I love this shot of Ben watching Adam ponder a problem!Saturday, May 31, 2008
The New Hand, Part Seventy-Eight
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
The dinner table at the Ponderosa was crowded that night. Adam watched Pa and Josephine speak quietly together on one end of the table as Hoss and Joe did the same at the other. That left David, Abby and Adam in the center.
David was seated opposite Adam and next to Abby. Adam had intended to stay quiet and let Abby and David talk, but Abby seemed determined to bring him into the conversation. At last Adam relented and the three of them settled into a comfortable discussion about where the engaged couple would find a house. Then, to Adam’s surprise, Little Joe jumped into the conversation.
“If you don’t want something too big,” Joe said, “I know the perfect place.”
“It doesn’t have to be big,” David assured him, leaning over toward him. “Not till we fill it up with children, at any event. What do you have in mind?”
“There’s a little house—well, more like a cottage, really—right on the Ponderosa,” Joe explained. “Adam, Hoss and I fixed it up real nice. I meant to move in there with my fiancée, Laura. But she died before we could get married.”
Abby gasped. “I’m so sorry, Joe,” she said, reaching out to take his hand.
“So am I,” David echoed at once. “I didn’t realize that you’d been engaged.”
Joe colored slightly as he squeezed Abby’s hand. “It was a while ago. But I hate to think of the place going to waste—why don’t you take it over for now? You’ll be a lot closer to the main house than you would be in Virginia City, but you’ll still be far enough to have a bit of privacy.”
Adam watched as Abby glanced up hopefully at David. David smiled down at her and then turned and gave Adam a half-shrug. Adam smiled and shrugged back in reply.
Joe grinned—apparently he’d been following the unspoken conversation. “That’s settled then,” he said.
Adam glanced back at his Pa and Josephine. They were so engrossed in their own conversation that they hadn’t even heard David and Abby’s decision.
He raised his eyebrows at that. Pa and Josephine were both smiling at each other—in fact, Pa was laughing heartily now over some story Josephine was telling him about her first marriage. They certainly seemed to be enjoying each other’s company.
Adam turned back to back to the others. “Why don’t we have a toast to the new home?” he asked. “Hoss, would you come down to the wine cellar with me and help me pick out a bottle?”
Hoss gave him a doubtful look. “I’m not much for choosing wine, Adam. There’s that one sweet one I like, but I don’t know what goes with what.”
“That sweet one will be fine,” Adam assured him. “Come on—you can point it out to me.”
Hoss looked like he was about to object, but something in Adam’s expression seemed to change his mind.
“Okay, older brother,” he said. “I’ll see if I can remember which one it is.”
LINK TO PART SEVENTY-NINE
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
The dinner table at the Ponderosa was crowded that night. Adam watched Pa and Josephine speak quietly together on one end of the table as Hoss and Joe did the same at the other. That left David, Abby and Adam in the center.
David was seated opposite Adam and next to Abby. Adam had intended to stay quiet and let Abby and David talk, but Abby seemed determined to bring him into the conversation. At last Adam relented and the three of them settled into a comfortable discussion about where the engaged couple would find a house. Then, to Adam’s surprise, Little Joe jumped into the conversation.
“If you don’t want something too big,” Joe said, “I know the perfect place.”
“It doesn’t have to be big,” David assured him, leaning over toward him. “Not till we fill it up with children, at any event. What do you have in mind?”
“There’s a little house—well, more like a cottage, really—right on the Ponderosa,” Joe explained. “Adam, Hoss and I fixed it up real nice. I meant to move in there with my fiancée, Laura. But she died before we could get married.”
Abby gasped. “I’m so sorry, Joe,” she said, reaching out to take his hand.
“So am I,” David echoed at once. “I didn’t realize that you’d been engaged.”
Joe colored slightly as he squeezed Abby’s hand. “It was a while ago. But I hate to think of the place going to waste—why don’t you take it over for now? You’ll be a lot closer to the main house than you would be in Virginia City, but you’ll still be far enough to have a bit of privacy.”
Adam watched as Abby glanced up hopefully at David. David smiled down at her and then turned and gave Adam a half-shrug. Adam smiled and shrugged back in reply.
Joe grinned—apparently he’d been following the unspoken conversation. “That’s settled then,” he said.
Adam glanced back at his Pa and Josephine. They were so engrossed in their own conversation that they hadn’t even heard David and Abby’s decision.
He raised his eyebrows at that. Pa and Josephine were both smiling at each other—in fact, Pa was laughing heartily now over some story Josephine was telling him about her first marriage. They certainly seemed to be enjoying each other’s company.
Adam turned back to back to the others. “Why don’t we have a toast to the new home?” he asked. “Hoss, would you come down to the wine cellar with me and help me pick out a bottle?”
Hoss gave him a doubtful look. “I’m not much for choosing wine, Adam. There’s that one sweet one I like, but I don’t know what goes with what.”
“That sweet one will be fine,” Adam assured him. “Come on—you can point it out to me.”
Hoss looked like he was about to object, but something in Adam’s expression seemed to change his mind.
“Okay, older brother,” he said. “I’ll see if I can remember which one it is.”
LINK TO PART SEVENTY-NINE
The New Hand, Part Seventy-Seven
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Abby stood nervously on the steep Virginia City street with Hoss at her side. The stage should have been here by now—why the delay? She couldn’t help but wring her hands together.
Hoss smiled down at her. "It’ll be along anytime now, Miss Abby," he assured her.
Abby smiled back at him. She had given him permission to drop the ‘Miss,’ but Hoss was still shy about using her first name alone. That secretly pleased her—none of the men in the saloon had ever called her ‘Miss.’
Just then the stage came thundering in. Hoss led Abby back a few steps and then placed himself in front of her in order to shield her from the choking dust. But at length the dust settled and the passengers climbed out. Abby rushed forward as soon as she saw David.
She held out her hands to him, but, to her astonishment, he ignored them and pulled her into his arms. He held her tightly to him for a long moment—she even felt him kiss the top of her head.
She was vaguely aware of Hoss shouting at Adam and Little Joe and hugging them both, but she was still so surprised by David’s warm greeting that she scarcely noticed.
She looked up at David in some confusion when they finally broke apart. His eyes held only sympathy and concern.
"I have grave news for you," he said softly. "Let me take you someplace where we can sit down."
She nodded dumbly, wondering what could have happened. Did he intend to part ways with her? Had he decided not to go through with the marriage after all? But if that were the case, why the warm greeting? And why was he holding her arm so tightly now?
Nothing in the telegraph that Little Joe sent to Mr. Cartwright had indicated any problems. It had merely named the stage they’d be returning by. And obviously Adam, Joe and David were all in one piece. What could be wrong?
David led her to the restaurant of the International House where he acquired a small, private table. He requested tea from the waiter and then reached across the table to take both of Abby’s hands.
"Your father is dead," he told her in a gentle, sympathetic voice. "His heart gave out some months ago. I’ve spoken with your grandfather, your mother and one of your sisters, however. They’re all anxious to see you—in fact, they’ve been sick with worry and apprehension on your behalf."
Abby felt her mouth drop open. Somehow her brain had frozen—she couldn’t seem to form any words. She couldn’t even manage to ask how David had discovered her family.
"There’s more," David continued, tightening his grip on her hands. "Your husband is also dead."
"H-how?" Abby stammered.
"I sought him out," David explained. "I’ll tell you the whole story later. For now, I just want you to know that he refused to give you a divorce—not even for a generous bribe. He, ah, was determined to settle the matter with blood. And so we did."
"Are—are you saying that you fought a duel with him?" she demanded.
He nodded and looked almost ashamed. "Yes. I’m sorry, Abby. I wish—I wish to God that he had just taken the money."
Abby retracted one of her hands and fingered the scar on her face. "I’m not sorry," she said, tasting venom in her voice. "I’m glad he’s dead. I’m glad you killed him."
To her relief, he didn’t appear shocked by her words and he didn’t seem to disapprove of them. He simply nodded his understanding.
"Will you have trouble with the law?" she asked.
"No," he assured her. "We had more than enough witnesses to prove that it was a fair fight."
"Thank God," she said. "In a little while—in a little while what you said about my father will catch up with me. But it hasn’t sunk in yet. Right now I’m just relieved that I’m free!"
David managed a small smile at that. "Not quite free," he reminded her. "You’ll have me as your lord and master now."
"I don’t mind that," she said earnestly. "Not after what you’ve done for me. You—you still want to marry me, then?"
"Yes," he said at once. "The sooner the better. It shouldn’t be hard to find two Jewish men to serve as witnesses."
He paused and stared down at the table. "There’s—there’s still one more thing, Avigail," he said at length, lowering his voice despite their privacy. "I don’t mean to overwhelm you with news, but I can’t keep this secret from you. Adam and I have grown quite, ah, intimate. He means the world to me. I want to make sure you understand that before you marry me."
Abby shut her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them, she gave David a level look and spoke in a steady, even voice. "I don’t mind, David," she insisted. "I just want a good father for my children and a dear friend for myself."
He squeezed her hand tightly. "I’ll always be that," he promised.
She felt herself blush. "Will you—will you let me cry on your shoulder when the news of my father catches up with me?" she stammered.
He leaned down and kissed her hand. "Of course," he said. "That goes without saying—as long as your shoulder will be there when I need it."
"It will be," she said at once. "I promise."
LINK TO PART SEVENTY-EIGHT
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Abby stood nervously on the steep Virginia City street with Hoss at her side. The stage should have been here by now—why the delay? She couldn’t help but wring her hands together.
Hoss smiled down at her. "It’ll be along anytime now, Miss Abby," he assured her.
Abby smiled back at him. She had given him permission to drop the ‘Miss,’ but Hoss was still shy about using her first name alone. That secretly pleased her—none of the men in the saloon had ever called her ‘Miss.’
Just then the stage came thundering in. Hoss led Abby back a few steps and then placed himself in front of her in order to shield her from the choking dust. But at length the dust settled and the passengers climbed out. Abby rushed forward as soon as she saw David.
She held out her hands to him, but, to her astonishment, he ignored them and pulled her into his arms. He held her tightly to him for a long moment—she even felt him kiss the top of her head.
She was vaguely aware of Hoss shouting at Adam and Little Joe and hugging them both, but she was still so surprised by David’s warm greeting that she scarcely noticed.
She looked up at David in some confusion when they finally broke apart. His eyes held only sympathy and concern.
"I have grave news for you," he said softly. "Let me take you someplace where we can sit down."
She nodded dumbly, wondering what could have happened. Did he intend to part ways with her? Had he decided not to go through with the marriage after all? But if that were the case, why the warm greeting? And why was he holding her arm so tightly now?
Nothing in the telegraph that Little Joe sent to Mr. Cartwright had indicated any problems. It had merely named the stage they’d be returning by. And obviously Adam, Joe and David were all in one piece. What could be wrong?
David led her to the restaurant of the International House where he acquired a small, private table. He requested tea from the waiter and then reached across the table to take both of Abby’s hands.
"Your father is dead," he told her in a gentle, sympathetic voice. "His heart gave out some months ago. I’ve spoken with your grandfather, your mother and one of your sisters, however. They’re all anxious to see you—in fact, they’ve been sick with worry and apprehension on your behalf."
Abby felt her mouth drop open. Somehow her brain had frozen—she couldn’t seem to form any words. She couldn’t even manage to ask how David had discovered her family.
"There’s more," David continued, tightening his grip on her hands. "Your husband is also dead."
"H-how?" Abby stammered.
"I sought him out," David explained. "I’ll tell you the whole story later. For now, I just want you to know that he refused to give you a divorce—not even for a generous bribe. He, ah, was determined to settle the matter with blood. And so we did."
"Are—are you saying that you fought a duel with him?" she demanded.
He nodded and looked almost ashamed. "Yes. I’m sorry, Abby. I wish—I wish to God that he had just taken the money."
Abby retracted one of her hands and fingered the scar on her face. "I’m not sorry," she said, tasting venom in her voice. "I’m glad he’s dead. I’m glad you killed him."
To her relief, he didn’t appear shocked by her words and he didn’t seem to disapprove of them. He simply nodded his understanding.
"Will you have trouble with the law?" she asked.
"No," he assured her. "We had more than enough witnesses to prove that it was a fair fight."
"Thank God," she said. "In a little while—in a little while what you said about my father will catch up with me. But it hasn’t sunk in yet. Right now I’m just relieved that I’m free!"
David managed a small smile at that. "Not quite free," he reminded her. "You’ll have me as your lord and master now."
"I don’t mind that," she said earnestly. "Not after what you’ve done for me. You—you still want to marry me, then?"
"Yes," he said at once. "The sooner the better. It shouldn’t be hard to find two Jewish men to serve as witnesses."
He paused and stared down at the table. "There’s—there’s still one more thing, Avigail," he said at length, lowering his voice despite their privacy. "I don’t mean to overwhelm you with news, but I can’t keep this secret from you. Adam and I have grown quite, ah, intimate. He means the world to me. I want to make sure you understand that before you marry me."
Abby shut her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them, she gave David a level look and spoke in a steady, even voice. "I don’t mind, David," she insisted. "I just want a good father for my children and a dear friend for myself."
He squeezed her hand tightly. "I’ll always be that," he promised.
She felt herself blush. "Will you—will you let me cry on your shoulder when the news of my father catches up with me?" she stammered.
He leaned down and kissed her hand. "Of course," he said. "That goes without saying—as long as your shoulder will be there when I need it."
"It will be," she said at once. "I promise."
LINK TO PART SEVENTY-EIGHT
Friday, May 30, 2008
The Monstrosity, Part Fourteen
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Lunch at the International House was not the torture I expected. “Don’t worry,” Drew had told me in advance. “The spectacle of a blind man clinging to your arm with one hand and his cane with the other will distract our good citizens from your return to society.”
He proved correct. I had never noticed before, but many people forgot their manners when Drew was in their vicinity. I watched them stare openly at him. I suppose they felt that since he couldn’t see them, their rudeness didn’t signify.
“Are people gaping at me?” Drew whispered as we made our way to a quiet table in the back.
“Yes,” I whispered back.
He let out a soft chuckle. “What did I tell you? As long as you have a blind fellow at hand, you’ll never be the center of attention.”
I grinned at him as we took our seats. “True—but should I feel guilty about using you as a shield?”
“Not at all,” Drew assured me. “I don’t mind being of service.”
I grinned again, but then I noticed the party at the next table. Mrs. Herford had leaned over to ‘whisper’ something to her niece, but her voice was quite audible. I distinctly heard the words, “...some poor fellow named Peter Kane.”
I glanced at Drew. He was taking a sip from his glass of water, but I knew he must have heard Kane’s name as well. He has keener ears than I do—he has to rely on them, after all.
I swore under my breath. “Sometimes I wish to God that I had stood trial for Kane’s death,” I said, keeping my voice quiet. “Then everything would be in the open—people wouldn’t be wondering if I went mad in the desert and murdered a man.”
Drew smiled at that and set down his glass. “You’ll have to live with their conjectures—but only for a little while. People have short memories, Adam. And no one here knew Kane personally. Did he leave any grieving relations behind, by the by?”
“No—no one came forward, at any event. And his death was well-advertised.”
“So much the better,” said Drew judiciously. “That makes things less complicated.”
I frowned. “I don’t know—I wish he’d had family. As it is, he left nothing behind but blood and death.”
“He saved your life,” Drew reminded me. “And—no pun intended—but he left his mark on you.”
I rolled my eyes. “The mark of Kane,” I said. “Yeah, he did leave that.” I picked up my own glass of water and stared into it. “How do you do it, Drew?” I asked. “How do you get through each day without despising Tom Haley?”
He took his time about answering that. “For a while, I was almost as attached to Tom as I was to my brother,” he said softly.
I stared at him. I think my mouth even dropped open. He must have sensed that, for he smiled suddenly.
“You must think I’m insane, considering what that man did to us,” he said. “But remember, Adam, that he also taught me chess and figures. And he took the time to read to me. But, most importantly, he told me over and over that I didn’t have to be useless just because I was blind. No one had ever told me that before—not even Jack.”
He paused. “I used to take good care of Tom when he was drunk. The best care I was able to, at any event. Jack wouldn’t, you know. Well, sometimes he’d make certain that Tom got to bed and got his boots off, but that was all. Jack always said that it was better not to be too kind to Tom when he was drunk because that would only encourage him to drink more. I suppose he was right.”
I shut my eyes for a long moment. Drew must have sensed my discomfort. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“It’s—it’s disturbing to think of you as so attached to that man,” I said. I hadn’t intended the remark to be cutting, but I couldn’t disguise the edge to my voice.
Drew didn’t miss that edge. He bristled up and glared in my direction. “God help you, Adam. You want to reform people and make them perfect. I suppose that’s admirable, but you’ll never be able to live with Kane’s memory if you don’t lower your standards."
He paused again to take another sip of water. “Tom—well, what do you want me to say? I know what he was. But that doesn’t change the fact that I stand in his debt. And I don’t mean just the money he left us. If it weren’t for him, I’d have never taken an interest in finances. I’d have sponged off of Jack for my entire life. As things stand, at least I have some value.”
I thought that over. I could almost see his point—I could understand his desire to pull his own weight.
“Besides,” Drew concluded, “Tom wasn’t always such a bad fellow.”
I rolled my eyes again. “You say that only because there haven’t been enough good people in your life.”
“Just as well,” Drew retorted. “Judging by you, good people can be quite tedious.”
We were interrupted by the waiter just then, which was just as well. It gave us time to cool off—otherwise I can’t answer for what would have happened. But as it was, we each placed our orders and waited for the waiter to leave before returning to our conversation.
“I don’t mean to be tedious,” I snapped.
“Good. I can only assume you’d be unbearable if you were putting any effort into it,” Drew snapped back.
That almost caused me to grin—almost. But I was still annoyed. Nonetheless, I made an effort to control my temper.
“What happens if I can’t find a way to live with his memory?” I demanded.
“You will,” Drew said as he fiddled with his glass. “You just have to stop holding yourself to ridiculous standards. I don’t know anyone else who would be so filled with remorse at Kane’s death—and I don’t know anyone else who would torture themselves for acting in self defense. It’s time you got off your damned pedestal.”
I twisted my lips at that. “Why should I? So I can be grateful to Kane for almost destroying me? So I can thank him for what he did—as you apparently look back and thank Tom Haley?” I paused to sigh in disgust. “I don’t intend to make my peace with Kane the way you’ve made yours with Haley.”
Drew said nothing for almost a full minute. And when he finally spoke, his voice was tight with anger. “I don’t have to answer to you for any affection I might feel for Tom,” he said slowly. “I’ll deal with his memory anyway I bloody well please.”
I just looked away, repulsed by his twisted charity toward the man who had abused him. Neither Drew nor I said another word to each other for the remainder of the meal.
LINK TO PART FIFTEEN
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Lunch at the International House was not the torture I expected. “Don’t worry,” Drew had told me in advance. “The spectacle of a blind man clinging to your arm with one hand and his cane with the other will distract our good citizens from your return to society.”
