Fare Thee Well, Part Eight

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13

LINK TO PART ONE

~

Nevada 1863

Adam set down his guitar as he remembered his time in the city. Nora found her rich old man—in fact, she had found one after another. She was still living quite happily on their largesse.

But Kevin—well, Kevin didn’t live long enough to come to the Ponderosa after all. Adam hadn’t let himself dwell on his friend for years, but when Charlotte came back into his life she had brought Kevin’s memories with her.

Adam shook his head, wishing Kev hadn’t been fool enough to get drawn into that brawl. He should be here now—he should be here to see the wedding and to know that his prediction had come true.

He sighed. “And if wishes were horses,” he said to himself. Then he forced himself to get up and take the advice he’d given to Little Joe—it was high time for bed.

~

About a week later Little Joe found his own way to the Widow Hawkins. He groaned as he lay on her settee—but he shut up almost as soon as he started. The groaning only increased the pain in his split lip.

He settled for a sigh instead as Charlotte pressed one cold, damp rag on his mouth and another over his right eye. That eye was probably a violent shade of purple by now.

Charlotte swore in French as he flinched from her hand. "Keep still!" she admonished. "Mrs. Hawkins has gone to the ice house. She’ll bring back a bucket full and we’ll try to get the swelling down."

Joe nodded as he sighed again. Well, at least Allen Brooks looked worse.

Charlotte, meanwhile, was frowning down at him. "I know you were defending my honor, Joseph, but you mustn’t pick fights on my behalf. I don’t want you getting in trouble with the law, no matter what that man says to you."

Joe cringed, remembering the scene in the Bucket of Blood. It started innocently enough. The barkeep just asked him where he was off to when he paid his tab.

"To visit Miss Charlotte," Joe told him.

"Ain’t that your brother’s girl?" the barkeep asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Joe nodded. He wanted to correct the man, to say that she was Adam’s fiancée—not to mention his own blood aunt—but he minded Charlotte’s wishes and kept quiet.

That’s when Allen Brooks opened his mouth. "I’ve seen your brother’s little blackbird around town," he said from his place at the bar. "She’s mighty pretty. You sure he don’t mind you calling on her?"

"Adam don’t mind," someone else called out. "Their Pa taught them to share."

The laughter that followed that remark was too much for Joe’s temper. He slammed his fist into Allen’s face, sparking an out and out brawl. A surprising number of men came in on his side, but they all ended up in the sheriff’s office.

Charlotte herself appeared to pay the fine for disturbing the peace. Sheriff Coffee released the lot of them and Little Joe managed to walk to the widow’s boarding house.

He collapsed there and submitted to Charlotte’s ministrations.

He never did find out how she heard about the whole mess. Word traveled fast, he supposed.

"I don’t like that look on your face," Charlotte continued, snapping his mind back to the present. "I can tell you don’t mean to ignore men like that."

"I can’t," he managed, despite the pain in his lip and the taste of blood in his mouth. "I’m not going to let folks insult you."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Do you think I care what some piece of no-account poor white trash thinks of me?"

Joe laughed despite himself. He was learning that his aunt was inordinately proud of her French Creole bloodlines. She considered herself superior to most of the white citizens of Virginia City—even if she didn’t go around saying so.

"Does Adam know that you’re a snob?" he asked.

"He suspects it," she answered with a saucy smile. "But I’m a very good-natured snob. Besides, he’ll enjoy taking me down a peg or two—and I’ll enjoy letting him."

Joe wanted to laugh again but it was just too painful. So he lay quietly instead and allowed Charlotte to keep pressing down on his lip in an effort to staunch the bleeding.

He sighed once more. He was hurting too bad to sleep—it was going to be a long, restless night.

He just hoped that his face looked right before the wedding. There were only two weeks to go.

LINK TO PART NINE