v
My family was happy to see me, well, with the exception of Little Joe. But that was only natural with him not yet 6 when I left. Joe probably considered me an interloper who'd upset the status quo and might even try to order him about; there's always a pecking order and my place was right below Pa. So, Joe was wary of me, sorta circling like a dog does when something has a stink, not quite sure how to approach it or if it even should. I told Joe he'd grown so much I wouldn't have recognized him and I think he honestly didn't recognize me. But as I said, with him so young when I left, I knew I'd have to be the one to make the effort
Hoss was huge. I told him his nickname finally fit. He grinned and casually slapped me on the back but it was so hard he practically knocked the wind out of me. He said I looked none the worse for being educated and was glad I was back; I could help share the load of running the Ponderosa.
When my father saw me, he teared-up and hugged me; he wasn't one for overt signs of affection beyond a heavy hand on the shoulder or a squeeze on the back of the neck and I think he was slightly embarrassed as he quickly scolded me for not wiring ahead. "I would have been there to meet you, Adam. I've been expecting a wire every day, sent one of the hands to check at the telegraph office every morning for the past week. Oh, and leave that horse here; I'll have someone return it to town."
"As for meeting me, well, with your lumbago and such…" As we walked to the door, I noticed he listed to his right and was wearing house slippers instead of his boots.
"Don't start on that," he said. "I just turned the wrong way while loading the buckboard. Hop Sing's been fussing over me, making sure I have a pillow behind my back and hot compresses, telling me what not to do…why I might as well be married."
"If you were married," I said, "you'd have more and nicer comforts than a pillow and a hot compress." My father looked surprised but then, recognizing I suppose that I wasn't the "kid" he sent to college, he almost blushed. Hoss guffawed at my comment, or as we educated say, my "riposte." I'd have to watch myself and remember not to alienate my brothers with any hifalutin language.
"Wait'll I tell you 'bout how I got Pa to Doc Martin's!" Hoss said, but before he could, Hop Sing came out from the kitchen, smiling broadly, and took my hand in both of his, shaking it vigorously. "Now number 1 son home, honorable father can take long rest. Leave worries to eldest!" And then, after Hoss took my luggage upstairs to my room and I washed the dust off me, dinner was served with a hovering Hop Sing making sure I enjoyed every morsel. I swore it was a veritable feast! Mrs. Cairn was a good cook but roast mutton, oyster stew and clam chowder paled compared to Hop Sing's rare roast beef, fried potatoes, fresh baby peas and hot sour dough bread slathered with sweet butter. And although I would have rather eaten than talked, I had to answer the questions my father and Hoss asked. Joe just watched, sizing me up while he slowly ate. When it came time for dessert, I stated I'd pop if I ate any but Hop Sing insisted so I forced down a slice of peach pie with a dollop of thick, beaten cream followed with another cup of hot coffee.
Afterwards, Hoss complained he'd eaten too much as well and sat down on the well-worn divan we'd had for what must have been twelve years, pulled off his boots and stretched one arm across the length of the back. Sighing with contentment, my father sat in his favorite leather chair and lit his favorite pipe. He offered me a brandy which I understood to mean he recognized me as a man, almost an equal, but I declined and took what had been my usual chair on one side of the fireplace while Joe stood, his hands in his dungaree pockets.
"Where am I supposed to sit now that he's back?" Joe asked, scowling.
I suppressed a grin as best I could; I must have usurped Joe's normal seat.
Before my father could respond, Hoss spoke up. "Adam useta always sit in that chair. You just parked your skinny ass in it temp'rarly but now that he's home, guess you'll haveta find another place to land. Whyn't you come sit by me, little brother?" Hoss grinned while patting the place beside him.
Joe practically snarled, "I don't think I could tolerate your smell! 'Specially now that you took off your boots!" Hoss just laughed in response, still as good-natured as I recalled.
"Joe, there are more than enough chairs," my father said, gesturing at the other leather chair and one against the far wall. Snorting, Joe sat down on the hearth since the fire wasn't too high or too hot, and said, "I guess I'll just sit here.".
"Suit yourself," was my father's reply.
