Two: Not Totally Unexpected
I woke to darkness, completely disoriented, not knowing if it was night or morning. I had a disturbing dream that I couldn't recall—it had suddenly vanished like a puff of smoke. I stood on shaky legs and going to my window, pulled aside the drapes and opened it to clear my head with the crisp, cold air. It was spring, I knew that at least, and the air smelled fresh and pure, but the house was quiet, the outdoors as well except for a few birds calling. Once I felt my heart ease its thudding, I lit the lamp by my bed and sat heavily on the mattress, reaching down for my discarded trousers from last night. I searched for my pocket watch and then, disgusted, I realized it was in my dress jacket that I'd left in the jail; when I had broken out, I knew I could move easier without it. I flung the trousers over the foot of the bed and putting on my robe and slippers, grabbed my razor, soap and shaving mug and went downstairs.
When Hop Sing came into the kitchen, he stopped. I was standing bare-assed, a kitchen towel over one shoulder and shaving myself by my fading reflection in the window as the sun began to rise. A large pot of water still simmered on the stove and using a dishtowel, I'd already washed my parts that stank the most. A pot of coffee, bad coffee, was also on the stove.
"Why you shave here?" Hop Sing demanded. "Look at messiness!"
"Sorry, Hop Sing." I wiped the soap off my face, having finished. "Too chilly upstairs." I put my robe back on.
"Hmph." My apology only slightly appeased him. "Last night, you sleep through dinner. Good dinner, but Mistah Ben say not wake you." He moved further into the kitchen as I gathered my shaving supplies. He pursed his lips, still annoyed at the invasion of his sanctified kitchen but he saw his mission to feed all the Cartwights unfulfilled. "Mistah Adam hungry? Want coffee?"
"I want and need coffee and I'm as hungry as Hoss on a good day. I made a pot but…" I picked up my coffee mug and frowned into it. "I made the worst pot of coffee I think I've ever tasted. Didn't grind the beans enough, I guess, and scorched the whole mess on the stove."
Now Hop Sing was back doing what he does best, intimidating all of us Cartwrights. "You go! You get out Hop Sing's kitchen! Just look! Hop Sing have too much work! Too much work!" And then he seemed to remember about Sue Ellen as my father must surely have told him. "Oh, Mistah Adam, Hop Sing hear about Missy Terry." He bowed his head. "Sorry for loss of pretty, young woman. I light incense to Kwan Yin, goddess of mercy."
"Thank you for that, Hop Sing." Hop Sing was being generous as Sue Ellen had been dismissive of him, basically ignoring his as he served the dishes and treating him the way one might a waiter in an expensive restaurant. And I was sure he'd heard Sue Ellen emphasizing to my father the importance of good servants and Hop Sing must have frowned and muttered to himself in Chinese at her presumption in thinking he was a servant. I put down my mug of bad coffee and left to dress, my mind beginning to circle again like a dog after its own tail.
~ 0 ~
"More coffee, Mistah Adam? More eggs? Hot biscuits coming." Hop Sing was lost having only me to hover about as he topped off my cup
"I'm fine, Hop Sing. Really. I'll just finish what I have and then head to town." I raised my cup.
"But Mistah Ben, last night him say both go to town to see judge!" I wondered how much my father had told him.
"He knows the way to town."
Hop Sing stood silent for a moment while I waited. "Later, I burn incense to Bao Zheng, ensure justice."
"Thank you, Hop Sing." I wondered though, if true justice for the murders of Sue Ellen and Amelia Terry would ever be found and if it was, I probably would have to answer for something. "And everyone'll be up soon. Hoss' stomach is better than any rooster."
"Maybe Hop Sing use wooden spoon, bang bottom of pot like Chinese drum! Hmph! Then they wake!"
Hop Sing went back in the kitchen and made noise by rattling around in the wood box to feed the stove and loudly slammed shut the fire grate. His favorite cast iron frypan hit the stove top; Hop Sing made as much noise as he dared. He walked past me and into the main room to listen-then smiled to himself. We could both hear noise from upstairs, so he hurried to the kitchen to bake the biscuits and fry the sausage.
Hoss came down first, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and then Joe, still in his nightshirt, and each took their usual places at the table. Then my father came slowly down the stairs, shaved and with his hair neatly brushed but still in his robe.
"Good mo'ning. Mistah Cartwright." My father grimly nodded in response and Hop Sing poured coffee for him and then sat the flowered enameled carafe on the table; Joe's mother had purchased it when she was determined to bring the "woman's touch" to the Ponderosa years ago. Hop Sing also placed the folded Territorial Enterprise by my father's plate. I was taken aback.
"Hop Sing…how did this get here?" My father held up the paper and looked quizzically at him. Hop Sing had performed many "miracles" during his time with us but he couldn't have done this—ridden to town and back with the newspaper because not only did he fear riding a horse any faster than a jarring trot, but I had been awake before him.
"Hit kitchen door. Person rode away—very fast left. Missy Terry story on front page. Hop Sing try to read but some words—too hard. Read Chinese much better." Hop Sing headed back to the kitchen and I felt my stomach turn over.
"What's it say, Pa?" Joe asked as he reached for the carafe.
"Yeah," Hoss said, spooning out fried apples while waiting for the biscuits and sausage gravy.
I would have preferred to read it first, especially since I was sure it was some salacious piece of writing. Not every day is a story fodder for weeks of gossip. "Let me have it, Pa. I have a right to read it first since I'm sure I'm—at the least-mentioned."
"Just hold on, Adam. I'll read it aloud. We should all know what it says in case…well, since someone took the time to ride all the way out here with the early edition, it must be something we should all know."
