Get That Boy Some New Britches
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"Are you going to say somethin'?"
"Who, me? I thought you were."
"Nope. Not me. I ain't stupid. You won't catch me steppin' into that rattler's nest. No, sir."
"Somehow I think the use of the term 'rattler's nest' is likely to exacerbate the problem."
"Hey! Now, just you hold on. Just 'cause you ain't brave enough to go in there, that ain't no reason to cuss at me!'
"Cuss? Oh, ex-ass-erbate. Actually, I wasn't cussing."
"Sounded like you was cussin'. You know, Pa's due back soon. He's like to wash your mouth out with soap if he hears you."
There was a crash, followed by long stream of carefully chosen French words.
Adam winced. "Somehow, I don't think Pa's going to hear me. Not over that."
The black-haired youth ran a hand across his face. The day had started like any other. Really. Just an ordinary day. Pa had been up at the crack of dawn. Marie wasn't far behind. Unfortunately Little Joe had beat them both out of bed and managed to find his way down the stairs, through the great room, and into the kitchen before even Hop Sing had stirred a foot. Joe was hungry like any growing boy would be after the usual battle with his covers and soldier-nightmares that had kept them all awake half the night. Being a resourceful four-year-old he went out into the yard, recruited the mongrel of a dog Hoss had hidden in the recently abandoned outhouse – it was abandoned because Marie had condemned the ramshackle shack by nailing a plank across the door before announcing that the next time she needed the necessary, she would walk all the way to Virginia City and stay there if Pa didn't build another one 'Maintenant!' – and then brought the dog...er...'muddy' paws and all into the kitchen to use as a step-ladder to reach the uppermost shelf where Hop Sing thought he had hidden the chocolate cake he had baked for the next day.
'Thought' being the operative word.
The resulting crash, howl, and yowl brought Pa running down the stairs, still in his nightshirt, with Marie trailed close behind, her fingers working to arrange the mountain of golden curls on her head before they fell in an avalanche and added to the destruction, and a very...
Very...
Very irate Hop Sing out of his room.
By the time he and Hoss made it to the kitchen, their Chinese cook was literally hopping mad. He stood in the midst of the chaos that had overtaken his well-oiled and ordered realm – chaos that included one mangy mutt covered in chocolate icing lying in the midst of a mountain of napkins, and one quaking little boy with his curly head buried under a tablecloth and his little...er...bare behind sticking up in the air. It seemed that once Joe realized he was in trouble, he had cleaned his hands off on the dog's fur – well, tried to – and the dog had decided to clean its fur off on Hop Sing's freshly washed linens, turning the basket and their world upside down at one and the same time.
Hop Sing had been...understandably upset. After all, he'd spent a whole day washing clothes and making that cake. Sadly, he was so upset that he forgot the one cardinal rule of the Cartwright household.
Little Joe could do no wrong.
Marie scooped her baby up off the floor and began to explore the little tyke's chocolate-covered body, worried Joe had been cut when the plate the cake was on – as well as the other plates sitting next to it on the shelf and the delicate crystal glasses nearby – had shattered. Little Joe – not a dull one, that kid –picked up on her worry immediately and started to wail with gusto, shoving his left index finger in front of her nose to show her the speck of blood on it. When Hop Sing indicated it served the little...scamp...right, Marie was shocked. She was appalled.
She told Pa to tell Hop Sing what she wanted to tell him but couldn't since she was a Christian woman.
He'd never seen a man up against the wall and facing a firing squad, but he was pretty sure that was what it looked like.
Pa stuttered and stammered and then said exactly the wrong thing. He backed Marie up. The result of which had been that Hop Sing had gone on strike. They'd been eating Marie's cooking ever since. And while Marie was beautiful and charming and loving and gracious...
She was not a cook.
"You're the oldest," Hoss said at last. "I figure it's your job to tell her."
"Don't you think that as the oldest it's myjob to order you to do it?"
His middle brother winced. ""I ain't goin' in there. A whole string of wild horses couldn't drag me in there!"
"Well, we have to find some way to convince Marie that, er, cooking isn't her calling and convince Hop Sing as well that it is his. The trouble is I don't..." The black-haired youth stopped when he felt something tug on his knee.
Some one tug on his knee.
It was amazing how quickly God answered the prayers of the righteous.
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Ben Cartwright found that he had...business to take care of shortly after his wife moved into the kitchen and Hop Sing moved into his room and refused to come out. He'd been away from the house all day and, though it shamed him to admit it, entered it with trepidation, half-convinced that he would find his young sons lying in their beds moaning from ingesting the rather dubious French delicacies Marie was fond of cooking, such as cow's udder and pancreas floating in a soup of flour, cream, and mushrooms. Instead, he found the family – Adam, Hoss, and Marie with Little Joe on her lap – seated at the supper table while Hop Sing served up a nice roast pig with potatoes. When Joe saw him, he hopped off of his mother's lap and ran full tilt toward him. Adam followed close behind, just managing to catch the floor lamp Little Joe had hit on his beeline before it hit the floor. Catching the little dynamo, he lifted him off the ground and held him in his arms as his oldest came to his side. Ben's gaze went to the table where Hop Sing and Marie were exchanging pleasantries with smiles on their faces that belied the fact that the last time he had seen them together he had to hide the kitchen knives.
"What did you do?" he asked in a whisper as Little Joe snuggled in.
Adam looked surprised. "I didn't do anything."
Ben indicated the table. Marie had risen and she and their cook were heading into the kitchen, chattering away as if they were the best of friends.
"You call that nothing?"
"Oh, you mean those two?" Adam laughed as he ruffled his baby brother's hair. "it wasn't me. It was him. Little Joe, tell Pa what you told mama when I took you in the kitchen."
"The troof," Joe said, thumb in mouth.
"And just what was that 'troof', young man?" Ben prodded.
Joe wrinkled his nose and then looked up at Pa with those wide innocent green eyes of his. "I told mama she was too pretty to be Hop Sing and Hop Sing was too ugly to be my mama."
Ben struggled to keep a straight face. "And what did your mama say?"
Joe sat up straight and grinned.
"That I was too big for my britches!"