him from strolling in. Thanks to his mother, he was well acquainted with Mrs. Haley and her butler recognized him at once. The grande dame herself cornered him soon afterwards, chiding him for not calling on her the moment he arrived in San Francisco and demanding to hear news of Josephine.
At length David escaped Mrs. Haley and made his way to Marty. He was tired of merely trailing her—it was time to take the bull by the horns.
She had been flirting with one of her young bucks but she turned and smiled at David as he approached her. She held out her hand to him, which he dutifully accepted and kissed.
She introduced David to the young buck before sending the poor fellow off to fetch her a refreshment. Then she favored David with her full attention.
"You’re not quite dressed for a ball," she commented, frowning playfully.
"Not quite," he agreed. Fortunately, unlike Adam and Joe, David didn’t meander around San Francisco dressed as a cowboy. He always wore a frock coat, waistcoat and cravat. However he was not in proper evening clothes.
"Would you be ashamed to be seen waltzing with me, dressed as I am?" David inquired, knowing full well that even in day clothes he could outshine most of the other men present.
"Not at all," Marty assured him as her eyes danced with delight. "I half-promised this next waltz to that young man, but since he hasn’t returned with my refreshment yet…"
"Quite," David agreed, leading her out onto the floor.
She was an excellent dancer—David had to give her that much. In fact, she was almost a worthy partner for him. They made an attractive, entrancing pair and soon commanded the ballroom.
Marty was a charming flirt, he decided. But her eyes were soon offering him more than a flirtation.
David continued to smile down at her, but he couldn’t help but feel vindicated in his assessment of her. She may or may not have had a hand in blackmailing Stephen and estranging him from his father, but she was certainly not the innocent that Adam imagined. No, she was ambitious for her art and eager to gorge herself on attractive men—in that order.
Adam had slammed his fist into David’s jaw for nothing. Everything David had said about Marty was true—except that she was not Niles’ mistress. There was no way to protect her from the ways of the world. Not when she was so eager to explore them and gorge herself on them.
He didn’t judge her for the invitation that still lingered in her eyes. She was young and high-spirited and why shouldn’t she enjoy herself? She was risking disaster, of course, in the form of diseases or unwanted children, but that was her own concern. As long as she hadn’t purposely set out to estrange Stephen from his father (so that she could make off with Stephen’s inheritance) David had nothing to hold against her.
As their waltz drew to a close, David bowed and returned her to the young man who was smarting on the sidelines, holding a glass of punch in his hands. But David was careful to secure Marty for the next waltz first. The poor lad would have to content himself with a set of country-dances.
David stood up with a young character actress who had more talent than beauty for the country-dances, saving the girl from being a wallflower. Then he made his way back to Marty in order to claim his waltz.
But Marty looked a trifle pale when he took her hand. He decided to forgo the waltz as he led her out into the garden for a breath of fresh air.
The fresh air didn’t seem to help. It soon became obvious that Marty was ill. The poor girl was mortified. She even ordered David to leave her alone for a few minutes. But he stayed by her side as she bent over and vomited into a rose bush. When she was done, he led her to a bench and sat down beside her.
"Keep your head down," he advised her. "You’ll be fine."
"I know," she managed. "This will pass in a few minutes—I just wish you hadn’t seen me like this. It’s—it’s all the excitement of the ball. I always get my stomach tied in knots when I’m looking forward to a dance."
But David had seen Marty at other balls. He hadn’t danced with her before, but he remembered thinking what a hale and healthy filly she was. She always greeted the last dance with the same energy and enthusiasm she displayed for the first. He couldn’t ever remember seeing her pale or overdrawn.
"Are you with child?" he asked bluntly.
She cringed at the question but managed a nod.
David sighed. "I’m going to take you home. Are you well enough to stand?"
She nodded again and looked up at him. "You’ll cause some rumors if you escort me home," she reminded him.
He smiled. "Are you afraid of rumors?"
"No," she said frankly, returning his smile. "I find that the more rumors there are about me, the more people purchase my paintings."
David laughed. "Then I don’t think either of us need to fear gossip. I’ll call for your carriage."
LINK TO PART SIXTY-THREE
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
David leaned up against a tree as he watched Marty alight from her carriage and make her way into the crowded ballroom. Once again he was trailing the young woman as Adam and Joe kept an eye on Gregory Miller.
She was quite the socialite—at least in certain circles. The stiff-lipped bourgeois wouldn’t have her, of course, for she was not respectable. No one knew anything about her parents and it was scandalous the way she lived alone with all those young bucks flocking to her.
But stage-folk and artists loved Marty, recognizing her as one of their own. The same could be said for the patrons of the arts—like Mrs. Haley. That rich widow was blue-blooded and thoroughly respectable, but she was not adverse to throwing her home open to actors and artists on occasion.
Tonight was one such occasion. David had no invitation to this ball, but that didn’t stop him from strolling in. Thanks to his mother, he was well acquainted with Mrs. Haley and her butler recognized him at once. The grande dame herself cornered him soon afterwards, chiding him for not calling on her the moment he arrived in San Francisco and demanding to hear news of Josephine.
At length David escaped Mrs. Haley and made his way to Marty. He was tired of merely trailing her—it was time to take the bull by the horns.
She had been flirting with one of her young bucks but she turned and smiled at David as he approached her. She held out her hand to him, which he dutifully accepted and kissed.
She introduced David to the young buck before sending the poor fellow off to fetch her a refreshment. Then she favored David with her full attention.
"You’re not quite dressed for a ball," she commented, frowning playfully.
"Not quite," he agreed. Fortunately, unlike Adam and Joe, David didn’t meander around San Francisco dressed as a cowboy. He always wore a frock coat, waistcoat and cravat. However he was not in proper evening clothes.
"Would you be ashamed to be seen waltzing with me, dressed as I am?" David inquired, knowing full well that even in day clothes he could outshine most of the other men present.
"Not at all," Marty assured him as her eyes danced with delight. "I half-promised this next waltz to that young man, but since he hasn’t returned with my refreshment yet…"
"Quite," David agreed, leading her out onto the floor.
She was an excellent dancer—David had to give her that much. In fact, she was almost a worthy partner for him. They made an attractive, entrancing pair and soon commanded the ballroom.
Marty was a charming flirt, he decided. But her eyes were soon offering him more than a flirtation.
David continued to smile down at her, but he couldn’t help but feel vindicated in his assessment of her. She may or may not have had a hand in blackmailing Stephen and estranging him from his father, but she was certainly not the innocent that Adam imagined. No, she was ambitious for her art and eager to gorge herself on attractive men—in that order.
Adam had slammed his fist into David’s jaw for nothing. Everything David had said about Marty was true—except that she was not Niles’ mistress. There was no way to protect her from the ways of the world. Not when she was so eager to explore them and gorge herself on them.
He didn’t judge her for the invitation that still lingered in her eyes. She was young and high-spirited and why shouldn’t she enjoy herself? She was risking disaster, of course, in the form of diseases or unwanted children, but that was her own concern. As long as she hadn’t purposely set out to estrange Stephen from his father (so that she could make off with Stephen’s inheritance) David had nothing to hold against her.
As their waltz drew to a close, David bowed and returned her to the young man who was smarting on the sidelines, holding a glass of punch in his hands. But David was careful to secure Marty for the next waltz first. The poor lad would have to content himself with a set of country-dances.
David stood up with a young character actress who had more talent than beauty for the country-dances, saving the girl from being a wallflower. Then he made his way back to Marty in order to claim his waltz.
But Marty looked a trifle pale when he took her hand. He decided to forgo the waltz as he led her out into the garden for a breath of fresh air.
The fresh air didn’t seem to help. It soon became obvious that Marty was ill. The poor girl was mortified. She even ordered David to leave her alone for a few minutes. But he stayed by her side as she bent over and vomited into a rose bush. When she was done, he led her to a bench and sat down beside her.
"Keep your head down," he advised her. "You’ll be fine."
"I know," she managed. "This will pass in a few minutes—I just wish you hadn’t seen me like this. It’s—it’s all the excitement of the ball. I always get my stomach tied in knots when I’m looking forward to a dance."
But David had seen Marty at other balls. He hadn’t danced with her before, but he remembered thinking what a hale and healthy filly she was. She always greeted the last dance with the same energy and enthusiasm she displayed for the first. He couldn’t ever remember seeing her pale or overdrawn.
"Are you with child?" he asked bluntly.
She cringed at the question but managed a nod.
David sighed. "I’m going to take you home. Are you well enough to stand?"
She nodded again and looked up at him. "You’ll cause some rumors if you escort me home," she reminded him.
He smiled. "Are you afraid of rumors?"
"No," she said frankly, returning his smile. "I find that the more rumors there are about me, the more people purchase my paintings."
David laughed. "Then I don’t think either of us need to fear gossip. I’ll call for your carriage."
LINK TO PART SIXTY-THREE
The New Hand, Part Sixty-One
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
David watched Adam get up and begin pacing the room. He wanted to say something encouraging—something that would help Adam to start talking. But he kept quiet instead. It was better to let Adam take all the time he needed to begin his story.
"The first part is simple," Adam said at last. "I was robbed in the desert. Two thieves took my money and my horse and left me to die. I walked until I came across a prospector, working a claim with only a mule to keep him company. His name was Peter Kane. He shared some food and water with me—thereby saving my life."
David nodded but otherwise kept quiet.
"I told Kane that I wanted to catch the thieves,” Adam continued. “He asked me if I meant to kill them. I said I didn't—I said I was content to let the law handle them. I, uh, arrogantly let him know that no matter what those men had done to me, I couldn't be driven to murder."
He paused long enough to flash David a wry smile. "But Kane—Kane recognized my arrogance for what it was. He knew that anyone could be driven to kill, given the proper motivation. And so that’s what he set out to give me—the proper motivation.”
David felt a lurch in his stomach. He stood up and walked over to Adam, but he still kept quiet.
Adam resumed his pacing, walking back and forth from David as he continued. "Kane knew who I was; he'd heard of the Cartwrights. He was offended, I suppose, by the success of the Ponderosa when he had worked one failed claim after another. And he couldn't tolerate my smug pride—my conviction that I'd never be driven to murder. So he struck a bargain with me. If I'd work for him for a few days he would lend me his mule at the end of them."
Adam paused again, as if searching for the right words. “He worked me like a dog. I threw myself into his mine, giving him both my engineering expertise and my hard labor. But when I went to leave with the mule, Kane shot the poor animal dead.”
Adam looked David in the eye before continuing once more. “That’s when the nightmare began.”
David listened as Adam told the rest of the story in a detached monotone. Adam’s distant tone of voice almost made it sound as if he was relating someone else’s nightmare—as if he didn’t even know the man that Kane tortured.
