I had a devil of a time writing this chapter. But I hope you enjoy/like it and my characterization of Adam. Thanks for reading and leaving feedback.
Edited in: I don't think notifications are going out as I didn't receive one after posting this chapter. Another day, another glitch,
3
I left my horse at Grandon's Livery as usual, but told him not to unsaddle, just loosen the cinch as I'd be back within a few hours' time. Everything I did anymore was "as usual." During the war, I had longed for a usual day, longed to return to my normal life. But once the war was over, I tried to get back to my previous life. Tried to lose myself in books and music, in carnal pleasure but the desire for something unexpected was always there nibbling at the base of my brain like a mouse at a grain sack no matter how much I tried to ignore it. I thought managing the family business, setting up an office away from the demands of the ranch would be a challenge, would help, but it didn't.
On the short walk to the office, I heard my name called. Turning, I saw Martha Stafford, the woman I'd courted in the recent past, hurrying to me. I couldn't help but admire how lovely she was and my pleasure on seeing her surprised me.
"Martha, how good to see you," I almost kissed her cheek but anyone watching might assume I was courting her again; best not to give gossips any fodder. But I did take both her hands in mine for a brief moment. It's strange to see someone on the street who had seen you with your cock and balls swinging and viewed your white, hairy ass when you put on your pants to leave, but other than being celibate, what can a man do?
"Good to see you too, Adam, I mean outside of church and such. But I heard about your father and was wondering how he's doing. I've always liked him so much and he was so nice to Allison and Penny that when I heard he was close to death, I…" Her tears began and she used her gloved fingers to wipe them off her cheeks.
"Martha, my father is in a bad way but I wouldn't say close to death. And we have a nurse now to help with his care; we're hoping he'll recover quickly. Please don't cry." I always feel helpless in the presence of a woman's tears but that's probably why they employ them; it's a cheap weapon.
Martha smiled weakly and sniffed. "If you need anything, Adam, just ask. And if you ever feel the need for a sympathetic ear…or more, you're welcome to come by anytime."
"Thank you, Martha. I appreciate the invitation." I tipped my hat again and turned but I felt her light touch on my arm. I turned back and her whole expression had changed to one of…the only way I can describe it is that it was almost seductive, holding the promise of sex. It's hard for any man to resist that and I felt the familiar crawl up my belly.
"I'm serious, Adam. You're welcome to drop by anytime. The girls are in school during the day so perhaps you can come by sometime for lunch and stay for a talk; so much has happened in the last year. And I still make a tasty peach cobbler. Consider it."
I wasn't sure if Martha was offering herself or the cobbler but I didn't want to start again; my life was becoming more complicated by the minute. "Thank you, again, Martha. If I can find the time, perhaps I will. Tell your girls hello for me." And she turned on her heel to walk away but as I watched, she glanced back over her shoulder and smiled, looking like a woman who wanted to be fucked.
My office was on the second floor and Mrs. Morrisey looked up as if surprised to see me; I wondered why. She even stood up, flustered as if she'd been up to no good, as if she'd been in the petty cash box. "Good morn…I mean good afternoon, Mr. Cartwright."
Mrs. Morrisey hated to be seen as fallible in any regard, her clothes were always starched and pristine, her hair carefully caught in a bun, no stray hairs allowed to escape. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Morrisey. Would you bring me some coffee?"
"Of course, sir." She moved toward the small stove that held our coffee pot. I pulled out my key and unlocked my office door and once inside, hung up my hat, trail coat and my shoulder holster. During the war, I became so used to wearing a shoulder holster high and reversed, that now I couldn't see why anyone would wear a holster strapped to the thigh. Besides, my jacket hid it which confounded any opposition, making them wonder if I was armed or not.
I pushed aside the drapes and stared out the tall window to the street below; people went about their normal business. Makes a man realize how unimportant he is and I often wondered how life would go on without me. But it would. At the knock on my door, I turned and Mrs. Morrisey came in, gingerly holding a coffee mug so as not to spill any. "Thank you. Anything this morning?" I sat and started fanning out the papers on my desk while she set down the mug.