"Maybe it was Rusty Welles, " Hoss added. "I mean he rode out early yesterday to let us know Adam was in jail."
My father unfolded the paper and stared at the headline. "No. Rusty wouldn't haven't run off like that. Some 'good Samaritan' must have ridden all the way out here to deliver the bad news." We looked at one another; our father was rarely sarcastic and not only that, but his remark held a note of disgust. He started reading, "Love Triangle Ends in Multiple Murders…"
He quickly read the article aloud and each word almost made me recoil. He then refolded it, placing it on the floor beside his chair. "I'll have Hop Sing use it as fuel for the stove." Joe and Hoss both stared at their plates, not raising their eyes and my father avoided looking straight at me. After all, the article was not flattering and even suggested I may have strangled Amelia Terry. Or my father did. But as I'd reminded my father on more than one occasion, I was a grown man. I was able to stand up for myself, defend myself and he couldn't, and shouldn't, protect me from mistakes of my own making. Sue Ellen Terry was turning out to be one of the worst I had ever made and the mistake wasn't yet completely resolved.
"Hoss," I said. "Hand me the paper. I want to read it again." I put out my hand and Hoss, not quite knowing if he should or shouldn't, looked at my father who slowly reached down and picked up the paper, handing it to Hoss who handed it to me.
Hoss cleared his throat. "Nothin' like a good breakfast to get a man ready for the day," He smiled weakly, unfolded his napkin and tucked it in his shirtfront, just as Hop Sing came out with a mountain of biscuits and the gravy boat. Quickly returning, Hop Sing placed a platter of sausage patties before Ben. Hoss found it difficult to wait his turn, urging our father to help himself. When Hoss and I were kids, my father insisted we take as much as we wanted before he took any food. Then Marie came and we had to wait for her to be served and even for her to begin eating before we were allowed to start. But now that we were older, courtesy dictated our father took his share first, what I called, "the lion's share".
My father took two biscuits, split them, and poured gravy over them. He slowly and intentionally ate while Hoss and Joe practically fell on their food like ravenous wolves, as if they hadn't eaten for days and while they ate in silence, not taking their eyes off their plates, I read the whole piece again. "Well, I suppose Judge Milburn is going to ask us again about Amelia." My father didn't respond. I refolded the paper, placing it on the table and noticed Joe staring at it; he wanted to read the article but, out of some misplaced idea of courtesy, held off. Once I left, he'd read it.
The clock chimed 8:00 and my father rose, wiping his mouth. "Let me dress, Adam, and we'll head out."
"Want us to go with you two?" Hoss asked, swallowing quickly; Pa disapproved of talking with a mouthful of food but Hoss was the only one who still complied.
"No. You and Joe stay here. There's too much work to do about the place." Joe opened his mouth to protest but our father continued. "Joe, you need to repair those rotted boards on the back porch. Then split that stack of firewood and fill all the wood boxes—all of them in all the bedrooms as well as out here and the kitchen. It may be spring but the nights are cold. Hoss, take Flannery, pack some food, and check the far north pasture. The line shacks should be stocked so food shouldn't be an issue. We've lost too many beeves and I suspect the fencing's either been cut or…well, it must be down somewhere."
"All right, Pa. I'll take care of it," Hoss said putting up a huge hand. I could tell Hoss was concerned about the dark circles under our father's eyes and his obvious worry over the situation of the murdered Terry sisters. "You just go do what you and Adam need to do."
Our father smiled indulgently; Hoss was nothing if not reliable—and compassionate.
"Here," I said, tossing the paper to Joe, "Read it. Take it as a life lesson."
I went to the coat rack by the door and slapped my hat on, reaching for my holster. And although Hoss spoke in low tones, I could still hear him.
"Joe, read me that news story, while I finish up," Hoss said, pressing with the back of his fork, to get every last morsel of the gravy, sausage and biscuits. Joe read the headline with great emphasis and then the rest of the article while Hoss listened—and I did too. Then it seemed Joe stopped and thought before speaking.
"You know, Hoss, I know Pa or Adam didn't kill Amelia Terry, but from this article, it sure looks like one of them did and they were in cahoots in covering it up. I mean they didn't report it or do anything about it; Pa just went to Jessie to tell him to meet Adam. I don't know if…I shouldn't second guess Pa but if I feel this way about what happened and I know they're innocent, how'll others see it?"
"Joe, didn't you think…"
"What?"
"In Jessie's room, didn't you think it was kinda strange that he done made like an altar to Sue Ellen, kinda like the one Hop Sing's got set up to his ancestors in his room?"
Hoss had a point. I hadn't thought much about it. I had been waiting in Jessie's small room, afraid he'd get the upper hand on me and even with my father waiting nearby, I might be killed. I had held the lacy scarf that had been Sue Ellen's, ran it through my hands, knowing it had caressed her shoulders, covered her blonde hair and it still carried the scent of her perfume. It had been folded and laying on a low bureau next to a small hand-drawn portrait of her. Now that I thought more about it, it had been strange. Beside the portrait and scarf, there was a woman's decorative tortoiseshell comb with a broken tooth, a small, partially denuded beaded reticule, and a handkerchief. Joe had noticed the embroidered initials, sTe, in one corner and had shown me.
Then Joe spoke again, his voice dropping a bit more. "You know, Hoss. It's a little strange. I can understand having a picture of a woman by your bed but…do you think Jessie, you know, used that scarf or held any of those things of Sue Ellen's when he fantasized about, you know, about enjoying her while he…"
"Joe," Hoss said, "don't make me think 'bout such things. Takes away my appetite."