And that’s what it was—torture. Kane kept Adam at gunpoint and forced him to take the place of the dead mule. He subjected Adam to humiliating punishments. He drove Adam harder and harder inside the mine while cutting his rations. So Adam ended up half starved and near worked to death in the blistering heat of the desert.
David swallowed hard as Adam described his wasted attempt to escape. Afterwards Kane had kept his gun on him as he forced Adam to begin binding himself—and then Kane finished the job for him.
David would have guessed what else happened even if Adam hadn’t brought himself to say it. Kane wanted to humiliate Adam, to make Adam see himself as a degraded animal easily capable of murder. A monster like that—with a starving, exhausted man at his mercy—wouldn’t hesitate to add rape to his other crimes.
But Adam did manage to describe the ordeal. Again, his voice was so detached that it sounded as if he were describing someone else’s degradation.
Adam didn’t linger over the description of the assault. He went on to tell David how Kane had known all along that his mine was worthless—Kane’s latest in a long string of failures.
Apparently that madman had been determined to die in the desert—he had simply decided to rob Adam of his cocksure arrogance along the way.
But a surge of blind rage enabled Adam to nearly strangle Kane. He stopped only because Kane taunted him, crowing that he had won by proving that Adam was just as murderous as the rest of the human race.
“I didn’t really recover from that blind rage,” Adam concluded. “Not until my family found me dragging Kane’s body behind me.”
David still said nothing. He merely put his arm around Adam and stood at his side.
“They know very little of what happened between me and Kane,” Adam managed. “My family, I mean. And I don’t intend to tell them. They would pour compassion on me and I—I couldn’t stand that. I couldn’t stand having them see me as a victim.”
David turned slightly so that he was facing Adam and gripped him by the shoulders. “They wouldn’t see a victim,” he said, speaking up at last. “They’d see a survivor.”
Adam gave him a small, wry smile. “Thank you for that,” he said softly. “But this stays between you and me.”
David nodded. “I know.” Then he sighed as he released his hold on Adam. “Do you know how distant you sound from those events? You don’t have to be so bloody stoic about it.”
Adam looked him in the eye. “I broke down once over what happened. Like I told you, I sobbed in my father’s arms. But I won’t ever break down over that again.”
He paused to lean forward and kiss David lightly on the lips. “Let’s get ready for tonight,” he said.
And that, David knew, signaled the end of the conversation. There would be no point in pushing Adam any further on it, so he decided to hold his peace—at least for now.
LINK TO PART SIXTY-TWO
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
David watched Adam get up and begin pacing the room. He wanted to say something encouraging—something that would help Adam to start talking. But he kept quiet instead. It was better to let Adam take all the time he needed to begin his story.
"The first part is simple," Adam said at last. "I was robbed in the desert. Two thieves took my money and my horse and left me to die. I walked until I came across a prospector, working a claim with only a mule to keep him company. His name was Peter Kane. He shared some food and water with me—thereby saving my life."
David nodded but otherwise kept quiet.
"I told Kane that I wanted to catch the thieves,” Adam continued. “He asked me if I meant to kill them. I said I didn't—I said I was content to let the law handle them. I, uh, arrogantly let him know that no matter what those men had done to me, I couldn't be driven to murder."
He paused long enough to flash David a wry smile. "But Kane—Kane recognized my arrogance for what it was. He knew that anyone could be driven to kill, given the proper motivation. And so that’s what he set out to give me—the proper motivation.”
David felt a lurch in his stomach. He stood up and walked over to Adam, but he still kept quiet.
Adam resumed his pacing, walking back and forth from David as he continued. "Kane knew who I was; he'd heard of the Cartwrights. He was offended, I suppose, by the success of the Ponderosa when he had worked one failed claim after another. And he couldn't tolerate my smug pride—my conviction that I'd never be driven to murder. So he struck a bargain with me. If I'd work for him for a few days he would lend me his mule at the end of them."
Adam paused again, as if searching for the right words. “He worked me like a dog. I threw myself into his mine, giving him both my engineering expertise and my hard labor. But when I went to leave with the mule, Kane shot the poor animal dead.”
Adam looked David in the eye before continuing once more. “That’s when the nightmare began.”
David listened as Adam told the rest of the story in a detached monotone. Adam’s distant tone of voice almost made it sound as if he was relating someone else’s nightmare—as if he didn’t even know the man that Kane tortured.
And that’s what it was—torture. Kane kept Adam at gunpoint and forced him to take the place of the dead mule. He subjected Adam to humiliating punishments. He drove Adam harder and harder inside the mine while cutting his rations. So Adam ended up half starved and near worked to death in the blistering heat of the desert.
David swallowed hard as Adam described his wasted attempt to escape. Afterwards Kane had kept his gun on him as he forced Adam to begin binding himself—and then Kane finished the job for him.
David would have guessed what else happened even if Adam hadn’t brought himself to say it. Kane wanted to humiliate Adam, to make Adam see himself as a degraded animal easily capable of murder. A monster like that—with a starving, exhausted man at his mercy—wouldn’t hesitate to add rape to his other crimes.
But Adam did manage to describe the ordeal. Again, his voice was so detached that it sounded as if he were describing someone else’s degradation.
Adam didn’t linger over the description of the assault. He went on to tell David how Kane had known all along that his mine was worthless—Kane’s latest in a long string of failures.
Apparently that madman had been determined to die in the desert—he had simply decided to rob Adam of his cocksure arrogance along the way.
But a surge of blind rage enabled Adam to nearly strangle Kane. He stopped only because Kane taunted him, crowing that he had won by proving that Adam was just as murderous as the rest of the human race.
“I didn’t really recover from that blind rage,” Adam concluded. “Not until my family found me dragging Kane’s body behind me.”
David still said nothing. He merely put his arm around Adam and stood at his side.
“They know very little of what happened between me and Kane,” Adam managed. “My family, I mean. And I don’t intend to tell them. They would pour compassion on me and I—I couldn’t stand that. I couldn’t stand having them see me as a victim.”
David turned slightly so that he was facing Adam and gripped him by the shoulders. “They wouldn’t see a victim,” he said, speaking up at last. “They’d see a survivor.”
Adam gave him a small, wry smile. “Thank you for that,” he said softly. “But this stays between you and me.”
David nodded. “I know.” Then he sighed as he released his hold on Adam. “Do you know how distant you sound from those events? You don’t have to be so bloody stoic about it.”
Adam looked him in the eye. “I broke down once over what happened. Like I told you, I sobbed in my father’s arms. But I won’t ever break down over that again.”
He paused to lean forward and kiss David lightly on the lips. “Let’s get ready for tonight,” he said.
And that, David knew, signaled the end of the conversation. There would be no point in pushing Adam any further on it, so he decided to hold his peace—at least for now.
LINK TO PART SIXTY-TWO
Friday, April 25, 2008
The Monstrosity, Part Five
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R
LINK TO PART ONE
~
I took my time about starting the story. I must have drunk at least two more cups of coffee before I found my voice. Drew didn’t push me, however. He just sat quietly and continued sipping from his own cup. I suppose that helped—in the end, I had to speak up in order to fill in the silence.
“Joe and I split up for a few days after a cattle drive,” I began. “He wanted to stay in town for a trial while I wanted to get some hunting in. But a pair of thieves held me up and robbed me of my money and my horse—they left me to die in the desert.”
I paused as I thought about my next words. “I walked for nearly a day before I stumbled on a prospector by the name of Peter Kane. He was all alone—save for his mule—in the middle of nowhere, working his claim. He—he saved my life. If he hadn’t given me food and drink, I’d have died in that desert.”
I saw Drew start at that. Whatever he’d been expecting to hear about Kane, it wasn’t that the man had saved my life.
"I told Kane that I wanted to catch the thieves. He asked me if I meant to kill them. I said I didn't—I said I was content to let the law handle them. I was a civilized man, I assured him. No matter what those men had done to me, they weren't going to drive me to murder.”
I paused again and screwed my mouth almost into a sneer. “Kane wasn't impressed by my magnanimity toward the thieves. And he thought that my claim to be a civilized man was mere arrogance.”
A wry smile crossed Drew’s face, but it was gone in an instant. I stared at him for a moment and then forced myself to go on.
“Kane told me that anyone could be driven to kill, given the proper motivation. And he set out to prove it to me. He’d heard of the Cartwrights, so he knew who I was. The success of the Ponderosa offended him—he’d failed at everything he’d ever done.”
I stared down at my coffee cup and took a deep breath. “I didn’t know how much he loathed me—I didn’t know that he wanted to destroy the pride and arrogance he saw in me. So when he offered me a deal, I took it. If I'd work for him for a few days he would lend me his mule at the end of them."
I set the cup down as I searched for words. “He worked me like a slave. I threw myself into his mine, giving him my engineering expertise and my hard labor. But when I went to leave with the mule, Kane shot the poor creature. Things...things didn't improve from there.”
Drew’s face was expressionless now. He was staring at me through those sightless eyes of his—the eyes that never quite met mine. That was no fault of his, of course. I’ve no doubt that he would have liked nothing better than to meet my eyes and peer inside me. Sometimes I think Drew would enjoy taking me apart bit by bit, just as Kane had.
I shut my eyes as I let that thought pass. Drew was no Kane—I knew that. Why did I look at everyone with suspicion and mistrust now?
Besides, Kane hadn’t taken me apart bit by bit, hoping to discover what made me tick. He had understood me from the beginning—he had known just how to tear me apart and just how to shred up my soul.
I opened my eyes and stared at Drew again. He was still leaning toward me and his face was still inscrutable. Part of me wanted to tell him the whole ordeal—even the part I hadn’t told my family. But no, that was unthinkable. Drew had enough problems of his own. The short version of this tale was harrowing enough—it would have to suffice.
“Kane half starved me and nearly worked me to death. He kept me tied up at night and forced me to eat my food like an animal. He wanted to make me feel like an animal. And he knew all along that his precious claim was worthless. In the end, he did drive me to murder. I half strangled him before I came to my senses.”
“Did he die by your hands?” Drew asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if he was alive when I put him on a stretcher and headed back out into the desert. By some miracle my family found me—but by then Kane was already dead.”
Drew leaned back in his chair, considering that. There was no judgment or shock in his face. I appreciated that, though I couldn’t find the words to tell him as much.
“That wasn’t the whole story,” he said at length.
“No,” I agreed, “but you knew it wouldn't be.”
“True,” he owned. “Well, I’m glad the man is dead,” he continued, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “I rather hope that you did kill him—you deserve that satisfaction—but I don’t suppose it signifies.”
I twisted my mouth at him. “You hope that I murdered him?”
He rolled his eyes in response. “The man was keeping you as a slave, starving you and working you as an animal, Adam. And God knows what else the bastard did to you. This was clearly a case of self-defense, not murder. Besides, goading you might have been his way of committing suicide.”