He proved correct. I had never noticed before, but many people forgot their manners when Drew was in their vicinity. I watched them stare openly at him. I suppose they felt that since he couldn’t see them, their rudeness didn’t signify.
“Are people gaping at me?” Drew whispered as we made our way to a quiet table in the back.
“Yes,” I whispered back.
He let out a soft chuckle. “What did I tell you? As long as you have a blind fellow at hand, you’ll never be the center of attention.”
I grinned at him as we took our seats. “True—but should I feel guilty about using you as a shield?”
“Not at all,” Drew assured me. “I don’t mind being of service.”
I grinned again, but then I noticed the party at the next table. Mrs. Herford had leaned over to ‘whisper’ something to her niece, but her voice was quite audible. I distinctly heard the words, “...some poor fellow named Peter Kane.”
I glanced at Drew. He was taking a sip from his glass of water, but I knew he must have heard Kane’s name as well. He has keener ears than I do—he has to rely on them, after all.
I swore under my breath. “Sometimes I wish to God that I had stood trial for Kane’s death,” I said, keeping my voice quiet. “Then everything would be in the open—people wouldn’t be wondering if I went mad in the desert and murdered a man.”
Drew smiled at that and set down his glass. “You’ll have to live with their conjectures—but only for a little while. People have short memories, Adam. And no one here knew Kane personally. Did he leave any grieving relations behind, by the by?”
“No—no one came forward, at any event. And his death was well-advertised.”
“So much the better,” said Drew judiciously. “That makes things less complicated.”
I frowned. “I don’t know—I wish he’d had family. As it is, he left nothing behind but blood and death.”
“He saved your life,” Drew reminded me. “And—no pun intended—but he left his mark on you.”
I rolled my eyes. “The mark of Kane,” I said. “Yeah, he did leave that.” I picked up my own glass of water and stared into it. “How do you do it, Drew?” I asked. “How do you get through each day without despising Tom Haley?”
He took his time about answering that. “For a while, I was almost as attached to Tom as I was to my brother,” he said softly.
I stared at him. I think my mouth even dropped open. He must have sensed that, for he smiled suddenly.
“You must think I’m insane, considering what that man did to us,” he said. “But remember, Adam, that he also taught me chess and figures. And he took the time to read to me. But, most importantly, he told me over and over that I didn’t have to be useless just because I was blind. No one had ever told me that before—not even Jack.”
He paused. “I used to take good care of Tom when he was drunk. The best care I was able to, at any event. Jack wouldn’t, you know. Well, sometimes he’d make certain that Tom got to bed and got his boots off, but that was all. Jack always said that it was better not to be too kind to Tom when he was drunk because that would only encourage him to drink more. I suppose he was right.”
I shut my eyes for a long moment. Drew must have sensed my discomfort. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“It’s—it’s disturbing to think of you as so attached to that man,” I said. I hadn’t intended the remark to be cutting, but I couldn’t disguise the edge to my voice.
Drew didn’t miss that edge. He bristled up and glared in my direction. “God help you, Adam. You want to reform people and make them perfect. I suppose that’s admirable, but you’ll never be able to live with Kane’s memory if you don’t lower your standards."
He paused again to take another sip of water. “Tom—well, what do you want me to say? I know what he was. But that doesn’t change the fact that I stand in his debt. And I don’t mean just the money he left us. If it weren’t for him, I’d have never taken an interest in finances. I’d have sponged off of Jack for my entire life. As things stand, at least I have some value.”
I thought that over. I could almost see his point—I could understand his desire to pull his own weight.
“Besides,” Drew concluded, “Tom wasn’t always such a bad fellow.”
I rolled my eyes again. “You say that only because there haven’t been enough good people in your life.”
“Just as well,” Drew retorted. “Judging by you, good people can be quite tedious.”
We were interrupted by the waiter just then, which was just as well. It gave us time to cool off—otherwise I can’t answer for what would have happened. But as it was, we each placed our orders and waited for the waiter to leave before returning to our conversation.
“I don’t mean to be tedious,” I snapped.
“Good. I can only assume you’d be unbearable if you were putting any effort into it,” Drew snapped back.
That almost caused me to grin—almost. But I was still annoyed. Nonetheless, I made an effort to control my temper.
“What happens if I can’t find a way to live with his memory?” I demanded.
“You will,” Drew said as he fiddled with his glass. “You just have to stop holding yourself to ridiculous standards. I don’t know anyone else who would be so filled with remorse at Kane’s death—and I don’t know anyone else who would torture themselves for acting in self defense. It’s time you got off your damned pedestal.”
I twisted my lips at that. “Why should I? So I can be grateful to Kane for almost destroying me? So I can thank him for what he did—as you apparently look back and thank Tom Haley?” I paused to sigh in disgust. “I don’t intend to make my peace with Kane the way you’ve made yours with Haley.”
Drew said nothing for almost a full minute. And when he finally spoke, his voice was tight with anger. “I don’t have to answer to you for any affection I might feel for Tom,” he said slowly. “I’ll deal with his memory anyway I bloody well please.”
I just looked away, repulsed by his twisted charity toward the man who had abused him. Neither Drew nor I said another word to each other for the remainder of the meal.
LINK TO PART FIFTEEN
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Clip of the Day
Hehe--this is my new favorite tunes by the Beatles. Just imagine them singing it at your bar mitzvah! (Ok, ok. It's the Moptops singing, not the Beatles. But it's still a fun clip.)
The New Hand, Part Seventy-Six
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Adam stood at Joe’s side and watched as David and Hastings walked ten paces away from each other. The air was thick with smog that made the street lamps glow eerily. Meanwhile a crowd from the saloon had trickled outside to watch the show. Their murmurs only added to the tension in the air.
The two men turned to face each other simultaneously. Two shots rang out, and Adam could hear at once that Hastings’ had come first. For a bare second he felt as if his world had come crashing to a halt.
But David proved more agile and more accurate than Hastings. When David lowered his gun there was blood dripping from his arm. But Hastings had fallen backward on the ground.
Adam and Joe rushed over to David. Joe took hold of David’s gun while Adam ripped his sleeve open.
Adam sighed in relief as he looked at the wound. "He just grazed you," he said. "We’ll clean it up and you’ll be fine."
"There are plenty of witnesses here to testify that it was a fair fight," Joe added as he put the gun safely back in David’s holster. "You shouldn’t have any trouble with the law. Good shot!"
"Very good shot," Adam agreed. "I wasn’t sure you could handle a gun that well."
David scarcely seemed to hear them. He was staring at the crowd that had gathered around Hastings.
Adam glanced their way. It was clear from their shouts and comments that Hastings was dead. No one seemed to be in deep mourning over that fact—it seemed instead that everyone was satisfied with the show.
"I killed that man," David said in a hoarse voice.
Adam turned back to him and found his face pale and drawn. "Don’t think about that now, David," he ordered. "Just think about the fact that Abby is free. Besides, he wanted this fight. It was his choice."
"Yeah," Joe agreed, putting a brotherly arm around David’s shoulder. "Come back into the saloon and we’ll get some whiskey into you. Then we’ll get this all squared away with the law."
~
It took several hours before they returned to the hotel. David remained silent and withdrawn the whole time.
Adam took him in his arms as soon as they were back in the privacy of their room. David rested his head on Adam’s shoulder, but he still couldn’t seem to bring himself to speak.
"What are you thinking?" Adam asked as he stroked his hair.
"That what I did was little better than murder," David answered in a short, biting tone.
Adam kissed the top of his head. "It wasn’t murder," he assured him. "You gave Hastings every chance to walk away from that fight. He was just determined to have his shot at you. And as you said, you owed him that satisfaction."
David sighed. "I suppose," he owned. "Well, at least Avigail is a widow now. He can’t hurt her again."
"No, he can’t," Adam agreed.
He broke away from David and stared at him for a long moment. Then he kissed him—gently at first, but with a growing hunger.
"I’m glad I didn’t lose you tonight," Adam managed as the two men separated for air.
David grinned at that—his first smile since the duel. "I know," he said. "So am I!"
Adam laughed appreciatively and drew him back into his arms. "Come on," he commanded. "Let’s get you to bed."
LINK TO PART SEVENTY-SEVEN
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Adam stood at Joe’s side and watched as David and Hastings walked ten paces away from each other. The air was thick with smog that made the street lamps glow eerily. Meanwhile a crowd from the saloon had trickled outside to watch the show. Their murmurs only added to the tension in the air.
The two men turned to face each other simultaneously. Two shots rang out, and Adam could hear at once that Hastings’ had come first. For a bare second he felt as if his world had come crashing to a halt.
But David proved more agile and more accurate than Hastings. When David lowered his gun there was blood dripping from his arm. But Hastings had fallen backward on the ground.
Adam and Joe rushed over to David. Joe took hold of David’s gun while Adam ripped his sleeve open.
Adam sighed in relief as he looked at the wound. "He just grazed you," he said. "We’ll clean it up and you’ll be fine."
"There are plenty of witnesses here to testify that it was a fair fight," Joe added as he put the gun safely back in David’s holster. "You shouldn’t have any trouble with the law. Good shot!"
"Very good shot," Adam agreed. "I wasn’t sure you could handle a gun that well."
David scarcely seemed to hear them. He was staring at the crowd that had gathered around Hastings.
Adam glanced their way. It was clear from their shouts and comments that Hastings was dead. No one seemed to be in deep mourning over that fact—it seemed instead that everyone was satisfied with the show.
"I killed that man," David said in a hoarse voice.
Adam turned back to him and found his face pale and drawn. "Don’t think about that now, David," he ordered. "Just think about the fact that Abby is free. Besides, he wanted this fight. It was his choice."
"Yeah," Joe agreed, putting a brotherly arm around David’s shoulder. "Come back into the saloon and we’ll get some whiskey into you. Then we’ll get this all squared away with the law."
~
It took several hours before they returned to the hotel. David remained silent and withdrawn the whole time.
Adam took him in his arms as soon as they were back in the privacy of their room. David rested his head on Adam’s shoulder, but he still couldn’t seem to bring himself to speak.
"What are you thinking?" Adam asked as he stroked his hair.
"That what I did was little better than murder," David answered in a short, biting tone.
Adam kissed the top of his head. "It wasn’t murder," he assured him. "You gave Hastings every chance to walk away from that fight. He was just determined to have his shot at you. And as you said, you owed him that satisfaction."
David sighed. "I suppose," he owned. "Well, at least Avigail is a widow now. He can’t hurt her again."
"No, he can’t," Adam agreed.
He broke away from David and stared at him for a long moment. Then he kissed him—gently at first, but with a growing hunger.
"I’m glad I didn’t lose you tonight," Adam managed as the two men separated for air.
David grinned at that—his first smile since the duel. "I know," he said. "So am I!"
Adam laughed appreciatively and drew him back into his arms. "Come on," he commanded. "Let’s get you to bed."
LINK TO PART SEVENTY-SEVEN
The New Hand, Part Seventy-Five
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Adam eyed the saloon warily. He was standing between David and Joe, squinting at the ramshackle wharf building in the low light provided by the oil street lamps and a few lanterns.
"This is the place?" he asked.
David nodded. "Apparently this is where he spends most of his time."
Joe sighed. "I guess we should go in."
Adam nodded and the three men stepped inside. It was crowded with sailors and the smell of brine seemed to permeate the place. Someone was singing, "What do you do with a drunken sailor?" A number of men took up the obligatory response: "Shave his balls with a rusty razor!"
David ignored the song and made his way to the bar. He handed the barkeep a few coins and asked if Christopher Hastings was present.
Adam watched the barkeep give him a measuring look and then nod toward one of the smaller tables. A solitary man was sitting there, drinking straight from a bottle. He looked bloated now and there were lines under his eyes, but Adam could see the trace of the rugged man who must have once swept Avigail off her feet.
David strode over to him and took the chair opposite him. Adam and Joe exchanged glances and then moved closer to the table. They chose a spot where they would be able to overhear the conversation and keep close watch over both parties of the dispute.
"I’m David Griffin," David said evenly.
Hastings stared at him. "Is that so?" he asked. "I believe you’ve been, ah, keeping my wife."
David nodded. "I mean to marry her. I want you to give her a divorce."
Hastings laughed. "Just like that, huh? Why should I divorce her?"
"Because I’ll pay you handsomely," David informed him. "You stand to make a good profit out of this."
The man laughed contemptuously at that. "I don’t want your money," he said.
David shrugged. "Then we’ll take you to court. Considering what you did to Avigail, I think a judge will grant her a divorce."
Hastings had picked up his bottle, but he put it down at that. "This isn’t a matter for the courts. This is between you and me. If you want Abby, you’ll have to come through me to get her."
He paused to stand up and glare down at David. "Let’s step outside and settle this now. We’ll see if you know how to use that gun you’re wearing."
Adam caught his breath at that. He narrowed his eyes at Hastings. The man was bitter and washed up and he carried himself with the air of someone who had nothing left to lose. He was in earnest—he meant to settle this with blood.
"You’re drunk," David said calmly. "Even if I agreed to a duel, I wouldn’t fight you while you’re in your cups."
Hastings slammed his fist down on the table. "I’ll prove a better shot than you, drunk or sober," he said. "You owe me this, Griffin."
Adam swallowed hard as David slowly rose to his feet and looked Hastings in the eye. "Take the money," he said softly.
Hastings shook his head, pausing only to take one last gulp from his bottle. Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the saloon, clearly expecting David to follow him.
Adam looked to Joe. Joe nodded at him and then stepped outside, determined to keep an eye on Hastings. Adam whispered thanks to his brother under his breath and then walked over to David.
"You don’t have to do this," Adam told him.
David sighed. "I don’t know for certain that a court would free Avigail," he said. "Besides, some would say that this man has a right to demand satisfaction from me."
"Can you handle him?" Adam demanded.
David shrugged. "I don’t know—I’ve never been tested, remember? But if I walk away now, what do you suppose will happen?"
Adam looked away for a moment. "I think he’ll force a fight on you one way or another," he admitted.
"I think so too," David agreed. "Just—just remember your promise to take care of Abby."
Adam nodded. "I will." Then he paused and placed a hand on David’s shoulder. "Shoot square at his chest. He’s going to be aiming in earnest—you’ll have to as well."
LINK TO PART SEVENTY-SIX
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Adam eyed the saloon warily. He was standing between David and Joe, squinting at the ramshackle wharf building in the low light provided by the oil street lamps and a few lanterns.
"This is the place?" he asked.
David nodded. "Apparently this is where he spends most of his time."
Joe sighed. "I guess we should go in."
Adam nodded and the three men stepped inside. It was crowded with sailors and the smell of brine seemed to permeate the place. Someone was singing, "What do you do with a drunken sailor?" A number of men took up the obligatory response: "Shave his balls with a rusty razor!"
David ignored the song and made his way to the bar. He handed the barkeep a few coins and asked if Christopher Hastings was present.
Adam watched the barkeep give him a measuring look and then nod toward one of the smaller tables. A solitary man was sitting there, drinking straight from a bottle. He looked bloated now and there were lines under his eyes, but Adam could see the trace of the rugged man who must have once swept Avigail off her feet.
David strode over to him and took the chair opposite him. Adam and Joe exchanged glances and then moved closer to the table. They chose a spot where they would be able to overhear the conversation and keep close watch over both parties of the dispute.
"I’m David Griffin," David said evenly.
Hastings stared at him. "Is that so?" he asked. "I believe you’ve been, ah, keeping my wife."
David nodded. "I mean to marry her. I want you to give her a divorce."
Hastings laughed. "Just like that, huh? Why should I divorce her?"
"Because I’ll pay you handsomely," David informed him. "You stand to make a good profit out of this."
The man laughed contemptuously at that. "I don’t want your money," he said.
David shrugged. "Then we’ll take you to court. Considering what you did to Avigail, I think a judge will grant her a divorce."
Hastings had picked up his bottle, but he put it down at that. "This isn’t a matter for the courts. This is between you and me. If you want Abby, you’ll have to come through me to get her."
He paused to stand up and glare down at David. "Let’s step outside and settle this now. We’ll see if you know how to use that gun you’re wearing."
Adam caught his breath at that. He narrowed his eyes at Hastings. The man was bitter and washed up and he carried himself with the air of someone who had nothing left to lose. He was in earnest—he meant to settle this with blood.
"You’re drunk," David said calmly. "Even if I agreed to a duel, I wouldn’t fight you while you’re in your cups."
Hastings slammed his fist down on the table. "I’ll prove a better shot than you, drunk or sober," he said. "You owe me this, Griffin."
Adam swallowed hard as David slowly rose to his feet and looked Hastings in the eye. "Take the money," he said softly.
Hastings shook his head, pausing only to take one last gulp from his bottle. Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the saloon, clearly expecting David to follow him.
Adam looked to Joe. Joe nodded at him and then stepped outside, determined to keep an eye on Hastings. Adam whispered thanks to his brother under his breath and then walked over to David.
"You don’t have to do this," Adam told him.
David sighed. "I don’t know for certain that a court would free Avigail," he said. "Besides, some would say that this man has a right to demand satisfaction from me."
"Can you handle him?" Adam demanded.
David shrugged. "I don’t know—I’ve never been tested, remember? But if I walk away now, what do you suppose will happen?"
Adam looked away for a moment. "I think he’ll force a fight on you one way or another," he admitted.
"I think so too," David agreed. "Just—just remember your promise to take care of Abby."
Adam nodded. "I will." Then he paused and placed a hand on David’s shoulder. "Shoot square at his chest. He’s going to be aiming in earnest—you’ll have to as well."
LINK TO PART SEVENTY-SIX
The Rogue's Company, Part Eleven
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
Link to Part One
~
I took a crack at the safe the next afternoon. It was a bit risky, for while all four Cartwrights were out doing whatever it is that ranchers do, Hop Sing was still at home. But he was occupied in the cellar. I figured that I had at least an hour before he emerged.
I stared at the Ponderosa safe and put my hands on the combination knob, caressing it so as to put it at ease. “You’ll open for me, won’t you?” I whispered.
It didn’t answer, but that didn’t offend me. Silence means consent, doesn’t it?
I put my hands on the combination knob and began to turn it, listening carefully to the sound of the tumblers. Sometimes tools weren’t even necessary—sometimes you could hear the tumblers clicking into place at the right moment. That was near as good as knowing the combination yourself.
I could probably crack the safe that way eventually, but it would take hours of listening to the tumblers play inside the knob. And the longer I took, the greater my chance of a Cartwright catching me in the act.
No, I’d do this properly. I opened my tool box and took out my drill. I knew the general make of this safe—a little fiddling and I would find the perfect spot on the door. One small, elegant hole should be sufficient. I’d have to disguise that hole afterwards, of course, but I had planned for that.
I ran my hands along the door and chose my spot. Then I began to drill, going slow and easy until I had a hole that I could slip a small tool into in order to release the bolt mechanism. The idea was to by-pass the lock altogether.
