The Haircut
Or,
A Day in Town
Part 6
by BeckyS
This story is written for pleasure, not profit.
The Cartwrights and the general circumstances belong to Bonanza Ventures.
Otherwise, © as allowable, May 2004
Will O'Connell's voice had a funny timbre to it that brought Adam up from the soft depths of sleep in an instant. His eyes flew open and he looked wildly around the barbershop. "Where's Joe?" he demanded, worry harshening his tone.
"Uh, when I finished cutting his hair, he said he was headed back to the feed store to see to that pup."
Adam grinned with satisfaction. He'd accomplished the impossible, and for the simple cost of a little meringue on his shirt and a few pennies for a toy soldier. But something was bothering the barber. "I'm sorry, Will; didn't mean to take your chair for so long." He started to rise, but was held down by a steady pressure on his shoulder.
"Oh, not a problem, Adam; not a problem at all. You just stay right there." Will scratched at his head and didn't look any happier.
"Look, we can skip the haircut if you have people waiting."
Will shook his head almost violently. "No! Umm, no, that's not necessary. Ain't no one can't wait a few more minutes."
Adam focused sharply on the barber. "What aren't you telling me, Will?"
Will O'Connell had the hangdog look of a man headed up a scaffold, but, brave westerner that he was, he slowly brought forth a mirror anyway.
"Don't . . . say a word." Adam's jaw was clenched hard enough to hurt — Joe could see the muscles bunching and releasing as his brother fought to control his temper. Joe didn't blame him. Of all the stupid, hare-brained stunts he'd ever pulled—
You mean 'hair-brained'. He smothered a giggle. Don't laugh, he cautioned himself. Just don't laugh, and you might make it home without getting murdered. Or getting his britches warmed, which would be worse. Adam's hand, he'd discovered since his brother's return, could be heavier than their father's. His voice had gotten as loud, too. No, louder. Joe was truly impressed; he'd heard his name three stores away . . . as had the rest of the town. He winced in memory.
He glanced sideways at his brother, keeping his head down so Adam wouldn't know he was looking. It wasn't too bad — not as long as he kept his hat on, anyway. Which he'd pretty much managed to do from the stop at the lawyer's through picking up the dog at the Feed & Grain, but it'd been a close run thing at the mercantile. Adam had instinctively reached for his hat when Mrs. Whittaker came out of the back room, but he'd frozen just in the act of lifting it. Joe called out and managed to distract her, but his big brother wasn't ready to be grateful.
They bounced along the road to the foot of the last big hill, and Adam pulled to the side to give the horses a rest. Without a word, he jumped to the ground and checked the puppy in its crate, then started going over the horses' harness to make sure nothing had shifted.
Joe sighed heavily. He hadn't meant to hurt Adam's feelings, hadn't meant to embarrass him. He reached into his pocket and surreptitiously pulled out a twist of paper. He opened it just a little, just enough to see the dark curl. He stroked it with one finger, hoping it was worth all the pain. He sighed once more, a sound that seemed to come from his boots, and had just started to close the paper again when Adam grabbed his wrist.
"What is that?" His voice was as hard as his grip.
"Nothin'." Joe pulled and, to his surprise, got free. Maybe it really works— He tried to stuff it back into his pocket, but Adam was too fast and grabbed it from his hand. Well, it made sense that Adam's hair couldn't fight back against Adam.
"If you've gone and gotten something from the store and put it on Pa's bill without—" He stopped, and in a heartbeat his face changed from angry to bewildered. "What?"
Joe could feel the heat rise in his face and shifted restlessly on the hard bench. Since Adam was on the ground, Joe was actually looking down at him, and it gave him a little more courage. "It's . . ." He swallowed. "It's a piece o' your hair."
Adam scowled up at him. "I can see that. What I want to know is why you have it. Why you . . . ." He shook his head. "Joe . . . why?"
The soft confusion reached into Joe's heart and twisted, and he rubbed at his eyes to keep the tears away. "I just . . . I just wanted . . . ."
"You wanted a lock of big brother's hair?" Adam asked.
Joe looked at his brother and saw that his eyes had gentled. In spite of his eye-rubbing, tears slid down his face, and when Adam reached out for him, he launched himself into his arms. "I just wanted to be strong," he cried, the precious paper clutched in his fist. "Reverend Morris . . . he told this story . . . an' I'm puny . . . I didn't grow enough while you were gone . . . an' Samson had hair . . . an' when they cut it . . . an' I thought if you got your hair cut an' you were still strong, then maybe if I had some of it—"
"Ah," Adam's voice rumbled in his ear. "I begin to see."