I nodded. “I think it was, at least in part.” I paused yet again and sighed. “Kane did save my life, whatever he did afterward.”
Drew grinned. “Then he has my thanks for that. I’d hate to lose you—there aren’t many people who can put up with me. Not without being well-paid, at any event.”
I smiled at that, but I felt that I owed him fair warning. “I’m no prince myself at present—you may tire of me before the week is out.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Drew assured me. “Now let’s have another game of chess.”
LINK TO PART SIX
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R
LINK TO PART ONE
~
I took my time about starting the story. I must have drunk at least two more cups of coffee before I found my voice. Drew didn’t push me, however. He just sat quietly and continued sipping from his own cup. I suppose that helped—in the end, I had to speak up in order to fill in the silence.
“Joe and I split up for a few days after a cattle drive,” I began. “He wanted to stay in town for a trial while I wanted to get some hunting in. But a pair of thieves held me up and robbed me of my money and my horse—they left me to die in the desert.”
I paused as I thought about my next words. “I walked for nearly a day before I stumbled on a prospector by the name of Peter Kane. He was all alone—save for his mule—in the middle of nowhere, working his claim. He—he saved my life. If he hadn’t given me food and drink, I’d have died in that desert.”
I saw Drew start at that. Whatever he’d been expecting to hear about Kane, it wasn’t that the man had saved my life.
"I told Kane that I wanted to catch the thieves. He asked me if I meant to kill them. I said I didn't—I said I was content to let the law handle them. I was a civilized man, I assured him. No matter what those men had done to me, they weren't going to drive me to murder.”
I paused again and screwed my mouth almost into a sneer. “Kane wasn't impressed by my magnanimity toward the thieves. And he thought that my claim to be a civilized man was mere arrogance.”
A wry smile crossed Drew’s face, but it was gone in an instant. I stared at him for a moment and then forced myself to go on.
“Kane told me that anyone could be driven to kill, given the proper motivation. And he set out to prove it to me. He’d heard of the Cartwrights, so he knew who I was. The success of the Ponderosa offended him—he’d failed at everything he’d ever done.”
I stared down at my coffee cup and took a deep breath. “I didn’t know how much he loathed me—I didn’t know that he wanted to destroy the pride and arrogance he saw in me. So when he offered me a deal, I took it. If I'd work for him for a few days he would lend me his mule at the end of them."
I set the cup down as I searched for words. “He worked me like a slave. I threw myself into his mine, giving him my engineering expertise and my hard labor. But when I went to leave with the mule, Kane shot the poor creature. Things...things didn't improve from there.”
Drew’s face was expressionless now. He was staring at me through those sightless eyes of his—the eyes that never quite met mine. That was no fault of his, of course. I’ve no doubt that he would have liked nothing better than to meet my eyes and peer inside me. Sometimes I think Drew would enjoy taking me apart bit by bit, just as Kane had.
I shut my eyes as I let that thought pass. Drew was no Kane—I knew that. Why did I look at everyone with suspicion and mistrust now?
Besides, Kane hadn’t taken me apart bit by bit, hoping to discover what made me tick. He had understood me from the beginning—he had known just how to tear me apart and just how to shred up my soul.
I opened my eyes and stared at Drew again. He was still leaning toward me and his face was still inscrutable. Part of me wanted to tell him the whole ordeal—even the part I hadn’t told my family. But no, that was unthinkable. Drew had enough problems of his own. The short version of this tale was harrowing enough—it would have to suffice.
“Kane half starved me and nearly worked me to death. He kept me tied up at night and forced me to eat my food like an animal. He wanted to make me feel like an animal. And he knew all along that his precious claim was worthless. In the end, he did drive me to murder. I half strangled him before I came to my senses.”
“Did he die by your hands?” Drew asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if he was alive when I put him on a stretcher and headed back out into the desert. By some miracle my family found me—but by then Kane was already dead.”
Drew leaned back in his chair, considering that. There was no judgment or shock in his face. I appreciated that, though I couldn’t find the words to tell him as much.
“That wasn’t the whole story,” he said at length.
“No,” I agreed, “but you knew it wouldn't be.”
“True,” he owned. “Well, I’m glad the man is dead,” he continued, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “I rather hope that you did kill him—you deserve that satisfaction—but I don’t suppose it signifies.”
I twisted my mouth at him. “You hope that I murdered him?”
He rolled his eyes in response. “The man was keeping you as a slave, starving you and working you as an animal, Adam. And God knows what else the bastard did to you. This was clearly a case of self-defense, not murder. Besides, goading you might have been his way of committing suicide.”
I nodded. “I think it was, at least in part.” I paused yet again and sighed. “Kane did save my life, whatever he did afterward.”
Drew grinned. “Then he has my thanks for that. I’d hate to lose you—there aren’t many people who can put up with me. Not without being well-paid, at any event.”
I smiled at that, but I felt that I owed him fair warning. “I’m no prince myself at present—you may tire of me before the week is out.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Drew assured me. “Now let’s have another game of chess.”
LINK TO PART SIX
Thursday, April 24, 2008
The New Hand, Part Sixty
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Adam let himself into his suite a few minutes later. David was lying on the bed, reading, but he paused to glance up and greet Adam.
“Shouldn’t we be preparing for our investigation?” Adam asked him, raising his eyebrows at the fact that David was just lying there.
David set the book down and cocked his head at him. “I’m not sure,” he answered. “I heard a rumor that the investigation is just a cover—you’re really here to spend time in San Francisco with your catamite.”
Adam grinned as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. “And you think that rumor’s true?”
“So I hope,” David answered, reaching out to lock him in an embrace.
Adam met the embrace with enthusiasm, but when they broke apart he caught David’s face with his hands.
“I heard another rumor,” he told David as his voice grew serious. “I’ve been told that you’re in pretty deep—that you’re willing to play Jonathan to my David.”
David gave him a wry smile. “Oh, I know that rumor is true. ‘Whatever thy soul desireth,” he continued, quoting Jonathan’s words to David, “‘I will even do it for thee.’”
Adam returned the smile as he tousled David’s hair. “I don’t know how to repay love like that,” he said honestly.
“You already have,” David told him. “You’re here helping me uncover what happened to Stephen, aren’t you? And you’ve stuck by me even though my actions caused that boy to commit suicide—at least in part.”
He paused and reached out to stroke Adam’s hair. “You know how I feel,” he said at length. “But I don’t need a declaration of endless love and devotion in return, Adam. I’m willing to take this one day at a time.”
Adam released him and sighed. “I can’t give you a declaration like that—not now. Maybe not ever.”
David shrugged. “I’d rather have your honesty than false declarations.”
Adam nodded. “Well, I’m willing to give you that.” He paused to glance at the clock.
“We still have some time,” he continued. “Sit back—I want to tell you what happened when I was trapped by that madman out in the desert.”
LINK TO PART SIXTY-ONE
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Adam let himself into his suite a few minutes later. David was lying on the bed, reading, but he paused to glance up and greet Adam.
“Shouldn’t we be preparing for our investigation?” Adam asked him, raising his eyebrows at the fact that David was just lying there.
David set the book down and cocked his head at him. “I’m not sure,” he answered. “I heard a rumor that the investigation is just a cover—you’re really here to spend time in San Francisco with your catamite.”
Adam grinned as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. “And you think that rumor’s true?”
“So I hope,” David answered, reaching out to lock him in an embrace.
Adam met the embrace with enthusiasm, but when they broke apart he caught David’s face with his hands.
“I heard another rumor,” he told David as his voice grew serious. “I’ve been told that you’re in pretty deep—that you’re willing to play Jonathan to my David.”
David gave him a wry smile. “Oh, I know that rumor is true. ‘Whatever thy soul desireth,” he continued, quoting Jonathan’s words to David, “‘I will even do it for thee.’”
Adam returned the smile as he tousled David’s hair. “I don’t know how to repay love like that,” he said honestly.
“You already have,” David told him. “You’re here helping me uncover what happened to Stephen, aren’t you? And you’ve stuck by me even though my actions caused that boy to commit suicide—at least in part.”
He paused and reached out to stroke Adam’s hair. “You know how I feel,” he said at length. “But I don’t need a declaration of endless love and devotion in return, Adam. I’m willing to take this one day at a time.”
Adam released him and sighed. “I can’t give you a declaration like that—not now. Maybe not ever.”
David shrugged. “I’d rather have your honesty than false declarations.”
Adam nodded. “Well, I’m willing to give you that.” He paused to glance at the clock.
“We still have some time,” he continued. “Sit back—I want to tell you what happened when I was trapped by that madman out in the desert.”
LINK TO PART SIXTY-ONE
The New Hand, Part Fifty-Nine
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
A grizzled, bearded man coughed and swore as the stage coach lumbered its way to San Diego. God, how he wished there was an easier way to travel.
Well, at least this was a straightforward job. Ed Niles wanted him to find out all about a girl who had run off to Virginia City with a wicked scar on her face. The girl had received some sort of mail from San Diego, so she must know someone there.
San Diego wasn’t that big a place, the grizzled man reminded himself. And there weren’t too many women with the kind of scar Niles had described. It should be easy enough to discover her history.
He closed his eyes as the coach bounced over some ruts in the road. Not much longer now, he reminded himself. Then he’d find out about this filly—like as not she had run away from a husband—and then he’d be on his way back home.
The grizzled man smiled, thinking that at least there’d be a healthy payday in this for him. With any luck, it would take no more than a week to uncover the girl’s origins. Then he’d be heading back to San Francisco, where he belonged.
~
Adam trudged back into the hotel, cursing his little brother under his breath and wishing very much that he had his hands on Joe’s hide. He had wasted hours searching for him, but he was nowhere to be found.
But Adam spied Joe as soon as he entered the hotel—and he was hard put to decide if he was relived to find his little brother or even angrier at the wasted hours.
Joe was sitting opposite David at the chessboard. The two men weren’t murdering each other—in fact, they were shaking hands. Adam raised his eyebrows at that but was careful not to get his hopes up.
He walked over to the chessboard and leaned sideways up against the wall behind David, so that he was facing his little brother. “Here you are, Joe,” he said evenly. “I’ve been out looking for you.”
Joe had the grace to look guilty, Adam noted. He even flashed Adam an apologetic smile.
“I’m going upstairs,” David announced as he took his leave of the two brothers. “We should all be ready to, ah, resume our ‘trailing’ duties in about two hours.”
Adam nodded as he took the seat that David vacated. He stared at his brother for a moment, determined to let Joe speak first. He was curious to hear what he had to say for himself.
“Sorry about making you look for me,” Joe managed. “I was too angry to talk before—but I should have left word at the desk.”
Adam said nothing—he just nodded again.
