Three
Burley and Hollis dismounted before their horses even came to full stops. They burst through the front door of the modest ranch house on their Rocking M Ranch.
"Pa," Burley said to his father who sat quietly smoking a pipe, only looking up at the noise. "Ben Cartwright's heading this way – he's no more'n five minutes behind us."
"Well, I've been expecting him."
"I told you what he said last night, that you're gonna have to answer to him. You want your gun?"
"No, I don't want my gun. Ben Cartwright – despite how much he hates me – won't shoot an unarmed man. He's not that much of a sonovabitch."
"You want we should stay?" Hollis asked. He was the more nervous of the two brothers. Being the younger, his fear of what Ben Cartwright might do – having no idea of what it could be except to kill his father, overwhelmed him and made his legs threaten to give out under him.
"No. I don't want my gun nor do I want you two to stay. What I do want is for you two to get back to work. This early, you couldn't have done much – must've just barely started. Now, go finish repairing those fences before any more Cartwright cattle wander onto our property."
The brothers stood and looked at one another. Then Burley spoke. "Pa, what if he shoots you – kills you?"
Rufus Morgan exhaled the pipe smoke and spoke evenly. "Then I expect you to either get the doctor to patch me up or the undertaker to bury me."
"Pa, this isn't a joke. After what you did to Adam…" Burley stopped and listened. A horse and rider rode up. The two young men slowly faced the front door.
Burley spoke sharply. "Keep your hands away from your guns, you hear?"
The door was still open and Ben Cartwright reached in and knocked on it, not stepping foot inside the house.
"Come in, Ben," Rufus said. "Now, boys, get back to work. And don't be late for dinner. Rosalie's going to roast a chicken."
"Yes, sir," Burley said, and he and Hollis passed Ben Cartwright on their way out, touching their hats and murmuring a vague greeting. Ben nodded to the young men. Burley slowly closed the door, waiting to decipher the tenor of the visit by what was said, but neither man spoke until the door clicked shut.
"If you came for Adam's horse, it's tied out back. Haven't fed it or watered it. I did consider shooting it but it seemed unnatural to take more of my anger out on a helpless beast."
"You whipped Adam mercilessly – he was helpless but that didn't stop you. From what I could see, you tied him up at his wrists – he still has raw marks; my boy didn't stand a chance." Ben stood ram-rod straight, his hat still on in inside - an obvious sign of disrespect. "You took out your hate for me on him."
Rufus sighed. "Why don't you sit down, Ben. This is my home and you're a guest – not a welcome one, but still a guest." Morgan gestured toward an upholstered chair. The room was dimly lit, the drapes half-drawn as if the residents were in mourning. The furniture was of dark wood which made the room seem too small. A fireplace, as with every other sitting room in every ranch house ever built, took precedence and the heavy furniture was arranged about it. "Can I offer you some coffee."
"No - thank you." Ben still stood on the braided rug.
"Well, I could use some about now. Rosalie!"
Ben was surprised that Morgan would call for Rosalie considering, but when she came from the kitchen, Ben understood why. Rosalie, a beautiful girl with dark curls pulled back in a snood, had red welts across her neck and one cheek – one sharp red stripe ran across the bridge of her nose. She was wearing a loose shirt of one of her brother's tucked into her skirt. Obviously, Rufus had whipped her as well and she must have twisted and turned under the whip, causing it to strike where it shouldn't have.
"Yes, Pa?" Rosalie practically whispered. She avoided looking at Ben.
"Bring us some coffee, child."
"I told you, I don't want any," Ben said. "I don't want anything from you."
"Fine. Rosalie, bring me coffee later. I'll call for you when I want it but have it ready. I don't care to wait."
"Yes, Pa." Rosalie ducked her head and headed back to the kitchen.
Rufus and Ben locked eyes. "Rosalie got her share. I told her until I was goddamn hoarse, to stay away from your boy but she didn't – went behind my back – admitted she's been meeting him nights, sneaking out of the house. Seems she has the same weakness as her mother – both damnable sluts."
Ben made fists of his hands. "You never deserved her."
"That's just one man's opinion. And to be honest, it gave me no pleasure to whip Rosalie, but she's got to learn, for her own good, that I mean what I say. And as for Adam, you didn't do such a good job of keeping him away – and it's not like I didn't warn you. Ben, I told you they had eyes for each other. You said you'd put an end to it, but apparently your boy does whatever the hell he wants. So, I taught him a lesson – had to. And let me tell you this," Rufus leaned forward in his chair, pointing at Ben with the pipe stem, "if he comes sniffing around here after Rosalie again, I'll kill him."
Ben walked over to where Rufus sat and suddenly, jerked the man up from the chair by his shirtfront. Ben had about 20 pounds on Rufus and held his shirt with both hands. Rufus' pipe dropped to the floor while he gripped Ben's wrists, his breath coming in tight gasps.