But the safe-maker had more brains than I had given him credit for. About halfway through the hole, some sort of ceramic material blocked my drill. I swore under my breath at my wasted effort. In fact, my efforts were worse than wasted. Because I tried to get arond that bloody ceramic I ended up with a hole that I couldn’t disguise.
So much for my dream of cracking the safe without leaving a mark. Damn, damn, damn.
I took hold of my clamps—ah, they were pretty—and went to work on the knob. Didn’t it fall right into my hands? I smiled at the clamps and silently thanked the old clockmaker for willing me such exquisite tools. In his day, I’ve no doubt that he was one of the best safe-crackers in the country.
I soon had the safe open. I stared inside, looking at the piles of cash. I shouldn’t be surprised if there was three thousand dollars of ‘emergency’ funds in there. That was a lot of money—I made forty dollars a month as a highly-paid servant.
There was jewelry there as well. It must have belonged to Joe’s mother. From what I had learned of the family, Adam’s mother and Hoss’s mother had died too poor to afford baubles like these. Unless, of course, the gems were paste. But they didn’t look like paste. But I was no expert, I reminded myself.
I left everything inside the safe unmolested, just as I had planned. Then I put the safe back together—quite neatly, if I do say so myself. But there was no way to disguise what I had done. Old man Cartwright might not notice just by glancing at the safe, but he’d know it’d been tampered with the first time he went to open it.
I put my tools back in their case and then sat by the fireplace. What now?
Well, I had decided that last night, hadn’t I? If I couldn’t crack the safe here without anyone being the wiser, I had promised myself that I would tell Adam the whole story and throw myself on his mercy. I’d explain why I had done it and why I had been practicing to break into the Maris safe. And then I’d hope that he didn’t send for the sheriff.
I could run, of course. I knew that. Why should I risk my liberty merely to help the Cartwrights? I didn’t owe them anything. I could cut my losses and leave.
But I didn’t want to leave. I was happy here. I liked my master, I liked my work and I liked being a part, however humble, of the Cartwright household. I liked Little Joe’s friendship and the camaraderie that I shared with Hop Sing.
Besides, I didn’t really believe that Adam would call the sheriff. Not if I told him about the safe now.
The clock rang out, interrupting my thoughts. It was four o’clock and the chimes were right on schedule. I had finished repairing the clock last week.
Adam would be coming in any moment. I got up, placed my tools carefully to the side and then found my coat. Once I was properly bundled up, I walked outside to the barn. Adam was just riding into the yard on Sport.
I watched as he dismounted. He smiled at me and walked toward me, leading the gelding behind him.
“May I talk with you, sir?” I asked, hugging myself against the cold.
“Sure,” he answered. “Come on into the barn with me.”
I nodded and followed him. Once we were inside I helped him stable Sport. Adam put another heavy blanket on the horse and then turned to face me. “What’s on your mind, Shea?” he asked.
I sighed. “I’ve got something to confess. Something—something pretty bad. I’m hoping you won’t be sending for the sheriff.”
Adam stared at me. “Well, that will depend on what you confess,” he said at length. “You haven’t murdered or injured anyone, have you?”
I shook my head. “No, sir. But I cracked your safe. I didn’t take anything, mind. You can check. I had to practice because—well, it’s a long story.”
“I will check it,” Adam said calmly. “And I’ll need to hear that story.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. He was taking this remarkably well, all things considered. “Why aren’t you in shock?”
He smiled a little. “A Pinkerton approached me a couple of weeks ago. He wanted my impression of my new valet. He told me that the three houses you’d worked in before had all been burgled while you served in them.”
I stood stock still as I took that in. And here I’d been sure that the Pinkertons had never given me a second thought.
“Don’t worry,” Adam continued, smiling wryly as he noted my expression. “I don’t think he truly suspected you—even he seemed to think that he was grasping at straws. But all the same, I decided not to mention your mechanical skills or those fine tools you keep for, ah, repairing clocks.”
“Why did you protect me?” I demanded.
He shrugged. “I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. There was nothing but circumstantial evidence against you.”
“But you risked all that money in the safe! And all that jewelry!”
“The jewelry is paste,” he said evenly. “Marie—that’s Joe’s mother—had some excellent pieces, but Joe has those locked away somewhere else. She didn’t wear those gems often; she preferred cunning duplicates.”
“There was still the money,” I pointed out.
“Did you look closely at it?”
I shook my head. “No,” I owned.
“Only the top bills were legitimate.” He gave me another wry smile—one that was almost apologetic. “I’m sorry, Shea, but after I spoke to the Pinkerton I had a long talk with my Pa. We thought it’d be best not to take any chances.”
I nodded. “I don’t blame you.” I paused to sigh again. “I took this job intending to rob you. But believe me, I decided against that within a week of working here. I scarcely knew my employers before, you see. It’s easy to rob someone you don't know. But I couldn’t have done that to you.”
He cocked his head at me. “If you decided that so early, why did you stay? Have you run through all the money you’ve stolen?”
“No, sir,” I answered. “I still have most of it spread out among various banks.”
“Then why keep working as a servant?” he persisted. “Why not take your leisure or do work you love?”
I grinned at him. “I am doing work I love. And you give me leisure enough.”
He rolled his eyes at me, but there was still a slight smile on his face. “You’re going to have to return what you stole,” he said. “If you do that, I think I’ll be able to convince those families not to press charges. The Ponderosa has plenty of influence in San Francisco.”
“I don’t mind giving it back,” I said at once. “I never cared about the money anyway. I was just after the challenge. But, sir, I don’t have all of it. Some of what I stole was jewelry—and the fence didn’t give me a quarter of what those gems were worth. Even if I give you everything I have now, I’ll still be short by over a thousand dollars.”
He sighed. “Well, I’ll have to make up the difference.”
I groaned and leaned back against one of the stalls. “It will take me years to pay you back."
“Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “I intend to take it out of your hide.”
I stared at him for a moment and then managed a small laugh. “Yes, sir.”
He turned to give Sport one last pet and then turned back to me. “Come on, Shea, let’s get inside. It’s too cold to listen to your story out here.”
I nodded and managed another small, resigned smile as I fell in beside him. He put a brotherly arm over my shoulder and together we walked back toward the house.
LINK TO PART TWELVE
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
Link to Part One
~
I took a crack at the safe the next afternoon. It was a bit risky, for while all four Cartwrights were out doing whatever it is that ranchers do, Hop Sing was still at home. But he was occupied in the cellar. I figured that I had at least an hour before he emerged.
I stared at the Ponderosa safe and put my hands on the combination knob, caressing it so as to put it at ease. “You’ll open for me, won’t you?” I whispered.
It didn’t answer, but that didn’t offend me. Silence means consent, doesn’t it?
I put my hands on the combination knob and began to turn it, listening carefully to the sound of the tumblers. Sometimes tools weren’t even necessary—sometimes you could hear the tumblers clicking into place at the right moment. That was near as good as knowing the combination yourself.
I could probably crack the safe that way eventually, but it would take hours of listening to the tumblers play inside the knob. And the longer I took, the greater my chance of a Cartwright catching me in the act.
No, I’d do this properly. I opened my tool box and took out my drill. I knew the general make of this safe—a little fiddling and I would find the perfect spot on the door. One small, elegant hole should be sufficient. I’d have to disguise that hole afterwards, of course, but I had planned for that.
I ran my hands along the door and chose my spot. Then I began to drill, going slow and easy until I had a hole that I could slip a small tool into in order to release the bolt mechanism. The idea was to by-pass the lock altogether.
But the safe-maker had more brains than I had given him credit for. About halfway through the hole, some sort of ceramic material blocked my drill. I swore under my breath at my wasted effort. In fact, my efforts were worse than wasted. Because I tried to get arond that bloody ceramic I ended up with a hole that I couldn’t disguise.
So much for my dream of cracking the safe without leaving a mark. Damn, damn, damn.
I took hold of my clamps—ah, they were pretty—and went to work on the knob. Didn’t it fall right into my hands? I smiled at the clamps and silently thanked the old clockmaker for willing me such exquisite tools. In his day, I’ve no doubt that he was one of the best safe-crackers in the country.
I soon had the safe open. I stared inside, looking at the piles of cash. I shouldn’t be surprised if there was three thousand dollars of ‘emergency’ funds in there. That was a lot of money—I made forty dollars a month as a highly-paid servant.
There was jewelry there as well. It must have belonged to Joe’s mother. From what I had learned of the family, Adam’s mother and Hoss’s mother had died too poor to afford baubles like these. Unless, of course, the gems were paste. But they didn’t look like paste. But I was no expert, I reminded myself.
I left everything inside the safe unmolested, just as I had planned. Then I put the safe back together—quite neatly, if I do say so myself. But there was no way to disguise what I had done. Old man Cartwright might not notice just by glancing at the safe, but he’d know it’d been tampered with the first time he went to open it.
I put my tools back in their case and then sat by the fireplace. What now?
Well, I had decided that last night, hadn’t I? If I couldn’t crack the safe here without anyone being the wiser, I had promised myself that I would tell Adam the whole story and throw myself on his mercy. I’d explain why I had done it and why I had been practicing to break into the Maris safe. And then I’d hope that he didn’t send for the sheriff.
I could run, of course. I knew that. Why should I risk my liberty merely to help the Cartwrights? I didn’t owe them anything. I could cut my losses and leave.
But I didn’t want to leave. I was happy here. I liked my master, I liked my work and I liked being a part, however humble, of the Cartwright household. I liked Little Joe’s friendship and the camaraderie that I shared with Hop Sing.
Besides, I didn’t really believe that Adam would call the sheriff. Not if I told him about the safe now.
The clock rang out, interrupting my thoughts. It was four o’clock and the chimes were right on schedule. I had finished repairing the clock last week.
Adam would be coming in any moment. I got up, placed my tools carefully to the side and then found my coat. Once I was properly bundled up, I walked outside to the barn. Adam was just riding into the yard on Sport.
I watched as he dismounted. He smiled at me and walked toward me, leading the gelding behind him.
“May I talk with you, sir?” I asked, hugging myself against the cold.
“Sure,” he answered. “Come on into the barn with me.”
I nodded and followed him. Once we were inside I helped him stable Sport. Adam put another heavy blanket on the horse and then turned to face me. “What’s on your mind, Shea?” he asked.
I sighed. “I’ve got something to confess. Something—something pretty bad. I’m hoping you won’t be sending for the sheriff.”
Adam stared at me. “Well, that will depend on what you confess,” he said at length. “You haven’t murdered or injured anyone, have you?”
I shook my head. “No, sir. But I cracked your safe. I didn’t take anything, mind. You can check. I had to practice because—well, it’s a long story.”
“I will check it,” Adam said calmly. “And I’ll need to hear that story.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. He was taking this remarkably well, all things considered. “Why aren’t you in shock?”
He smiled a little. “A Pinkerton approached me a couple of weeks ago. He wanted my impression of my new valet. He told me that the three houses you’d worked in before had all been burgled while you served in them.”
I stood stock still as I took that in. And here I’d been sure that the Pinkertons had never given me a second thought.
“Don’t worry,” Adam continued, smiling wryly as he noted my expression. “I don’t think he truly suspected you—even he seemed to think that he was grasping at straws. But all the same, I decided not to mention your mechanical skills or those fine tools you keep for, ah, repairing clocks.”
“Why did you protect me?” I demanded.
He shrugged. “I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. There was nothing but circumstantial evidence against you.”
“But you risked all that money in the safe! And all that jewelry!”
“The jewelry is paste,” he said evenly. “Marie—that’s Joe’s mother—had some excellent pieces, but Joe has those locked away somewhere else. She didn’t wear those gems often; she preferred cunning duplicates.”
“There was still the money,” I pointed out.
“Did you look closely at it?”
I shook my head. “No,” I owned.
“Only the top bills were legitimate.” He gave me another wry smile—one that was almost apologetic. “I’m sorry, Shea, but after I spoke to the Pinkerton I had a long talk with my Pa. We thought it’d be best not to take any chances.”
I nodded. “I don’t blame you.” I paused to sigh again. “I took this job intending to rob you. But believe me, I decided against that within a week of working here. I scarcely knew my employers before, you see. It’s easy to rob someone you don't know. But I couldn’t have done that to you.”
He cocked his head at me. “If you decided that so early, why did you stay? Have you run through all the money you’ve stolen?”
“No, sir,” I answered. “I still have most of it spread out among various banks.”
“Then why keep working as a servant?” he persisted. “Why not take your leisure or do work you love?”
I grinned at him. “I am doing work I love. And you give me leisure enough.”
He rolled his eyes at me, but there was still a slight smile on his face. “You’re going to have to return what you stole,” he said. “If you do that, I think I’ll be able to convince those families not to press charges. The Ponderosa has plenty of influence in San Francisco.”
“I don’t mind giving it back,” I said at once. “I never cared about the money anyway. I was just after the challenge. But, sir, I don’t have all of it. Some of what I stole was jewelry—and the fence didn’t give me a quarter of what those gems were worth. Even if I give you everything I have now, I’ll still be short by over a thousand dollars.”
He sighed. “Well, I’ll have to make up the difference.”
I groaned and leaned back against one of the stalls. “It will take me years to pay you back."
“Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “I intend to take it out of your hide.”
I stared at him for a moment and then managed a small laugh. “Yes, sir.”
He turned to give Sport one last pet and then turned back to me. “Come on, Shea, let’s get inside. It’s too cold to listen to your story out here.”
I nodded and managed another small, resigned smile as I fell in beside him. He put a brotherly arm over my shoulder and together we walked back toward the house.
LINK TO PART TWELVE
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
The Rogue's Company, Part Ten
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
Link to Part One
~
My work didn’t end when we arrived home from the soiree. Adam ordered me to draw a bath for him, so I spent the better part of an hour heating water over the fire and lugging buckets of it to the tub. I had to keep separate kettles boiling as well, in an effort to keep the bath hot.
While Adam was bathing, I busied myself by heating bricks for his bed—it was another frigid night—and fanning the coals in the fireplace of his room. I also sorted the clothes he had worn that evening, deciding what needed mending or laundering. But all the while my mind was on the Maris safe.
I’ll own the truth—my hands were itching for a crack at it. But getting to it would present some problems. I was used to performing inside jobs, after all.
I could ask Rachel for assistance. But I dismissed that notion at once: it wouldn’t be chivalrous of me to ask her to play a part in a criminal act. Besides, I had no reason to think that she would approve of thievery—even in a good cause.
I swallowed a little at that thought. I knew full well that my master wouldn’t approve of the thievery either. I had served him long enough now to take his measure and I could guess what his opinion would be.
Of course, I could just tell Adam about the map and leave the safe alone, couldn’t I? But what, precisely, was I supposed to tell him? I had no notion of what the markings meant—not without looking at the map. And neither would he.
And once I told him, there’d be no breaking into the Maris residence. He’d never allow me to carry through with my plans. So surely, in this case, it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission?
Still, the idea of going behind Adam’s back didn’t sit right. I owed him my loyalty and obedience, didn’t I? But, on the other hand, wouldn’t I serve him best by cracking that safe?
At length Adam came back upstairs, wrapped up in his robe. I had already thought to bring up his brandy—it was waiting for him on a small table in his room.
“Have a glass with me,” he invited as he poured out two measures.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, forcing myself to smile as I sat down opposite of him.
Normally I enjoyed a quiet drink with Adam before he turned in. We would drink and laugh as we talked about the war or politics or anything else that was going on in the world. Or sometimes we’d talk about our families—he liked hearing about my Mam and my siblings.
But I didn’t care to face Adam tonight. He was too good at reading me. I hadn’t lied to him since he had taken me to task over the shirt business—I liked my hide in tact, thank you very much. But a lie might prove unavoidable tonight and I was afraid that he would see straight through me.
As if to prove that, he cocked his head at me as he settled into one of the armchairs. “Anything on your mind, Shea?”
“No, sir,” I said at once. But those amber eyes of his bore into me, so I thought it best to say something. I settled on a half truth.
“It’s just a girl, sir,” I said with a small shrug. “There’s a pretty chit at the Maris residence—we got to talking, but I don’t know that she’ll see me again. She’s black, you understand. Her mother won’t want to see an Irish lad sparking her. And my Mam won’t like it any better.”
Adam didn’t seem disapproving or judgmental—on the contrary, he gave me a look of sympathy as he poured another measure of brandy for me.
“What’s her name?”
“Rachel,” I said. “And it’s not only her color that’s a problem. I doubt she’s a Catholic.”
“No, most of the blacks in Virginia City are Baptists, I believe,” Adam agreed. He paused to grin at me. “Would that be more of a problem to your mother than the color of her skin?”
I grinned back. “It’d be a toss up,” I admitted. “Uh, not that there’s anything wrong with Protestants, Anglican or dissenting,” I said quickly, not wishing to offend him. He was a Protestant, after all. Only Joe, thanks to that French Creole mother of his, was a fellow Catholic. Not a particularly devout one, mind, but that’s beside the point. I wasn’t devout myself.
Actually, I don’t think Adam was all that devout either. He was a good man, mind, but I don’t know that he was a religious one.
At any event, Adam wasn’t offended by my remark. He just chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you if you choose to pursue the girl,” he noted.
I grinned again. “Aye, that I do. But I’m not sure I will pursue her—besides, if she won’t see me there’s nothing more to be done.”
“True enough,” Adam agreed. He paused and gave me another measuring look, but he said nothing further on the subject. “Well, I’m going to turn in,” he said instead. Then he turned to glance at the clock. It was half past three in the morning. “I’ll have to be up in a couple of hours. I know you still have the tub to empty, so sleep in tomorrow. You don’t have to get up with me.”
But I shook my head at that. “No, sir. I’ll be up before you—I earn that handsome salary you pay me, remember?”
He laughed. “Yes, you do. Keep it up and you’ll earn a raise.”
“Aye, sir,” I said as I got up and left to take care of the tub.
By the time I returned to the room, Adam was sound asleep. I settled down into the armchair by the fire as I wrapped myself up in heavy blankets and rested my feet on the ottoman.
I stayed awake for a short while, listening to the fire crackle. It occurred to me that if I could crack the Maris safe without damaging it, no one would ever know for certain that it had been burgled. After all, what burglar would take one worthless map instead of valuables?
No, Maris wouldn’t credit a burglar with the deed. He’d have to look closer at hand: he’d have to think that perhaps he, or his son, or his lawyers had been careless and mislaid the damn thing.
I furrowed my brow as I thought that over. Cracking a safe without damaging it was no easy proposition. I would need practice.
I sighed as I settled down deeper into my blankets. There was a safe right here on the Ponderosa to practice on. And I had intended to try my hand on it anyway.
If I damaged it—well, I’d have to tell Adam. I’d have to confess the whole thing and throw myself on his mercy. But it’d be much better if I could just crack it without leaving a scratch. Then no one would be the wiser, for I wouldn’t take a thing from it.
And if I did succeed with the Cartwright’s safe, I’d be prepared to tackle the one in Maris’s study. But I still needed a way back inside the house.
I shut my eyes and drifted into an uneasy sleep, still trying to come up with a reasonable plan.