Joe stared down at the chess pieces. His face colored as he began talking. “I had a long talk with David,” he said softly. “I don’t—I don’t understand what you two see in each other. But do I understand that there’s something there—genuine affection, I mean. It’s not just—just mindless rutting.”
Adam started at that. “Is that what you thought was going on between us?”
Joe’s face became even redder as he answered. “Yeah. Well, how was I supposed to know different? I didn’t know two men could love each other.”
Adam managed a smile. “Didn’t you ever read about David and Jonathan in First Samuel?”
“First Samuel?” Joe repeated, frowning. “Is that a Bible book?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Yes, it’s a Bible book.”
Joe shrugged. “I’m a Catholic, Adam. We don’t read the Bible; we have priests to do that. And we have just one interpretation—that’s why we haven’t broken up into a thousand tiny churches like you Protestants have.”
“True,” Adam acknowledged, smiling again. “All right, I’ll do my best to relay the story to you. A man named Saul was the first king of Israel. He had a shepherd named David in his court.”
“Is this the famous David?” Joe asked, interrupting. “Is he the one who slew Goliath and wrote some psalms and became the first, uh, Davidic king of Israel?”
Adam grinned. “Yes. But you’re getting ahead of the story—David’s not king yet. But because of his immense popularity with the people, Saul began to consider him a rival.”
He paused and leaned in closer to his little brother, careful not to upset the chess pieces as he did so. “Saul had a son named Jonathan. And Jonathan, according to First Samuel, ‘loved David like his own soul.’”
He paused again and narrowed his eyes at Joe. “Most clergy will assure you that it was a platonic, unconsummated relationship—but there’s no question that Jonathan loved David and was willing to do anything for him. He stripped in front of him once and gave him all his garments, even his girdle and sword. And another time, when the two men were making a pact, he promised David to do whatever his soul desired.”
Joe raised his eyebrows at that. “I imagine that caused some problems between Saul and his son.”
“It did,” Adam assured him.
“Did David feel the same way about Jonathan?” Joe persisted. “Would he have done anything for him?”
“I don’t know,” Adam admitted. “It’s hard to tell. But we know that they kissed one another and wept together when they were about to be separated. And when Jonathan died in battle, David lamented him by saying, ‘Thy love to me was wonderful, surpassing the love of women.”
Joe’s eyebrows shot up again. “And priests think that there was nothing, ah, improper between them?”
Adam shrugged. “David calls Jonathan ‘brother’—so most clergy like to call it a brotherly relationship.”
“I think they’re blind,” Joe said candidly, shaking his head. “We’re brothers, but if I ever die in battle, promise not to tell people that my love for you surpassed the love of women.”
Adam couldn’t help but chortle at that. “I promise.”
Joe stared down at the chess pieces again and frowned. “Adam, David loves you. Deeply loves you, I mean.”
“I know,” Adam said softly.
“Do you feel the same about him?”
He took a deep breath before answering. “I care for David, Joe. There’s no question of that. And I don’t want this relationship to end. But do I love him the way he loves me? I don’t know.”
Joe considered that. “Maybe it doesn’t matter,” he said at length. “Despite his namesake, I think David’s willing to play ‘Jonathan’ to your ‘David.’”
Adam responded with a small smile. “So it would appear.”
LINK TO PART SIXTY
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
A grizzled, bearded man coughed and swore as the stage coach lumbered its way to San Diego. God, how he wished there was an easier way to travel.
Well, at least this was a straightforward job. Ed Niles wanted him to find out all about a girl who had run off to Virginia City with a wicked scar on her face. The girl had received some sort of mail from San Diego, so she must know someone there.
San Diego wasn’t that big a place, the grizzled man reminded himself. And there weren’t too many women with the kind of scar Niles had described. It should be easy enough to discover her history.
He closed his eyes as the coach bounced over some ruts in the road. Not much longer now, he reminded himself. Then he’d find out about this filly—like as not she had run away from a husband—and then he’d be on his way back home.
The grizzled man smiled, thinking that at least there’d be a healthy payday in this for him. With any luck, it would take no more than a week to uncover the girl’s origins. Then he’d be heading back to San Francisco, where he belonged.
~
Adam trudged back into the hotel, cursing his little brother under his breath and wishing very much that he had his hands on Joe’s hide. He had wasted hours searching for him, but he was nowhere to be found.
But Adam spied Joe as soon as he entered the hotel—and he was hard put to decide if he was relived to find his little brother or even angrier at the wasted hours.
Joe was sitting opposite David at the chessboard. The two men weren’t murdering each other—in fact, they were shaking hands. Adam raised his eyebrows at that but was careful not to get his hopes up.
He walked over to the chessboard and leaned sideways up against the wall behind David, so that he was facing his little brother. “Here you are, Joe,” he said evenly. “I’ve been out looking for you.”
Joe had the grace to look guilty, Adam noted. He even flashed Adam an apologetic smile.
“I’m going upstairs,” David announced as he took his leave of the two brothers. “We should all be ready to, ah, resume our ‘trailing’ duties in about two hours.”
Adam nodded as he took the seat that David vacated. He stared at his brother for a moment, determined to let Joe speak first. He was curious to hear what he had to say for himself.
“Sorry about making you look for me,” Joe managed. “I was too angry to talk before—but I should have left word at the desk.”
Adam said nothing—he just nodded again.
Joe stared down at the chess pieces. His face colored as he began talking. “I had a long talk with David,” he said softly. “I don’t—I don’t understand what you two see in each other. But do I understand that there’s something there—genuine affection, I mean. It’s not just—just mindless rutting.”
Adam started at that. “Is that what you thought was going on between us?”
Joe’s face became even redder as he answered. “Yeah. Well, how was I supposed to know different? I didn’t know two men could love each other.”
Adam managed a smile. “Didn’t you ever read about David and Jonathan in First Samuel?”
“First Samuel?” Joe repeated, frowning. “Is that a Bible book?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Yes, it’s a Bible book.”
Joe shrugged. “I’m a Catholic, Adam. We don’t read the Bible; we have priests to do that. And we have just one interpretation—that’s why we haven’t broken up into a thousand tiny churches like you Protestants have.”
“True,” Adam acknowledged, smiling again. “All right, I’ll do my best to relay the story to you. A man named Saul was the first king of Israel. He had a shepherd named David in his court.”
“Is this the famous David?” Joe asked, interrupting. “Is he the one who slew Goliath and wrote some psalms and became the first, uh, Davidic king of Israel?”
Adam grinned. “Yes. But you’re getting ahead of the story—David’s not king yet. But because of his immense popularity with the people, Saul began to consider him a rival.”
He paused and leaned in closer to his little brother, careful not to upset the chess pieces as he did so. “Saul had a son named Jonathan. And Jonathan, according to First Samuel, ‘loved David like his own soul.’”
He paused again and narrowed his eyes at Joe. “Most clergy will assure you that it was a platonic, unconsummated relationship—but there’s no question that Jonathan loved David and was willing to do anything for him. He stripped in front of him once and gave him all his garments, even his girdle and sword. And another time, when the two men were making a pact, he promised David to do whatever his soul desired.”
Joe raised his eyebrows at that. “I imagine that caused some problems between Saul and his son.”
“It did,” Adam assured him.
“Did David feel the same way about Jonathan?” Joe persisted. “Would he have done anything for him?”
“I don’t know,” Adam admitted. “It’s hard to tell. But we know that they kissed one another and wept together when they were about to be separated. And when Jonathan died in battle, David lamented him by saying, ‘Thy love to me was wonderful, surpassing the love of women.”
Joe’s eyebrows shot up again. “And priests think that there was nothing, ah, improper between them?”
Adam shrugged. “David calls Jonathan ‘brother’—so most clergy like to call it a brotherly relationship.”
“I think they’re blind,” Joe said candidly, shaking his head. “We’re brothers, but if I ever die in battle, promise not to tell people that my love for you surpassed the love of women.”
Adam couldn’t help but chortle at that. “I promise.”
Joe stared down at the chess pieces again and frowned. “Adam, David loves you. Deeply loves you, I mean.”
“I know,” Adam said softly.
“Do you feel the same about him?”
He took a deep breath before answering. “I care for David, Joe. There’s no question of that. And I don’t want this relationship to end. But do I love him the way he loves me? I don’t know.”
Joe considered that. “Maybe it doesn’t matter,” he said at length. “Despite his namesake, I think David’s willing to play ‘Jonathan’ to your ‘David.’”
Adam responded with a small smile. “So it would appear.”
LINK TO PART SIXTY
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Picture of Yesterday
I've always liked this shot of Adam (Pernell Roberts) and Sheriff Coffee (Ray Teal).The New Hand, Part Fifty-Eight
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
David chose his words carefully as he continued to look Joe in the eye. There was a degree of privacy at the chess table, so he knew he could talk without fear.
“You don’t really know me, Joe,” he said at length, making sure to keep his voice soft. “Right now I’m just the man who’s, ah, leading your brother astray.”
“I worked with you for a month on the Ponderosa,” Joe pointed out. “I know you well enough.”
“Well enough to despise me now?” David asked. “Why didn’t you despise me earlier—when I told you that I planned to ruin Adam?”
“I did,” Joe answered, keeping his arms folded across his chest. “Or at least—at least I tried to. You make it hard to dislike you, David. I’ll give you that much.”
David smiled a little at that. “If you want to despise me because of what happened to Stephen, I won’t blame you. I think—I think your reading of that event was exactly on the mark.”
To David's surprise, Joe’s eyes seemed to soften at that. Reluctantly, but they softened.
“Adam’s right too, though,” Joe said. “You didn’t pull the trigger. But you shouldn’t have tried to blame Adam for the kid’s death.”
“You’re right,” David conceded. “That—that was not a shining moment on my part. But I was wracked with guilt and, since Miller told me that Adam had forced Stephen to confess, I felt betrayed. By blaming Adam I managed to fuel the guilt into anger.”
He paused long enough to flash Joe a self-deprecating grin. “The problem, Joe, is that I was already too much in love with Adam to carry out my revenge—and I only fell deeper the longer I worked with him.”
Joe’s eyes widened at that, but he said nothing.
“Sometime during that month on the Ponderosa, I guessed that Adam hadn’t really betrayed me,” David continued. “That’s why Abby didn’t have to work too hard to convince me to talk it all out with him. And so I, ah, ‘borrowed’ a bottle of scotch from your father’s wine cellar one night, split it with Adam and we hashed it all out.”
He sat back in his chair a little and cocked his head at Joe. Joe was still staring at him, as if taking in a brand new thought, but he was still keeping silent.
David began to talk just to fill the silence. It couldn’t hurt Joe to know more about him, he reckoned. Then perhaps he would see David more as a fellow human being and less as the demon who had seduced his brother.
