The Rubicon

Part I: Rumblings of Civil War

(references to the Civil War are strictly metaphorical)

By Lissa B.

January 2000

Many thanks to Ms. Gus Downey who encouraged me and stopped me from shoving the whole thing into the shredder and to Ms. Michelle Kille, who helped me in spite of myself. It is a much better story because of her.

Chapter 1

"ADAM!"

Adam Cartwright paused his long strokes with the curry brush and winced.

"Coming, Pa!" he yelled back.

He ran his hand down the neck of the tall chestnut gelding in front of him. "Sorry, Sport," he murmured. "Going to have to cut this a little short today."

He would have preferred to stay in the barn, caring for his horse, but his father hated it when they were late for dinner and he didn't want to invite any questions about his tardiness. He checked the food and water and ran his hands over Sport again to be sure he was cooled and comfortable.

"ADAM!"

He gave Sport a final pat and hurried out of the barn. "Coming!" He nearly collided with his youngest brother just on the other side of the door.

"Pa sent me to fetch you. He's gettin' mad." Joe looked a little smug.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming." Adam reached down automatically to ruffle his little brother's hair, remembered just in time that Joe's eleven year old dignity didn't take well to that lately, and patted his shoulder instead.

Joe shrugged off his hand and hurried inside ahead of him.

Adam sighed. He was just making points all over the place lately. He followed at a slower pace. "Sorry, Pa," he said apologetically as he tossed his hat on the sideboard and slid into his seat. "Took me a little longer out on the range today."

His father fixed him with a stern eye. "And why is that? Problems?"

Adam unfolded his napkin and avoided his gaze. "No problems. Just took a while."

"Good. How are the men working out?"

Adam felt his stomach do a flip-flop. Did he actually know anything, or was he just fishing? "Fine," he said noncommittally, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"Well, try to be on time for dinner. You keep the whole family waiting when you're late."

"Yes, sir."

Hoss threw Adam a questioning glance and he frowned and shook his head slightly in return. "How are things going at the mill?"

Ben took the serving platter from Hop Sing. "Oh, fine, fine…a mighty ambitious schedule though. No room for mistakes." He served himself and passed the platter to Hoss. "Knox, the foreman, seems to know what he's doing, though. He's tough, but the men seem to follow him."

Adam nodded, pleased to have successfully diverted the conversation.

Hoss met his eyes significantly as he handed him the platter in turn and Adam shrugged slightly. Hoss looked back at his plate, his expression uneasy.

"Well, you're all very quiet tonight." Ben observed, digging into his meal with vigor. "Joseph, how was school today?"

Joe scowled. "Okay," he said grudgingly.

"Not kept after again, were you?" Ben watched surreptitiously from under his lashes for the lightning exchange of glances that would tell him the answer before anyone spoke.

None came – everyone's eyes were firmly affixed to their respective plates.

Hmph. Worse than he thought. "Joseph…?"

Joe glared at Adam. "You told him."

Adam smiled a little. "No, but I think you just did."

"Don't compound matters by quarreling, Joseph. It wasn't hard to guess – it's not as though it's the first time. What was it today?"

Joe mumbled something.

"Clearly. Please."

"Didn't finish my homework."

Ben waited.

Joe squirmed uncomfortably.

Ben raised his eyebrows at him.

"There was a mouse in Emma Springer's desk," he said at last.

"I see." Ben put down his napkin. "And how did it get there?"

Joe looked up at him quickly and then back at his plate. "Some o' the fellas…"

"And by 'some of the fellas'," Ben prodded "I assume you mean 'you'?"

Joe stuck out his lower lip. "It was just a little field mouse, Pa. Wouldn'ta hurt nobody."

"Anybody," Ben corrected "But then, you'd know that if you'd done your homework." He turned his gaze to his oldest son who was suddenly deeply interested in his dinner. "And you knew about this?" It wasn't really a question.

Adam shot him a quick glance and returned his eyes to his plate. "Yes, sir."

"And you didn't see fit to tell me about it?"

"Well, I did just get home, Pa…"

"So you did. And I suppose this accounts for your being late as well?"

Now it was Adam's turn to squirm. "Not entirely, Pa. I did have to return to the pasture to finish up a couple of things…" He hated evasive tactics. He wondered if it showed on his face.