"There was quite a bit of mail this morning; I'll bring it in." I nodded without looking up. "Have you eaten anything, Mr. Cartwright? I can run to the diner and fetch some soup or perhaps some beef stew?"
I pulled out my pocket watch; It was almost 2:00. "Thank you. I am hungry, haven't eaten since breakfast. Anything will do." But Mrs. Morrisey still stood. "Yes?"
"I was wondering how your father is today? I don't mean to pry but people are saying he's at death's door."
I wondered who was going around saying my father was dying but it appeared to be the word on the street. "I was late today because my brother Hoss and I delivered a nurse to the Ponderosa. I'm hoping that she'll be able to do more than my clumsy efforts have. He's well enough to complain about almost everything so I'd say he's improving but thank you for asking after him."
"Then it would be all right if I took a pie or cobbler and paid a short visit to him after church." It was a statement, not a question. I paused before I answered, considering Mrs. Holland.
"Of course. I don't see why that would be a problem." From my experience, all women are unpredictable and I had no idea how Mrs. Holland would react to a female visiting her patient or anyone visiting for that matter.
"Good," she said. "Miss Varney has access to her father's buggy and I'm sure she'll be glad to drive me over. I believe you know her, Mr. Cartwright. She's such a pretty young thing, don't you agree?" I offered a slight smile.
~ 0 ~
Mrs. Morrisey returned with ham and biscuit sandwiches; the biscuits were cold and not as good as Hop Sing's but passable. I ate while opening and reading the mail and found a wire from Harland Bolling, procurement officer for the Central Pacific Railroad which, according to his wire, was rebuilding the Yolo-Sacramento Bridge; he wanted to meet with me that coming Monday. It had been years since I had been to Sacramento, even before "City" was dropped from its name. Sacramento had a history of floods and fires, the last fire in '52 which caused the city to be rebuilt mainly with brick, and the last flood was just a few years ago in '62; the city had been rebuilt many times and Ponderosa pine had been used in building a few of its iterations. I had been following the "war" between the Central Pacific Railroad and the California Pacific Railroad over control of the area as an expansion was needed for businesses to ship produce and other goods. And then there was the Sacramento Valley Railroad to consider. But let the railroads fight it out.
I arranged the letters that needed responses, buckled on my holster, put on my Stetson and grabbed my jacket. "I'm leaving for Sacramento Saturday evening," I told Mrs. Morrisey. "These need the standard replies," I said, placing the letters on her desk. "As for these. I'll dictate replies when I return so just file them." I put those letters in a different spot and slipped on my jacket, going to lock my office door. "And pull the latest files on lumber prices."
"Of course. Are you leaving for the day then?" She went to the file and found the one I needed; my father kept track of the prices of lumber and after the war, they had gone sky-high and were only now coming down. I noted a hint of disapproval in Mrs. Morrisey's voice but whether it was because I'd miss the Sunday arrival of the vaunted Miss Varney or the assumed neglect of my father, I didn't know nor did I care. I had a wire to send and a woman to inform I'd be gone for a week. I took the proffered files, told Mrs. Morrisey to manage the office for the next week and that she could leave when she chose and to lock up.
I sent a reply to Bolling that I would contact his Sacramento office Monday. Since I had no idea what hotels still stood after the last flood, I'd find accommodations once there. The only part of the trip I dreaded were my business clothes. Not only had women's clothing styles become more sophisticated and stylish now that Sacramento was the state capital, but men's styles had as well. No string ties, bolos, Stetsons or trail coats at business meetings, but day coats and stiff shirt colors and cravats. My father had gifted me a gold nugget stickpin to adorn it, but I felt like a goddamn fool dressed that way. But business transactions require deceit in one form or another so I wore my "business" disguise and everyone thought I was a gentleman obeying the unspoken rules; my calculated bargaining always caught them by surprise. The only thing I refused to wear was the damnable bowler or top hat so during the day, I went without.