He thought for a moment and then decided to fill Joe in on the most humiliating event of his life—his first marriage.
“Stop me whenever you think I’m giving you too much information,” David said quietly. “It’s just that—well, of the few people who know my tendencies, most want to ask me why I don’t reconsider a ‘normal’ relationship with a woman. My first marriage would be the answer to that.”
He went on to describe the humiliating ordeal of that marriage, which was not without its humorous side. He explained that he had loved his first wife, but he had only pretended to be attracted to her. That fact made it difficult to perform certain marital duties. They did manage to consummate the marriage—a less than exhilarating event for both of them—but David found it increasingly difficult to perform afterwards. His wife heaped frustrated scorn on him because of it, which certainly didn’t improve matters.
Joe smiled as David wryly explained the hopelessness of the whole situation. Seeing that smile, David had some cause to hope that he was making headway.
David was careful to explain that, whatever problems they had, at least his first wife had taught him the nuts and bolts of Jewish observances—something he certainly hadn’t learned from his mother. Josephine had taught him some Hebrew, but little else.
“In the end, I signed a gett and gave my wife a divorce,” he concluded. “I wished her every happiness and we went our separate ways. It will be different with Avi, of course. She doesn’t expect me to, ah, perform.”
Still Joe said nothing.
David sighed. “Joe, you can say something now—even if you want to tell me how much you still despise me.
“I didn’t know that you love him,” Joe said simply.
He cocked his head at Joe. “That I love Adam, you mean?”
Joe nodded. “I knew—I knew that one man could want another one, like a—like a rutting stag. And that one man could use another one for release, the way most men use saloon girls. But I didn’t know that one man could fall in love with another one.”
He paused and David got the sense that he was collecting his thoughts.
“I guess I realized that there could be a strong friendship between two men who wanted each other,” Joe owned. “But I didn’t know that there could be real love or affection between them.”
Joe paused again to take a deep breath. “Adam has—he has been attracted to some women. Genuinely attracted, I mean. What are you going to do if he ends things with you in order to have a wife and family?”
“I don’t know,” David answered honestly. “I think I’d want to keep the friendship—but it might be too painful. I don’t know how it would feel to lose the right to embrace him or to use his shoulder for a pillow.”
Joe managed another smile at that.
“I never want this to end, Joe,” David continued. “But I don’t know if Adam feels the same. I don’t think Adam even knows—this is all too new to him.”
“Then you’re Adam’s first?” Joe asked.
David hesitated. “I’m not sure,” he owned. “My guess is that he’s been attracted to other men before, but this is the first time he’s crossed that line.”
“I feel better about that,” Joe admitted. “At least Adam hasn’t been—hasn’t been hiding this forever.”
He paused and narrowed his eyes at David. “I still don’t approve,” Joe informed him. “And I don’t really understand why two men would—would be attracted to each other that way. But I can understand why you love my brother. He’s—he’s a decent man.”
David smiled. “Excessively decent,” he agreed. He held out his hand to Little Joe. “Can we at least declare a truce?”
Joe stared at the outstretched hand for a long moment, but at length he accepted it. “Truce,” he agreed. “I don’t despise you, I guess, but I’m still determined not to like you much.”
David’s smile deepened. “Fair enough,” he owned.
LINK TO PART FIFTY-NINE
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
David chose his words carefully as he continued to look Joe in the eye. There was a degree of privacy at the chess table, so he knew he could talk without fear.
“You don’t really know me, Joe,” he said at length, making sure to keep his voice soft. “Right now I’m just the man who’s, ah, leading your brother astray.”
“I worked with you for a month on the Ponderosa,” Joe pointed out. “I know you well enough.”
“Well enough to despise me now?” David asked. “Why didn’t you despise me earlier—when I told you that I planned to ruin Adam?”
“I did,” Joe answered, keeping his arms folded across his chest. “Or at least—at least I tried to. You make it hard to dislike you, David. I’ll give you that much.”
David smiled a little at that. “If you want to despise me because of what happened to Stephen, I won’t blame you. I think—I think your reading of that event was exactly on the mark.”
To David's surprise, Joe’s eyes seemed to soften at that. Reluctantly, but they softened.
“Adam’s right too, though,” Joe said. “You didn’t pull the trigger. But you shouldn’t have tried to blame Adam for the kid’s death.”
“You’re right,” David conceded. “That—that was not a shining moment on my part. But I was wracked with guilt and, since Miller told me that Adam had forced Stephen to confess, I felt betrayed. By blaming Adam I managed to fuel the guilt into anger.”
He paused long enough to flash Joe a self-deprecating grin. “The problem, Joe, is that I was already too much in love with Adam to carry out my revenge—and I only fell deeper the longer I worked with him.”
Joe’s eyes widened at that, but he said nothing.
“Sometime during that month on the Ponderosa, I guessed that Adam hadn’t really betrayed me,” David continued. “That’s why Abby didn’t have to work too hard to convince me to talk it all out with him. And so I, ah, ‘borrowed’ a bottle of scotch from your father’s wine cellar one night, split it with Adam and we hashed it all out.”
He sat back in his chair a little and cocked his head at Joe. Joe was still staring at him, as if taking in a brand new thought, but he was still keeping silent.
David began to talk just to fill the silence. It couldn’t hurt Joe to know more about him, he reckoned. Then perhaps he would see David more as a fellow human being and less as the demon who had seduced his brother.
He thought for a moment and then decided to fill Joe in on the most humiliating event of his life—his first marriage.
“Stop me whenever you think I’m giving you too much information,” David said quietly. “It’s just that—well, of the few people who know my tendencies, most want to ask me why I don’t reconsider a ‘normal’ relationship with a woman. My first marriage would be the answer to that.”
He went on to describe the humiliating ordeal of that marriage, which was not without its humorous side. He explained that he had loved his first wife, but he had only pretended to be attracted to her. That fact made it difficult to perform certain marital duties. They did manage to consummate the marriage—a less than exhilarating event for both of them—but David found it increasingly difficult to perform afterwards. His wife heaped frustrated scorn on him because of it, which certainly didn’t improve matters.
Joe smiled as David wryly explained the hopelessness of the whole situation. Seeing that smile, David had some cause to hope that he was making headway.
David was careful to explain that, whatever problems they had, at least his first wife had taught him the nuts and bolts of Jewish observances—something he certainly hadn’t learned from his mother. Josephine had taught him some Hebrew, but little else.
“In the end, I signed a gett and gave my wife a divorce,” he concluded. “I wished her every happiness and we went our separate ways. It will be different with Avi, of course. She doesn’t expect me to, ah, perform.”
Still Joe said nothing.
David sighed. “Joe, you can say something now—even if you want to tell me how much you still despise me.
“I didn’t know that you love him,” Joe said simply.
He cocked his head at Joe. “That I love Adam, you mean?”
Joe nodded. “I knew—I knew that one man could want another one, like a—like a rutting stag. And that one man could use another one for release, the way most men use saloon girls. But I didn’t know that one man could fall in love with another one.”
He paused and David got the sense that he was collecting his thoughts.
“I guess I realized that there could be a strong friendship between two men who wanted each other,” Joe owned. “But I didn’t know that there could be real love or affection between them.”
Joe paused again to take a deep breath. “Adam has—he has been attracted to some women. Genuinely attracted, I mean. What are you going to do if he ends things with you in order to have a wife and family?”
“I don’t know,” David answered honestly. “I think I’d want to keep the friendship—but it might be too painful. I don’t know how it would feel to lose the right to embrace him or to use his shoulder for a pillow.”
Joe managed another smile at that.
“I never want this to end, Joe,” David continued. “But I don’t know if Adam feels the same. I don’t think Adam even knows—this is all too new to him.”
“Then you’re Adam’s first?” Joe asked.
David hesitated. “I’m not sure,” he owned. “My guess is that he’s been attracted to other men before, but this is the first time he’s crossed that line.”
“I feel better about that,” Joe admitted. “At least Adam hasn’t been—hasn’t been hiding this forever.”
He paused and narrowed his eyes at David. “I still don’t approve,” Joe informed him. “And I don’t really understand why two men would—would be attracted to each other that way. But I can understand why you love my brother. He’s—he’s a decent man.”
David smiled. “Excessively decent,” he agreed. He held out his hand to Little Joe. “Can we at least declare a truce?”
Joe stared at the outstretched hand for a long moment, but at length he accepted it. “Truce,” he agreed. “I don’t despise you, I guess, but I’m still determined not to like you much.”
David’s smile deepened. “Fair enough,” he owned.
LINK TO PART FIFTY-NINE
The New Hand, Part Fifty-Seven
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
By the time Joe arrived back at the hotel, Adam was nowhere to be seen. But David was in the lobby, sitting by himself at the chessboard. He looked like he was working out some sort of chess problem.
Joe sighed and walked up to him. “Do you know where my brother is?” he asked without bothering with any preamble.
David looked up at him. “Out looking for you,” he answered. “We thought one of us should stay here. Have a seat.”
Joe hesitated.
”Don’t worry,” David said wryly. “What I have isn’t contagious. Sit down.”
Joe rolled his eyes but took the chair. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at David. “Well?” he asked.
David gave him a measuring look. “I know you despise me, Joe,” he said at length. “I don’t mind that—but I want to make sure you despise me for the right reasons. So I want you to sit there and just listen to what I have to say.”
Joe’s instincts told him to walk away. He knew how charismatic David could be and he didn’t want to risk liking the man.
But then he thought about his determination to make amends with Adam. For his brother’s sake, he knew that he had to hear David out.
“Go on,” Joe said at last. “I’m listening.”
~
Josephine lifted her skirts carefully as she made her way into the barn. She spied Ben as soon as she slipped inside. He was feeding Buck an extra helping of oats.
She smiled at the picture man and horse presented. This particular man was made for horses and sweat and ranching—as much as he might appreciate everything cities had to offer, he would never be at home in one.
She laughed a little, catching his attention.
“Josephine,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He was clearly surprised to see her out in the barn—apparently he thought he was safe here. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to chastise you for hiding from me these past few days, Benjamin,” she told him as she put a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
She watched with some amusement as the powerful, self-made Ben Cartwright actually blushed.
“I wasn’t hiding from you,” he insisted. “I apologize that I haven’t been more attentive—but with the new timber contract and so few hands, I…”
His voice trailed off as he shrugged his excuses.
Josephine laughed as she walked toward him. “Benjamin, I understand. I know that, for whatever reason, you’ve decided not to accept the invitation I’ve been trying to issue you.”
She paused as she reached out and took one of his hands in her own. “I just want you to know that I don’t mind—and you don’t need to hide from me. If friendship is all you can offer me, I’ll gladly accept it.”
