Chapter Three

It was usually only an hour's ride home to the Ponderosa from the Marquettes', but Adam usually rode the distance at a lope. In his current inebriated state, he knew he wouldn't stay in the saddle at anything faster than a jog.

When he was nearly home, he reached for his canteen, and his hand bumped the whiskey bottle. He glanced down at it and tried to decide how he was going to explain its presence to his father when he got home. He was going to have to tell him something before Mr. Marquette showed up the next day, and Ben would be angry enough without seeing that Adam had ridden off with the stolen whiskey.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," Adam sighed. He untied the bottle, popped out the cork, and drained the remaining two inches of liquor in a single gulp. Tossing the empty bottle into a clump of scrub brush, he clucked to Beauty and nudged her toward home.

Adam had begun to sober up after leaving the Marquettes', but the fresh infusion of alcohol sent his head spinning again. He replayed Ross's flight over and over in his mind, and by the time he jogged into the Cartwrights' barnyard, he was howling with laughter over Ross's assertion that his father would never take him alive.

Hoss and Little Joe were in the yard helping their new cook, Hop Sing, feed the chickens. Adam liked Hop Sing; he knew he wouldn't get days off like this if not for the assistance the Chinaman lent around the house, especially when it came to chasing after Little Joe. The cook and both boys looked up when they heard Adam cackling.

"Hey, Sop Hing!" Adam cheered. He snorted at his mistake and bent over the saddle horn to giggle into Beauty's mane. He laughed so hard that he slid sideways out of the saddle and crashed to the ground, his left foot still dangling in the stirrup.

"Adam!" Hoss cried.

Adam closed his eyes and laughed until his stomach ached. When he finally caught his breath and opened his eyes, he was staring up into the faces of his family. Ben, Marie, Hoss, Hop Sing, and even Little Joe had crowded around him, framing his field of vision like a halo.

"Mon dieu!" Marie exclaimed. "Adam! Are you all right?!" Her French accent grew thicker when she was upset, and Adam started giggling again.

"Oui, madame," Adam said as grandly as he could while lying shirtless in the dirt. He shifted his eyes to the right. "Hey, Pa! Did you see me fly?! I just flew right outta my saddle! Not as good as Ross did flyin' outta the hayloft, but still pretty good. You'll never take me alive!" He burst out laughing again.

Ben gaped at his son as the whiskey on the boy's breath wafted over him.

"Pa, is Adam ok?" Hoss whimpered, his bright blue eyes filling with tears.

"He's drunk!" Ben exclaimed incredulously.

"But, Pa, I flew!" Adam shouted. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper. "I FLEW." He reached up and poked Little Joe in the tummy, and the brothers dissolved into giggles together.

Ben sighed and disentangled Adam's foot from his stirrup. A few ranch hands had wandered out of the bunkhouse to watch the show, and Ben gestured for one of them to take Beauty to the barn. He grabbed Adam under the arms and hauled him to his feet. As soon as he let go, Adam swayed, and Ben had to catch him before he landed in the dirt again. He scooped the still giggling boy up in his arms and bore him toward the house.

"Son, what happened to your shirt?" he asked as Marie held the door open for them.

"Shirt, sir?"

"Yes, shirt."

"Don't need one, Pa. It's hot."

Adam was sweaty and coated in dirt, so Ben set him down on the kitchen floor and knelt next to him. He grabbed Adam's chin and forced his son to meet his gaze.

"You care to explain yourself, young man?"

"Not really, Pa." Adam snickered as the color rose in Ben's cheeks.

Ben tightened his grip on the boy's jaw, and the smirk faded from Adam's face. He cast his hazel eyes down to his lap.

"Me an' Ross were drinkin," Adam mumbled.

"I gathered as much. And where, pray tell, did the two of you get ahold of liquor?"

"Hayloft. But, Pa, Ross flew! Not real far, but you gimme some time to fix the design, and we'll soar all the way to the moon!"

Ben gaped at his son again, trying to work out what the boy was babbling about. By this time, Marie, Hoss, Joe, and Hop Sing had followed Adam and Ben into the kitchen and were staring at the drunken teen again. Marie asked Hop Sing to take the little boys into the living room and laid her hand on Ben's shoulder.

"I don't think you're going to get anything out of him right now," she said.

"Yeah," Ben grumbled. "This isn't over, young man," he promised, finally relaxing his grip on Adam's chin.

Adam rubbed his jaw and worked it back and forth a few times. Something cold and wet slapped him between the shoulder blades, and Adam jumped. His arms flailed behind him as he tried to grab whatever it was.

"Hold still!" Marie ordered. "You're filthy." She grabbed Adam's left wrist to hold him still while she wiped the grime off his back, and she gasped. "Adam! Your hand!" With Ben peering over her shoulder, Marie unwrapped the blood-soaked bandana from Adam's hand. She shook her head at the cut on the boy's palm and started wiping the dried blood away with her rag.