LINK TO PART ELEVEN
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
Link to Part One
~
My work didn’t end when we arrived home from the soiree. Adam ordered me to draw a bath for him, so I spent the better part of an hour heating water over the fire and lugging buckets of it to the tub. I had to keep separate kettles boiling as well, in an effort to keep the bath hot.
While Adam was bathing, I busied myself by heating bricks for his bed—it was another frigid night—and fanning the coals in the fireplace of his room. I also sorted the clothes he had worn that evening, deciding what needed mending or laundering. But all the while my mind was on the Maris safe.
I’ll own the truth—my hands were itching for a crack at it. But getting to it would present some problems. I was used to performing inside jobs, after all.
I could ask Rachel for assistance. But I dismissed that notion at once: it wouldn’t be chivalrous of me to ask her to play a part in a criminal act. Besides, I had no reason to think that she would approve of thievery—even in a good cause.
I swallowed a little at that thought. I knew full well that my master wouldn’t approve of the thievery either. I had served him long enough now to take his measure and I could guess what his opinion would be.
Of course, I could just tell Adam about the map and leave the safe alone, couldn’t I? But what, precisely, was I supposed to tell him? I had no notion of what the markings meant—not without looking at the map. And neither would he.
And once I told him, there’d be no breaking into the Maris residence. He’d never allow me to carry through with my plans. So surely, in this case, it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission?
Still, the idea of going behind Adam’s back didn’t sit right. I owed him my loyalty and obedience, didn’t I? But, on the other hand, wouldn’t I serve him best by cracking that safe?
At length Adam came back upstairs, wrapped up in his robe. I had already thought to bring up his brandy—it was waiting for him on a small table in his room.
“Have a glass with me,” he invited as he poured out two measures.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, forcing myself to smile as I sat down opposite of him.
Normally I enjoyed a quiet drink with Adam before he turned in. We would drink and laugh as we talked about the war or politics or anything else that was going on in the world. Or sometimes we’d talk about our families—he liked hearing about my Mam and my siblings.
But I didn’t care to face Adam tonight. He was too good at reading me. I hadn’t lied to him since he had taken me to task over the shirt business—I liked my hide in tact, thank you very much. But a lie might prove unavoidable tonight and I was afraid that he would see straight through me.
As if to prove that, he cocked his head at me as he settled into one of the armchairs. “Anything on your mind, Shea?”
“No, sir,” I said at once. But those amber eyes of his bore into me, so I thought it best to say something. I settled on a half truth.
“It’s just a girl, sir,” I said with a small shrug. “There’s a pretty chit at the Maris residence—we got to talking, but I don’t know that she’ll see me again. She’s black, you understand. Her mother won’t want to see an Irish lad sparking her. And my Mam won’t like it any better.”
Adam didn’t seem disapproving or judgmental—on the contrary, he gave me a look of sympathy as he poured another measure of brandy for me.
“What’s her name?”
“Rachel,” I said. “And it’s not only her color that’s a problem. I doubt she’s a Catholic.”
“No, most of the blacks in Virginia City are Baptists, I believe,” Adam agreed. He paused to grin at me. “Would that be more of a problem to your mother than the color of her skin?”
I grinned back. “It’d be a toss up,” I admitted. “Uh, not that there’s anything wrong with Protestants, Anglican or dissenting,” I said quickly, not wishing to offend him. He was a Protestant, after all. Only Joe, thanks to that French Creole mother of his, was a fellow Catholic. Not a particularly devout one, mind, but that’s beside the point. I wasn’t devout myself.
Actually, I don’t think Adam was all that devout either. He was a good man, mind, but I don’t know that he was a religious one.
At any event, Adam wasn’t offended by my remark. He just chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you if you choose to pursue the girl,” he noted.
I grinned again. “Aye, that I do. But I’m not sure I will pursue her—besides, if she won’t see me there’s nothing more to be done.”
“True enough,” Adam agreed. He paused and gave me another measuring look, but he said nothing further on the subject. “Well, I’m going to turn in,” he said instead. Then he turned to glance at the clock. It was half past three in the morning. “I’ll have to be up in a couple of hours. I know you still have the tub to empty, so sleep in tomorrow. You don’t have to get up with me.”
But I shook my head at that. “No, sir. I’ll be up before you—I earn that handsome salary you pay me, remember?”
He laughed. “Yes, you do. Keep it up and you’ll earn a raise.”
“Aye, sir,” I said as I got up and left to take care of the tub.
By the time I returned to the room, Adam was sound asleep. I settled down into the armchair by the fire as I wrapped myself up in heavy blankets and rested my feet on the ottoman.
I stayed awake for a short while, listening to the fire crackle. It occurred to me that if I could crack the Maris safe without damaging it, no one would ever know for certain that it had been burgled. After all, what burglar would take one worthless map instead of valuables?
No, Maris wouldn’t credit a burglar with the deed. He’d have to look closer at hand: he’d have to think that perhaps he, or his son, or his lawyers had been careless and mislaid the damn thing.
I furrowed my brow as I thought that over. Cracking a safe without damaging it was no easy proposition. I would need practice.
I sighed as I settled down deeper into my blankets. There was a safe right here on the Ponderosa to practice on. And I had intended to try my hand on it anyway.
If I damaged it—well, I’d have to tell Adam. I’d have to confess the whole thing and throw myself on his mercy. But it’d be much better if I could just crack it without leaving a scratch. Then no one would be the wiser, for I wouldn’t take a thing from it.
And if I did succeed with the Cartwright’s safe, I’d be prepared to tackle the one in Maris’s study. But I still needed a way back inside the house.
I shut my eyes and drifted into an uneasy sleep, still trying to come up with a reasonable plan.
LINK TO PART ELEVEN
The Rogue's Company, Part Nine
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
Link to Part One
~
Adam looked handsome and elegant for the soiree—and I take full credit for that. I wouldn’t let him leave his room until I was satisfied with his appearance. He took my scrutiny in good part, although I caught a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
The rest of the Cartwrights turned out decently enough, I suppose, considering that they didn’t have a valet to assist them. They weren’t a discredit to me, at any event. I’d be able to hold my head up in the company of the other servants, I decided.
I dressed well, but not too well. As a valet, I had no livery to worry about, so I settled for something simple that I wouldn’t mind mussing up if they needed a hand in the kitchen.
By now, Joe had reconciled himself to my refusal. He was sore about it for a few days, mind, but he’s not one to hold grudges. Besides, once he understood that I’d have some pretty maids to flirt with I think he accepted my decision.
When we arrived at the Maris residence, I went around through the kitchen entrance and managed to catch the eye of the parlor maid. Her name was Rachel—I found that out quick enough. She was a pretty black girl. That could make things complicated, but if she didn’t care about the differences between us I decided not to pay them any mind either.
Meanwhile, though, I introduced myself to the cook and made myself useful. There was a lot of work to be done that night, but just as I predicted there was plenty of fun to be had as well. We had our own dance and a feast from the leftovers. Best of all, Rachel and I found a secluded spot and about a half an hour to ourselves.
I minded my manners—I swear it. We spent most of the time laughing and whispering. And I took no liberties with her apart from a few kisses. She was a respectable girl, after all.
I was about to bring her back to the kitchen when she placed her hands on either side of my face. I shut my eyes and leaned forward to kiss her again, but she gave me a little shake.
“No,” she whispered. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
I opened my eyes and cocked my head at her. “What’s wrong?” I asked, suddenly suspicious. “You haven’t got a fiancé who’ll be looking to beat my brains in, have you?”
“No, nothing like that,” she assured me, leaning back against the wall.
“Then what’s wrong?” I asked again.
She stared up at me for a moment. “Have the Cartwrights been good to you?” she asked me.
“Yes,” I answered. “But don't get your hopes up. I don’t think they’re looking for a parlor maid.”
She rolled her eyes at that. “That’s not it—Shea, Mr. Maris has a big map of the Ponderosa that he keeps in his safe. It’s got all sorts of marks on it. Marks he doesn’t want anyone but his son and a couple of lawyers to see.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Then how did you see it?”
“You know that folks are careless around the help. Whatever’s on that map, it’s not good for the Cartwrights. I heard Mr. Maris say so himself.”
I thought about that. The Cartwrights own a lot of land—I hadn’t seen a quarter of it yet. If this Mr. Maris wanted a piece of it, he could probably find some legal way of making mischief. If Rachel was telling the truth, that is. I couldn’t see a reason for her to lie, mind, but you never can tell.
“You don’t know what the marks mean?” I asked.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve only seen the map a couple of times. But Mr. Maris and his lawyer friends sure do spend a lot of time holed up in his study pouring over it.”
“Why would you tell me this?” I demanded in a harsh whisper. “You can’t have fallen in love with me already?”
She grinned. “No—and I’m not going to either,” she said. “I’m sorry, Shea, but I don’t think I have the courage to bring a white boy home to my mother.”
“I don’t know that I’d have the courage to face my Mam either,” I owned with an answering grin. “So why are you telling me this about Mr. Maris?”
She snorted. “Because he’s a nasty man. Oh, don’t worry—he doesn’t bother me. But he makes his wife miserable. And he’s too hard on his son. I wouldn’t mind seeing someone step in his way for once. Besides, the Cartwrights are decent folk from everything I’ve heard.”
I considered that. I still couldn’t see why she would lie about this, so I decided to accept the information and make the best of it. I almost asked her to describe the room where the map was—but I didn’t want to risk that. I think Rachel meant for me to give the Cartwrights a friendly warning about Maris (without mentioning her by name, of course.) She wasn’t thinking of me cracking the safe here to get a look at the map.
I thanked her with another kiss and then brought her back to the kitchen. Then I walked over to a footman who was resting by the fireplace.
“Would you like me to go upstairs for you with a fresh tray of drinks?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “Thanks, but you don’t have a livery.”
I smiled at him. “That’s easily solved—we’re about the same size, I’d wager.”
He stared at me. I could tell just what was going through his brain: he was wondering what had prompted my offer, but deciding that it was a friendly gesture on my part. A Ponderosa servant should be trustworthy, after all. So in the end he shrugged and thanked me.
“Not to worry,” I said as I slipped into his frock coat. “You’ll make it up to me, won’t you, the next time the Ponderosa hosts a soiree?”
He grinned. “Aye,” he said, “I promise.”
I straightened myself up. I wasn’t in the full livery, of course, but the frock coat ought to be enough to pass. The guests here had better things to do than pay attention to me.
I strode into the ballroom of the mansion and skirted the edges of it with the tray of refreshments. After I had made the rounds once, I set the tray down, picked up a lantern and slipped out of the ballroom. It was time to case the house.
I walked past a couple of servants, but no one stopped me or asked me what I was doing. It’s a funny thing, but as long as you walk purposely, as if you know what you’re about, people assume that you’re supposed to be there.
It didn’t take me long to find the study or the safe inside of it. I stared at the safe by the lantern light and nodded in satisfaction. It would be an easy safe to crack—the only hard part would be getting back into this room. I closed my eyes for a moment, wishing I had my tools with me now. But no such luck.
I did glance through the papers and such on the desk, but I couldn’t find anything that concerned the Cartwrights. But I didn’t know what I was looking for, did I? At length I decided not to take anything—I’d wait until I had the safe at my mercy.
I slipped out again and back to the ballroom. I picked up the tray from the table I had left it on, made the rounds again, and then headed to the kitchen.
I went back to the ballroom with fresh drinks twice more. Little Joe took a glass from my tray without even noticing that it was me—see how oblivious people are about servants? But I took no offense. His attention was fixed on a honey-blonde chit.
When I got back to the kitchen again, I took off the livery and handed it back to the footman. Then I put my own frock coat on, just in time for Rachel to grab my hands.
“Listen to those fiddlers in the ballroom,” she said with a smile. “They’re forming lines for the Virginia Reel down in the servant’s quarters. Care to join me?”
I nodded and followed her down. There’d be time enough to worry about the safe later.
LINK TO PART TEN
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
Link to Part One
~
Adam looked handsome and elegant for the soiree—and I take full credit for that. I wouldn’t let him leave his room until I was satisfied with his appearance. He took my scrutiny in good part, although I caught a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
The rest of the Cartwrights turned out decently enough, I suppose, considering that they didn’t have a valet to assist them. They weren’t a discredit to me, at any event. I’d be able to hold my head up in the company of the other servants, I decided.
I dressed well, but not too well. As a valet, I had no livery to worry about, so I settled for something simple that I wouldn’t mind mussing up if they needed a hand in the kitchen.
By now, Joe had reconciled himself to my refusal. He was sore about it for a few days, mind, but he’s not one to hold grudges. Besides, once he understood that I’d have some pretty maids to flirt with I think he accepted my decision.
When we arrived at the Maris residence, I went around through the kitchen entrance and managed to catch the eye of the parlor maid. Her name was Rachel—I found that out quick enough. She was a pretty black girl. That could make things complicated, but if she didn’t care about the differences between us I decided not to pay them any mind either.
Meanwhile, though, I introduced myself to the cook and made myself useful. There was a lot of work to be done that night, but just as I predicted there was plenty of fun to be had as well. We had our own dance and a feast from the leftovers. Best of all, Rachel and I found a secluded spot and about a half an hour to ourselves.
I minded my manners—I swear it. We spent most of the time laughing and whispering. And I took no liberties with her apart from a few kisses. She was a respectable girl, after all.
I was about to bring her back to the kitchen when she placed her hands on either side of my face. I shut my eyes and leaned forward to kiss her again, but she gave me a little shake.
“No,” she whispered. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
I opened my eyes and cocked my head at her. “What’s wrong?” I asked, suddenly suspicious. “You haven’t got a fiancé who’ll be looking to beat my brains in, have you?”
“No, nothing like that,” she assured me, leaning back against the wall.
“Then what’s wrong?” I asked again.
She stared up at me for a moment. “Have the Cartwrights been good to you?” she asked me.
“Yes,” I answered. “But don't get your hopes up. I don’t think they’re looking for a parlor maid.”
She rolled her eyes at that. “That’s not it—Shea, Mr. Maris has a big map of the Ponderosa that he keeps in his safe. It’s got all sorts of marks on it. Marks he doesn’t want anyone but his son and a couple of lawyers to see.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Then how did you see it?”
“You know that folks are careless around the help. Whatever’s on that map, it’s not good for the Cartwrights. I heard Mr. Maris say so himself.”
I thought about that. The Cartwrights own a lot of land—I hadn’t seen a quarter of it yet. If this Mr. Maris wanted a piece of it, he could probably find some legal way of making mischief. If Rachel was telling the truth, that is. I couldn’t see a reason for her to lie, mind, but you never can tell.
“You don’t know what the marks mean?” I asked.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve only seen the map a couple of times. But Mr. Maris and his lawyer friends sure do spend a lot of time holed up in his study pouring over it.”
“Why would you tell me this?” I demanded in a harsh whisper. “You can’t have fallen in love with me already?”
She grinned. “No—and I’m not going to either,” she said. “I’m sorry, Shea, but I don’t think I have the courage to bring a white boy home to my mother.”
“I don’t know that I’d have the courage to face my Mam either,” I owned with an answering grin. “So why are you telling me this about Mr. Maris?”
She snorted. “Because he’s a nasty man. Oh, don’t worry—he doesn’t bother me. But he makes his wife miserable. And he’s too hard on his son. I wouldn’t mind seeing someone step in his way for once. Besides, the Cartwrights are decent folk from everything I’ve heard.”
I considered that. I still couldn’t see why she would lie about this, so I decided to accept the information and make the best of it. I almost asked her to describe the room where the map was—but I didn’t want to risk that. I think Rachel meant for me to give the Cartwrights a friendly warning about Maris (without mentioning her by name, of course.) She wasn’t thinking of me cracking the safe here to get a look at the map.
I thanked her with another kiss and then brought her back to the kitchen. Then I walked over to a footman who was resting by the fireplace.
“Would you like me to go upstairs for you with a fresh tray of drinks?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “Thanks, but you don’t have a livery.”
I smiled at him. “That’s easily solved—we’re about the same size, I’d wager.”
He stared at me. I could tell just what was going through his brain: he was wondering what had prompted my offer, but deciding that it was a friendly gesture on my part. A Ponderosa servant should be trustworthy, after all. So in the end he shrugged and thanked me.
“Not to worry,” I said as I slipped into his frock coat. “You’ll make it up to me, won’t you, the next time the Ponderosa hosts a soiree?”
He grinned. “Aye,” he said, “I promise.”
I straightened myself up. I wasn’t in the full livery, of course, but the frock coat ought to be enough to pass. The guests here had better things to do than pay attention to me.
I strode into the ballroom of the mansion and skirted the edges of it with the tray of refreshments. After I had made the rounds once, I set the tray down, picked up a lantern and slipped out of the ballroom. It was time to case the house.
I walked past a couple of servants, but no one stopped me or asked me what I was doing. It’s a funny thing, but as long as you walk purposely, as if you know what you’re about, people assume that you’re supposed to be there.
It didn’t take me long to find the study or the safe inside of it. I stared at the safe by the lantern light and nodded in satisfaction. It would be an easy safe to crack—the only hard part would be getting back into this room. I closed my eyes for a moment, wishing I had my tools with me now. But no such luck.
I did glance through the papers and such on the desk, but I couldn’t find anything that concerned the Cartwrights. But I didn’t know what I was looking for, did I? At length I decided not to take anything—I’d wait until I had the safe at my mercy.
I slipped out again and back to the ballroom. I picked up the tray from the table I had left it on, made the rounds again, and then headed to the kitchen.
I went back to the ballroom with fresh drinks twice more. Little Joe took a glass from my tray without even noticing that it was me—see how oblivious people are about servants? But I took no offense. His attention was fixed on a honey-blonde chit.
When I got back to the kitchen again, I took off the livery and handed it back to the footman. Then I put my own frock coat on, just in time for Rachel to grab my hands.
“Listen to those fiddlers in the ballroom,” she said with a smile. “They’re forming lines for the Virginia Reel down in the servant’s quarters. Care to join me?”
I nodded and followed her down. There’d be time enough to worry about the safe later.
LINK TO PART TEN
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Picture of the Day
Adam West and Julie Newmar--she looks rather stunning in that cat suit, doesn't she? Imagine having a figure like that? An Adam & Drew Bit
Here's a short piece I wrote for Bonanza World's Bonanza Bits--BB's for short. This week's challenge was to include the words 'As he turned to leave, a hand on his shoulder made him pause.'
Now, with a little bit of luck, this bit will grow up to be the sequel to The Eyes of the Wind, The Monstrosity and For Want of a Brother:
~
BB #272
by J. Rosemary Moss
Adam knew where to find Drew. He had disappeared after the judge formally commuted Reuben’s sentence, but Adam could figure out just where he had gone. Guilt, if nothing else, would drive him there—guilt for helping the boy who had murdered his brother.
Adam sighed as he trudged toward the house that he had nicknamed ‘The Monstrosity.’ When he arrived he let himself inside. The door was locked, but that didn’t signify. He had his own key.