She watched him visibly relax as he clasped her hand in both of his. “I—I suppose I have been avoiding you,” he admitted. “It’s been a long time since a woman could make me feel like a stammering schoolboy!”
She laughed again. “Then, forgive me for being so shockingly forward, but why are you refusing me?”
He looked her straight in the eye as he responded. “Because I wouldn’t be satisfied with just a dalliance,” he told her.
Her eyes widened at that. “I—I see,” she managed, surprised to find herself disconcerted. This was not the reason she’d been expecting.
She paused, considering her response. “I don’t see how you and I could undertake something more permanent,” she said frankly. “I’ll always be on the road—and you belong here.” She smiled before adding, “Besides, after three failed marriages I’ve decided that I’m simply not good wifely material.”
Ben grinned at that. “Well, I imagine the stage is too demanding to allow you a husband and home.”
“Precisely,” she agreed. “Although I am grateful to my second husband—at least he gave me David.”
Ben tightened his grip on her hand. “Are you—are you worried for David? I mean, are you concerned for whatever kind of trouble he and Adam are trying to handle out in San Francisco? Even Little Joe is out there now.”
Her eyes softened as she took in his anxiety. This man loved his family above all else—even, she suspected, above his precious Ponderosa.
“Benjamin, I always worry for David,” she answered honestly. “Since the day he was born. But he’s a grown man—just as Adam and Little Joe are grown men. We have to let the three of them handle this matter on their own.”
He sighed and released her hand. “I know,” he owned. “But the worst part is not knowing what sort of trouble they’re in.”
“It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” she agreed. “I don’t know what they’re up to either—but I think Abby does.”
“We can’t ask her,” Ben said, shaking his head. “She’ll be loyal to David—as she should be.”
Josephine rolled her eyes. “Yes, she’ll be quite the good little wife, won’t she?”
Ben frowned at that, giving her a sharp glance.
What a delightfully fierce temper this man had! “Oh, don’t look so shocked by me,” Josephine chided playfully. “I quite adore Avigail. It’s just that—well, David didn’t choose a woman just like his mother, did he?”
“No, I can’t say that he did,” he agreed, smiling a little. “But I’m sure that’s no reflection on you. Your son seems to both love and admire you.”
“He does,” she confirmed. “For all our difficulties there’s never been any lack of affection between us.”
She paused and held out her arm to him. “Now let’s not speculate any further—that will only cause us both to worry even more. Will you do me the honor of escorting me inside, sir?”
Ben managed another smile as he took her arm. “It will be my privilege, Madame.”
LINK TO PART FIFTY-EIGHT
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
By the time Joe arrived back at the hotel, Adam was nowhere to be seen. But David was in the lobby, sitting by himself at the chessboard. He looked like he was working out some sort of chess problem.
Joe sighed and walked up to him. “Do you know where my brother is?” he asked without bothering with any preamble.
David looked up at him. “Out looking for you,” he answered. “We thought one of us should stay here. Have a seat.”
Joe hesitated.
”Don’t worry,” David said wryly. “What I have isn’t contagious. Sit down.”
Joe rolled his eyes but took the chair. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at David. “Well?” he asked.
David gave him a measuring look. “I know you despise me, Joe,” he said at length. “I don’t mind that—but I want to make sure you despise me for the right reasons. So I want you to sit there and just listen to what I have to say.”
Joe’s instincts told him to walk away. He knew how charismatic David could be and he didn’t want to risk liking the man.
But then he thought about his determination to make amends with Adam. For his brother’s sake, he knew that he had to hear David out.
“Go on,” Joe said at last. “I’m listening.”
~
Josephine lifted her skirts carefully as she made her way into the barn. She spied Ben as soon as she slipped inside. He was feeding Buck an extra helping of oats.
She smiled at the picture man and horse presented. This particular man was made for horses and sweat and ranching—as much as he might appreciate everything cities had to offer, he would never be at home in one.
She laughed a little, catching his attention.
“Josephine,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He was clearly surprised to see her out in the barn—apparently he thought he was safe here. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to chastise you for hiding from me these past few days, Benjamin,” she told him as she put a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
She watched with some amusement as the powerful, self-made Ben Cartwright actually blushed.
“I wasn’t hiding from you,” he insisted. “I apologize that I haven’t been more attentive—but with the new timber contract and so few hands, I…”
His voice trailed off as he shrugged his excuses.
Josephine laughed as she walked toward him. “Benjamin, I understand. I know that, for whatever reason, you’ve decided not to accept the invitation I’ve been trying to issue you.”
She paused as she reached out and took one of his hands in her own. “I just want you to know that I don’t mind—and you don’t need to hide from me. If friendship is all you can offer me, I’ll gladly accept it.”
She watched him visibly relax as he clasped her hand in both of his. “I—I suppose I have been avoiding you,” he admitted. “It’s been a long time since a woman could make me feel like a stammering schoolboy!”
She laughed again. “Then, forgive me for being so shockingly forward, but why are you refusing me?”
He looked her straight in the eye as he responded. “Because I wouldn’t be satisfied with just a dalliance,” he told her.
Her eyes widened at that. “I—I see,” she managed, surprised to find herself disconcerted. This was not the reason she’d been expecting.
She paused, considering her response. “I don’t see how you and I could undertake something more permanent,” she said frankly. “I’ll always be on the road—and you belong here.” She smiled before adding, “Besides, after three failed marriages I’ve decided that I’m simply not good wifely material.”
Ben grinned at that. “Well, I imagine the stage is too demanding to allow you a husband and home.”
“Precisely,” she agreed. “Although I am grateful to my second husband—at least he gave me David.”
Ben tightened his grip on her hand. “Are you—are you worried for David? I mean, are you concerned for whatever kind of trouble he and Adam are trying to handle out in San Francisco? Even Little Joe is out there now.”
Her eyes softened as she took in his anxiety. This man loved his family above all else—even, she suspected, above his precious Ponderosa.
“Benjamin, I always worry for David,” she answered honestly. “Since the day he was born. But he’s a grown man—just as Adam and Little Joe are grown men. We have to let the three of them handle this matter on their own.”
He sighed and released her hand. “I know,” he owned. “But the worst part is not knowing what sort of trouble they’re in.”
“It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” she agreed. “I don’t know what they’re up to either—but I think Abby does.”
“We can’t ask her,” Ben said, shaking his head. “She’ll be loyal to David—as she should be.”
Josephine rolled her eyes. “Yes, she’ll be quite the good little wife, won’t she?”
Ben frowned at that, giving her a sharp glance.
What a delightfully fierce temper this man had! “Oh, don’t look so shocked by me,” Josephine chided playfully. “I quite adore Avigail. It’s just that—well, David didn’t choose a woman just like his mother, did he?”
“No, I can’t say that he did,” he agreed, smiling a little. “But I’m sure that’s no reflection on you. Your son seems to both love and admire you.”
“He does,” she confirmed. “For all our difficulties there’s never been any lack of affection between us.”
She paused and held out her arm to him. “Now let’s not speculate any further—that will only cause us both to worry even more. Will you do me the honor of escorting me inside, sir?”
Ben managed another smile as he took her arm. “It will be my privilege, Madame.”
LINK TO PART FIFTY-EIGHT
Picture of...the Day Before Yesterday
I'm waaaay behind...but how about this goregeous shot of a tiger from one of my favorite places: The Bronx Zoo.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The Monstrosity, Part Four
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Drew didn’t start his story immediately. He leaned over toward the wall instead, feeling with his hand for the bell-rope. He gave it a tug and then settled back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. I wondered, meanwhile, where in the Monstrosity the bell would ring--the servant’s quarters might be some distance from us.
There was a separate servants’ house, built to accomodate a few privileged servants, including Brian and his wife. The rest--and I’d wager that there were at least ten more--lived here.
I didn’t find it odd to be in a house with such a large staff. In truth, we could use more domestics at the Ponderosa--but Pa wouldn’t hear of it. The whole idea of servants went against the grain with him. He accepted Hop Sing--but I don't think he really thought of the cook as a domestic.
But Pa would be damned before he'd allow me to cram the Ponderosa with maids and footmen. I had pointed out that hiring one maid and one fellow who could serve as both a butler and footman hardly qualified as cramming the Ponderosa. But Pa still refused--even when I offered to pay the servants out of my own salary.
I didn't understand his stubbornness on this issue. I knew we’d have to be careful about the people we hired--ideally, we’d find a married couple so that Joe wouldn’t be tempted to run off with the maid. But that would be simple enough. Virginia City was crawling with Irish and other immigrants looking for work.
I leaned back in my chair and sighed. I had told Pa that we'd be doing a good deed by hiring a deserving couple as domestics, but even that didn’t sway him. Servants, he told me, meant that a man had given up his self-sufficiency. In that case, I responded, we should fire Hop Sing and have one of us spend hours upon hours in the kitchen each day. And we should stop sending our laundry out--one of us could take another couple of days to handle that.
That, of course, was not the same thing as far as Pa was concerned. But I didn’t see the difference between hiring a cook and hiring a decent couple for the grueling work of beating rugs and curtains, keeping the fires stoked, drawing and heating water for baths and a hundred other time-consuming tasks.
If ever I moved out of the main house, I thought to myself, the first thing I would do is a hire a proper staff for my new home.
The butler himself answered the bell. He must have anticipated Drew's request, for he brought more coffee on a tray. He set the tray on a table near Drew and bowed himself out.
Drew felt gingerly for the coffee pot and managed to pour another cup for himself and me. I marveled at how many difficulties such a simple task presented him--and at his determination to overcome them.
Drew took a few sips of his coffee before setting the cup back down. Then he leaned forward on the chessboard again and gave me a wry smile.
"Jack likes to pretend that we come from blue-blood," he began. "But he doesn't like to lie outright, so he generally avoids any mention of our parents."
I smiled at that. "I take it that your parents are not blue-blooded?"
"Far from it," he said. "My mother was a saloon girl. My father was a two bit gambler. He was baseborn--his parents never married. The only decent thing he ever did was to marry my mother and give her his name."
He paused. "My father got himself killed in a bar room brawl shortly after I was born. My mother raised Jack and me until he was eight and I was four. By then I was too much of a burden. I'd been born blind and I refused to talk. Well, I talked to Jack, but I wouldn't talk to her or anyone else."
I bit my lip. Drew had told me before that he didn't speak to anyone but Jack until he was twelve or thirteen. "You never spoke to your mother?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Perhaps when I was a baby. She didn't like me much and she told me how much she hated being saddled with me. I don't think I saw any reason to speak with her. "
His voice was flat, but it must have cost him something to admit to such rejection. Nonetheless, I kept my own voice devoid of emotion. "You only spoke to people you considered worthy, is that it?"
He grinned at that. "Yes--that was probably my line of thought. My mother didn't fit that category. I don't think I disliked her, but she pushed me away and so I clung to Jack instead."