Any novelty I held soon wore off and I felt more at home as the evening went on and my father and Hoss fell into the old patterns of our relationships. They brought me up to specs on what was happening about town, on the newest ranch to the west and the mines, particularly the Ophir mine. Then Pa asked if I'd mind playing my guitar; it was still upstairs standing against the wall, waiting for me like a loyal dog. I agreed—it had been so long. So, my father sent Joe to fetch my guitar which he reluctantly did but only after complaining about being ordered, "Joe, do this! Joe, do that!"
Joe thrust my guitar at me and I thanked him; he grunted in reply. I ran one hand over the wooden body, the curves as smooth as a woman's. The guitar needed tuning and I worked at it, not having any musical training, per se, just working by ear. Joe complained about how long it was taking and that it was boring; he wanted to play cards or checkers. Pa told him to settle down, it was almost his bed time anyway since he had school in the morning. Joe just glowered and picked at his cuticles. My guitar, now tuned, I played a few songs. My fingers knew which strings to strum, even the fretting, before my head did. Hoss asked for his favorite, "Billy Boy," and he and my father joined in on the lyrics. But Joe remained sulky. I played "Buffalo Gals" next but when I sang, "The Girl I Left Behind Me" my father and Hoss listened, each seemingly lost in thought. I found I was becoming emotional as well, thinking not only of Lurene but of the other girls I had known who were so many miles from me, and I fought to control the catch in my throat. I finished and they were silent, so in an effort to raise not just my father's mood but my own as well, I strummed all the strings and their eyes turned my way.
"Hey, Joe. This used to be your favorite song. Remember?" I strummed the first few bars and Joe grinned widely so I started singing and this time, everyone joined in:
"Did you ever, iver over
In your leaf, life, loaf,
See the devil, divel, dovel
Kiss his weefe, wife, wofe.
No, I never, niver, nover,
In my leaf, life, loaf,
Saw the devil, divel, dovel
Kiss his weefe, wife, wofe."
Joe was robustly singing along and the small boy he had been was now sitting with us all, enjoying the little nonsense song that had delighted him as a child. I continued…
"Did you eever, iver, over,
In your long-legged life,
See a long-legged sailor
Kiss his long-legged wife?
No, I neever niver, nover
In my long-legged life,
Saw a long-legged sailor
Kiss his long-legged wife!"
I finished the rest of the verses, prompted by Joe's memory, and when I placed my palm over the strings to still them, Joe opened his mouth as if to say something but seemed to think better. I wondered if he was going to say, as he had when a child, "Play it again, Adam! Play it again!" But he didn't. I'm guessing he suddenly remembered he didn't care for me any too much.
"That's enough for me," I said. My fingers had lost their callouses and the tips were now sore so I had to stop. Hoss smiled, said he was glad I was home and pushing Joe up the stairs ahead of him with Joe protesting the whole time, turned in for the night. I was going to as well since it had been a long and disturbing day, but my father asked me stay a bit; he wanted to talk.
He asked about my grandfather and was glad to hear Captain Stoddard was doing well and had a housekeeper to watch over him; it's terrible for a man to be alone, he said. Then my father asked me to start taking on the books and lumber orders for the Ponderosa; it was all getting too much for him and I always had a head for mathematics, he explained. He talked about the new sawmill and the mine that was spewing silver and the new acreage he had bought that was the "best grazing land around." That side of the property was open range and it seemed the hands spent quite a bit of time cutting neighboring ranchers' cattle off the property; it would have to be fenced but the perimeter was so long and winding, it would be a huge undertaking. But the future looked bright; the price of beef had never been higher and there were rumors of gold. There might even be some on the Ponderosa.
"I don't mind taking on the books or orders but can it wait a while? Maybe a week or two?"
His brow furrowed and his mouth opened to speak but then he seemed to think better. "I can understand why you might want to wait before shouldering all that; you did just get home. I have to tell you though, things have changed while you've been gone. More people equal more lumber and more beef and that's just here in Nevada Territory." He leaned forward. "There has never been a greater demand for beef; our buyers ship all the way to the Mideastern states. But then, we buy from them as well, all that feed and corn for the stock."
"Pa, that land you bought…isn't that next to Ross' property?"
He was taken aback, as if I had insulted him. "Well, yes. I mean it's good land, good grass for summer grazing and has that spring-fed lake. What are you implying, boy?"