The place was empty, bereft even of furniture. Drew had given references to all the servants and then dismissed them—all the servants except Brian and his wife, that is. They would be accompanying Adam and Drew to Washington.
But Brian was lodging in the servants' house, which meant that Drew was all alone in the Monstrosity. Adam swore under his breath. He had told Drew over and over that it wasn’t safe for him to stay in this convoluted mansion on his own. His blindness could easily trap him if, God forbid, there was a fire.
He found Drew in what used to be the library. Drew must have heard and recognized his footfall, for he called out before Adam had a chance to speak.
“You must be thrilled, Adam,” he said, not bothering to disguise the bitterness in his voice. “That cocker spaniel you’ve adopted escaped justice, just as you predicted.”
Adam sighed again. “I think justice was served, Drew. You must think so as well, considering that you helped arrange for Reuben to avoid the noose and serve in the Army of the Potomac in lieu of prison.” He paused and smiled at his friend. Drew would hear the smile in his voice, even if he couldn’t see it. “Besides, I thought the kid was growing on you.”
Drew managed a slight laugh at that. “He’ll grow on me even more if he manages to get himself blown to bits in the war.”
“Yeah, I’m sure of that. Come on, Drew. Let’s leave here. You may as well stay at the Ponderosa for now.”
But Drew shook his head. “No, I need to be here tonight.”
Adam cringed at that: the place seemed too empty and desolate. But he understood. This house had been his brother’s dream, after all. “Then I’ll stay with you,” he said quietly.
“No!” Drew barked. “I don’t want you here. Stay in the house if you’d like, but keep away from me tonight.”
Adam stared at his friend, wishing that for once Drew would allow himself to mourn in front of him. There was no reason that he should bear all the guilt and grief he felt alone. But he couldn’t force Drew to accept his company—and he was wise enough not to try. Drew was constantly pulling Adam toward him with one hand and pushing him away with the other. There was nothing to be done about that.
But as he turned to leave, a hand on his shoulder made him pause. It was Drew reaching out for him, clumsily grabbing for him in his blindness. Adam stood there for a moment, waiting uncertainly.
“I’m sorry,” Drew whispered, his voice cracking. “You don’t have to leave. I just—”
Adam didn’t wait for any further invitation. He turned and gathered Drew up in his arms and then let him sob into his shoulder. Adam shut his eyes as he held his friend. He knew he couldn’t make things right for Drew—he couldn’t bring his brother back. But at least he could be there for him as he grieved.
Now, with a little bit of luck, this bit will grow up to be the sequel to The Eyes of the Wind, The Monstrosity and For Want of a Brother:
~
BB #272
by J. Rosemary Moss
Adam knew where to find Drew. He had disappeared after the judge formally commuted Reuben’s sentence, but Adam could figure out just where he had gone. Guilt, if nothing else, would drive him there—guilt for helping the boy who had murdered his brother.
Adam sighed as he trudged toward the house that he had nicknamed ‘The Monstrosity.’ When he arrived he let himself inside. The door was locked, but that didn’t signify. He had his own key.
The place was empty, bereft even of furniture. Drew had given references to all the servants and then dismissed them—all the servants except Brian and his wife, that is. They would be accompanying Adam and Drew to Washington.
But Brian was lodging in the servants' house, which meant that Drew was all alone in the Monstrosity. Adam swore under his breath. He had told Drew over and over that it wasn’t safe for him to stay in this convoluted mansion on his own. His blindness could easily trap him if, God forbid, there was a fire.
He found Drew in what used to be the library. Drew must have heard and recognized his footfall, for he called out before Adam had a chance to speak.
“You must be thrilled, Adam,” he said, not bothering to disguise the bitterness in his voice. “That cocker spaniel you’ve adopted escaped justice, just as you predicted.”
Adam sighed again. “I think justice was served, Drew. You must think so as well, considering that you helped arrange for Reuben to avoid the noose and serve in the Army of the Potomac in lieu of prison.” He paused and smiled at his friend. Drew would hear the smile in his voice, even if he couldn’t see it. “Besides, I thought the kid was growing on you.”
Drew managed a slight laugh at that. “He’ll grow on me even more if he manages to get himself blown to bits in the war.”
“Yeah, I’m sure of that. Come on, Drew. Let’s leave here. You may as well stay at the Ponderosa for now.”
But Drew shook his head. “No, I need to be here tonight.”
Adam cringed at that: the place seemed too empty and desolate. But he understood. This house had been his brother’s dream, after all. “Then I’ll stay with you,” he said quietly.
“No!” Drew barked. “I don’t want you here. Stay in the house if you’d like, but keep away from me tonight.”
Adam stared at his friend, wishing that for once Drew would allow himself to mourn in front of him. There was no reason that he should bear all the guilt and grief he felt alone. But he couldn’t force Drew to accept his company—and he was wise enough not to try. Drew was constantly pulling Adam toward him with one hand and pushing him away with the other. There was nothing to be done about that.
But as he turned to leave, a hand on his shoulder made him pause. It was Drew reaching out for him, clumsily grabbing for him in his blindness. Adam stood there for a moment, waiting uncertainly.
“I’m sorry,” Drew whispered, his voice cracking. “You don’t have to leave. I just—”
Adam didn’t wait for any further invitation. He turned and gathered Drew up in his arms and then let him sob into his shoulder. Adam shut his eyes as he held his friend. He knew he couldn’t make things right for Drew—he couldn’t bring his brother back. But at least he could be there for him as he grieved.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Picture of the Day
Hmmm...I might've put this pic of Christian Bale up before--but it's worth a second look.The Monstrosity, Part Thirteen
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Drew and I returned to our rooms to freshen up before lunch. I was just buttoning on a clean shirt when I heard a knock at my door. “Come in,” I called out, thinking that it was Drew.
But when I turned around I found myself staring at Jack. I should have guessed that—Drew doesn’t generally bother to knock.
Jack nodded at me and then glanced around the room. His eyes lingered for a moment on the empty spot in the wall where the mirror had hung, but he said nothing about it. At length he turned back to me, studying me.
“What can I do for you?” I asked as I finished buttoning my shirt.
He shrugged. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I appreciate you helping Drew to learn his way around our new home.”
I reached for my cufflinks as I answered that. “My pleasure,” I said easily. “I do have some concerns for Drew, however. Have you given any thought to what might happen if there was a fire here?”
“Yes,” Jack answered. “That’s the primary reason I’d like to move to this wing—even though my little brother wants to keep it to himself.” He paused to sigh. “It’d be different if Drew’s valet could room with him, but Brian’s a married man now and living in the servants’ house.”
I nodded. “Well, as I understand it, the closest exit here is the back stairs that lead to the kitchen. I’ll have Drew practice that this afternoon.”
Jack smiled at me suddenly. “I know what Drew did this morning—smashing up the dining room, I mean. That hasn’t daunted you?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s—it’s a complicated house, Jack. I can understand his frustration.”
“When I was building it, I didn’t realize that Drew meant for me to build a separate house for the servants,” Jack explained. “I thought that Brian would either be in his room or in a room close at hand. That would have made things easier for him. And to make matters worse, Drew is fighting the idea of me moving closer to him. He doesn’t like to admit that he needs looking after.”
He paused again and gave me a level, measuring look. “He doesn’t mind your presence though, thank God.”
I nodded again, wondering what his point was. I was only here for a fortnight or so, after all.
“Adam,” Jack continued, “you spend a good deal of time in Virginia City. And I know that when you have more than one day of business in town, you put up in a room at the International House—but you could just as easily stay here.”
I considered that. “If you mean for me to stay here, in the room opposite of Drew, he should be the one to invite me,” I said cautiously.
“Will you accept the standing invitation if he does invite you?”
I thought that over—but not for long. “Yes,” I said. “But I can’t say how often I’ll be in town. Sometimes I stay for a week at a time. But other times a month might pass before I step foot in Virginia City.”
“Oh, that’s understandable,” Jack said, brushing aside that concern. “I’ll feel better when you are here, at any event. And I’ll room in this wing when you’re not. In fact, if you could convince Drew to accept that idea, I’d appreciate it.”
I grinned. “What makes you think he’ll listen to me?”
Jack smiled back at me. It was a surprisingly self-deprecating grin on his part. “Oh, I think your word carries more weight with Drew than mine does these days. I’m trying not to mind that—I suppose that’s how it should be.”
I raised my eyebrows at him as I finished fastening my cufflinks. “What do you mean?”
He rolled his eyes at me. “Adam, we’re both men of the world. You needn’t worry—I won’t breathe a word. I love Drew beyond all things and I’d never allow him to become fodder for the gossip mills. And don’t worry about Brian either. That lad is thoroughly loyal to Drew. If he guesses anything, he’ll keep his mouth shut. And, ah, meanwhile I’ll be sure to give you and my brother plenty of privacy when you’re here.”
I stared at Jack for a long moment as his words sunk in. He was under the impression that Drew and I were lovers—that’s why he wasn’t jealous of my supposed influence over Drew. He didn’t think of me as an ‘adopted’ brother to Drew and therefore didn’t consider me a rival.
I was torn between a desire to laugh and a desire to correct him. In the end, I did neither. To own the truth, I was impressed with Jack’s devotion to his brother. I knew that I wasn't Jack’s favorite person and it must have annoyed him to think of Drew on such intimate terms with me. But he was willing to overlook that for Drew’s sake.
“I’ll talk to Drew about you staying in this wing when he would otherwise be alone,” I said at last. “And if he asks me to stay here whenever business brings me to town, I’ll jump on the offer.”
“Good,” Jack said, rising from his seat. “He will ask you—he already asked me what I thought of the idea.”
He held out his hand to me. I shook it heartily and then watched him leave the room. But I smiled to myself as he shut the door behind him—Jack and I had seldom been on such good terms. Funny to think that it was based on a misunderstanding.
~
I strode over to Drew’s room after Jack left and walked in without knocking. Brian was with him, waiting to help his master into his waistcoat.
“Afternoon, sir,” Brian said with a friendly smile.
“Afternoon, Brian,” I returned. “I’ll help Drew from here.”
Brian nodded and handed me the waistcoat. Then he turned to Drew. “Anything else, sir?”
He shook his head. “Not at present.”
Brian nodded again. “I’ll get to work on these shirts, then,” he said, scooping up a handful of mending. Then he took his leave of us.
Drew, meanwhile, held out his arms to me so that I could assist him into the waistcoat. “What brings you over here?” he asked.
“Did you give your brother a mistaken impression about us?” I returned as I helped him shrug the waistcoat on.
Drew flashed me his crooked grin. “Why would you think such a thing?” he asked as he began to button up.
“Because he seems to think that I’ve taken you for a lover,” I said as I leaned back against his dresser and folded my arms across my chest.
There was a glint in Drew’s eyes as he answered me, but he kept his face admirably straight. “How odd,” he said. “I wonder what made him think that—do you suppose he saw you punish me out in the yard?”
I rolled my eyes at that. “Drew, what did you tell him?”
Drew grinned again. “Actually, I didn’t have to tell him anything. He leapt to that conclusion all on his own. I just didn’t correct him—did you?”
“No,” I admitted. “I suppose I’d rather have him thinking that I’m in love with you than regarding me as a rival to his brotherly authority.”
“That’s what I thought,” Drew agreed. “And I can’t say I blame him for his supposition. I told you before, Adam, that few people are willing to put up with me.” He paused and cocked his head in my direction. “You’re not in love with me, are you?”
“No,” I said emphatically.
He nodded. “I didn’t think so. Just as well—I’m not really the passionate type. Although perhaps I should fall for you. I've never had an unrequited love before. It might prove interesting.”
“Don’t bother,” I advised him. “Unrequited passions aren’t nearly as romantic as they’re cracked up to be. I wasted my first year of college mooning after a girl who wouldn’t look my way.”
He smiled. “All the same, I don’t think the experience would hurt me.”
I grinned back at him. “No, I don’t suppose it would. But instead of viewing me as an older brother or as someone beyond your reach, why not just view me as a friend?”
He took his time about answering that. “I don’t know, Adam. When it comes to the pair of us, the word ‘friendship’ seems far too generous on one hand, and strangely inadequate on the other.”
I sighed as I considered that. I knew just what he meant.
"But don't worry," Drew continued. "I'm not really in love with you. And even if I were, I wouldn't moon over you."
"I know," I said. "And I'm not worried. Come here and let me help you with your hair.”
He stepped over to me and handed me the comb. I ran it through his hair, tidying it up for him. But then Drew surprised me by placing his hand on my arm.
“I’m sorry about biting your hand earlier,” he said softly.
“That’s all right,” I said. “I’m sorry about taking you to task the way I did.”
He looked surprised at that. “Are you really?”
“No,” I owned, grinning. “I just said that to be polite. In fact, if you don’t agree to let your brother stay in this wing when I’m not here, I’ll spank you in earnest.”
“When you’re not here?” Drew repeated, ignoring my threat as he raised his eyebrows at me.
I shrugged. “Well, I do stay in town from time to time. Jack seems to think that you’re going to issue me a standing invitation to bunk here.”
Those strange, sightless eyes of his danced in amusement. “And I take it that you’ll accept that invitation?” he asked.
“I will,” I said.
“Good,” he said. “Then consider yourself invited.”
I set the comb down on the dresser. “Thank you,” I said.
But he shook his head. “No—thank you. I know what it costs you to stay in a house you despise. And I know my company can be trying.”
“I may despise the house, but I don’t despise the company,” I assured him. “Now will you let Jack stay in this wing when I’m not here?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t sound like you’re giving me much choice.”
“I’m not,” I said. “So it’s settled?”
He shrugged again. “I suppose so,” he said, looking—for once—quite docile. But then he straightened up and gestured imperiously. “Help me on with my frock coat,” he ordered. “It’s high time we left for lunch.”
LINK TO PART FOURTEEN
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R
LINK TO PART ONE
~
Drew and I returned to our rooms to freshen up before lunch. I was just buttoning on a clean shirt when I heard a knock at my door. “Come in,” I called out, thinking that it was Drew.
But when I turned around I found myself staring at Jack. I should have guessed that—Drew doesn’t generally bother to knock.
Jack nodded at me and then glanced around the room. His eyes lingered for a moment on the empty spot in the wall where the mirror had hung, but he said nothing about it. At length he turned back to me, studying me.
“What can I do for you?” I asked as I finished buttoning my shirt.
He shrugged. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I appreciate you helping Drew to learn his way around our new home.”
I reached for my cufflinks as I answered that. “My pleasure,” I said easily. “I do have some concerns for Drew, however. Have you given any thought to what might happen if there was a fire here?”
“Yes,” Jack answered. “That’s the primary reason I’d like to move to this wing—even though my little brother wants to keep it to himself.” He paused to sigh. “It’d be different if Drew’s valet could room with him, but Brian’s a married man now and living in the servants’ house.”
I nodded. “Well, as I understand it, the closest exit here is the back stairs that lead to the kitchen. I’ll have Drew practice that this afternoon.”
Jack smiled at me suddenly. “I know what Drew did this morning—smashing up the dining room, I mean. That hasn’t daunted you?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s—it’s a complicated house, Jack. I can understand his frustration.”
“When I was building it, I didn’t realize that Drew meant for me to build a separate house for the servants,” Jack explained. “I thought that Brian would either be in his room or in a room close at hand. That would have made things easier for him. And to make matters worse, Drew is fighting the idea of me moving closer to him. He doesn’t like to admit that he needs looking after.”
He paused again and gave me a level, measuring look. “He doesn’t mind your presence though, thank God.”
I nodded again, wondering what his point was. I was only here for a fortnight or so, after all.
“Adam,” Jack continued, “you spend a good deal of time in Virginia City. And I know that when you have more than one day of business in town, you put up in a room at the International House—but you could just as easily stay here.”
I considered that. “If you mean for me to stay here, in the room opposite of Drew, he should be the one to invite me,” I said cautiously.
“Will you accept the standing invitation if he does invite you?”
I thought that over—but not for long. “Yes,” I said. “But I can’t say how often I’ll be in town. Sometimes I stay for a week at a time. But other times a month might pass before I step foot in Virginia City.”
“Oh, that’s understandable,” Jack said, brushing aside that concern. “I’ll feel better when you are here, at any event. And I’ll room in this wing when you’re not. In fact, if you could convince Drew to accept that idea, I’d appreciate it.”
I grinned. “What makes you think he’ll listen to me?”
Jack smiled back at me. It was a surprisingly self-deprecating grin on his part. “Oh, I think your word carries more weight with Drew than mine does these days. I’m trying not to mind that—I suppose that’s how it should be.”
I raised my eyebrows at him as I finished fastening my cufflinks. “What do you mean?”
He rolled his eyes at me. “Adam, we’re both men of the world. You needn’t worry—I won’t breathe a word. I love Drew beyond all things and I’d never allow him to become fodder for the gossip mills. And don’t worry about Brian either. That lad is thoroughly loyal to Drew. If he guesses anything, he’ll keep his mouth shut. And, ah, meanwhile I’ll be sure to give you and my brother plenty of privacy when you’re here.”
I stared at Jack for a long moment as his words sunk in. He was under the impression that Drew and I were lovers—that’s why he wasn’t jealous of my supposed influence over Drew. He didn’t think of me as an ‘adopted’ brother to Drew and therefore didn’t consider me a rival.
I was torn between a desire to laugh and a desire to correct him. In the end, I did neither. To own the truth, I was impressed with Jack’s devotion to his brother. I knew that I wasn't Jack’s favorite person and it must have annoyed him to think of Drew on such intimate terms with me. But he was willing to overlook that for Drew’s sake.
“I’ll talk to Drew about you staying in this wing when he would otherwise be alone,” I said at last. “And if he asks me to stay here whenever business brings me to town, I’ll jump on the offer.”
“Good,” Jack said, rising from his seat. “He will ask you—he already asked me what I thought of the idea.”
He held out his hand to me. I shook it heartily and then watched him leave the room. But I smiled to myself as he shut the door behind him—Jack and I had seldom been on such good terms. Funny to think that it was based on a misunderstanding.
~
I strode over to Drew’s room after Jack left and walked in without knocking. Brian was with him, waiting to help his master into his waistcoat.
“Afternoon, sir,” Brian said with a friendly smile.
“Afternoon, Brian,” I returned. “I’ll help Drew from here.”
Brian nodded and handed me the waistcoat. Then he turned to Drew. “Anything else, sir?”
He shook his head. “Not at present.”
Brian nodded again. “I’ll get to work on these shirts, then,” he said, scooping up a handful of mending. Then he took his leave of us.
Drew, meanwhile, held out his arms to me so that I could assist him into the waistcoat. “What brings you over here?” he asked.
“Did you give your brother a mistaken impression about us?” I returned as I helped him shrug the waistcoat on.
Drew flashed me his crooked grin. “Why would you think such a thing?” he asked as he began to button up.
“Because he seems to think that I’ve taken you for a lover,” I said as I leaned back against his dresser and folded my arms across my chest.
