My Brother's Keeper

Part 1 Chapter 1 – Bart and Mr. Giggles

"Bret, honey, can you come out to Momma for a minute? And bring Bart with you?" Belle Maverick called to her oldest son. It was early evening and Belle was sitting by the fireplace knitting a new scarf for Bart for the winter. She'd already finished one for Bret and knew that her youngest needed a new one even more than his older brother, especially since Bart was the one always catching something or other from the children that came to play with the boys. Or from Bret, even though the older boy rarely got sick himself.

"Yes, Momma?" Bret came running in, dragging Bart by the hand. There was only a year-and-a-half between them in age, but there was already a bigger difference in size. Bret was going to be very tall and he was built big and muscular, just like his father, Beauregard. He had Beau's black hair and dark black eyes, and looked just like his daddy had at that age. Bart was towheaded, with brown eyes and the straightest nose she'd ever seen on a boy. Beauregard swore their youngest looked exactly like his sister Jessalyn, except for the hair color, but kept that just between the two of them. No one in the family had seen Jessalyn since she ran away at fifteen and even though Beau and she wrote to each other the boys had no idea they had an aunt in Montana. Bart was a little small for his age, thin and willowy, maybe because he was sick so much, and Belle could only hope that he would sprout up as he got older.

Bart was sniffling and stopped to wipe his nose on his shirt sleeve. "Bartley, honey, didn't momma ask you not to do that?" Belle implored. The little boy nodded solemnly and pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his nose with it, then returned it to the same place.

"What did you need us for, Momma?" Bret asked politely. He adored his mother, and no matter what he was doing when she called, he came running.

"Sit down with me, boys," Belle told them. Bret sat in Beauregard's rocker and Bart plopped down on the hand-braided rug that momma made. "Your daddy's comin' home from his trip to San Antonio tomorrow and I want to go into town and buy somethin' special to make. I want you boys to go with me. I need you to get up when I ask you to and not lay in bed for an hour after I wake you. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, momma," Bret answered eagerly. Bart poked the rug with his finger as if he hadn't heard anything she'd said. If he hadn't been such a bright, enthusiastic reader, she'd swear her poor child was slow.

"Bartley, did you hear me?"

His head bobbed up and down vigorously. "Yes, momma," he answered, and gave her the look that just destroyed her. Goodness, that boy could melt your heart with one little glance. Beauregard swore to high heaven that he had Belle's eyes. Maybe that's why he was putty in her hands just like she was putty in her sons.

"Alright, since we have to get up early it's off to bed for both of you," she told them. So good about going to bed, they never argued with her or tried to stay up later than she wanted. That's why she couldn't understand why it seemed so hard for them to get up in the morning.

"Come on, Bart, Momma says it's time for bed," Bret told his younger brother. Always Bart's guardian, Bret took his brother's hand and led him to their bedroom. "We'll be ready in a minute, Momma," Bret called over his shoulder. Such a responsible boy, and only five years old. He'd just turned five, Belle reminded herself, and Bart hadn't had his birthday yet this year, so he was still three. They didn't seem to fight or even get cross with each other, and the only time there was ever a problem was when Cousin Beau came over and the three of them played cards. Then their competitive nature came out, and Bart wanted to win and beat the two older boys no matter what they played. Finally she heard Bret call, "Ready, Momma," and she got up and left her knitting in the rocker.

She let them keep a candle burning at night because Bart was afraid of the dark, so there was plenty of light to tuck them in by. Bret first tonight, then Bart. She alternated who went first so that neither one felt slighted or jealous of the attention the other one received. She tucked the covers snugly around her strong, handsome son and kissed his forehead. "Goodnight, Bret. I love you very much."

"I love you too, Momma," the boy replied and closed his eyes.

Then over to Bart, who was always the wiggle worm in bed. "Goodnight, Piggly Wiggly," and kissed her baby on his nose. He giggled and kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, momma bear," he laughed back at her. "Love you, Momma."

"Me, too, giggles," she answered him. "Sleep well, my boys. Remember, up early."

Belle left and closed the door behind her. As soon as they heard her footsteps carry her back into the other room both popped out of bed and Bret pulled a deck of cards from under his pillow. "Five card draw, Bart. And no cheatin' this game. It isn't your deal."