"Which you would have gotten to sooner if you hadn't been waiting for your brother to get out of school so you could ride home with him, is that right?"

Adam opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated, wondering what the heck to say. It was true, of course, as far as it went, but -

Help came from an unexpected quarter. "I don't need anybody to ride home with me. I'm not a baby."

"That's enough out of you, Joseph."

"He's right you know, Pa." Even as he said it, Adam wondered why he couldn't just learn to keep his mouth shut.

Ben fixed him with a steely eye. "I have managed to raise three sons this far, Adam, without your advice. I'm sure I'm able to finish the job all right."

The words lay uneasily between them and Ben was immediately sorry. That was unfair, and more importantly, untrue. After each of their successive mothers' deaths Adam had had almost as much part in raising Hoss and Joe as Ben had himself. He glanced at his two younger boys as Hoss and Joe became very busy with their food and continued more mildly, "You weren't riding all the way to school alone when you were eleven."

Adam recognized the implicit apology and turned up one side of his mouth. "That's because there was no school here when I was eleven. But I was responsible for looking out for Hoss. Younger, even."

"That was necessary. Not necessarily desirable."

"And when Hoss was eleven he was riding to school without me and looking out for Joe. It's not like he goes far alone - he meets up with the Devlins not a mile from here. I just don't see why it's different, Pa."

Ben saw his youngest shoot him a quick glance to see if he was softening. Despite himself he smiled a little. Impossible to explain to his sons that it was different because Joe was his baby and that admitting he was old enough to ride to school alone meant admitting that there really was no baby anymore. It was bad enough that Adam had returned from Boston a full grown man he hardly recognized and that Hoss was now out on the range every day, indistinguishable from the other men in his hard work and discipline. If Joseph was shooting toward adulthood…he sighed, picking up his fork again, thoroughly irritated with himself. "I'll think about it," he said at last.

Little Joe gave a squeak of glee.

"I said I'd THINK about it," Ben repeated warningly. "Now finish your supper and then I'll sit with you while you do your homework. Or maybe your brother will show off some of his college education and give you a hand."

Little Joe groaned and Ben eyed him sternly. "Manners, young man, or I'll STOP thinking about it."

Adam pushed away his plate. "I'm about done, Pa. May I be excused?"

Ben raised his eyebrows. "No dessert?"

"I'll have mine later. I didn't really finish putting up Sport."

Ben eyed him thoughtfully, but nodded. "All right. But don't blame me if you're in Hop Sing's bad books."

"No, sir." He was out of his seat and out of the door almost before Ben could stop speaking, only pausing to grab an apple from the fruit bowl on the table in front of the massive fireplace. Outside on the porch he paused and took a deep breath. The evening air was quiet and still with just a hint of coolness, the first few stars showing their faces in the sky. He moved toward the barn at a more contemplative pace.

Sport nickered to him softly even before he had a chance to light the lantern and he smiled, rooting out grooming tools. "You never change, do you boy?" He moved into Sport's stall, offering him the apple. "Brought you something."

Sport sniffed appreciatively, then chomped away half the apple in one bite. Adam laughed, rubbing his ears affectionately. "Don't choke yourself."

Sport heedlessly devoured the rest of the apple, pushing his nose insistently into Adam's palm.

"Sorry. That's it, fella." He moved alongside him and began working a curry brush down his neck.

Sport contentedly blew air through his nostrils.

Well, that was something. He was making somebody happy anyway. He flipped Sport's mane out of his way as he moved the brush higher and felt the horse's skin ripple with pleasure under his hands. If only it was this easy with everyone else.

The sound of the barn door opening came as no surprise and he didn't even bother to look up as footsteps approached the next stall.

"The way you been groomin' that there animal he's lucky ta have any coat left."

Adam smiled, making his way down Sport's flank. "Yeah? Well, what did you come in here for then?"

"Figger Chubb's likely jealous o' all the attention Sport's been gettin'. Don't need you showin' me up."

Adam reached for another curry brush, tossed it to him.

Hoss snatched it easily out of the air.

"I've been without a mount for four years. You'd be surprised how much you miss it."

Hoss stroked Chubb's nose. "I reckon. Rode him for ya while you was gone - first couple o' years anyway."

