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