Ben stared into Rufus' eyes. "You ever touch my son again, you ever harm Adam again, and I swear I'll kill you. You remember that." Ben released Rufus who fell heavily into his chair.
Ben turned to leave but Rufus stood up and called out, "Ben!" Ben stopped, considered, and then faced Rufus Morgan.
"Seems you don't care about all your children," Rufus said, his face red with anger.
"You go to hell," Ben said. Then, he did leave the house and as he reached for his horse's reins, he noticed his hands were shaking. Ben rested his head against his horse's neck to compose himself and control his shaky breathing. Then he knew what to do - the sooner he sent Adam away to school, the better it would be for all concerned.
~ 0 ~
"You miss breakfast – keep hot plate in oven." Hop Sing had come from the kitchen to scold "Mistah Ben" for leaving that morning before he ate.
"I'm not hungry, Hop Sing. Just some coffee." Ben hung his hat on the wooden peg by the door and then slowly unbuckled his gun belt; his fingers seemed clumsy.
"You need eat!" Hop Sing scowled. As both a child and young man, Hop Sing had known periods of starvation in his homeland, seen neighbors so thin that they seemed nothing more than skeletons with skin stretched over them. The Chinese countryside was dotted with graves, many untended through the years that soon became forgotten – many infant graves as well as adults. The last famine was so severe it forced Hop Sing and hundreds of his fellow countrymen to leave China and make the long, hungry journey to California. Hop Sing knew he was fortunate as he was living when the ship docked in San Francisco. Many of his friends and relatives had died of starvation on route and were then rolled over the side of the ship to disappear under the dark water. Hop Sing knew the value of food, knew it was necessary to be well-fed in order to work and remain well. Food was not to be refused.
"I can't eat…I'm just too worried, too upset…"
"Chinese have saying."
"The always do." Ben said resignedly.
"Man have problem can be fixed, no need worry. Man have problem not can be fixed, no use worry."
A small smile crept to Ben's face. "All right, Hop Sing. I'll eat. I'll eat. Let me check on Adam and I'll be back down.
"Hop Sing just check on Mistah Adam. Him asleep, fever down."
"Well…." Ben paused. He'd check Adam after breakfast and take up a book to read. Maybe Adam would wake and want to be read to. It would also ease any tension between them – for the time being.
"Mistah Ben wash hands."
"I'm a grown man, for God's sake. I don't need to be told to wash my hands!"
"Humph. Why you yell?" Hop Sing, muttering in Chinese, headed back to the kitchen. Ben sighed and followed.
Ben washed his hands in the kitchen while Hop Sing took out the hot plate piled high with food and carried it into the dining room. But before he placed it at the head of the table where Ben always sat, Hop Sing placed a folded dishrag on the smooth wood. Then he placed the coffee carafe by the plate. He waited by the chair until Ben sat down.
"Looks good, smells good," Ben said placing his napkin on his lap.
"Taste good." Hop Sing grinned. The ham and biscuits were still warm and so were the fried potatoes. "Now you eat."
Ben picked up his fork and began on the potatoes. "Very good, Hop Sing. Still crispy." Hop Sing smiled and poured the coffee. "Hoss get off to school okay?" Ben asked once he swallowed his first bite.
"Yes. Check ears and neck – both clean. Hands clean too."
"Good. Did you take Joe with you?" Hop Sing nodded. Ben looked about and listened. "Where's Joseph?"
"Missy Shaughnessy's. Take Joe there after Hoss at school. Him eat, play with little Malachy today. Her glad Joe there – say her boy need someone, not brothers, to play with. Bring Joe home with Hoss."
Irene Shaughnessy and her husband Hugh owned a small dry good shop in town, their modest house, a mile out of town, always seemed to have children pouring out the doors and windows as the Shaughnessy's had three girls and four boys – not counting the five who never made in past the first year of life – and at the age of 42, Irene Shaughnessy had "her last," as she put it – Malachy. Hugely pregnant, Irene Shaughnessy had attended Marie Cartwright at Joseph's birth, assisting the doctor and offering comfort to the mother. Then, once Joseph was washed and swaddled and "oohed" over, Irene Shaughnessy went home and by the crack of dawn, had given birth to her own son, Malachy James Shaughnessy.
Ben was disturbed by Joe's absence; it hunched like a shadow at the back of his mind, reminding him how he was inadequate to raising the child. "You sure that's the right thing – I mean, Joe hasn't spent that much time away…"
"Missy Shaughnessy say she bring Joe home if him cry, if him want father. But not to worry. Joe happy to see friend, run and laugh. Him need be happy, need be small boy. Now, eat!"
Ben ate his breakfast without really tasting it. Hop Sing was right. Joe needed to play and run around with someone his own age. And who better to watch over him than Irene Shaughnessy. Ben realized he should have thought of it himself.
TBC