Adam grinned. "Well, if you stopped riding him when you got to your current size I'm grateful. Shame if you foundered the poor critter on me." Hoss had always been large, even as a baby, but it had still come as a shock to Adam, over six foot himself, to return from Boston to find his little brother a good two inches taller and God-only-knew-how-many wider than he was.

Hoss returned the grin good-naturedly. "Naw, left that ta more dainty folk. I need a real man's mount, like ol' Chubby here."

Adam threw the dandy cloth at him.

Hoss ducked, then picked it up and hung it over the stall divider.

They worked in silence for a while, enjoying the rhythmic action. As Adam was exchanging his curry brush for a comb he finally said, "Why don't you just say whatever's on your mind."

Hoss pursed his lips. "Ain't none o' my business, I reckon…"

"Go ahead."

Hoss stopped currying Chubb and leaned against his broad back. "Adam, I think you oughta talk ta Pa."

Adam struggled with a tangle in Sport's mane. "I can't, Hoss."

Hoss stopped pretending to groom Chubb and moved around to rest his forearms on Sport's stall. "You don't gotta do everythin' yerself, Adam."

Adam frowned. "It's not that, Hoss." He saw Hoss's skeptical look and grinned in spite of himself. "Well, not only that," he amended.

Hoss waited.

Adam hesitated, searching for the right words. After a minute he gave Sport a pat and moved around him to lean against his side of the stall wall opposite Hoss. "Hoss, I've been gone east for four years. Most of the cowhands here now don't know me and even the ones that do, remember me mostly as a kid. They think I've only got the job because I'm Pa's son, that I've gone soft or snooty or I don't know what all, but if I'm ever going to have their confidence - if they're ever going to follow me and respect me - then I've got to prove myself. That takes time. If I go to Pa and he steps in for me - well, how's that gonna look? Like everything they think is true. I'll lose any chance I have of winning them over."

Hoss's broad face scrunched into a frown. "Reckon there's somethin' ta what ya say at that. Been three months, though. How long ya figger it's gonna take?"

Adam sighed, thinking of how many times over the past months he'd asked himself the same question. "As long as it does, I guess."

"Humph." Hoss pulled at his ear, looking unhappy. "Anythin' I can do ta help?"

Adam shrugged, absently stroking Sport's cheek. "You already are. You pretty much do the work of three men. Since I can barely get the others to do the work of one that's a big help."

"Maybe you could talk ta Pa and just ask fer advice. Tell him ta stay outta it."

Adam looked at him. "And just how likely is that, do you suppose?"

Hoss thought about their father and made a face. "Reckon yer right. What ya expect ta do if they really start draggin'?"

"I don't think they will - they just want to give me a hard time, they don't want to get fired. If they do - " he shrugged again, wishing he had an answer. "Guess I'll have to figure it out when the time comes."

Hoss shook his head. "Glad I ain't in yer boots, brother."

Adam nodded moodily, suddenly restless. On impulse, he grabbed Sport's blanket and threw it over his back.

Hoss watched him incredulously. "You ain't thinkin' a goin' ridin', are ya?"

"Why not? Full moon."

"You just finished puttin' that critter up! You gonna take him out and then start all over again?"

"Nice night. I always liked riding at night."

"Brother, you are plumb loco." He watched Adam fetch a bridle and slide it over Sport's head. "Pa's gonna kill you."

"Yeah, well…" Adam finished buckling the bridle and went to get his saddle.

Hoss studied him, still shaking his head. "Better not be long if'n yer gonna put in a full day tomorra - specially if'n you gotta keep cleanin' up after them hands."

"I won't. It'll help me sleep."

Hoss held Sport's head while Adam tightened the cinch. "Want some company?"

Adam looked up from the cinch, his smile grateful. Good old Hoss. That was something else that hadn't changed. Oh, on the outside, of course - the enormous size and deeper voice were new - but Hoss was still his staunch supporter. Quietly, but invariably. "Thanks, Hoss. I was kind of hoping for a little time alone. Besides, no point in Pa killing both of us."

Hoss sighed deeply as he watched him lead Sport out of his stall, trailing him out of the barn. "Suit yerself. I'll leave the lantern turned low fer ya. If yer still alive after Pa gets done with ya I'll see ya at breakfast."

Adam nodded, giving him a quick clap on the shoulder and vaulting easily into the saddle even as Sport broke into a trot. He pulled Sport up for a minute. "Oh, and Hoss - "

Hoss looked at him questioningly.