Joe felt his brother's big hand stroking his back, and his breaths broke into heaving sobs. He could barely get the rest of the words out. "I'm sorry," he choked out.
"Shh, it'll be all right." He tucked Joe's head under his chin, nestled him against his chest. "No wonder you never wanted your hair cut, little buddy."
At the familiar name, Joe cried harder. "Don't . . . wanna be . . . l-little," he hiccupped.
Adam lowered him to the ground, but didn't let go, kneeling next to him with his arm still securely around his shoulders. He dabbed at Joe's tears with a cloth he'd pulled from somewhere, the soft linen comforting on his cheeks. Joe made a heroic effort to pull himself back under control, but occasional hiccupping breaths betrayed him.
"Joe, listen to me."
He nodded; his throat was too tight to answer.
"Everyone is little while they're still young."
He shook his head.
"Sure they are. I wasn't much bigger than you when I was your age." He dabbed again at Joe's cheeks. "I wasn't strong like I am now, either."
He looked at his big brother. That wasn't possible. Adam had always been big and strong. So had Pa. And . . . "Hoss—"
Adam laughed gently. "He was bigger than either of us when he was your age, but he was small and puny, too, when he was young."
"How young?" he sniffed.
Adam looked up at the sky in that way he had when he was thinking hard, like the sun or the stars would answer back to him if he just wished hard enough. Joe knew that didn't work — he'd tried it while his brother was gone — but darned if Adam didn't come up with an answer anyway.
"Well, he was small enough for me to hold in my arms when he was a baby, and I was smaller than you, then." A small dimple appeared as he smiled. "And there was a time when I could beat him in a tug-of-war, too."
Upset forgotten, Joe frowned skeptically. "Nobody could never beat Hoss in tug-o'-war."
Adam laughed. "Oh, yes, I could, but it's been a long time. Hoss got his strength early. I was a bit older when I got mine."
Joe looked down at the ground and scuffed at a rock with his toe. "Adam?" he asked, but then couldn't go on. He wasn't at all sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Adam raised his chin so they could look eye to eye. "Go ahead, little buddy. You can ask me anything."
"When am I gonna get my strength?"
Adam sighed. "I don't know. Slim as you are, it might not be 'til you're as much as sixteen or seventeen."
A soft cry escaped before he could grab it back. Sixteen or seventeen?
But Adam wasn't finished. "You might get a different kind of strength, though."
"Different?"
Adam nodded. He ran his hands up and down Joe's arms, studied his build carefully. "You're always going to be slim, Joe, and I won't lie to you, you'll probably always be the smallest of the four of us."
He couldn't bear it — never be strong like his brothers and father?
"That doesn't mean you won't be strong enough."
"Huh?"
"You like horses, right?"
Joe looked at the two chestnuts that were harnessed to the wagon; thought about his pony, and the horse he dreamed he'd own when he got big enough. He nodded.
"Listen," Adam said, "a slim young man can ride horses someone like Hoss and me can't handle. Hoss is always going to have to be careful what horse he rides so he doesn't break it down." He rose to his feet and stood next to Joe, hands resting on his little brother's shoulders. "You're going to be able to ride anything, boy. You're going to be strong like the willow tree that bends in the wind. When you grow a bit more, you'll be a willow branch on every bronc — no matter which way he jumps or twists, you'll be right there with him. And when he's decided to let you be in charge, you'll feel every move he makes, you'll talk to him with your legs, your seat, your whole body."
Joe felt hope rise in his heart. If he could ride like that, well, maybe being small wasn't such a bad thing at all. "I'll be strong enough?"
Adam nodded. "Yes, that's exactly it. You'll be strong enough."
Joe reached into his pocket, took out the cherished paper and held it out to his brother. "You want this back?" He held his breath. He guessed he was really too grown up to believe in the power of long hair, but somehow he didn't want to let that lock go.
"Would you like to keep it? A remembrance of today?"
Joe felt a comforting warm grow inside. Adam understood. This big, strong man really understood a boy's heart.
"All right, then; tuck it away."
Joe grinned. "Right next to my new soldier."
Adam laughed and ruffled Joe's curls. "I'm honored. C'mon, little buddy, let's get home."