"Hey, tha' hurs!" Adam protested. He flailed again, but Marie had his wrist in a grip that was surprisingly strong for such a slender woman. She ordered Ben to get some liniment and a fresh bandage and finished wiping Adam off while Ben retrieved the items. When he returned, Ben sat behind Adam, wrapped one tree-trunk of an arm across the boy's chest and grabbed Adam's left wrist with his free hand. Adam couldn't have moved to save his life, and tears leaked from his eyes as Marie poured the stinging liniment into his palm and then wrapped the bandage tightly around his hand.

When Marie finished with Adam's hand, Ben ordered Adam to get a fresh shirt before supper. But the last shots of whiskey Adam had drunk on the way home had taken full effect, and he couldn't even stand up on his own. Ben hauled him up by one arm and dragged him to the little bedroom he shared with Hoss and Joe, calling to Marie to make some extra coffee.

Ben said nothing as he dropped Adam onto his bed and stuffed his arms into the sleeves of a clean shirt, and his silence frightened Adam more than shouting ever could have.

"You're real mad, ain't you, Pa?" he asked in a small voice.

"Son, 'mad' doesn't begin to describe it. Now do you think you can sit at the table without falling into your supper?"

He didn't think so, but Adam knew better than to give his father any other answer than "yes," and he nodded his head. Ben grunted approvingly, buttoned up Adam's shirt, and hauled the boy to his feet. The realization of just how much trouble he was in had sobered Adam up enough to stand on his own, but he couldn't walk straight to his bedroom door; every time he took a step, the room shifted, and he found himself headed for either the window or the wardrobe. Ben grabbed his shoulders and steered him into the hallway and out to the dining room.

During supper, Marie kept Adam's coffee cup full and encouraged him to keep drinking it. Adam did his best to act sober so as not to set a bad example for his little brothers, but when Little Joe dumped his mashed potatoes into his hair, Adam laughed so hard that he fell out of his chair. As Ben picked him up, Adam heard Hoss ask Marie if he was sick.

"I ain't sick, Hoss," Adam assured him, giving the husky blond boy a big smile.

"Not yet," Ben muttered. "Drink more coffee, son."

Ben ordered Adam to bed immediately after supper. Adam was about to protest that it was still two hours until his usual bedtime, but one stern glare from Ben, and Adam's objection died on his lips. His supper having soaked up some of the alcohol in his system, Adam shuffled toward the boys' bedroom and fumbled his way out of his clothes and into a nightshirt. It felt like a cotton prison around his throat, and Adam wondered if he was having another one of those growing spurts Marie complained about. She always said that she was glad he was growing tall and strong, but it was a burden keeping him in britches that fit.

Ben came in just as Adam was sliding his legs under the thin sheet that was all the bed covering he could stand during the summer. Father and son stared at each other for several moments before Ben sat down on the edge of the bed. Adam didn't like the way Ben was looking at him. He'd seen his father angry plenty of times – especially since Little Joe had started walking last year – but this was something new. Adam's heart sank as he realized it was disappointment.

"Pa, I-"

Ben held up a hand, and Adam fell silent.

"You and I are going to have a good long talk in the morning, boy," Ben said. "And then we're riding over to the Marquettes' to apologize for whatever shenanigans you and Ross got up to today."

"Mr. Marquette's comin' to talk to you tomorrow," Adam mumbled, no longer able to meet his father's gaze. He tugged at the collar of his nightshirt as he wondered how Ross was getting along. "You gonna whup me, Pa?"

Ben sighed. "I should, but no. I have a feeling that by the time morning comes, you'll have learned your lesson. Now, would you like to put your nightshirt on the right way around?"

Adam glanced down in surprise and saw that he was, in fact, wearing his nightshirt backward. He'd felt like it was choking him because the back of the collar was against his throat. He bit back a giggle and swung his legs out of bed. He stood up and yanked unproductively at his nightshirt until Ben pulled the garment over his head, turned it around, and tugged it back over his head. He held onto Adam's arm to steady him as the boy climbed back into bed.

"Go to sleep," Ben said as he pulled the sheet up over Adam's shoulders. "And try not to wake your brothers in the middle of the night." He blew out the oil lamp and left the room, leaving Adam wondering what exactly he meant.

Three hours later, Adam discovered exactly what his father had meant. Still half drunk and exhausted by the day's adventures, Adam had drifted off to sleep quickly, but he awoke somewhere between ten and eleven o'clock in a cold sweat. He tried to sit up, but his head screamed in protest, and he gasped and fell backward onto his pillow. Screwing his eyes shut, he took deep, ravenous breaths, trying to bring the pain under control. When at last he opened his eyes again, he lay and watched the moonlight's shadows dancing across the ceiling. For a split second, he felt like he was dancing with them, until he realized, too late, why he felt like he was whirling around.