There was a glint in Drew’s eyes as he answered me, but he kept his face admirably straight. “How odd,” he said. “I wonder what made him think that—do you suppose he saw you punish me out in the yard?”
I rolled my eyes at that. “Drew, what did you tell him?”
Drew grinned again. “Actually, I didn’t have to tell him anything. He leapt to that conclusion all on his own. I just didn’t correct him—did you?”
“No,” I admitted. “I suppose I’d rather have him thinking that I’m in love with you than regarding me as a rival to his brotherly authority.”
“That’s what I thought,” Drew agreed. “And I can’t say I blame him for his supposition. I told you before, Adam, that few people are willing to put up with me.” He paused and cocked his head in my direction. “You’re not in love with me, are you?”
“No,” I said emphatically.
He nodded. “I didn’t think so. Just as well—I’m not really the passionate type. Although perhaps I should fall for you. I've never had an unrequited love before. It might prove interesting.”
“Don’t bother,” I advised him. “Unrequited passions aren’t nearly as romantic as they’re cracked up to be. I wasted my first year of college mooning after a girl who wouldn’t look my way.”
He smiled. “All the same, I don’t think the experience would hurt me.”
I grinned back at him. “No, I don’t suppose it would. But instead of viewing me as an older brother or as someone beyond your reach, why not just view me as a friend?”
He took his time about answering that. “I don’t know, Adam. When it comes to the pair of us, the word ‘friendship’ seems far too generous on one hand, and strangely inadequate on the other.”
I sighed as I considered that. I knew just what he meant.
"But don't worry," Drew continued. "I'm not really in love with you. And even if I were, I wouldn't moon over you."
"I know," I said. "And I'm not worried. Come here and let me help you with your hair.”
He stepped over to me and handed me the comb. I ran it through his hair, tidying it up for him. But then Drew surprised me by placing his hand on my arm.
“I’m sorry about biting your hand earlier,” he said softly.
“That’s all right,” I said. “I’m sorry about taking you to task the way I did.”
He looked surprised at that. “Are you really?”
“No,” I owned, grinning. “I just said that to be polite. In fact, if you don’t agree to let your brother stay in this wing when I’m not here, I’ll spank you in earnest.”
“When you’re not here?” Drew repeated, ignoring my threat as he raised his eyebrows at me.
I shrugged. “Well, I do stay in town from time to time. Jack seems to think that you’re going to issue me a standing invitation to bunk here.”
Those strange, sightless eyes of his danced in amusement. “And I take it that you’ll accept that invitation?” he asked.
“I will,” I said.
“Good,” he said. “Then consider yourself invited.”
I set the comb down on the dresser. “Thank you,” I said.
But he shook his head. “No—thank you. I know what it costs you to stay in a house you despise. And I know my company can be trying.”
“I may despise the house, but I don’t despise the company,” I assured him. “Now will you let Jack stay in this wing when I’m not here?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t sound like you’re giving me much choice.”
“I’m not,” I said. “So it’s settled?”
He shrugged again. “I suppose so,” he said, looking—for once—quite docile. But then he straightened up and gestured imperiously. “Help me on with my frock coat,” he ordered. “It’s high time we left for lunch.”
LINK TO PART FOURTEEN
The New Hand, Part Seventy-Four
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
It was well past midnight when the three men arrived back at their hotel. Adam noticed one other guest still up—an old man was sitting in an armchair in the lobby, reading by the light of a solitary lamp.
Adam stared at the figure for a moment; there was something familiar about him.
The old man seemed to recognize the threesome as well. He stood up at once and made his way toward them.
It was the elderly rabbi, Adam realized. He tapped David on the shoulder and felt him stiffen in surprise as the old man reached them.
"I must speak with you at once," the rabbi said to David without preamble. "I’ve been waiting for you to return."
His German accent was much thicker than usual, Adam noticed, and he seemed almost short of breath as he spoke. His whole manner was agitated and fretful
"Of course," David answered, collecting himself and remembering the formalities. "Rabbi Jacobson, I know you’ve met Adam Cartwright here. This is his brother, Joseph."
The rabbi nodded at Joe and then turned his attention back to David. "Please, may we sit down?"
David took the old man’s arm and walked him over to a settee. Little Joe, meanwhile, turned to Adam and raised his eyebrows at him.
"What’s all this about?" he asked.
Adam shrugged. "I don’t know."
Joe stared at David and Rabbi Jacobson for a moment. "Should we leave them and head upstairs?"
"No," Adam said, shaking his head. "Let’s have a game of chess. We’ll be here if they need us—but we won’t be invading their privacy."
Joe sighed. "Just what I wanted to worry about in the middle of the night—a chess match against older brother."
~
"What is it?" David asked as he took the seat next to the rabbi.
"Do you know Avigail Stein?" the rabbi demanded.
David swallowed at that. "I know one Avigail quite well," he admitted, "but I don’t know if it’s the same one. She’s been going by the name of Abby Johnson."
The rabbi sighed and pulled a small portrait out of his coat pocket. "She left this with one of her sisters," he said simply as he handed it over.
David stared at the tiny painting. It depicted a young woman of perhaps twenty with a sweet smile and a face not yet disfigured by a branding iron. It was, without doubt, his Avigail.
He swallowed even harder as he gave the portrait back to the rabbi. "This is my girl," he said simply.
It was hard to read the old man’s reaction to that. He looked crushed and relieved at the same time. He shut his eyes and muttered some Yiddish under his breath. Then he opened his eyes and stared back at David.
"Avigail Stein is my granddaughter," he said. "She met a gentile and fell in love with him. Her father—my son-in-law—forbid the match."
He paused and sighed. "Not only was the man a stranger to our ways—he did not, ah, understand how to treat a woman with respect. My son-in-law could see that, you understand. But Avigail would not listen. She—" he broke off for a moment. "How do you say it? She eloped to San Diego. We all mourned her as if she was dead."
He paused again. This time it seemed to take exceptional effort to complete the story. "Her husband, Christopher Hastings, has been, uh, sniffing around our community. He thought that one of us might have had word from her. That’s how we guessed that she had run away from him."
"She did," David confirmed. "From the little she’s told me, I would imagine that happened over a year ago."
"This evening, Mr. Hastings paid me a visit," Rabbi Jacobson continued. "Someone has given him information on Avigail. He hates all of us so much that he wanted to share it—he wanted to make sure I knew that my granddaughter had been working in a saloon and is now—is now living under the protection of one David Griffin."
David cringed at that. "Rabbi," he said, making sure to look the old man in the eye, "I met Abby Johnson at the Silver Dollar Saloon in Virginia City. I knew nothing about her, except that she seemed to have more character than the other girls there. I didn’t even know she was Jewish."
He paused before continuing. It was best, no doubt, to tell the story straight out.
"I told you before, Rabbi, that I’ve been committing—and will continue to commit—a toevah," David began. "Well, I offered to take Abby under my protection so that, in the eyes of the world, I would appear to have a mistress and no one would question my, ah, true tendencies. It seemed a good deal for both of us. I had my mask and Abby was able to leave the saloon and move into a flat that I acquired for her."
The rabbi looked disgusted, but he didn’t interrupt.
"Abby and I got along quite well," David continued. "I grew so partial to her that I offered to make our arrangement permanent—I offered her marriage. That’s when she told me some of her history. She told me that she’s also Jewish and that she already has a husband."
David leaned in closer to the rabbi as he proceeded. "That man put Avigail through hell. He even scarred her face—a wicked, disfiguring scar. I promised her that I would find the man and, one way or another, force him to give her a divorce."
"And then marry her yourself?" the rabbi asked, his face suddenly expressionless.
David nodded. "Yes. I—I’ll be a good husband to her, Rabbi, in all ways but one. We even mean to adopt children and raise a family."
The rabbi peered at him. "And you still intend to go through with this?"
"Of course," David answered at once. "I’ll speak with Christopher Hastings as soon as you tell me where to find him. And then I’ll speak with Avigail’s father."
But the rabbi shook his head. "Avigail’s father is dead. His heart gave out seven months ago. And even if it hadn’t, I don’t think that he would have ever spoken to her again. Perhaps it’s no wonder that she chose to work in a saloon rather than to come home."
David sighed. "Well, I’ll ask you for your blessing to the marriage then, Rabbi. But I mean to make her my wife whether you give us your blessing or not."
To David’s surprise, the old man managed a wry grin. "What can I say?" he asked. "You are slightly preferable to a saloon."
"Well, thank you for that, I suppose," David retorted, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. Then he leaned forward again. "Now where can I find this Christopher Hastings?"
LINK TO PART SEVENTY-FIVE
Genre: Slash Fan-Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
LINK TO PART ONE
~
It was well past midnight when the three men arrived back at their hotel. Adam noticed one other guest still up—an old man was sitting in an armchair in the lobby, reading by the light of a solitary lamp.
Adam stared at the figure for a moment; there was something familiar about him.
The old man seemed to recognize the threesome as well. He stood up at once and made his way toward them.
It was the elderly rabbi, Adam realized. He tapped David on the shoulder and felt him stiffen in surprise as the old man reached them.
"I must speak with you at once," the rabbi said to David without preamble. "I’ve been waiting for you to return."
His German accent was much thicker than usual, Adam noticed, and he seemed almost short of breath as he spoke. His whole manner was agitated and fretful
"Of course," David answered, collecting himself and remembering the formalities. "Rabbi Jacobson, I know you’ve met Adam Cartwright here. This is his brother, Joseph."
The rabbi nodded at Joe and then turned his attention back to David. "Please, may we sit down?"
David took the old man’s arm and walked him over to a settee. Little Joe, meanwhile, turned to Adam and raised his eyebrows at him.
"What’s all this about?" he asked.
Adam shrugged. "I don’t know."
Joe stared at David and Rabbi Jacobson for a moment. "Should we leave them and head upstairs?"
"No," Adam said, shaking his head. "Let’s have a game of chess. We’ll be here if they need us—but we won’t be invading their privacy."
Joe sighed. "Just what I wanted to worry about in the middle of the night—a chess match against older brother."
~
"What is it?" David asked as he took the seat next to the rabbi.
"Do you know Avigail Stein?" the rabbi demanded.
David swallowed at that. "I know one Avigail quite well," he admitted, "but I don’t know if it’s the same one. She’s been going by the name of Abby Johnson."
The rabbi sighed and pulled a small portrait out of his coat pocket. "She left this with one of her sisters," he said simply as he handed it over.
David stared at the tiny painting. It depicted a young woman of perhaps twenty with a sweet smile and a face not yet disfigured by a branding iron. It was, without doubt, his Avigail.
He swallowed even harder as he gave the portrait back to the rabbi. "This is my girl," he said simply.
It was hard to read the old man’s reaction to that. He looked crushed and relieved at the same time. He shut his eyes and muttered some Yiddish under his breath. Then he opened his eyes and stared back at David.
"Avigail Stein is my granddaughter," he said. "She met a gentile and fell in love with him. Her father—my son-in-law—forbid the match."
He paused and sighed. "Not only was the man a stranger to our ways—he did not, ah, understand how to treat a woman with respect. My son-in-law could see that, you understand. But Avigail would not listen. She—" he broke off for a moment. "How do you say it? She eloped to San Diego. We all mourned her as if she was dead."
He paused again. This time it seemed to take exceptional effort to complete the story. "Her husband, Christopher Hastings, has been, uh, sniffing around our community. He thought that one of us might have had word from her. That’s how we guessed that she had run away from him."
"She did," David confirmed. "From the little she’s told me, I would imagine that happened over a year ago."
"This evening, Mr. Hastings paid me a visit," Rabbi Jacobson continued. "Someone has given him information on Avigail. He hates all of us so much that he wanted to share it—he wanted to make sure I knew that my granddaughter had been working in a saloon and is now—is now living under the protection of one David Griffin."
David cringed at that. "Rabbi," he said, making sure to look the old man in the eye, "I met Abby Johnson at the Silver Dollar Saloon in Virginia City. I knew nothing about her, except that she seemed to have more character than the other girls there. I didn’t even know she was Jewish."
He paused before continuing. It was best, no doubt, to tell the story straight out.
"I told you before, Rabbi, that I’ve been committing—and will continue to commit—a toevah," David began. "Well, I offered to take Abby under my protection so that, in the eyes of the world, I would appear to have a mistress and no one would question my, ah, true tendencies. It seemed a good deal for both of us. I had my mask and Abby was able to leave the saloon and move into a flat that I acquired for her."
The rabbi looked disgusted, but he didn’t interrupt.
"Abby and I got along quite well," David continued. "I grew so partial to her that I offered to make our arrangement permanent—I offered her marriage. That’s when she told me some of her history. She told me that she’s also Jewish and that she already has a husband."
David leaned in closer to the rabbi as he proceeded. "That man put Avigail through hell. He even scarred her face—a wicked, disfiguring scar. I promised her that I would find the man and, one way or another, force him to give her a divorce."
"And then marry her yourself?" the rabbi asked, his face suddenly expressionless.
David nodded. "Yes. I—I’ll be a good husband to her, Rabbi, in all ways but one. We even mean to adopt children and raise a family."
The rabbi peered at him. "And you still intend to go through with this?"
"Of course," David answered at once. "I’ll speak with Christopher Hastings as soon as you tell me where to find him. And then I’ll speak with Avigail’s father."
But the rabbi shook his head. "Avigail’s father is dead. His heart gave out seven months ago. And even if it hadn’t, I don’t think that he would have ever spoken to her again. Perhaps it’s no wonder that she chose to work in a saloon rather than to come home."
David sighed. "Well, I’ll ask you for your blessing to the marriage then, Rabbi. But I mean to make her my wife whether you give us your blessing or not."
To David’s surprise, the old man managed a wry grin. "What can I say?" he asked. "You are slightly preferable to a saloon."
"Well, thank you for that, I suppose," David retorted, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. Then he leaned forward again. "Now where can I find this Christopher Hastings?"
LINK TO PART SEVENTY-FIVE
Sunday, May 25, 2008
The Rogue's Company, Part Eight
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
Link to Part One
~
I had only a few minutes to close my eyes before Joe started moaning and groaning. I rolled over as he swore under his breath, complaining about his pounding headache. I gave him a look full of sympathy. Didn't I know just what he was feeling?
“You’ll feel better after you retch your guts out, sir,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, “I know.” He paused to lean over the side of the bed in order to do just that. Once he was settled down again, he turned his head back toward me. “Would you stop calling me ‘sir’? You did that all last night.”
I flashed him a grin as I bent my arm and propped up my head. “You’d prefer ‘Mr. Cartwright?’” I asked.
“Ha-ha,” he said, glaring at me. “I’d prefer that you called me ‘Joe.’”
But I shook my head at that. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m employed as a servant here,” I reminded him. “It’s not my place to call you by your first name.”
“Shea, we were drinking ourselves blind together last night!”
I gave him an innocent look. “I can’t stop you from slumming with the help, sir!”
He rolled his eyes at that and then thwacked me with his pillow. That led to a brief pillow fight which, in turn, led to a laughing wrestling match—but we were both too sick to keep it up. We ended up with our heads back over the sides to retch again instead.
I sighed as I tried to settle down again. “No offense—but I don’t think I’ll be drinking like that again. Not for a long while.”
“Yeah—me neither,” he agreed. But then he gave me a strange look. “Do most servants talk as good as you do?”
I furrowed my brow at that. “No, not most. A few do.”
“You been to school?” he asked.
“No, but I know how to read and write. My Mam saw to that. And I do lot of reading.”
He rolled his eyes. “No wonder you get on so well with Adam.”
I put my hands behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. “He wasn’t angry about this—the drinking I mean. He said he’d come in to check up on us and see to the fire.”
Joe nodded. “Yeah, he’s usually good about stuff like this—I’ll bet he had his share of drunken nights back when he was in college.”
I smiled a little at that. “What about your Pa?” I asked.
Joe swallowed hard. “Well, you don’t have to worry about him. He’ll figure that you’re Adam’s problem.” He paused and sighed. “We were singing at the top of our lungs last night, weren’t we?”
I nodded as I thought back to how we lay in the wagon, hugging our coats around ourselves as we drained the last bit of whiskey from our bottles and kept singing about leaving Ireland.
“Yeah,” I said. “And I think that when your brothers were carrying us upstairs, I was still caterwauling and you were telling everyone how much you loved them. There's no chance that your father didn’t hear us.”
Joe sighed again. “Well, Pa’s going to have something to say to me,” he said, sounding like a man resigned to his fate. But then he brightened. “Unless Adam talks to him for me—Adam's good at talking him around in circles until he forgets what he was angry about. Combined with my charm, that ought to be enough to keep me out of trouble.”
As if on cue, Adam chose that moment to walk into the room. He paused in the doorway to look us over and then shook his head at us. “How are you two feeling?”
“Been better,” Joe said. “Hey Adam, would you mind talking to Pa?”
“Already done,” Adam assured him. “Just give him that innocent smile of yours and you should be fine.”
Joe grinned. “Thanks, older brother.”
Adam just nodded as he stepped inside to start the fire up. When that was done, he turned around and picked up the basins. I tried to get up—he shouldn’t be cleaning up after us—but he ordered me straight back to bed.
“Get some sleep, both of you,” he said. “Hoss said he’d draw baths for you later so we can get the pair of you cleaned up.”
“Thanks,” Joe said. “We owe you both.”
“No kidding,” Adam said with a wink. Then he left the room, basins still in hand.
I curled up under the blankets again and grinned at Joe. “I like working for your brother,” I told him.
Joe yawned. “Yeah—sometimes that Yankee granite-head ain’t half bad.”
~
About a week later Joe burst into the kitchen while Hop Sing and I were sitting down to dinner. That had become a routine for Hop Sing and me—sitting down to dinner, I mean. We’d serve the family and, once they were done, we’d sit down to a meal ourselves. I’m not sure what Hop Sing did before Adam hired me. He must have been lonely, I suppose, without any other servants to eat with.
At any event, Joe burst in on us and took a seat at the table. “I forgot to tell you,” he said to me, “there’s going to be a fancy party in town next week. The Maris family is hosting it.”
“I know,” I said, putting down my fork. “Your brother told me—I have to prepare his favorite dress clothes for it.”
Hop Sing, meanwhile, was glaring at Little Joe. He didn’t like having his kitchen invaded by the family. He was about to order Joe out, but Joe gave him such a charming smile that the cook sighed and resigned himself to his presence.
Joe gave my arm a friendly punch. “How about I sneak you into the soiree—that’s what they’re calling it, can you believe that? Anyone would think they came from old money instead of striking it rich in the Comstock.”
I grinned. “There’s not much in the way of old money in this country—at least not out west.”
“Yeah—that’s true,” Joe owned. “Just look at us—Pa came from a poor family. But we don’t run around calling our parties ‘soirees.’
“No,” I agreed, winking. “But your brother hired a valet.”
Joe laughed. “Yeah—but I can see his point. I still want a valet of my own eventually. Are you sure you’re supposed to pronounce the ‘t?’”
