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Edited in: Although I am receiving notifications on reviews and they are going into the review count for the story, none of the reviews are being posted. A new glitch?

The Companion

1

Perhaps it's because I'm the eldest that expectations were for me to marry first but it was Joe, the youngest of us three sons, who did. But then, once Joe hit raging adolescence, his only aim in life was to manipulate his way into a woman's drawers, hopefully an attractive, silly one who was thrilled to fall on her back for the chance of capturing such a handsome husband with a wealthy, prestigious family. Joe was successful in his pursuit as was one of the willing females.

Joe married Astrid Ebersol, a pretty blonde with bright blue eyes, rosy lips and air between her ears. But it didn't matter to Joe and she could pop out babies like a chicken does eggs. Within three years, the Joseph Cartwrights had two boys, Timothy Benjamin, a bit over two years, and Thomas Francis, one year, both still in nappies, and another child on the way. To walk into their house was to be hit with the acrid odor of dirty clouts waiting to be washed by Astrid's mother, Nora, who lived with the family and ran the household. Flies buzzed about, drawn into the house by the stench of piss and shit despite every window box being filled with geraniums. But Joe's olfactory senses must have been seared by the stink early on as he seemed not to notice and as for Astrid, she never apologized or made mention of the urine-soaked atmosphere of her home; the rest of us decided to decline any more dinner invitations because it was impossible to enjoy the succulent taste and smell of roast beef or chicken under those conditions. It was, we decided, also a way to show Astrid compassion as she seemed interminably heavy with child, her breasts now twice the size as when she married Joe; I always considered them her most attractive features.

It was Hoss who had always been determined to remain single and to live out his life with his "dear, old daddy," but the best laid plans, as Robert Burns said, "gang aft agley," and two years after Joe tied the proverbial knot, Hoss married "Little Cindy Larson," who, after a year of marriage was not so "little" and became as wide as she was tall. Pa said her father must have used a large stick to chase her away from the table to keep her so small in her husband-hunting days. But the two of them appeared to be blissfully happy and had recently sprung the news about another Cartwright on the way. Pa had invited them for dinner the night Hoss told us as Cindy was too busy eating Hop Sing's fried chicken to do more than smile and wipe the grease off her lips while Pa and I congratulated them. Pa was deliriously happy; four grandchildren within five years, and Hop Sing smiled the whole time as nothing pleased him more than to see someone genuinely enjoy his food as Cindy did and to birth another child with an inherited vigorous appetite for him to feed.

And then, there was I.

I confess I never had any real longing for children although I wouldn't have minded a wife, someone to share my bed and fulfill my needs, and after the war and seeing with eyes wide-open what horrors the world really held, why anyone would want to bring children into it, I didn't understand; my antebellum self had been far different than my postwar self in that regard. I was now more cynical, and perhaps more honest which always translates as cruel. Fortunately, I had enough self-control not to inflict my honesty on others to any great degree. And since most of the day I was gone from the Ponderosa, spending the day in Virginia City as leading executive for Cartwright & Sons LLC., I spent my evenings reading, fiddling with my guitar or in town "fiddling" with my boughten woman, Lorraine. Therefore, I was content to abide on the Ponderosa with my father, Hop Sing, and my guitar and books as company.

A year earlier, I had been tentatively courting a comely war widow with two daughters, both lovely and polite and Martha, the mother, had mentioned one evening how she had always longed for a son. I didn't know if it was a genuine desire for a son but felt it was a genuine desire for a husband. I told her I had no wish for children myself, and she said, "But having a child is bestowing the gift of life." I countered that it was also bestowing the gift of death and of pain and want and suffering; I couldn't "bestow' that on anyone, especially a child of my own loins. Our relationship ended shortly after and I felt we were both better off for it. Besides, I prefer a more robust and eager bed partner than Martha had proven to be; I couldn't see myself married to a woman who always yielded to me but found my sexual appetite distasteful. I considered Martha nursed the hope of becoming pregnant and forcing the necessity of a marriage that she needed more than wanted. So instead, I settled on "purchasing" a whore from Madame Ora's Maison des Femmes in Carson City who I ended up keeping in a tidy, little blue house on the edge of town that had been owned by the bank. I'm sure, after a while, everyone in Virginia City knew Lorraine 'served' me as the cheque for the purchase came from my private Virginia City account. But most people and store owners treated her respectfully—on my behalf, I'm sure. Lorraine wasn't exotic or mysterious or even buxom, just a lovely, small-breasted, slender girl, not yet 30, from Omaha with curly blonde hair and friendly brown eyes who was amenable and had no qualms about participating in any sexual act, all which she performed admirably; besides, she seemed to genuinely care for me. Her only flaws were that she was sadly ignorant and talked too much but since her chatting required no response from me, just that I listen or pretend to, I didn't mind; it seemed a small thing considering all she did for me, the main one being she kept me sane.

Anyway, it was one sunny Saturday afternoon that my father and I along with Joe, were helping Hoss add a room onto the back of their little house for the expected baby; the addition would transform it into a "saltbox" style mainly familiar to those living in the east. While the newlyweds had been away on their honeymoon, we and all of Hoss' friends which he had in legion, had quickly erected the original simple house and a barn so Cindy could be the mistress of her own domain after their honeymoon. Hoss had been overwhelmed.

