Apparently, reviews/comments are still not yet visible, but I do receive notifications and can read the reviews. I think it may be the same for everyone's stories. It's all very frustrating but hopefully, will be soon remedied.
2
Hoss and I waited at the Carson City train depot to take Mrs. Clara Holland, the nursing companion, to the Ponderosa; my intent was to learn more about this woman on the drive back. I had told my clerk, Mrs. Morrisey, I wouldn't be in until late afternoon so to take a long lunch. Since nothing was pending, I had no qualms about ignoring the business for a few hours since Mrs. Morrisey, a childless, middle-aged widow was devoted to Cartwright and Sons and, unfortunately, to finding me a wife. Often, varied young women would often arrive at the office under the guise of having lunch with Mrs. Morrisey. She would always introduce bring them to me, first knocking lightly on the door of my private office, then opening it to inform me she was leaving for lunch and had I met Miss Whatever-the hell-her-name-was?
The past week had been exhausting for all of us at the Ponderosa. Hoss and Joe would help out Hop Sing by changing linens and cleaning our father and making sure he stayed hydrated and ate. Hoss, the only one with enough strength to manage, would help our father sit up in bed, placing pillows behind him. But he was a poor patient, mainly due to embarrassment at having his ass "wiped like a goddam baby's." He may have been too weak to roll himself over, but he was still strong enough to curse like the sailor he once was. He could move his fingers but couldn't manage a tight fist and could barely hold a spoon or cup so it seemed his paralysis was mainly from his chest down. Joe reported that to test him, Dr. Martin had Hop Sing and Joe roll him on his stomach and then, using a needle-like contraption with a wooden handle, pricked his legs and back, asking our father if he felt anything; the higher the doctor went, the more my father felt. At least he wasn't in pain, Joe had said, but Paul told him that wasn't a good sign; tingling, discomfort or outright pain in his feet and legs would mean sensation was returning; it was something to look for, to hope for.
Besides that, my father's energy was low and he slept most of the time. I had once suffered a similar accident and sleep was, at least for me, an escape from despair. One night, before I returned to my room after rolling him onto his right side, my father had told me he feared he would never be able to control his bodily functions again or feel arousal. I had sat down on the chair beside his bed and told him that I understood as when I fell from another ladder, I was set on marrying and though I never said anything, I wondered what type of husband I could be, what type of married life could I enjoy if all sexual pleasure was denied me; I confessed I had considered shooting myself between the eyes. Then he looked at me, his eyes glistening, and I feared he would cry. I could wipe my father's ass, change his diapers and wash him, but seeing him cry would break me. He closed his eyes and I waited, watching until his breathing became regular and I knew he was sleeping. Only then did I go to my bed.
Since I was on duty nights, I set my alarm clock anew every two hours. There are only so many ways to turn a body but I did my best while trying not to wake my father, but if he was wet or had soiled himself, I had to change and clean him; it was difficult to see his humiliation and hear his whispered, "Thank you." I would head to my room, drop back to sleep only to wake what seemed minutes later, to a clanging alarm to turn him again. During the day, I managed the office business on pots of coffee and sheer determination and a few, quick late afternoon visits to Lorraine who was always pleased to see me before I headed home to the Ponderosa; she was always obliging but then that's why I kept her. The first afternoon I stopped by, Mei, the little Chinese 'ladies maid' who assisted Lorraine at the brothel, answered the front door and with a little bow, asked me in. Lorraine called out, asking who was at the door and Mei replied, "Mistah Cartwright. Him here! Him hard!" It seemed Mei was observant and missed nothing.
Lorraine hurried out and seeing me, broke into a genuine smile, then glanced down at my crotch while Mei scuttled out; she always seemed to make herself scarce when I visited Lorraine although she had a talent for suddenly appearing with what was needed whether it was a bolster to slip under Lorraine's ass, a silk scarf for light bondage, or a jade phallus to cool her battered vulva; it seemed Mei was learning all she could from 'Missy Lorraine."
Although Lorraine was dressed to go out hat shopping, telling me about the 'charming' straw bonnet she had seen in the milliner's window with "little pink silk roses on it," she eagerly pulled me to her bedroom; I told her I didn't have much time. Obviously excited, she quickly pulled off her short jacket, dropped her drawers, kicked them aside, and took to the bed positioning herself on her forearms and knees at the edge of the mattress. I tossed back her skirts and her sweet round ass was exposed; she was practically quivering with anticipation. I found it oddly more arousing than if she had completely stripped; there was something about her being covered up except for the one part I desired being exposed. I had the sudden urge to separate her buttocks and take my pleasure there, but time was of the essence, so I quickly unbuttoned my trousers and mounted her from behind the way a stallion does a mare; I never even had to remove my boots and was treated to the sight of my sliding in and out of her grasping pink labia; men like to look, like to watch, even if it's only watching themselves. The whole brief tryst was surprisingly gratifying.
As I tucked myself back in and buttoned up, Lorraine caressed my face. "You seem tired, Adam. What's wrong? Is there anything I can help you with or do to relax you more?" I quickly told her about my father's accident and taking care of him nights until a live-in nurse arrived; hence the early afternoon visit. She then offered to help with my father's care, perhaps with the nursing and although I conceded she could probably get the blood roaring to his lower extremities, I declined her offer; she needn't worry about anything,
By Thursday, I was so exhausted from tending to my father nights, I lay on Lorraine's bed, Mei peeking in from the hallway, while Lorraine unbuttoned my pants and took me in her mouth, using her nimble fingers and tongue to pleasure me; if Lorraine wasn't so attentive and talented at fellatio, I would have fallen asleep.
