The Monstrosity, Part Eleven

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R

LINK TO PART ONE

~

It was nearly morning by the time I collapsed onto my bed. Drew and I had stayed up till all hours reading. I didn’t mind that—in fact, I went to bed more in charity with Drew than I could ever remember feeling.

I put my hands behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. I had lit my lamp, so I watched the shadows it cast dancing above me. Then I sighed as I reviewed everything that Drew had revealed about himself.

He didn’t feel sorry for himself. I admired that. In his mind, he and Jack had made an unavoidable trade-off: food, shelter and cash in exchange for their innocence. It was a trade that no one—and especially no youth—should be forced to make. But Drew was surprisingly philosophical about the ordeal.

Looking back, did he feel that he was justly compensated? I couldn’t tell for certain. I hoped that he knew there was no just compensation under those circumstances. But I reminded myself that he had survived them—and he had survived them with far less bitterness than I would have expected. He deserved endless credit for that.

He didn’t even hate Tom Haley. Or not much, he claimed—and I think he was speaking the truth. I sighed again, wondering if I would ever be able to think of Kane in such matter-of-fact terms and with such a lack of anger or resentment.

Not bloody likely.

~

I should have known that my charitable feelings toward Drew wouldn’t last. About half-way through the following day, I was fighting the urge to tan his hide. I knew from experience that Drew can be quite childish, but this time he outdid himself.

The day started well enough. After breakfast, I began to help him learn the layout of the house. We decided to start with the path from his bedroom down to the dining room.

“First, I’ll need to count how many steps there are in the hallway outside my bedroom,” he explained, taking my arm. “And then the steps of the first staircase—that bloody crooked one, I mean.”

All told, we spent about two solid hours tracing and retracing our steps. Sometimes I held Drew’s arm; other times I watched as he made his own way with his cane. But all the while I tried to imagine what Jack had been thinking when he chose the design of this damned nightmare.

Most of the staircases—and there were four separate staircases, not counting the ones that led to the turrets—were steep and spiral. There were twists and turns even in the halls. And the halls weren’t even level; often they had steps to contend with in the middle of them.

“God damn it!” Drew said at one point. It was just after we reached the dining room for the third time.

I was about to say something comforting, but before I could open my mouth he took his cane and thrashed at the table with it, sending all the candles sticks and place settings crashing to the floor.

“Drew!” I shouted, jumping back as he took the cane in both hands and swung at everything in his path—including me. “Enough!”

But he ignored me and kept swinging wildly. Finally I grabbed him from behind and wrestled the cane out of his hands. I tossed it aside, out of his reach, as he fought to free himself from me.

If he had known more about wrestling he would have been able to spin out of my grip or throw me forward over his shoulder. But all he could manage was to elbow me painfully in the ribs. I brought him to the ground easily and held him there until he stopped struggling.

“Let me go,” he ordered wearily.

“Have you come back to your senses?” I asked.

He shrugged. “More or less.”

I released him, but he made no move to get up off the floor. He just shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged instead. I watched him carefully as he put his elbows on his knees and propped up his chin with his hands.

I shifted as well so that I was sitting beside him. Then I risked putting a brotherly arm over his shoulders. Somewhat to my surprise, he didn’t push me away. He just sat there in silence.

“Sorry,” he mumbled at last.

I sighed. My God, he was a spoiled brat. I know it’s odd to call someone who has suffered as much as Drew has suffered ‘spoiled’—but clearly his brother never taught him how to keep his temper in check. Once again, I found myself wishing that I had had a hand in Drew’s upbringing.

“How are you going to explain this mess?” I asked, surveying all the broken dishes from the table. “I hope you don’t expect me to clean up after it.”

“I don’t,” he assured me. “My brother and my servants are both familiar with my temper—they won’t be surprised at the disaster in here. And the servants will pick up after me. God knows I pay them enough.”

I sighed again and shook my head. “I’m sure that’s true, but they shouldn’t have to. And your brother shouldn’t let you get away with your tantrums,” I informed him.

He rolled his eyes. “You can’t help but think you know best for everyone, can you? But I’m not a child, Adam,” he reminded me. “It’s not my brother’s place to let me get away with something—or to take me to task. And it’s not your place to take me to task either,” he added with a warning note in his voice.

I grinned, but my voice was serious as I answered. “I beg to differ. If you swing at me—or in my direction—with that cane again, I’ll consider it very much my place to, ah, correct you.”

He met that statement with a stark, angry silence. But at length some feeling of shame and embarrassment must have won him over. He seemed genuinely contrite when he spoke up again.

“Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to hit you—I was just lashing out at this bloody mansion.” He paused and turned his head toward me. “Look, let me take you out to lunch to make it up to you. We can go to the International House; the food is decent enough there.”

“You don’t have to take me out,” I said at once. “We’ll eat here later. Meanwhile, if you’d like, we can go out back. Didn’t I promise to give you some lessons in self-defense?”

“You did,” he agreed, smiling a little. I could tell that he was thinking back to the time I had made that promise. He’d been annoyed at the chivalrous way I treat him, due to his blindness, and so he had baited me into a fist fight. I couldn’t bring myself to fight him in earnest—but I taught a couple of wrestling moves and I punched him in the gut hard enough to save his pride.

“I’ll be glad for the lessons,” he continued, “but I’d like to take you out as well. It doesn’t have to be the International House. God knows there are enough new places scattered about.”

I shook my head. “I’d rather eat here. Come on—let’s go into the yard.”

I stood up as I spoke and pulled him up with me. Then I bent down to pick up his cane. “Can I trust you with this?” I asked as I placed it back into his hand.

He had the grace to look chagrined. “Yes,” he said as he grasped the cane. “But Adam—”

He broke off, as if he were suddenly at a loss for words.

I narrowed my eyes at him, silently warning him not to push me about going out to eat. I had no intention of going out in public while I was here. The Monstrosity, in some ways, was as isolated as the Ponderosa—and that suited me just fine.

“Yes?” I prompted him.

He sighed as if he had sensed my warning and had decided, at least for the moment, to heed it. “Nothing,” he said. “Let’s go out back.”

LINK TO PART TWELVE