That was a sore point between Joe and me. He always wanted to pronounce ‘valet’ the way the French do, but that’s not how my Mam pronounces it—and she once served in one of the best Anglo-Irish houses in County Wicklow. Not that I ever corrected Joe, mind, but I spoke up when he asked me.
I suppose Joe was entitled to the French way of saying it, though—his mother was a French Creole from New Orleans. Come to think of it, that French blood of his should have entitled him to use the term ‘soiree.’”
“But that don’t matter,” Joe was saying. “The point is, you can come to this dance if you’d like—Hoss and I cooked up the perfect plan. We can get you past that gargoyle of a butler they have.”
I shook my head, imagining how Adam would react to that trick. “Your brother would tan my hide if he caught me.”
Joe shrugged. “I'll take the blame. Besides, it might be worth it. Some fine looking girls are going to be there.”
But I wasn’t even tempted. I didn’t stand a chance with the girls who would be guests at that party. But the maids—well, that was a different story.
“I am going, sir,” I explained. “I’ll even have a place in your carriage. But I’m going to help out the servants of the house—they’ll need the extra hands. And they might have a celebration of their own below stairs.”
Joe stared at me as he took that in. At length he sighed. “Suit yourself,” he said. “I just wish you were going to be at the real party—I hate that a friend of mine isn’t welcome.”
“Well, I don’t mind,” I said. “I don’t move in those circles. And, to be honest, sir, I don’t have any desire to.”
He grinned. “Maybe not—but I have a week to change your mind.”
I rolled my eyes as he left Hop Sing and me in peace. Looking back, though, I should have taken Joe up on his offer. That celebration below stairs was where all the trouble started.
LINK TO PART NINE
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
Link to Part One
~
I had only a few minutes to close my eyes before Joe started moaning and groaning. I rolled over as he swore under his breath, complaining about his pounding headache. I gave him a look full of sympathy. Didn't I know just what he was feeling?
“You’ll feel better after you retch your guts out, sir,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, “I know.” He paused to lean over the side of the bed in order to do just that. Once he was settled down again, he turned his head back toward me. “Would you stop calling me ‘sir’? You did that all last night.”
I flashed him a grin as I bent my arm and propped up my head. “You’d prefer ‘Mr. Cartwright?’” I asked.
“Ha-ha,” he said, glaring at me. “I’d prefer that you called me ‘Joe.’”
But I shook my head at that. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m employed as a servant here,” I reminded him. “It’s not my place to call you by your first name.”
“Shea, we were drinking ourselves blind together last night!”
I gave him an innocent look. “I can’t stop you from slumming with the help, sir!”
He rolled his eyes at that and then thwacked me with his pillow. That led to a brief pillow fight which, in turn, led to a laughing wrestling match—but we were both too sick to keep it up. We ended up with our heads back over the sides to retch again instead.
I sighed as I tried to settle down again. “No offense—but I don’t think I’ll be drinking like that again. Not for a long while.”
“Yeah—me neither,” he agreed. But then he gave me a strange look. “Do most servants talk as good as you do?”
I furrowed my brow at that. “No, not most. A few do.”
“You been to school?” he asked.
“No, but I know how to read and write. My Mam saw to that. And I do lot of reading.”
He rolled his eyes. “No wonder you get on so well with Adam.”
I put my hands behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. “He wasn’t angry about this—the drinking I mean. He said he’d come in to check up on us and see to the fire.”
Joe nodded. “Yeah, he’s usually good about stuff like this—I’ll bet he had his share of drunken nights back when he was in college.”
I smiled a little at that. “What about your Pa?” I asked.
Joe swallowed hard. “Well, you don’t have to worry about him. He’ll figure that you’re Adam’s problem.” He paused and sighed. “We were singing at the top of our lungs last night, weren’t we?”
I nodded as I thought back to how we lay in the wagon, hugging our coats around ourselves as we drained the last bit of whiskey from our bottles and kept singing about leaving Ireland.
“Yeah,” I said. “And I think that when your brothers were carrying us upstairs, I was still caterwauling and you were telling everyone how much you loved them. There's no chance that your father didn’t hear us.”
Joe sighed again. “Well, Pa’s going to have something to say to me,” he said, sounding like a man resigned to his fate. But then he brightened. “Unless Adam talks to him for me—Adam's good at talking him around in circles until he forgets what he was angry about. Combined with my charm, that ought to be enough to keep me out of trouble.”
As if on cue, Adam chose that moment to walk into the room. He paused in the doorway to look us over and then shook his head at us. “How are you two feeling?”
“Been better,” Joe said. “Hey Adam, would you mind talking to Pa?”
“Already done,” Adam assured him. “Just give him that innocent smile of yours and you should be fine.”
Joe grinned. “Thanks, older brother.”
Adam just nodded as he stepped inside to start the fire up. When that was done, he turned around and picked up the basins. I tried to get up—he shouldn’t be cleaning up after us—but he ordered me straight back to bed.
“Get some sleep, both of you,” he said. “Hoss said he’d draw baths for you later so we can get the pair of you cleaned up.”
“Thanks,” Joe said. “We owe you both.”
“No kidding,” Adam said with a wink. Then he left the room, basins still in hand.
I curled up under the blankets again and grinned at Joe. “I like working for your brother,” I told him.
Joe yawned. “Yeah—sometimes that Yankee granite-head ain’t half bad.”
~
About a week later Joe burst into the kitchen while Hop Sing and I were sitting down to dinner. That had become a routine for Hop Sing and me—sitting down to dinner, I mean. We’d serve the family and, once they were done, we’d sit down to a meal ourselves. I’m not sure what Hop Sing did before Adam hired me. He must have been lonely, I suppose, without any other servants to eat with.
At any event, Joe burst in on us and took a seat at the table. “I forgot to tell you,” he said to me, “there’s going to be a fancy party in town next week. The Maris family is hosting it.”
“I know,” I said, putting down my fork. “Your brother told me—I have to prepare his favorite dress clothes for it.”
Hop Sing, meanwhile, was glaring at Little Joe. He didn’t like having his kitchen invaded by the family. He was about to order Joe out, but Joe gave him such a charming smile that the cook sighed and resigned himself to his presence.
Joe gave my arm a friendly punch. “How about I sneak you into the soiree—that’s what they’re calling it, can you believe that? Anyone would think they came from old money instead of striking it rich in the Comstock.”
I grinned. “There’s not much in the way of old money in this country—at least not out west.”
“Yeah—that’s true,” Joe owned. “Just look at us—Pa came from a poor family. But we don’t run around calling our parties ‘soirees.’
“No,” I agreed, winking. “But your brother hired a valet.”
Joe laughed. “Yeah—but I can see his point. I still want a valet of my own eventually. Are you sure you’re supposed to pronounce the ‘t?’”
That was a sore point between Joe and me. He always wanted to pronounce ‘valet’ the way the French do, but that’s not how my Mam pronounces it—and she once served in one of the best Anglo-Irish houses in County Wicklow. Not that I ever corrected Joe, mind, but I spoke up when he asked me.
I suppose Joe was entitled to the French way of saying it, though—his mother was a French Creole from New Orleans. Come to think of it, that French blood of his should have entitled him to use the term ‘soiree.’”
“But that don’t matter,” Joe was saying. “The point is, you can come to this dance if you’d like—Hoss and I cooked up the perfect plan. We can get you past that gargoyle of a butler they have.”
I shook my head, imagining how Adam would react to that trick. “Your brother would tan my hide if he caught me.”
Joe shrugged. “I'll take the blame. Besides, it might be worth it. Some fine looking girls are going to be there.”
But I wasn’t even tempted. I didn’t stand a chance with the girls who would be guests at that party. But the maids—well, that was a different story.
“I am going, sir,” I explained. “I’ll even have a place in your carriage. But I’m going to help out the servants of the house—they’ll need the extra hands. And they might have a celebration of their own below stairs.”
Joe stared at me as he took that in. At length he sighed. “Suit yourself,” he said. “I just wish you were going to be at the real party—I hate that a friend of mine isn’t welcome.”
“Well, I don’t mind,” I said. “I don’t move in those circles. And, to be honest, sir, I don’t have any desire to.”
He grinned. “Maybe not—but I have a week to change your mind.”
I rolled my eyes as he left Hop Sing and me in peace. Looking back, though, I should have taken Joe up on his offer. That celebration below stairs was where all the trouble started.
LINK TO PART NINE
The Rogue's Company, Part Seven
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
Link to Part One
~
I spent the next few weeks accustoming myself to Adam. He was strict and demanding--the sort of master who wouldn't tolerate any carelessness or shoddy work. But I didn't mind that; I was something of a perfectionist myself.
He was a hard taskmaster—my day began before daybreak and didn’t usually end until midnight. But I didn't mind that either. Adam was quite clear in spelling out my duties, so I always knew what he expected of me. Besides, he was generous in my salary and he gave me one day to myself every week. That was a luxury almost unheard of among servants. Most were satisfied with one day off per month.
By the time my first month was through, I felt that I knew my employer quite well. And that surprised me—Adam was the first master I'd ever known personally. As a footman, you scarcely have an opportunity to speak to your master, after all. You answer to the butler. But now that I was a valet, I answered directly to Adam.
That meant that it was Adam’s place to discipline me—I didn’t have to worry about a butler boxing my ears or thrashing me any longer. But by the end of my first week, I learned that Adam had no compunctions about thrashing me himself.
I had only myself to blame for that. I should have guessed that Adam wouldn’t put up with a lie—or even a slight shading of the truth. He tanned my hide to drive that point home. And didn’t he treat me to a blistering lecture as well? That was almost worse than the tanning.
It was a stupid thing to lie over. Adam had asked me if I’d finished mending one of his good shirts. I said I had, thinking he wouldn’t need it for another week. I figured I’d get to it by then. But he wanted it the next day. I managed a glib excuse, but he had brains enough not to buy it.
“Why would you lie about this, Shea?” he asked as he folded his arms across his chest.
I gave him what I hoped was a beguiling grin—the one I usually reserved for angry butlers. “I was hoping to spare myself a thrashing.”
He grinned back. “Well, then the lie was counter-productive. I don’t mind that you didn’t get to the mending, my lad, but I do mind the lie.”
I nodded, resigned, and took the tanning without complaint. I even managed to ‘Yes, sir’ my way through the lecture. But once it was over, I chewed my lip thinking about how closely I worked with Adam.
Again, I hadn’t much known the families I worked for in the past. It hadn’t been my place to interact with them. They hadn’t even hired me directly. Butlers or stewards took care of that. And since I scarcely knew the families—well, I can’t say I ever felt any guilt over robbing them.
But I was coming to know Adam quite well, and I was rather partial to him. I knew already that he was the best employer I’d ever had, even taking the tanning into account. Moreover, I was fast becoming friends with Hoss and Joe. They hadn’t been raised with staff (apart from Hop Sing), so they didn’t know enough to keep themselves aloof from me. And as for me—well, I liked the thought of being friends with them.
But I had enough sense to wonder how Adam felt about my would-be friendship with his brothers. I’d back off, I told myself, if he minded.
I brought the subject up one night when he was working late. He had sent me down to the wine cellar to fetch a bottle of brandy for him. I brought it up to his room and set it down, along with a glass, on the table next to him. Then I checked the oil in his lamp.
He smiled up at me as he poured the brandy. “You don’t have to wait up for me tonight, Shea. Get some sleep.”
But I shook my head at that. “I don’t mind, sir.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said as he went back to the documents he'd been perusing.
I took a seat on the other chair and busied myself with some mending. But at length I looked back up at Adam.
“Sir?” I said. “Joe asked me to go into town with him tomorrow. Would that be a problem?”
He looked up at me in surprise. “Why should it be? It’s your day off, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t know if—well, is it appropriate?”
He grinned at that. “I told you before, Shea, that we’re not that formal here. Just do me a favor and don’t let Joe drag you into too much trouble.”
I smiled back at him. “Yes, sir,” I promised.
~
I wish I could say that I kept that promise. But that’s near impossible with Joe. We drank toasts to each other and to every passing saloon girl at three separate establishments. We got thrown out of two of those establishments for brawling. Ah, but they were friendly, good natured brawls. Everyone involved was laughing, even after we were all tossed out the door.
The short of it is that by the time we got home, we were three sheets to the wind, caterwauling at the top of our lungs—I’d been teaching Joe some good Irish songs, you see—and incapable of getting ourselves into the house. I don’t think we even rode our horses back to the ranch. I think some kind soul brought us home in a wagon. In fact, I have a vague memory of Adam and Hoss coming outside to the wagon to thank whoever the driver was and to tip him handsomely.
“Well, well,” Adam said as he looked us over. I could tell that he was wearing that sardonic smirk of his--the one he often wears when Joe gets into mischief.
Joe greeted his brothers with drunken enthusiasm and started telling them how much he loved them. He kept babbling on, talking about his love for his Pa, for Hop Sing and for his horse Cochise—even for me.
Hoss sighed. Apparently he’d heard Joe’s declarations of undying devotion before. “I suppose we should get these two inside,” he said to Adam. “I’ll take Joe—you take Shea.”
Adam must have agreed, because I felt him hoisting me over his shoulder. At that point I was still singing about the girl I’d left behind when I sailed for 'Americay.' I kept up the song all the way up the stairs.
They dumped both of us onto Joe’s bed. It was too cold to put me in my own room and Adam said he’d no mind to be woken up by me retching my guts out. So they put some basins on the floor on either side of the bed, covered us up with warm wool blankets and then left us to sleep off the beer and whiskey.
I woke up the next morning with a blinding headache. I’d never drunk like that before in my life. My Mam had always warned me that no Irishman could afford to appear drunk before his employers. Most of them were eager to brand us all as drunkards.
I retched my guts out into the basin—just as Adam had predicted—and then panicked. Most masters would fire a servant who came home drunk. That sort of behavior just wasn’t tolerated. I’d best apologize and in a hurry.
I retched again and then somehow made it out of the room and down the hall. I knocked on Adam’s door and held my breath waiting for him to reply.
“Come in,” he called out.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” I said as I opened the door. “About last night, I mean—”
Adam rolled his eyes at me. He was fully dressed already, I noticed. In fact, he was kneeling by his fireplace, fanning the coals.
“Go back to Joe’s room, Shea,” he ordered, “and get back into bed. I’ll be over in a few minutes to see to the fire and to get some water into you two.”
I leaned up against the doorframe so that I wouldn’t fall over. “I’m not a drunkard, sir,” I said. “I’ll swear that on anything you’d like. This won’t happen again.”
He grinned. “I don’t think you’re a drunkard,” he said. “You’re just an idiot nineteen year old—like my brother. Now get back to bed.”
I stood there uncertainly. “I—I should be working today.”
But he shook his head at that. “Take today off to recover. You can work seven days next week.”
I managed a nod and the ghost of a smile. “Yes, sir.” Then I turned around and stumbled back into Joe’s room and back onto the bed.
I groaned a little as I hit the mattress and curled up under the covers. Joe was still asleep beside me. I wondered suddenly if he’d be in trouble with his Pa. He still lived under his father’s roof, after all.
But I can’t say I worried too much about that. I was more concerned with my plans for the Cartwright safe. I didn’t see how I could crack it in good conscience—not if Joe was willing to go carousing with me and Adam was willing to put up with an occasional night on the town on my part.
Of course, I thought to myself, I could crack the safe without taking anything from it. That way I’d have the satisfaction of pulling off the crime without actually doing any harm. I'd never cared about the money anyway. Perhaps there was even a way to break the safe open without damaging it. That way no one would know that someone had tampered with it.
By the time I finally shut my eyes, I think I truly intended to reform. Not that I kept that resolution, mind—but at least when I broke it, it was for a good cause.
LINK TO PART EIGHT
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
Link to Part One
~
I spent the next few weeks accustoming myself to Adam. He was strict and demanding--the sort of master who wouldn't tolerate any carelessness or shoddy work. But I didn't mind that; I was something of a perfectionist myself.
He was a hard taskmaster—my day began before daybreak and didn’t usually end until midnight. But I didn't mind that either. Adam was quite clear in spelling out my duties, so I always knew what he expected of me. Besides, he was generous in my salary and he gave me one day to myself every week. That was a luxury almost unheard of among servants. Most were satisfied with one day off per month.
By the time my first month was through, I felt that I knew my employer quite well. And that surprised me—Adam was the first master I'd ever known personally. As a footman, you scarcely have an opportunity to speak to your master, after all. You answer to the butler. But now that I was a valet, I answered directly to Adam.
That meant that it was Adam’s place to discipline me—I didn’t have to worry about a butler boxing my ears or thrashing me any longer. But by the end of my first week, I learned that Adam had no compunctions about thrashing me himself.
I had only myself to blame for that. I should have guessed that Adam wouldn’t put up with a lie—or even a slight shading of the truth. He tanned my hide to drive that point home. And didn’t he treat me to a blistering lecture as well? That was almost worse than the tanning.
It was a stupid thing to lie over. Adam had asked me if I’d finished mending one of his good shirts. I said I had, thinking he wouldn’t need it for another week. I figured I’d get to it by then. But he wanted it the next day. I managed a glib excuse, but he had brains enough not to buy it.
“Why would you lie about this, Shea?” he asked as he folded his arms across his chest.
I gave him what I hoped was a beguiling grin—the one I usually reserved for angry butlers. “I was hoping to spare myself a thrashing.”
He grinned back. “Well, then the lie was counter-productive. I don’t mind that you didn’t get to the mending, my lad, but I do mind the lie.”
I nodded, resigned, and took the tanning without complaint. I even managed to ‘Yes, sir’ my way through the lecture. But once it was over, I chewed my lip thinking about how closely I worked with Adam.
Again, I hadn’t much known the families I worked for in the past. It hadn’t been my place to interact with them. They hadn’t even hired me directly. Butlers or stewards took care of that. And since I scarcely knew the families—well, I can’t say I ever felt any guilt over robbing them.
But I was coming to know Adam quite well, and I was rather partial to him. I knew already that he was the best employer I’d ever had, even taking the tanning into account. Moreover, I was fast becoming friends with Hoss and Joe. They hadn’t been raised with staff (apart from Hop Sing), so they didn’t know enough to keep themselves aloof from me. And as for me—well, I liked the thought of being friends with them.
But I had enough sense to wonder how Adam felt about my would-be friendship with his brothers. I’d back off, I told myself, if he minded.
I brought the subject up one night when he was working late. He had sent me down to the wine cellar to fetch a bottle of brandy for him. I brought it up to his room and set it down, along with a glass, on the table next to him. Then I checked the oil in his lamp.
He smiled up at me as he poured the brandy. “You don’t have to wait up for me tonight, Shea. Get some sleep.”
But I shook my head at that. “I don’t mind, sir.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said as he went back to the documents he'd been perusing.
I took a seat on the other chair and busied myself with some mending. But at length I looked back up at Adam.
“Sir?” I said. “Joe asked me to go into town with him tomorrow. Would that be a problem?”
He looked up at me in surprise. “Why should it be? It’s your day off, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t know if—well, is it appropriate?”