He paused again and took another sip of coffee. "Eventually my mother brought Jack and me to an orphanage. There were a few couples willing to adopt Jack--you know how charismatic and charming he can be--but they wouldn't take me. And Jack refused to leave without me. He would kick and scream until the couples gave up on him."
I stared at Drew, looking for a trace of pain on his face. There was none--but I suspect that's because he was unwilling to show it to me. He was determined to appear nonchalant about his childhood.
"Jack and I finally ran away," Drew continued. "I was about ten at the time--he was fourteen. No one at the orphanage tried to stop us. We traveled for a few years. Jack took jobs here and there to support us. And then he got lucky in the Forty-Nine."
He paused again for yet another sip of coffee. "Jack did find out what became of our mother--she died of a fever. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have bothered mourning her, but Jack insisted that we both wear black arm bands for a time."
I knew from the tone of his voice that the story was over--he had told me as much as he was willing, at least for the time being. But I was glad to hear even that terse version of his tale. And I knew that I would have to reevaluate Jack Clayton in light of it.
I had no liking for Jack--but whatever his faults, I had to admit that he had taken good care of his little brother. I respected the man for that. I still thought that I could have done a better job raising Drew, but I could only have hoped to match Jack in devotion.
"What are you thinking?" Drew asked suddenly.
"That Jack did very well by you," I said.
He nodded. "Yes, he did. But that's not all you're thinking, is it?"
"No," I admitted. "But the rest can keep. What made you decide that people other than Jack were worth speaking to?"
"I've only found a few other people who are worth speaking to," he said. "You happen to be one of them."
I rolled my eyes at that. "I'm flattered. But what made you start speaking at twelve or thirteen? To people you didn't think were worthy, I mean."
"Jack convinced me that I had a better chance of manipulating them through speech," he answered.
I almost choked at his response. "I see," I managed at last.
He grinned again. "Now you know my gut wrenching story," he said. "Care to share a bit of yours?"
I sighed. "If I do, it will be as minimal and stoic as your own," I warned him.
He nodded and leaned back in his chair. "Fair enough. What happened in that desert?"
LINK TO PART FIVE
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Drew didn’t start his story immediately. He leaned over toward the wall instead, feeling with his hand for the bell-rope. He gave it a tug and then settled back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. I wondered, meanwhile, where in the Monstrosity the bell would ring--the servant’s quarters might be some distance from us.
There was a separate servants’ house, built to accomodate a few privileged servants, including Brian and his wife. The rest--and I’d wager that there were at least ten more--lived here.
I didn’t find it odd to be in a house with such a large staff. In truth, we could use more domestics at the Ponderosa--but Pa wouldn’t hear of it. The whole idea of servants went against the grain with him. He accepted Hop Sing--but I don't think he really thought of the cook as a domestic.
But Pa would be damned before he'd allow me to cram the Ponderosa with maids and footmen. I had pointed out that hiring one maid and one fellow who could serve as both a butler and footman hardly qualified as cramming the Ponderosa. But Pa still refused--even when I offered to pay the servants out of my own salary.
I didn't understand his stubbornness on this issue. I knew we’d have to be careful about the people we hired--ideally, we’d find a married couple so that Joe wouldn’t be tempted to run off with the maid. But that would be simple enough. Virginia City was crawling with Irish and other immigrants looking for work.
I leaned back in my chair and sighed. I had told Pa that we'd be doing a good deed by hiring a deserving couple as domestics, but even that didn’t sway him. Servants, he told me, meant that a man had given up his self-sufficiency. In that case, I responded, we should fire Hop Sing and have one of us spend hours upon hours in the kitchen each day. And we should stop sending our laundry out--one of us could take another couple of days to handle that.
That, of course, was not the same thing as far as Pa was concerned. But I didn’t see the difference between hiring a cook and hiring a decent couple for the grueling work of beating rugs and curtains, keeping the fires stoked, drawing and heating water for baths and a hundred other time-consuming tasks.
If ever I moved out of the main house, I thought to myself, the first thing I would do is a hire a proper staff for my new home.
The butler himself answered the bell. He must have anticipated Drew's request, for he brought more coffee on a tray. He set the tray on a table near Drew and bowed himself out.
Drew felt gingerly for the coffee pot and managed to pour another cup for himself and me. I marveled at how many difficulties such a simple task presented him--and at his determination to overcome them.
Drew took a few sips of his coffee before setting the cup back down. Then he leaned forward on the chessboard again and gave me a wry smile.
"Jack likes to pretend that we come from blue-blood," he began. "But he doesn't like to lie outright, so he generally avoids any mention of our parents."
I smiled at that. "I take it that your parents are not blue-blooded?"
"Far from it," he said. "My mother was a saloon girl. My father was a two bit gambler. He was baseborn--his parents never married. The only decent thing he ever did was to marry my mother and give her his name."
He paused. "My father got himself killed in a bar room brawl shortly after I was born. My mother raised Jack and me until he was eight and I was four. By then I was too much of a burden. I'd been born blind and I refused to talk. Well, I talked to Jack, but I wouldn't talk to her or anyone else."
I bit my lip. Drew had told me before that he didn't speak to anyone but Jack until he was twelve or thirteen. "You never spoke to your mother?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Perhaps when I was a baby. She didn't like me much and she told me how much she hated being saddled with me. I don't think I saw any reason to speak with her. "
His voice was flat, but it must have cost him something to admit to such rejection. Nonetheless, I kept my own voice devoid of emotion. "You only spoke to people you considered worthy, is that it?"
He grinned at that. "Yes--that was probably my line of thought. My mother didn't fit that category. I don't think I disliked her, but she pushed me away and so I clung to Jack instead."
He paused again and took another sip of coffee. "Eventually my mother brought Jack and me to an orphanage. There were a few couples willing to adopt Jack--you know how charismatic and charming he can be--but they wouldn't take me. And Jack refused to leave without me. He would kick and scream until the couples gave up on him."
I stared at Drew, looking for a trace of pain on his face. There was none--but I suspect that's because he was unwilling to show it to me. He was determined to appear nonchalant about his childhood.
"Jack and I finally ran away," Drew continued. "I was about ten at the time--he was fourteen. No one at the orphanage tried to stop us. We traveled for a few years. Jack took jobs here and there to support us. And then he got lucky in the Forty-Nine."
He paused again for yet another sip of coffee. "Jack did find out what became of our mother--she died of a fever. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have bothered mourning her, but Jack insisted that we both wear black arm bands for a time."
I knew from the tone of his voice that the story was over--he had told me as much as he was willing, at least for the time being. But I was glad to hear even that terse version of his tale. And I knew that I would have to reevaluate Jack Clayton in light of it.
I had no liking for Jack--but whatever his faults, I had to admit that he had taken good care of his little brother. I respected the man for that. I still thought that I could have done a better job raising Drew, but I could only have hoped to match Jack in devotion.
"What are you thinking?" Drew asked suddenly.
"That Jack did very well by you," I said.
He nodded. "Yes, he did. But that's not all you're thinking, is it?"
"No," I admitted. "But the rest can keep. What made you decide that people other than Jack were worth speaking to?"
"I've only found a few other people who are worth speaking to," he said. "You happen to be one of them."
I rolled my eyes at that. "I'm flattered. But what made you start speaking at twelve or thirteen? To people you didn't think were worthy, I mean."
"Jack convinced me that I had a better chance of manipulating them through speech," he answered.
I almost choked at his response. "I see," I managed at last.
He grinned again. "Now you know my gut wrenching story," he said. "Care to share a bit of yours?"
I sighed. "If I do, it will be as minimal and stoic as your own," I warned him.
He nodded and leaned back in his chair. "Fair enough. What happened in that desert?"
LINK TO PART FIVE
Monday, April 21, 2008
A Moonlight Serenade
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: G
Summary: (Complete) This piece shows my geekdom. It explores what would happen if Adam, Hoss and Little Joe could hop on line and play World of Warcraft. Don't worry if you've never played, you'll still be able to follow right along...
~
I can’t stand it. Adam is sitting next to that pretty mage, treating her to a moonlight serenade. It’s enough to turn my stomach.
I wouldn’t mind so much if this were real life—at least my older brother is a decent looking guy in real life. But his character on World of Warcraft isn’t the handsome charmer you’re thinking of. In fact, I couldn’t believe my eyes the first time I got a look at him. Here’s how it happened:
Adam, Hoss and I decided to start out adventuring solo—just to give ourselves time to become familiar with the game. Then we’d meet up outside the inn in the village of Goldshire.
After a few hours of play we were ready to meet up. It took some doing to get to Goldshire, but I managed. I recognized Hoss right away. He had made a big, burly human warrior for his character. The kind that can stand there and take it when ten mobs attack him at once.
Mobs? Oh, sorry. That’s short for ‘monsters.’
I made my character a lean, muscular night elf. And a good looking devil he is, if I don’t say so myself. I chose to play a rogue—I wanted to be able to slip in and out of shadows so that I could get into mischief unnoticed. Besides, rogues are known for their fancy footwork when it comes to crossing swords.
Hoss wrapped me in a bear hug as soon as he saw me. We stood outside the inn, laughing and joking while we watched some of the other players dueling. You can always catch a good duel outside the Lion’s Pride.
But where was older brother? And what was he playing? Knowing Adam, he’d go straight for one of the more challenging and difficult character class—the warlock, perhaps. So I kept my eyes peeled for a human in magic robes.
That’s when I noticed this tiny gnome waving at me, trying to get my attention. Aw—he was so cute! Those little ‘leprechauns’ on the Ponderosa had nothing on this guy.
I smiled down at him. Hoss narrowed his eyes at the cute little thing and then leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Joe, that’s Adam!”
I turned and stared at Hoss. “No it’s not!”
“Yes it is.”
The gnome folded his arms across his chest and gave me a stern look—it was Adam all right! I stared at him for a second and then I burst out laughing. I even fell to the ground. I couldn’t help it—I mean Adam playing a cute little gnome? I laughed so hard that I almost coughed up a lung.
Adam’s eyes shot daggers at me. “Since you find my character so amusing,” he said, “perhaps you’d care to test yourself against me in a duel?”
“Come on, Adam,” I said as I regained my composure and climbed back to my feet. “You can’t be serious. I can’t take advantage of such an adorable little fellow!”
But he reissued the challenge. In fact, he made it formal this time. Well, I couldn’t disgrace myself by running away from a gnome, could I?
I should have remembered that despite their cuteness, gnomes are the smartest race in the game. It was just like Adam to choose intellect over looks.
We began the duel. I had intended to go easy on him—but that was before he blasted me with a bolt of magic. Before I could catch my breath he had summoned this imp-creature to distract me while he prepared another bolt.