"Nothing. I just asked. You know how herds merge around here and if you fence off the property, you're keeping Ross' herds from grass and water. He can't have that many head that it's a hardship on our herds to share. Did Ross know you were buying it?"
"Now, Adam, I can't consider who else might want a piece of property before I buy it. And like I said, it's good land." I said nothing but he obviously read my expression. "Well, I…I can see your point, Adam. But Ross could have bought that land or at least a few acres of it before I did. But I'd be willing to sell him a few that're adjacent to his land; he'd have more pasture and I'd sell him water rights."
I didn't want to be duplicitous but I had to get around to Ross quitting the Ponderosa without revealing my conversation with Dell; I had promised her to tell no one. "Ross, still working here?"
"No, no. He quit about two years ago. Purchased a few head from me and some from Chandler to start a small herd. He has some good stock, a good bull, bought it from…well, he was a little cagey about that. I tried to get a look at the brand but it was too riled up sniffing out the heifers to let me come near enough to see."
"Why? What do you suspect? That Ross stole it, changed the brand?"
"No, no, not at all. I just think he didn't want word to get around that he's found a reasonable seller. Might have bought it at auction in another town. Just playing his cards close to the chest. I guess that only goes to show he's becoming a better businessman."
"I thought I'd head out there tomorrow and see how he's doing and how the house is going. I might even spend a few days helping him if he needs it. Would that be all right with you, Pa?"
He chuckled. "Well, we've gotten along without you…barely…but we've managed for the past five years. I guess a week or two more won't be a hardship. But, Adam, Hoss is the hardest working ranch hand I've ever had and I'm damn lucky he's my son so no one else can steal him away, but that boy has no head for numbers."
I laughed. "I promise I'll handle the books after a little detour to help Ross. Thought I'd leave in the morning." I stood up then, stretching, lured upstairs by the thought of the freshly laundered sheets Hop Sing had put on my bed, knowing they'd smell of clean air and the pine-scented spring breeze.
"Adam," my father said, standing up as well, "I need to tell you about Dell's parents, I mean before you see Ross. It was an odd thing, how they died."
"Oh?" Damn my promise to Dell. "How did they die?" I hated pretending I didn't already know.
"It was…her father was practically trampled to death by what must have been a huge deer but Roy Coffee said he'd never seen deer hooves that big. He checked out the body at the undertaker's. Mr. Clinton asked him to look at the injuries since he'd never seen anything like it before. It's a puzzlement. And then Dell's mother…"
"How did she die?"
My father shoved his hands in his pockets and looked uncomfortable. "Drowned in the laundry tub, in the soapy water. Doc Martin said it must have been an apoplexy although she never complained of anything, not to him or Dell about heart pains. Roy said the place was a mess, laundry all over the place, water everywhere and the clothes line pulled down, the clothes stomped in the mud by another deer, smaller though than the one that killed Watkins. Roy suspected Dell of killing her mother for about a split second but for long strands of black hair in Mrs. Watkin's hand. Roy came out here to talk to Hop Sing, to see if he'd heard anything in Chinatown about any rivalry between the Chinese laundries and Mrs. Watkins."
"Was there any?" I knew that the Tong didn't hold dear the idea of free enterprise or fair market price, but Mrs. Watkin's little home business would hold no threat to any Chinese laundry.
"Not that Hop Sing knew, or said he knew—actually dismissed the idea with a few curses. There are four laundries now, one in Chinatown and then one in the other three sections of town. I'd think they'd be battling among themselves for customers instead of with Mrs. Watkins.
"Well, it's late. Breakfast is the usual time and you better be there." My father placed a hand on my shoulder. "I think Hop Sing plans to make your favorites."
"Biscuits and gravy? Well, I may have to pass it up. Thought I'd leave early. Get to Ross' about sunrise. And maybe, if we need it, grab some more odd boards from the mill. That'd be okay with you?"
"Okay with me and I'll try to explain to Hop Sing but he'll rail about it. Makes me glad I don't understand Chinese."
"Thanks, Pa."
"G'night, son." I started up the stairs but halfway up, he called to me and I turned. "I'm glad you're home."
"Glad to be home, Pa." For my father, that was an emotional scene.