He grinned at that. “I told you before, Shea, that we’re not that formal here. Just do me a favor and don’t let Joe drag you into too much trouble.”
I smiled back at him. “Yes, sir,” I promised.
~
I wish I could say that I kept that promise. But that’s near impossible with Joe. We drank toasts to each other and to every passing saloon girl at three separate establishments. We got thrown out of two of those establishments for brawling. Ah, but they were friendly, good natured brawls. Everyone involved was laughing, even after we were all tossed out the door.
The short of it is that by the time we got home, we were three sheets to the wind, caterwauling at the top of our lungs—I’d been teaching Joe some good Irish songs, you see—and incapable of getting ourselves into the house. I don’t think we even rode our horses back to the ranch. I think some kind soul brought us home in a wagon. In fact, I have a vague memory of Adam and Hoss coming outside to the wagon to thank whoever the driver was and to tip him handsomely.
“Well, well,” Adam said as he looked us over. I could tell that he was wearing that sardonic smirk of his--the one he often wears when Joe gets into mischief.
Joe greeted his brothers with drunken enthusiasm and started telling them how much he loved them. He kept babbling on, talking about his love for his Pa, for Hop Sing and for his horse Cochise—even for me.
Hoss sighed. Apparently he’d heard Joe’s declarations of undying devotion before. “I suppose we should get these two inside,” he said to Adam. “I’ll take Joe—you take Shea.”
Adam must have agreed, because I felt him hoisting me over his shoulder. At that point I was still singing about the girl I’d left behind when I sailed for 'Americay.' I kept up the song all the way up the stairs.
They dumped both of us onto Joe’s bed. It was too cold to put me in my own room and Adam said he’d no mind to be woken up by me retching my guts out. So they put some basins on the floor on either side of the bed, covered us up with warm wool blankets and then left us to sleep off the beer and whiskey.
I woke up the next morning with a blinding headache. I’d never drunk like that before in my life. My Mam had always warned me that no Irishman could afford to appear drunk before his employers. Most of them were eager to brand us all as drunkards.
I retched my guts out into the basin—just as Adam had predicted—and then panicked. Most masters would fire a servant who came home drunk. That sort of behavior just wasn’t tolerated. I’d best apologize and in a hurry.
I retched again and then somehow made it out of the room and down the hall. I knocked on Adam’s door and held my breath waiting for him to reply.
“Come in,” he called out.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” I said as I opened the door. “About last night, I mean—”
Adam rolled his eyes at me. He was fully dressed already, I noticed. In fact, he was kneeling by his fireplace, fanning the coals.
“Go back to Joe’s room, Shea,” he ordered, “and get back into bed. I’ll be over in a few minutes to see to the fire and to get some water into you two.”
I leaned up against the doorframe so that I wouldn’t fall over. “I’m not a drunkard, sir,” I said. “I’ll swear that on anything you’d like. This won’t happen again.”
He grinned. “I don’t think you’re a drunkard,” he said. “You’re just an idiot nineteen year old—like my brother. Now get back to bed.”
I stood there uncertainly. “I—I should be working today.”
But he shook his head at that. “Take today off to recover. You can work seven days next week.”
I managed a nod and the ghost of a smile. “Yes, sir.” Then I turned around and stumbled back into Joe’s room and back onto the bed.
I groaned a little as I hit the mattress and curled up under the covers. Joe was still asleep beside me. I wondered suddenly if he’d be in trouble with his Pa. He still lived under his father’s roof, after all.
But I can’t say I worried too much about that. I was more concerned with my plans for the Cartwright safe. I didn’t see how I could crack it in good conscience—not if Joe was willing to go carousing with me and Adam was willing to put up with an occasional night on the town on my part.
Of course, I thought to myself, I could crack the safe without taking anything from it. That way I’d have the satisfaction of pulling off the crime without actually doing any harm. I'd never cared about the money anyway. Perhaps there was even a way to break the safe open without damaging it. That way no one would know that someone had tampered with it.
By the time I finally shut my eyes, I think I truly intended to reform. Not that I kept that resolution, mind—but at least when I broke it, it was for a good cause.
LINK TO PART EIGHT
The Rogue's Company, Part Six
by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
Link to Part One
~
I scrounged under the bed for the iron, dragged it out and set it on the fire to heat up. Then I scrambled to catch up with the Cartwright boys—I didn’t want to miss anything if I could help it.
By the time I reached the last step of the stairs, all four Cartwrights were gathered in front of the fireplace of the grand room. Old man Cartwright was standing in front of the fire, glowering down at Adam, who was seated on the table. Hoss and Joe were both leaning forward on the settee. Didn’t those two look as if they were set to watch a boxing match?
“Pa,” Adam was saying, “if you’ll just listen for a moment—”
“I didn’t raise my sons to be waited on hand and foot!” Mr. Cartwright thundered. “Adam, you’re more than capable of drawing your own baths—”
I didn’t want it to seem as if I was eavesdropping, so I scurried into the kitchen. Hop Sing was right on the other side of the door. Apparently he meant to eavesdrop as well, for he hushed me as soon I opened my mouth and held fast to his position. I nodded my understanding and watched with some admiration as he pushed the door open just a sliver.
I had missed some of the old man’s lecture while this was going on, but I could guess the gist of it. I didn’t find his argument convincing. Of course Adam was capable of drawing his own baths—but why the devil should he if he was willing to pay someone else to do the work? Drawing a bath is a long, tiring business. Surely the eldest son of a wealthy landowner had more important things to do? The same went for pressing and mending clothes and what have you.
“Pa, the boy wants work,” Adam was saying. “What’s wrong with giving it to him? He’ll save me time each day—time that would be better spent on our accounts.”
“And where do you intend to house the boy?” Mr. Cartwright demanded. “I suppose you want to give him one of the guest rooms? Or perhaps you want to build a whole servant’s residence out back.”
“You know Pa, that ain’t a bad idea,” Little Joe piped up. “Especially if Hoss and I get valets—”
I’m not sure why Joe broke off at that point, but I suspect that Hoss had elbowed him. Either that or his father had stared him down. At any event, Adam took up the conversation.
“If we kept a proper staff here—as we should—then yes, I’d say we should build separate servant quarters. As it is, Shea can have that little storage room we never use. And he can bunk with me when the weather warrants it.” Adam paused and sighed. “The kid’s just looking for an honest job, Pa. And I could use his help.”
I felt a twinge of guilt at that, but I managed to bury it. I did want honest work, after all. I meant to work hard as Adam’s valet. But I wanted a chance at the safe as well. That wasn’t honest—but if I plied my craft well, Adam would never associate me with the robbery.
I don’t know what Mr. Cartwright meant to say next, for he was interrupted by the shrill chimes of the grandfather clock. I frowned and pulled my watch out of my waistcoat. The clock was off by a good twenty minutes.
“Can’t we get someone to fix that clock!” Mr. Cartwright shouted.
It didn’t sound like he expected an answer—but I decided to give him one. I took a deep breath and walked out of the kitchen, back toward the main room. Hop Sing reached out to pull me back, but by then it was too late.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” I said, turning to Adam. “I was about to draw a bath for you, sir—I thought you might want one before your meeting at the bank—but I heard your clock chiming late. I might be able to fix that.”
Adam must have guessed that I’d been eavesdropping, but he didn’t reprimand me for it. He gave me a puzzled frown instead. “What do you know about clocks?” he asked.
“Oh, my Mam sent me to work for a clockmaker when I was ten,” I explained. “He taught me all about clocks.”
Hoss furrowed his brow at me. “If you can fix clocks, why do you want to work as a servant?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t fancy working in the shop. So when I turned fourteen I went into service instead. My brother was already a footman in a grand San Francisco house: he found me employment.”
That was all true. I just failed to mention that the same fellow who taught me how to make and fix clocks also taught me how to crack safes. (I never mentioned that fact to my Mam either.) He was a genius at all things mechanical. I like to think that he passed some of that genius onto me.
Adam grinned and glanced up at his Pa. “It can’t hurt to let him have a try.”
Mr. Cartwright, meanwhile, had transferred his glare to me. I had a devil of a time trying to keep myself from quaking under it. But at length the old man shrugged.
“I suppose the clock can’t end up in worse condition.”
Adam rolled his eyes at his father and then turned back to me. “Draw the bath and take care of my clothes first. Then you can fiddle with the clock.”
I nodded at him. “Yes, sir.”
~
It wasn’t easy to heat the bath water while Hop Sing was cooking, but we did manage to share the kitchen fireplace. I went back upstairs to see to the ironing while I was waiting on the water.
By then Hoss and Joe were outside. I’m not sure what they were about; I suppose there are ranch chores that need doing before breakfast. But Adam was up in his room, sitting in the chair with a stack of ledgers in hand.
I gave him a questioning look as I walked into the room. “Do you ever take your breakfast upstairs, sir?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No—I don’t think Pa would appreciate me getting into that habit. I’ll just take the coffee up here.”
I nodded. “Do you want me to wait on you and your family at breakfast? Or only at luncheon and dinner?” A valet generally waits on his master at the table—but with only one valet in the house, I guessed that I’d be waiting on all the gentlemen.
Adam’s eyes gleamed in amusement. “No need to wait on us at breakfast and we’re seldom here for luncheon. But I think we can accustom ourselves to your services at dinner.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, grinning. “Shall I choose your clothes for dinner?”
“Ah, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed in us, Shea. We don’t dress for dinner unless we’re entertaining company.”
I started at that. “Do you mean—do you wear your work clothes to dinner? The same clothes you wear out on the ranch all day?”
Adam chuckled and shook his head. “No, we’re not that lost to propriety. We wash up and change, of course, but you won’t catch us in waistcoats or cravats. We’re shockingly informal, I’m afraid.”
I sighed, but I managed another grin. “That’s all right, sir. I suppose I can lower my standards.”
~
I was taking an enormous risk, I thought to myself that afternoon. I had meant to keep my tools hidden from the Cartwrights, but now they all knew that I owned them. On the other hand, they’d think nothing of them. They’d associate them with clock repairs, not safe cracking. So I broke even on my gamble, didn’t I?
I couldn’t fix the clock immediately, but I did figure out what was wrong with it and what parts I needed to repair it. When I gave a report to Mr. Cartwright, he seemed grudgingly satisfied.
He didn’t object to my presence at dinner, either. I remained as unobtrusive as possible, stepping forward only to replenish glasses and plates or to help Hop Sing carry platters into and out of the kitchen.
By the end of the night, Mr. Cartwright seemed reconciled to my presence. I said as much to Adam as I helped him out of his frock coat—he was still dressed from his meeting at the bank.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I think he’ll get used to you. How much education do you have, Shea?”
“None, formally speaking,” I said, checking the coat over before placing it back in the wardrobe. “But my Mam taught me to read and write—and I make a point of reading everything I get my hands on. You’ve a fine collection of books, sir,” I added.
“Well, feel free to borrow any of them,” he said as he took off his cufflinks. “Would you like to learn bookkeeping?”
I shook my head. “No, I’ve no head for figures—that’s another reason I don’t want to work in a shop.”
He grinned. “Fair enough. Do you have aspirations beyond working as an upper servant?”
I thought that over before answering. I didn’t need to work—not with the money I’d collected from my past three jobs. And yet here I was, willing to work myself to the bone for a chance to crack the Cartwright safe.
But I didn’t mind the work—in fact, now that I’d reached the position of a valet, I’d probably enjoy it. Especially with a master like Adam. He seemed fair-minded and reasonable.
“I don’t have any other aspirations, sir,” I said at last. “Here, let me take your waistcoat.”
LINK TO PART SEVEN
Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG
Link to Part One
~
I scrounged under the bed for the iron, dragged it out and set it on the fire to heat up. Then I scrambled to catch up with the Cartwright boys—I didn’t want to miss anything if I could help it.
By the time I reached the last step of the stairs, all four Cartwrights were gathered in front of the fireplace of the grand room. Old man Cartwright was standing in front of the fire, glowering down at Adam, who was seated on the table. Hoss and Joe were both leaning forward on the settee. Didn’t those two look as if they were set to watch a boxing match?
“Pa,” Adam was saying, “if you’ll just listen for a moment—”
“I didn’t raise my sons to be waited on hand and foot!” Mr. Cartwright thundered. “Adam, you’re more than capable of drawing your own baths—”
I didn’t want it to seem as if I was eavesdropping, so I scurried into the kitchen. Hop Sing was right on the other side of the door. Apparently he meant to eavesdrop as well, for he hushed me as soon I opened my mouth and held fast to his position. I nodded my understanding and watched with some admiration as he pushed the door open just a sliver.
I had missed some of the old man’s lecture while this was going on, but I could guess the gist of it. I didn’t find his argument convincing. Of course Adam was capable of drawing his own baths—but why the devil should he if he was willing to pay someone else to do the work? Drawing a bath is a long, tiring business. Surely the eldest son of a wealthy landowner had more important things to do? The same went for pressing and mending clothes and what have you.
“Pa, the boy wants work,” Adam was saying. “What’s wrong with giving it to him? He’ll save me time each day—time that would be better spent on our accounts.”
“And where do you intend to house the boy?” Mr. Cartwright demanded. “I suppose you want to give him one of the guest rooms? Or perhaps you want to build a whole servant’s residence out back.”
“You know Pa, that ain’t a bad idea,” Little Joe piped up. “Especially if Hoss and I get valets—”
I’m not sure why Joe broke off at that point, but I suspect that Hoss had elbowed him. Either that or his father had stared him down. At any event, Adam took up the conversation.
“If we kept a proper staff here—as we should—then yes, I’d say we should build separate servant quarters. As it is, Shea can have that little storage room we never use. And he can bunk with me when the weather warrants it.” Adam paused and sighed. “The kid’s just looking for an honest job, Pa. And I could use his help.”
I felt a twinge of guilt at that, but I managed to bury it. I did want honest work, after all. I meant to work hard as Adam’s valet. But I wanted a chance at the safe as well. That wasn’t honest—but if I plied my craft well, Adam would never associate me with the robbery.
I don’t know what Mr. Cartwright meant to say next, for he was interrupted by the shrill chimes of the grandfather clock. I frowned and pulled my watch out of my waistcoat. The clock was off by a good twenty minutes.
“Can’t we get someone to fix that clock!” Mr. Cartwright shouted.
It didn’t sound like he expected an answer—but I decided to give him one. I took a deep breath and walked out of the kitchen, back toward the main room. Hop Sing reached out to pull me back, but by then it was too late.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” I said, turning to Adam. “I was about to draw a bath for you, sir—I thought you might want one before your meeting at the bank—but I heard your clock chiming late. I might be able to fix that.”
Adam must have guessed that I’d been eavesdropping, but he didn’t reprimand me for it. He gave me a puzzled frown instead. “What do you know about clocks?” he asked.
“Oh, my Mam sent me to work for a clockmaker when I was ten,” I explained. “He taught me all about clocks.”
Hoss furrowed his brow at me. “If you can fix clocks, why do you want to work as a servant?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t fancy working in the shop. So when I turned fourteen I went into service instead. My brother was already a footman in a grand San Francisco house: he found me employment.”
That was all true. I just failed to mention that the same fellow who taught me how to make and fix clocks also taught me how to crack safes. (I never mentioned that fact to my Mam either.) He was a genius at all things mechanical. I like to think that he passed some of that genius onto me.
Adam grinned and glanced up at his Pa. “It can’t hurt to let him have a try.”
Mr. Cartwright, meanwhile, had transferred his glare to me. I had a devil of a time trying to keep myself from quaking under it. But at length the old man shrugged.
“I suppose the clock can’t end up in worse condition.”
Adam rolled his eyes at his father and then turned back to me. “Draw the bath and take care of my clothes first. Then you can fiddle with the clock.”
I nodded at him. “Yes, sir.”
~
It wasn’t easy to heat the bath water while Hop Sing was cooking, but we did manage to share the kitchen fireplace. I went back upstairs to see to the ironing while I was waiting on the water.
By then Hoss and Joe were outside. I’m not sure what they were about; I suppose there are ranch chores that need doing before breakfast. But Adam was up in his room, sitting in the chair with a stack of ledgers in hand.
I gave him a questioning look as I walked into the room. “Do you ever take your breakfast upstairs, sir?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No—I don’t think Pa would appreciate me getting into that habit. I’ll just take the coffee up here.”
I nodded. “Do you want me to wait on you and your family at breakfast? Or only at luncheon and dinner?” A valet generally waits on his master at the table—but with only one valet in the house, I guessed that I’d be waiting on all the gentlemen.
Adam’s eyes gleamed in amusement. “No need to wait on us at breakfast and we’re seldom here for luncheon. But I think we can accustom ourselves to your services at dinner.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, grinning. “Shall I choose your clothes for dinner?”
“Ah, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed in us, Shea. We don’t dress for dinner unless we’re entertaining company.”
I started at that. “Do you mean—do you wear your work clothes to dinner? The same clothes you wear out on the ranch all day?”
Adam chuckled and shook his head. “No, we’re not that lost to propriety. We wash up and change, of course, but you won’t catch us in waistcoats or cravats. We’re shockingly informal, I’m afraid.”
I sighed, but I managed another grin. “That’s all right, sir. I suppose I can lower my standards.”
~
I was taking an enormous risk, I thought to myself that afternoon. I had meant to keep my tools hidden from the Cartwrights, but now they all knew that I owned them. On the other hand, they’d think nothing of them. They’d associate them with clock repairs, not safe cracking. So I broke even on my gamble, didn’t I?
I couldn’t fix the clock immediately, but I did figure out what was wrong with it and what parts I needed to repair it. When I gave a report to Mr. Cartwright, he seemed grudgingly satisfied.
He didn’t object to my presence at dinner, either. I remained as unobtrusive as possible, stepping forward only to replenish glasses and plates or to help Hop Sing carry platters into and out of the kitchen.
By the end of the night, Mr. Cartwright seemed reconciled to my presence. I said as much to Adam as I helped him out of his frock coat—he was still dressed from his meeting at the bank.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I think he’ll get used to you. How much education do you have, Shea?”
“None, formally speaking,” I said, checking the coat over before placing it back in the wardrobe. “But my Mam taught me to read and write—and I make a point of reading everything I get my hands on. You’ve a fine collection of books, sir,” I added.
“Well, feel free to borrow any of them,” he said as he took off his cufflinks. “Would you like to learn bookkeeping?”
I shook my head. “No, I’ve no head for figures—that’s another reason I don’t want to work in a shop.”
He grinned. “Fair enough. Do you have aspirations beyond working as an upper servant?”
I thought that over before answering. I didn’t need to work—not with the money I’d collected from my past three jobs. And yet here I was, willing to work myself to the bone for a chance to crack the Cartwright safe.
But I didn’t mind the work—in fact, now that I’d reached the position of a valet, I’d probably enjoy it. Especially with a master like Adam. He seemed fair-minded and reasonable.
“I don’t have any other aspirations, sir,” I said at last. “Here, let me take your waistcoat.”
LINK TO PART SEVEN
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