In under a minute I had my ‘you-know-what’ handed to me! Now, in my defense, Adam used a host of arcane tricks that I’d never seen before. Those tactics won’t work again.
Of course everyone standing around the inn witnessed my defeat. They all treated me to mock applause when I came to. I glared at my brother and swore under my breath. Then I favored the onlookers with an an ironic bow. There’s nothing like embarrassing yourself in front of a host of other gamers.
I tried to put it behind me as Adam, Hoss and I stepped into the inn. We took a table by the fire and sat down to discuss our options. We meant to stick together from now on.
That’s when we saw her. A pretty human woman with no armor—she was probably a mage or a warlock. I winked at her. She smiled at me and walked up to us.
“`Afternoon, gents,” she said. “I’m Frost Briar. I was wondering if you three might help me on a quest.”
We all jumped to our feet and invited her to sit down. As soon as she was seated, we resumed our chairs and asked her to tell us what she needed.
As it turns out, she was a mage—a frost mage, in case you didn’t get that from her name. And her quest was simple: some higher-up mages in Stormwind ordered her to fetch a flask of water from the base of a nearby waterfall.
While Hoss blushed and kept up the conversation I leaned over to Adam. “Well, that sounds easy enough,” I said.
But he was narrowing his eyes at the girl. “I don’t know, Joe. She’s more experienced than we are. If she’s having trouble with this quest, it can’t be as simple as it sounds.”
“Oh, come on older brother,” I said. “We can’t refuse a fellow adventurer! Besides, we might need her help sometime.”
He sighed. “Well, that’s true,” he owned. “All right—we’ll take a look.”
I’ll spare you the graphic details. All you need to know is that half an hour later, the four of us met in the spirit realm. Our bodies were lying near the waterfall.
The nice thing about World of Warcraft is that death isn’t permanent. You just have to journey back to your corpse and then you can spring back to life. But sometimes whatever killed you decides to stick around and patrol your remains…
Somehow we all managed to come back to life and flee before we could be killed again. Once we made it to the main road Hoss leaned against the rail in order to catch his breath.
“That didn’t work so well,” he managed.
Adam turned on Frost Briar. “Why didn’t you tell us that there were rival mages waiting to destroy anyone who gets near the waterfall?” he demanded.
“Because I didn’t think you’d help me if you knew!” she said in a feeble attempt to explain. “And, honestly, I thought the three of you could handle them while I got the water.”
“Well, maybe we could have, Ma’am, if we’d known about them in advance,” Hoss pointed out.
She blushed at that. “You’re right—I’m so sorry. Listen, I’ll make it up to you. I’m very good with a needle. I can make tunics for each of you and then enchant them with extra protections.”
“That might be good for Adam,” I said. “But Hoss and I wear armor—enchanted tunics will interfere with it.”
“Then you can sell them,” she returned. “They’re worth a pretty copper. Let’s go back to the inn and I’ll make one for each of you. Then I’ll find someone else to help me.”
Adam, Hoss and I exchanged glances. After significant looks passed between us, I turned back to the girl.
“We’ll take the tunics,” I told her, “but we’ll still help you out.”
“Yeah, I reckon we can do something about those mages,” Hoss put in.
“Yes we can,” Adam confirmed, rubbing his chin. “I have an idea. Here’s what we’re going to do…”
An hour later Hoss and I were back at the Lion’s Pride Inn. We had the fireplace-table again and Frost Briar had her flask of water. In fact, Adam was sitting outside with her, serenading her in the moonlight while she worked on our tunics.
I sighed. I couldn’t believe that a pretty human girl like Frost Briar had taken a shine to the gnome. Especially when she could have had a handsome devil of a night elf—namely me.
I sighed again as I took a sip from my ale. It’s an unfair world.
“Excuse me—is this seat taken?”
I looked up to find a female night elf questioning me—now she was something. She had hard, lithe muscles and she was wearing leather armor that fit a little too well.
I smiled up at her and forgot all about Frost Briar.
~The End~
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: G
Summary: (Complete) This piece shows my geekdom. It explores what would happen if Adam, Hoss and Little Joe could hop on line and play World of Warcraft. Don't worry if you've never played, you'll still be able to follow right along...
~
I can’t stand it. Adam is sitting next to that pretty mage, treating her to a moonlight serenade. It’s enough to turn my stomach.
I wouldn’t mind so much if this were real life—at least my older brother is a decent looking guy in real life. But his character on World of Warcraft isn’t the handsome charmer you’re thinking of. In fact, I couldn’t believe my eyes the first time I got a look at him. Here’s how it happened:
Adam, Hoss and I decided to start out adventuring solo—just to give ourselves time to become familiar with the game. Then we’d meet up outside the inn in the village of Goldshire.
After a few hours of play we were ready to meet up. It took some doing to get to Goldshire, but I managed. I recognized Hoss right away. He had made a big, burly human warrior for his character. The kind that can stand there and take it when ten mobs attack him at once.
Mobs? Oh, sorry. That’s short for ‘monsters.’
I made my character a lean, muscular night elf. And a good looking devil he is, if I don’t say so myself. I chose to play a rogue—I wanted to be able to slip in and out of shadows so that I could get into mischief unnoticed. Besides, rogues are known for their fancy footwork when it comes to crossing swords.
Hoss wrapped me in a bear hug as soon as he saw me. We stood outside the inn, laughing and joking while we watched some of the other players dueling. You can always catch a good duel outside the Lion’s Pride.
But where was older brother? And what was he playing? Knowing Adam, he’d go straight for one of the more challenging and difficult character class—the warlock, perhaps. So I kept my eyes peeled for a human in magic robes.
That’s when I noticed this tiny gnome waving at me, trying to get my attention. Aw—he was so cute! Those little ‘leprechauns’ on the Ponderosa had nothing on this guy.
I smiled down at him. Hoss narrowed his eyes at the cute little thing and then leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Joe, that’s Adam!”
I turned and stared at Hoss. “No it’s not!”
“Yes it is.”
The gnome folded his arms across his chest and gave me a stern look—it was Adam all right! I stared at him for a second and then I burst out laughing. I even fell to the ground. I couldn’t help it—I mean Adam playing a cute little gnome? I laughed so hard that I almost coughed up a lung.
Adam’s eyes shot daggers at me. “Since you find my character so amusing,” he said, “perhaps you’d care to test yourself against me in a duel?”
“Come on, Adam,” I said as I regained my composure and climbed back to my feet. “You can’t be serious. I can’t take advantage of such an adorable little fellow!”
But he reissued the challenge. In fact, he made it formal this time. Well, I couldn’t disgrace myself by running away from a gnome, could I?
I should have remembered that despite their cuteness, gnomes are the smartest race in the game. It was just like Adam to choose intellect over looks.
We began the duel. I had intended to go easy on him—but that was before he blasted me with a bolt of magic. Before I could catch my breath he had summoned this imp-creature to distract me while he prepared another bolt.
In under a minute I had my ‘you-know-what’ handed to me! Now, in my defense, Adam used a host of arcane tricks that I’d never seen before. Those tactics won’t work again.
Of course everyone standing around the inn witnessed my defeat. They all treated me to mock applause when I came to. I glared at my brother and swore under my breath. Then I favored the onlookers with an an ironic bow. There’s nothing like embarrassing yourself in front of a host of other gamers.
I tried to put it behind me as Adam, Hoss and I stepped into the inn. We took a table by the fire and sat down to discuss our options. We meant to stick together from now on.
That’s when we saw her. A pretty human woman with no armor—she was probably a mage or a warlock. I winked at her. She smiled at me and walked up to us.
“`Afternoon, gents,” she said. “I’m Frost Briar. I was wondering if you three might help me on a quest.”
We all jumped to our feet and invited her to sit down. As soon as she was seated, we resumed our chairs and asked her to tell us what she needed.
As it turns out, she was a mage—a frost mage, in case you didn’t get that from her name. And her quest was simple: some higher-up mages in Stormwind ordered her to fetch a flask of water from the base of a nearby waterfall.
While Hoss blushed and kept up the conversation I leaned over to Adam. “Well, that sounds easy enough,” I said.
But he was narrowing his eyes at the girl. “I don’t know, Joe. She’s more experienced than we are. If she’s having trouble with this quest, it can’t be as simple as it sounds.”
“Oh, come on older brother,” I said. “We can’t refuse a fellow adventurer! Besides, we might need her help sometime.”
He sighed. “Well, that’s true,” he owned. “All right—we’ll take a look.”
I’ll spare you the graphic details. All you need to know is that half an hour later, the four of us met in the spirit realm. Our bodies were lying near the waterfall.
The nice thing about World of Warcraft is that death isn’t permanent. You just have to journey back to your corpse and then you can spring back to life. But sometimes whatever killed you decides to stick around and patrol your remains…
Somehow we all managed to come back to life and flee before we could be killed again. Once we made it to the main road Hoss leaned against the rail in order to catch his breath.
“That didn’t work so well,” he managed.
Adam turned on Frost Briar. “Why didn’t you tell us that there were rival mages waiting to destroy anyone who gets near the waterfall?” he demanded.
“Because I didn’t think you’d help me if you knew!” she said in a feeble attempt to explain. “And, honestly, I thought the three of you could handle them while I got the water.”
“Well, maybe we could have, Ma’am, if we’d known about them in advance,” Hoss pointed out.
She blushed at that. “You’re right—I’m so sorry. Listen, I’ll make it up to you. I’m very good with a needle. I can make tunics for each of you and then enchant them with extra protections.”
“That might be good for Adam,” I said. “But Hoss and I wear armor—enchanted tunics will interfere with it.”
“Then you can sell them,” she returned. “They’re worth a pretty copper. Let’s go back to the inn and I’ll make one for each of you. Then I’ll find someone else to help me.”
Adam, Hoss and I exchanged glances. After significant looks passed between us, I turned back to the girl.
“We’ll take the tunics,” I told her, “but we’ll still help you out.”
“Yeah, I reckon we can do something about those mages,” Hoss put in.
“Yes we can,” Adam confirmed, rubbing his chin. “I have an idea. Here’s what we’re going to do…”
An hour later Hoss and I were back at the Lion’s Pride Inn. We had the fireplace-table again and Frost Briar had her flask of water. In fact, Adam was sitting outside with her, serenading her in the moonlight while she worked on our tunics.
I sighed. I couldn’t believe that a pretty human girl like Frost Briar had taken a shine to the gnome. Especially when she could have had a handsome devil of a night elf—namely me.
I sighed again as I took a sip from my ale. It’s an unfair world.
“Excuse me—is this seat taken?”
I looked up to find a female night elf questioning me—now she was something. She had hard, lithe muscles and she was wearing leather armor that fit a little too well.
I smiled up at her and forgot all about Frost Briar.
~The End~
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