So, while Hoss and I set the framing, our father had climbed up the ladder to the standing roof, a roll of felt paper over his shoulder, while Joe, pausing in his sawing, called out, "Be careful, Pa! That stuff's heavy!" Our father either mis-stepped or slipped because he fell to the ground and lay unable to move or even speak as the wind had been knocked from him. At first glance, he looked dead.

Hoss and I carefully put him in the buckboard after tossing out any building materials and lay him carefully on the blankets and pillow Cindy had brought out. Joe sat in the back with him and I drove the buckboard as fast as I dared, with Hoss sitting beside me, to Paul Martin's practice on the edge of town. After an examination, we were told that our father, who was confused and made no sense when answering any questions, appeared to be paralyzed but, Paul said, it may only be a shock to his system. We should leave him in the infirmary overnight where he and his wife who also served as his nurse of sorts, could watch over him; he should know more in the morning.

None of us spoke on the ride back to Hoss' where Cindy came out to meet us, her eyes red from having cried; she was tremendously fond of her father-in-law. She fell into Hoss' arms, sobbing anew once she heard it seemed serious.

"Adam, Joe," Hoss said to us, "come by t'morrow and I'll go with you to check on Pa. Iffen Pa's still bad…or worse, well, it'll be easier to hear it together."

I didn't relish telling Hop Sing about the accident and my father's condition. But he took it stoically, not saying anything which meant he was more upset than he could express. He had saved two plates in the oven, and I'm sure he had been prepared to chastise my father and me for being late and ruining dinner. But now he placed one plate in front of me as I sat at the kitchen table. After fussing about the kitchen for a bit, Hop Sing sat down with me and asked me to, "Tell again about father." So, I repeated what happened and what Dr. Martin had said while he silently listened, intently watching my face. Then he nodded and left the kitchen. A few minutes later as I poured myself a second cup of coffee, the sweet, heavy scent of incense wafted my way; Hop Sing was importuning his ancestors or his gods on my father's behalf.

That Sunday morning, standing in Paul's office, he said he would like to keep our father for another night. Once our father was back home, he would need bedrest and care around the clock for a few weeks, "It's a good thing he's managed to stay in such fine, physical condition for a man in his 60's or it could have been far worse and the prognosis different."

"Well…" Hoss said, "I guess durin' the day Cindy and Hop Sing could sorta handle that until the baby comes….and Adam's there at night…"

I put up my hand to stop Hoss. "Just what is the prognosis?" I asked.

"Well, have a seat," Paul offered.

"Just tell us," I said.

"Okay." Paul faced us. "In situations like this, there are possible complications—initially. Renal failure from an infection in the urethra and pressure sores."

"What sores?" Hoss asked and Joe looked at me and then back to Paul and to me again.

"I know what they are," I said. "Nasty business."

"Why?" Joe asked. His face took on that look he always gets when our father is ill or possibly harmed. "Why is it nasty business?"

Paul answered. "When a patient can't move on their own, just lays in one position, where there's pressure, a sore forms and it can eat it's way to the bone." Joe's face went white. "But that can be prevented if the patient is moved every two hours."

I sighed. I knew that meant every two hours at night as well. "What about renal failure?" I asked. "Will he need a catheter?"

"So far, no. He has no bladder control though, so he's diapered. He has to be changed every few hours so his skin doesn't suffer from the wetness."

"Wait," Hoss said. "You mean diapered like a baby is?" Hoss was truly confused and upset. I suppose the idea of our father being as helpless as a baby was almost more than he could bear. It upset me as well but I couldn't show it.

"Hoss, Joe" I said, "look, we'll just do what has to be done. Hop Sing's there during the day and I'm there at night. We'll manage." Joe and Hoss both said they'd help out during the day when they could. Hoss was in charge of the timbering and Joe the mines and would head to the house whenever they could. But that still left the nights for me and I had a business to run, our business.

"Now listen," Paul said, "I know your situations so…." He opened a drawer and pulled out a brochure and handed it to me. It was for nursing companions provided by the 'City and Council Hospital of San Francisco'. "I've recommended them many times before and there haven't been any complaints; the hospital scrutinizes their employees carefully. Remember the Haggertys?"

I did. Mrs. Haggerty suffered the wasting sickness and once she died, Mr. Haggerty married the nursing companion who had tended his wife, posthaste. Gossip was he and the nurse had been happily rolling about in the spare bedroom every night while Mrs. Haggerty lay in a laudanum-induced slumber until finally, she took her last breath. But those were only rumors which I never believed as the second Mrs. Haggerty was anything but a beauty; she was a homely woman with bad skin, bad teeth and sagging breasts; hardly the mien of a seductress.

"Mr. Haggerty couldn't have managed his wife's care otherwise," Paul added. "Anyway, a doctor has to submit the request and I'm more than happy to wire for a nurse to help with your father. Hop Sing can't constantly be on call for him and neither can any of you unless you devote yourself totally to his care at the exclusion of everything else including your business…and your personal lives." I wondered if that last part was meant for me regarding the blue house on the edge of town.

My brothers and I looked at each other. Joe shrugged and shifted about and Hoss pressed his lips together and shoved his hands in his pockets. I opened the brochure and quickly looked it over. "Thanks, Paul and yes," I said, looking him in the eye, "send the wire." I slipped the brochure inside my jacket to read later. "Can we see our father now?"