With a loud "URGH!" Adam expelled the contents of his stomach. One hand fell off the bed and scrabbled for the chamber pot, but there was no time. Ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, coffee, and half a bottle of whiskey gushed onto Adam's sheet and nightshirt. He convulsed over and over again, with no chance to inhale. Tears leaked out of his eyes as he thought he would suffocate.

His retching woke Hoss, who leapt from the top bunk of the stacked beds he shared with Little Joe and tore out of the bedroom. In a few seconds of respite between gags, Adam heard him screaming for Ben and Marie. Hoss had nearly knocked over the bunk beds when he'd jumped, and the manmade earthquake woke Little Joe, who crawled out of bed, his bottom fat under his nightshirt from the diaper he still wore at night. He toddled over to Adam and looked up at his big brother, his green eyes wide.

"Joe!" Adam gasped. "Chamber pot, Joe! Chamber pot!"

The toddler snatched the chamber pot from under Adam's bed and handed it to his brother just before another round of heaving gripped him, and he spewed into the receptacle. Completely unperturbed by the violence of Adam's stomach and the sour stench now permeating the small bedroom, Little Joe climbed up onto Adam's bed, sat next to his pillow, and patted his big brother's hair consolingly while Adam continued to sputter.

Marie burst into the room just as Adam's second round tapered off and he collapsed, pale and sweaty, onto his pillow. She stopped dead in the doorway as the reek of the vomit hit her, and Ben smacked into her from behind and nearly knocked her over. Bringing up the rear, Hoss bounced off his father's suddenly stationary backside and landed on his butt in the hallway.

"He's dyin', Pa, he's dyin!" Hoss cried from the floor. "Please, sir, do something!"

From his perch on Adam's bed, Little Joe looked up at his parents. "Adam sick" he announced as he wiped his brother's sweaty brow with the edge of his nightshirt.

His stomach throbbing from the convulsions, Adam lay panting and wishing for death. He held onto the brimming chamber pot with one hand, and his other hand sought Joe's and gripped it tightly. His baby brother's hand was warm, dry, and reassuring. The tiny boy leaned forward and kissed Adam's forehead.

"It's ok, Adam," he said. "Mama fix you."

Ordering Ben to fill the bathtub, Marie dashed over to Adam's bed, plucked Little Joe from the mattress, and set him on the floor.

"Go sit on your bed, mon chéri," she said to Joe. "I'll take care of Adam. You did a good job." Little Joe grinned proudly and scampered back to his bed where he sat and watched the proceedings.

Marie snatched the chamber pot from Adam and handed it to Hoss with instructions for him to dump it outside and rinse it out. Hoss wrinkled his nose and held the pot as far away from himself as he could as he made his way down the hall with this unwanted gift from his brother.

Everyone else out of the way, Marie directed her attention to Adam. She looked on him with a mixture of pity and anger as she ripped the soiled sheet off of him, balled it up, and tossed it on the bare wood floor.

"Ma," Adam croaked. "Ma, I'm sorry."

"I expect you are," she replied. Her face was hard, but her expression softened as Adam's chin began to quiver. "Come on," she sighed and brushed a sweaty lock of black hair from his forehead. "Let's get this nightshirt off of you."

Marie had to hold the wobbly-kneed teenager up with one hand while she peeled his ruined nightshirt off him with the other. Adam knew he should be embarrassed to be standing in front of his stepmother in nothing but his undershorts, but he was so glad to be rid of the damp, stinking nightshirt that he didn't even blush. Marie swung Adam's arm across her shoulders and half-dragged him to the kitchen, where Ben had just finished pouring water into the tall copper hipbath. She handed Adam off to his father and returned to the boys' bedroom to deal with the soiled linens.

Ben stripped off Adam's undershorts and plunked the boy in the tub. Already trembling from his violent retching, Adam shivered as he hit the cold water. He leaned forward, rested his head on his drawn-up knees, and moaned.

"Pa, am I gonna die?"

Ben poured cool water over Adam's head. "No, son. Sorry to disappoint you. You're lucky, though. You know you can kill yourself with too much drink, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"How in the world did you and Ross get into so much liquor?!"

As Ben scrubbed the day's remaining dust from Adam's back, Adam spilled the whole story: the whiskey in the hayloft, the flying machine, and Ross's attempt to flee through the hayloft door.

"The worst part is, Pa, I don't even know if Ross is ok. Mr. Marquette ran me off before he went to fetch the doctor."

"I guess we'll find out tomorrow," Ben said. "But I doubt Ross will be able to help with their cattle drive in a couple weeks. I'm going to have to pay for an extra hand to help them out, and that money, young man, is going to come out of your portion from our drive, you understand?"