"Don't eat my dessert." He gave Hoss a wink as Sport's impatient dancing in place gave way to a canter and he rode into the deepening twilight.

"I ain't makin' no promises!" Hoss called after him.

He blew out his breath as his eyes followed his brother, then looked back at the ranch house and winced a little. Might as well go back and finish rubbing down Chubb. Not that he really needed it, but it was a sure bet that Chubb was pleasanter company than Pa was gonna be.

He was in no hurry to go back inside.

000

Adam was tempted to press Sport into a gallop, then thought better of it and let him lope along at an easy canter. Too fast or too long and he'd be half the night cooling him down again.

The night was beautiful, silent except for the musical sounds of the night creatures, the moon bright and full. Just a short ride - just enough to give him some breathing space - then he'd go back.

He'd missed this during his four years in the big city, more than he'd ever thought possible - missed the easy understanding between rider and mount, the quiet companionship.

During his teen years Sport had probably heard more of his problems than any other living creature. He wondered if he felt up to listening to a few now.

He eased him down to a trot to let him cool a little. He could just make out the shadows of the mountains in the distance. He'd done a lot of night riding there once upon a time. Pa had been about ready to kill him for it, probably wouldn't be too happy with him tonight either. He furrowed his brows at the thought.

Since his return, his relationship with his father had the earmarks of an armed truce. It wasn't that Adam didn't respect him, but in the four years of living back east with his grandfather he'd gotten used to making his own decisions.

Not that his grandfather had been a pushover - he smiled a little, remembering some of his stormy lectures. A retired sea captain of daunting manner and formidable temper, he was fully able to rattle the rafters when he'd felt it necessary to make a point, but, within certain restrictions, Adam had still had a lot of freedom. Even the demanding college schedule had been more flexible than ranch work. There were no animals that needed to be tended to no matter what time of day or day of the week, no seasons or weather conditions dictating the length of the workday. In ranching, Mother Nature called the shots and she was a relentless and merciless mistress.

Well, he could have stayed in Boston. His grandfather had been more than willing and he'd had job opportunities if he'd wanted them. It had been his decision to come back and he didn't regret it, not exactly. He just hadn't expected everything to be so - what? Different? Just plain hard?

The problem with the ranch hands was struggle enough. He'd known all along he'd have to prove himself there - he'd had to do it before, when he was only seventeen and had taken over for his father after Marie, his stepmother, died. He'd managed, in time. Of course, then at least he'd been familiar to them. And probably, he admitted to himself, they'd felt a little sorry for him - stepmother dead, Pa in a deep depression, two brothers and a ranch to look after. No chance of sympathy this time, that was for sure.

The first couple of months with Pa bossing the range hadn't been too bad. Then this big lumber contract had come along and Pa had left him in charge of the range to free himself to run the timber camps. The resentment of older, more seasoned hands had been almost immediate. They mistrusted his fancy education and resented his sudden intrusion and it wasn't going to be easy to get past that.

He turned Sport toward home at a walk.

And then there was Little Joe. The difference there troubled him most of all. The seven year old that he'd read stories to, sung to sleep, and taken fishing had become a surly and distant eleven year old who barely had a civil word for him.

Maybe he'd been gone too long. Missed too much. He'd loved college, loved traveling and studying, loved what he'd gained. But when he thought of all he might have lost, his heart ached.

He sighed a little. Maybe he was taking it too personally. Maybe it was just the age. He tried to remember himself at eleven. Pa had just married Marie, and oh, how he'd resented her. He pulled Sport up, suddenly thoughtful. Angry at her intrusion into his family, terrified that he'd learn to care for her only to lose her as he had his own mother and Inger, surly and distant were certainly words that would have applied to him as well. And maybe, just maybe, that was how Joe felt about him.

He smiled to himself. Well, Marie, wherever you are, I hope you're enjoying this. Looks like the joke's on me.

He loosened the reins and let Sport make his own way home.

It was ironic, really. He'd spent two years on the ranch trying to prove he was responsible enough to go east to college, four years in Boston trying to prove that a hick cowboy could hold his own with a bunch of prep school boys, and now he was right back where he started - trying to prove that an eastern educated college graduate could still make a good cowhand. Funny, if you thought about it.

But somehow or other, he just didn't feel like laughing.

TBC