~ 0 ~
I drank my coffee while standing in the kitchen, my saddlebags at my feet, and ate two pilfered hot biscuits as my breakfast. Hop Sing complained, excoriating me first for not sitting down to eat and second, for eating the biscuits before he made the white gravy. I explained that I was going to visit my old friend, Ross Marquette, and wanted an early start.
"Not good for stomach to eat fast. Food need respect. Hard to grow, hard to reap, hard to cook and needs thanks even if only bowl of rice."
"I know Hop Sing, I know and I thank you for making it. But I don't suppose you'd part with a side of smoked bacon and toss some of those buttermilk biscuits in a sack for me. I'd ask for the leftover roast from last night but I'm betting Hoss is upstairs dreaming about it for lunch."
"Humph!" Hop Sing snorted. But he cut off a section of brown butcher paper and with a large fork, stabbed the remainder of beef and wrapped it in the paper. He handed it to me and still frowning, said, "You tell Mistah Ross that Ponderosa beef best of all, especially when cooked by Hop Sing!" Then he went into the pantry and took out a cloth sack that held a slab of smoked bacon.
I took it all and slipped it in my saddlebag while he filled a sack with the rest of the biscuits. "You sure you want to give me all of them?" I asked.
"Now make hot cakes for breakfast. Make everybody happy."
"Thanks, Hop Sing!" Had he been Mrs. Cairn, I would've kissed his cheek. Instead, I picked my hat off the counter where I had put it and headed to the barn. A lamp was on inside and I was surprised to see Joe filling food troughs for the horses and tossing hay in the stalls
"You handle that pitchfork like a pro," I said dropping my saddlebags inside.
"This is my chore every single, dadburn day before school," Joe said, glaring at me. "I guess a person gets good at it after a while but I don't wanna become an expert." He went back to placing clean straw on the barn floor. I had passed the pile of urine-soaked straw outside that would be burned later if the wind wasn't high.
"I'm heading out to Ross Marquette's, maybe for a week or so. What horse do you suggest I ride?" I stood looking at the horses in the stalls. I turned to look at Joe who had both hands on the top of the pitchfork that was longer than he was tall. He was smirking.
"For a whole week, huh? One less horse I'll have to feed." He glanced at the stalls. "Well, that sorrel with the blaze is a good mount. A little spirited but then I guess, oldest brother, that you, havin' a fancy education and all can handle 'im. I mean I've heard all about you these past five years 'cept how great you are on a horse. Guess here's your chance to prove it."
"Prove it? To you or the horse?" Joe didn't answer me. He had grown to be a good-looking boy with green eyes and a head of dark curls but still had a face as innocent as one of Raphael's angels; the girls would adore him in a few years but at almost eleven, he was an insolent smart-ass. I didn't see any of his mother in him but we have a cousin Will and from what I remembered of his looks, I could see some of my father's side in Joe.
I pushed aside the stall bar and grabbed the rope bridle to lead the horse out. He tossed his head and looked wild-eyed, dancing about sideways, but once I turned my back to him, he followed with no trouble. With Joe watching, I saddled him with little resistance, just a bit of huffing. "What's his name?"
"Pa always calls him mule-headed sonovabitch, but actually, his name is Scout."
"Scout, it is," I said tightening the cinch, "but he may come home with a brand-new name." Joe chuckled and slowly went back to work but he was watching me. I knew he'd set me up with a stubborn, recalcitrant horse but I admired the long-legged animal. And I like a spirited creature—animal or woman. The only trouble I had was bridling Scout, he kept trying to avoid taking the bit, so I left on the rope bridle only unhooking its lead rope once I finished. I mounted inside the barn and Joe stepped far back. I don't know what he expected and wondered if the animal kicked but I held his head and turned him about in a tight circle twice one way and then twice in the other direction before I headed out. There I dismounted to tighten the cinch. "You better hurry up," I called to Joe. "Hop Sing's making hot cakes and if you want any, you best get in there before Hoss eats them all."
Once back in the saddle, I turned the horse again and saw Joe standing in the barn doorway, frowning. "He seems a good horse. Thanks, Joe." Scout tossed his head, eager to go. Smiling, I waved at Joe and lightly kicked the horse's sides. He quickly responded and although I had to hold him back somewhat, we easily took off in the dark to the Walking M.