Adam's eyes filled as he thought of the guitar he'd been hoping to buy with his earnings from the drive, and he bit his lip. He would not cry in the bathtub in front of his father. "Yes, sir," he muttered.

Marie entered just then with a clean nightshirt, and Adam scrunched up in the tub, trying to conceal himself. To her eternal credit, Marie backed into the room, tossed the nightshirt over the back of a chair, and left without ever turning toward her red-faced stepson in the bathtub. Ben hauled Adam out of the tub, dried him off, and helped him back into his shorts and the clean nightshirt. After downing a tall glass of water, Adam shuffled back to bed and collapsed onto the clean sheet Marie had put there.

"Sleep now, mon chéri," Marie whispered as she drew the sheet up over Adam's bare toes. "Je t'aime."

"Je t'aime, Ma," Adam replied. Marie left the room, and Adam looked up at Ben. "Pa? I'll feel better in the morning, right?"

"No, son" Ben said with a sardonic smile. "If anything, you'll feel worse. Sleep tight." He patted Adam's damp hair and returned to his own bedroom.

Adam stared at the ceiling in despair as he listened to his father's footsteps cross the short hallway and enter the master bedroom.

"Well," he whispered to himself. "At least the puking's over."

It wasn't.

Adam slept for only another hour and a half before his churning stomach woke him again. He scrabbled for the chamber pot, but Hoss had shoved it too far under the bed for him to reach without getting up, and Adam vomited all over himself a second time.

"S'alright, Adam," Hoss mumbled sleepily as he slid off his bunk. "I'll get Pa." He reached under Adam's bed and grabbed the chamber pot. He handed it to Adam and padded across the hall to wake their parents. Caught in the deep sleep known only to small children, Little Joe didn't even stir this time.

Ben and Marie slogged into the boys' room again, looked at each, and sighed. Marie ripped the soiled sheet from the bed while Ben pulled off Adam's nightshirt and put yet another clean one on him. They made him drink another glass of water before he lay back down, and Adam sat on the bed and leaned against his father's broad chest as he drank it.

"I'm so sorry, Pa," Adam mumbled over and over. "I am so, so sorry."

"It's a mistake everyone makes, son," Ben said. "And one I expect you won't make twice."

"No, sir."

Adam finished his water, let Marie tuck him back under another clean sheet, and fell asleep.

Two hours later, he woke up a third time. This time, he was able to roll out of bed to grab for his chamber pot, but he was so dizzy from dehydration that he fell onto the floor and retched all over himself yet again. Ben and Marie must have been half-listening for sounds from the boys' room because they materialized in the doorway without being summoned. Marie went white as she stared at the limp, trembling figure on the floor.

"Ben, should we fetch the doctor?" she asked.

"Don't see what good it would do," Ben replied, rolling Adam up into a sitting position. "There's no cure for stupidity."

"Pa, I am so-"

"Yes, son, I know: You're very sorry. Come on, let's get this nightshirt off. Marie, could you get us a clean one, please?"

"He hasn't got a clean one."

"I'm sorry?"

"He's only got three, Ben, and he's wearing the third one. Shall I get him one of yours?"

"Not a chance!" Ben thundered. Adam winced as his father's resonant voice rattled inside his head. Up on his bunk, Hoss stirred, and Ben lowered his voice. "He's ruined enough nightshirts as it is. He'll just have to sleep without one." Ben pulled the soiled nightshirt off of Adam and then went for the boy's undershorts.

"Hey!" Adam protested as vehemently as his dehydrated state would allow. "What're you doing?!"

"I'm keeping you from ruining more perfectly good clothes," Ben grumbled, wrenching the garment from his son's skinny hips. "It's July; you won't freeze to death."

Adam's face burned as his father lifted his naked body and laid him on his bed in full view of Marie, but he was too weak to struggle, so he lay there, shivering and wishing for death.

"I'll get you another glass of water," Ben grumbled, and he stalked out of the room.

Adam curled up in the fetal position, hot tears burning the corners of his eyes. He heard Marie's light footsteps approaching his bedside, and he wished that she would just go away rather than adding to his mortification. Then he felt a soft sheet being tucked in around him, and he rolled over. Marie smiled down at him and laid a warm hand on his cheek. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ben returned with Adam's water.

"I'll give this to him," Marie said, taking the glass from Ben. "You go back to bed, mon chéri."

"All right." Ben laid a hand on Adam's forehead. "Hang in there, son. This, too, shall pass away." Adam nodded, and Ben slipped out of the room.

Marie leaned Adam up against her while he drained his water glass and then eased him back onto his pillows.

"I'm sorry, Ma," Adam whimpered.

Marie ran a hand lightly down Adam's face to make him close his eyes. "It's all right, Adam," she said. "Sleep now."

Comforted by the soft hand resting on his chest, Adam dropped off to sleep.