Instead of an answer Bret got a pout from his brother. Bart knew just how to manipulate anyone with one of his looks and his brother tried to remain impervious to them. "No good," Bret told him. "It's my deal, you're not cheatin'. That's cheatin'."

The pout instantly disappeared and was replaced by an eager smile. "Play," Bart said. He knew when he could maneuver his brother and when he couldn't. They played on into the night, long past the time they heard Momma go to bed, alternating deals (and therefore who got to cheat the other during the game) until neither could keep their eyes open any longer.

"Remember, we gotta get up when Momma calls us," Bret said before blowing out the candle. "Night, Bart."

The answer came back as it always did. "We will. Night, Bret." The older brother went right to sleep without a moment's hesitation; the younger one lay in bed and dreamed of the day he could stay up and play poker as long as he wanted, with no one to force him to sleep the night away. In later years he would lie awake and remember the lighthearted days of his youth and wonder why he didn't want to waste time sleeping.

Morning comes early when you spend half of your sleeping time playing the 'frowned-upon' game of five-card draw and you're not past the age of consent. As usual, and even though they'd promised her to pay attention when she called, Belle had to try and roust them out of bed for almost thirty minutes before Bart finally pulled himself up, walking sleepily into the big room of the house and dragging his well-worn teddy bear with him. Beauregard had brought Mr. Giggles home from a trip to New Orleans before Bart was born, and it was the only toy that his youngest son refused to let go of. One eye was missing and half his mouth was gone, and his left leg clung precariously to the rest of his body, but Mr. Giggles was in bed with the boy every single night no matter how much teasing from his brother and cousin he endured.

"What happened, sugar?" Belle asked her son as he made his way to her chair at the kitchen table. He rubbed his eyes with his fist and looked up at his mother for a full minute before he answered her question.

"Don't know, Momma. Can I still go with you?"

She leaned down to pick him up and sit him on her lap. He continued to rub his eyes. She bent down and kissed the top of his head, pushing the hair off of his face. "Is that better, baby?"

The eye-rubbing stopped. "Uh-huh. Can I Momma? Did we sleep too long again?"

"Yes, you did, but that's normal, isn't it. Is your brother still in bed?"

"No, ma'am, he went out to feed the chickens. And bring us some eggs. Can we have eggs, Momma? Can we?"

"Of course we can, baby." She set him back down on the ground and he started to amble away. "Wait, Bartley, you forgot Mr. Giggles." She handed the bear to her son and gave him a love pat on his bottom. "Go get cleaned up and dressed, and when Bret comes back I'll make us some eggs."

Bart nodded and ran back to the bedroom. Belle shook her head and took a sip of her coffee. She'd barely finished the cup when Bret came through the front door with a basket of fresh eggs. "That yellow hen doesn't look so good, Momma," he told her. "She only laid one egg, and that's the third time in a week. Is it time for chicken dinner?"

Belle laughed and nodded. Bret was perceptive about things like that, even at the young age of five. "We'll talk to your daddy when he gets home and see what he thinks. Maybe on Sunday if he agrees."

Bret gave her a worried look. 'Momma, you know it's up to you an me to decide. If you can't play poker with it, Pappy don't care one way or the other."

"Doesn't care, Bret. Not 'don't care.' And yes, your daddy does care about something besides poker. He cares about us very much. Thank you for getting the eggs. Now go help your brother while I cook some of these."

"Yes, Momma," he called while already running towards the bedroom, where he found Bart back in bed asleep. He went over to the bed and shook his brother. "Bart, get up. Momma's makin' us eggs for breakfast. We gotta be ready to go."

"Uh-huh," came the reply from his brother, who didn't move. "Bret, why doesn't Momma want us to play cards like Pappy does?"

"Cause she wants us to be somethin' besides gamblers," the older boy replied. "Doctors or lawyers or sheriffs. Not gamblers."

"Yuck. I don't wanna be no sheriff. Wanna be just like Pappy when I grow up."

The older boy grinned. "We will be, Brother Bart. We will be. Now get out of bed."

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