As I said, that Friday morning, Hoss and I were impatiently waiting for the 'nursing companion' but Hoss is an impatient man. "What if this Mrs. Holland is a looker, Adam? S'pose she takes a shine to you and crawls into your bed nights? Save you all those trips to town to fuck that little blonde you got stashed there. What's 'er name again?"
I glanced sideways at Hoss. I had never discussed Lorraine with him or anyone else for that matter, but it just showed how things get around. "Mind your own business and not what I fuck, but you better hope Mrs. Holland's not some conniving adventuress out to snag a rich husband or Pa won't stand a chance. Why she could give him a ride and he couldn't even resist—that is if he cared to."
Hoss' brow furrowed. "Didn't think 'bout that. Whadda we do if she is?"
"Let Hop Sing get rid of her or learn to call her momma," I answered and then we heard the whistle and the approaching sound of the train.
~ 0 ~
Mrs. Holland was a tall, big-boned woman, mid-40's, with a face like a bulldog. She sat ramrod straight beside me gripping her small suitcase on her lap, her ponderous breasts resting on her hands and her iron-gray hair sternly pulled into a low bun with a straw boater balanced on top. Hoss shared the back seat with her larger Gladstone bag and instead of our finding out about her, it was she who grilled us.
When we introduced ourselves at the depot, Mrs. Holland handed me an envelope with her credentials and references from both the hospital and former patients; I had yet to open it but it was sticking out of my pocket. As we headed home, she wanted to know how old the patient was, when the injury occurred, his present condition, and what treatment our father had yet received. Who had been taking care of him, she asked, and what had been his diet? I tried to answer to the best of my ability but almost everything about diet and such was Hop Sing's purview. "I handle the business office in town and have been turning him at night (I almost added my father's sarcastic remark, 'like a side of beef on a spit.') and change him at night when necessary. Hop Sing, with the help of my brothers, take care of him during the day."
"Who is Hop Sing?" she asked with raised eyebrows.
I ignored her derisive attitude toward Hop Sing. "Hop Sing's our Chinese housekeeper, cook, does whatever is needed, and it's only he who knows what's needed. He's been with us for…"
"Since almost afore I was born," Hoss volunteered from the back. I noted the edge of fear in my brother's voice at the thought of losing Hop Sing's pies, cakes and fried chicken. "And he's the best dang cook in the world!"
Mrs. Holland slowly turned her head to look at Hoss. "I know what an ill person requires to give him strength." Then she turned back around. "If it's possible for your father to recover, I will see that he does." I snapped the reins and the horse stepped up its pace; the sooner the enemy is faced, the sooner the battle is over.
~ 0 ~
After pulling off her gloves and unpinning her hat, Mrs. Holland asked to see the patient, ignoring Hop Sing who had come smiling from the kitchen to welcome her. Hoss, carrying the bags, just shrugged at Hop Sing who frowned and harrumphed, following Hoss up the stairs behind me and the nurse.
My father was awake and weakly smiled as Mrs. Holland brusquely introduced herself and immediately went to the window, pushed back the curtains and flung open the casement; it was early spring and the air still had a slight chill but it did seem more pleasant as a crisp breeze swirled through the bedroom.
"Patient need warm, keep heat in body!" Hop Sing protested, starting to go toward the window.
"Patients need clean, fresh air to clear any miasma. And if you close that window," Mrs. Holland threatened, "I will open it again, and toss you out!" Looking at the two of them, I knew she could; Mrs. Holland must have outweighed Hop Sing by a good fifty pounds.
"Wait a minute," I said and they turned to look at me, both disgruntled. "Look, you two, this will get us nowhere. Mrs. Holland, I trust you only want what's best for my father and that's what we all want. Hoss has put your luggage in the room next to this one so you'll be close. I'm the only other one who sleeps upstairs and my room is down the hall. I may stay the night in town since I have to check in at the office anyway. I'll let Dr. Martin know you're here. Hopefully, you and he and Hop Sing can consult on how to ensure my father's recovery.
"As for Hop Sing, he has managed the cooking and housekeeping, the uptick in laundry and during the day has taken care of my father by himself with only brief periods of respite when my brothers stop by. He's understandably tired and short-tempered and perhaps, if you two would discuss my father's care and commit to compromise, an agreement can be reached on who does what."
"Well," Mrs. Holland said, reaching up and straightening her collar, "It's just that usually there's no one else, the family being distressed and upset, so I take command of the situation; it's often necessary but perhaps I've misjudged…" She seemed puzzled by how to refer to Hop Sing."
"Hop Sing," he offered with a barely perceptible bow of respect. His brow was still furrowed but I could see he was softening.
"Yes." She pulled herself up. "Mr. Hop Sing and I will talk with Dr. Martin. Now," she walked over to my father's side and leaned down to speak to him. "Tell me, Mr. Cartwright, how are we feeling today?" Hop Sing went down to the kitchen, mumbling under his breath the whole way and after telling my father I'd see him tomorrow, Hoss and I went down the stairs.
"She's somethin' else, ain't she, Adam? I'd hate to cross her. Matter of fact, I was 'fraid to even go into the room, worried she'd check my ears to see iffen they was clean."
"Reminds me of a colonel I knew during the war. It was rumored his own men killed him, shot him during battle."
"You kiddin' me?" Hoss asked as we reached the bottom stair.
"Yes, I'm kidding," I said. But I wasn't.