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