by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Little Joe didn’t wait for Adam to come downstairs. He was too angry to wait—angry at David, angry at Adam and even angry at himself.
He decided to go for a walk and cool off before confronting Adam again. So he set off without any clear destination in mind.
He walked down a narrow street of San Francisco, not much caring where he was going or where he ended up. His mind was too preoccupied with his older brother.
No one but Adam could have this affect on him, he thought wryly. No one but Adam could drive him half this crazy.
He shrugged to himself. So he was fighting with older brother—there was nothing new in that, was there? Give it a bit of time and it would all blow over. Adam would forget about David and everything would be fine again.
But what if he didn’t forget about David? That nagging thought kept recurring in his mind. Especially after last night—Joe had heard David come in and, after pressing his ear against the door between the rooms, he had guessed that David had ended up sobbing in Adam’s arms.
Joe felt himself blush. What was he—a five year old trying to spy on his older brother? He would have to force himself out of that habit, whatever happened.
But last night he couldn’t help himself. He had to know how serious things were between the two men—and so far he didn’t like the answer he was getting.
God, this was annoying. He’d come out all this way to lend Adam a hand—not to start a war with him. Of course, this current battle wasn’t Joe’s fault. No, as usual, Joe was the innocent party. Adam was the one who had lost his mind, after all.
But Joe frowned regardless. Somehow sitting on a high horse wasn’t all that comfortable at the moment.
He paused as he realized that he was passing a bookshop. It was just the sort of place that Adam would meander to. Joe shrugged to himself and decided to step inside.
He browsed for a while, but nothing caught his interest. There were no dime novels or detective stories here—just serious histories and such. Joe was about to leave when he spotted a title he recognized.
It was a long title: A Narrative of Some of the Adventures, Dangers and Sufferings of a Revolutionary Soldier, Interspersed with Anecdotes of Incidents that Occurred Within His Own Observation.* It was written by someone by the last name of Martin.
Joe had seen this book before. Adam had it back at home. Joe had never troubled with it, but he could remember seeing Adam sitting by the fire, engrossed in Martin’s account of the Revolutionary War—except when he was too busy chuckling at some of Martin’s observations.
Out of curiosity, Joe took the book off the shelf and opened it. He turned the page to the ‘Introductory.’
“The heroes of all Histories, Narratives, Adventures, Novels and Romances have, or are supposed to have, ancestors, or some root from which they sprang,” Martin began. “I conclude, then, that it is not altogether inconsistent to suppose that I had parents too.”
Joe smiled. Apparently Martin had a sense of humor. He even promised not to trace his ancestry back some thousand years before creation as he wryly referred to himself as “the redoubtable hero of this narrative.”
Martin was a Yankee born and bred, like Adam. He came from hard-working New England stock. No wonder Adam liked this narrative—he probably identified with its ‘redoubtable hero.’
Martin joined up in a state troop in 1776, when he was fifteen. He served for six months and fought in the battles of Brooklyn, New York, Harlem and White Plains. Then he was discharged and made his way back home to New England.
But he wasn’t satisfied at home, so he soon enlisted again—this time in the Continental Army for the duration of the war.
Joe sat down on a stool as he continued to read the narrative. Martin kept his sense of humor throughout—even when he was describing the gut-wrenching hunger of the starving soldiers, the endless marches barefoot and ill-clothed and the freezing cold winters that Washington’s army somehow survived.
Joe couldn’t help but feel a trace of guilt. There was another war going on right now—a war that neither he nor Adam had taken part in.
Joe knew full well that the Confederate Army was starving and desperate for men. But he hadn’t joined them. He had thought about it once, at the outset of the war, but in the end he couldn’t bring himself to leave the Ponderosa.
He’d faced his share of bullets, so he knew that he was no coward—but although he had a vague, sentimental attachment to New Orleans, it wasn’t strong enough to induce him to leave his home and family to fight for her.
But then Adam had seriously considered joining the Union. Joe shut his eyes for a moment, remembering how it felt to imagine his brother blown apart by a cannon or having a limb amputated in some filthy army hospital by a surgeon with little training.
Joe couldn’t stand the thought of that. Moreover, it would have killed Pa to send any of his sons to war—especially to this war, which was notoriously bloody. The casualties at Gettysburg alone had cost the Union commander Meade about a quarter of his army and the Confederate commander Lee about a third of his.
So Joe informed Adam, in no uncertain terms, that if he joined the Union Army Joe would follow him into his regiment. Pa would have to send two sons off to that miserable war—not one.
Had he been bluffing? Would he really have put on a Yankee uniform? Even now Joe wasn’t sure. But he must have been believable, because Adam couldn’t bring himself to call his bluff. He couldn’t risk breaking Pa’s heart—and he couldn’t risk watching his little brother fight for a cause he didn’t even believe in.
Joe sighed. In the end, both he and Adam had chosen family over taking part in this crucial war. But what was the point of that choice if they were just going to fight a bitter war of words with each other?
He’d have to find a way to make things right with older brother again. Nothing had been said that couldn’t be unsaid. There would always be things about Adam that would drive him crazy—but he’d find a way to overlook them.
One way or another, he’d put an end to the hostility between them.
Joe stood up and went and paid for Martin’s narrative. Then he started the long walk back to the hotel where, with any luck, he’d find Adam alone.
It was time to make them both remember that they were still brothers.
* Martin's memoirs is published as Private Yankee Doodle now.
LINK TO PART FIFTY-SEVEN
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