Lorraine and Mei were in the yard, Lorraine on her knees wielding a trowel, and Mei holding a watering can, planting what seemed to be petunias. Mei saw me first and quickly announced my arrival. Lorraine stuck the trowel in the soil and stood, pulling off her gardening gloves and smiling at me. Under the brim of her bonnet, she was rosy-cheeked from gardening and sweat glistened on her face and neck, the top few buttons of her little cotton dress revealing her damp skin and the tops of her round breasts; I had a sudden urge to throw her onto the grass, toss her skirts up and have my way with her but instead, I swept her up in my arms and with Mei trying to keep up with me, I carried Lorraine through the front door, ordering Mei to stay outside and tend to the garden; best she not see what I was going to do to Missy Lorraine and I winked at her. Mei stood open-mouthed, imaging unknown horrors, I'm sure.
I'm not one for brutality; there's enough of that in the world without my adding to it, but I'm not above a bit of depravity. Lorraine often requested the flat of my hand on her sweet rump until it turned a flaming red and she sometimes wanted sex hard and rough. Other times, she would pleasure herself with a smooth ivory dildo while I watched; she was a bit of an exhibitionist from the way she positioned herself to the moans and cries she uttered to delight me more than herself, but I'm not complaining. As I said, men like to watch and I certainly did like to watch her. But that late afternoon, I just relished Lorraine's smells and the heat from her cunt. It didn't take long for Lorraine to make me hard again and so I flipped her on her stomach and raised her to her knees; she was so excited her ass waggled like the tail of a happy puppy as he encouraged me to enter her so I spread those cheeks and took her hot, tight hole; that alone was enough, I was sure, to last me my whole trip to Sacramento.
About two years ago, I asked a publisher friend in New York to procure a banned novel for me—Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure written by John Cleland. He found one with some enticing illustrations and sent it. I took it to Lorraine and since she could barely read, she would ask me to read to her and after a chapter or two and viewing the illustrations, she slipped her deft fingers between her legs, moving them about until she became so excited she begged me to fuck her. I did and after that, occasionally read her a "bedtime story'. Many a time, she would point to one of the illustrations and ask if we could do what it depicted; I was always happy to oblige. She kept the book under her mattress and I'm sure she often pulled it out just for the drawings of what many would call depraved acts-a matter of opinion. But I guess women like to look as well as men.
Holding onto my arm, Lorraine walked me out. Mei had been sitting on the top step of the porch but I'm sure she had heard us through the open bedroom window; I wouldn't be surprised if she'd peeked in to watch but she quickly stood up to let us pass.
"I wish you wouldn't be gone so long," Lorraine said as I checked the saddle's cinch. "I'll miss you. I suppose I'll have to tend to myself until you get back," she said with a naughty grin.
I mounted up and turned my horse's reins. "As long as you don't get another man to tend to your needs because if you do, I'll kick your sweet ass out despite how much I enjoy fucking it."
"Adam! How could you think such a thing?" Lorraine did look honestly offended but she was good at performing, had to be in her profession. And although we never swore love to one another, I did demand exclusivity; after all, I paid the bills and considered her more an employee than a lover. She needed to be reminded of that every so often.
~ 0 ~
It had been dark at least an hour when I rode into the yard of the Ponderosa. The barn boy tended to my horse and when I entered the house, it was full of smells of roast chicken and biscuits and apple pie, but the house was calm; Hop Sing and Mrs. Holland must have reached a treaty. Either that or she was buried in the backyard with a meat cleaver in her skull.
Hop Sing came out into the great room while I unbuckled my holster, placing it on the credenza. "Father say you stay in town," Hop Sing said, annoyed. "You eat dinner, yes?"
"Yes. I worked up quite an appetite. Besides, I have to leave on a business trip to Sacramento tomorrow evening and need to pack. Do I have enough shirts?" I asked.
"You want take shirt with ruffles? Need to iron in morning. You bring down what you want and Hop Sing iron."
"Thanks, Hop Sing." I started to the stairs but asked, "Mrs. Holland still here?"
"Yes—her still here. Upstairs with father. Her say she take care of him nights and she sleep days. Stay out of Hop Sing's way, Hop Sing's kitchen. All fine." He went back to the kitchen and I went upstairs to visit my father.
I stepped inside his bedroom and he was sitting up against the headboard, Mrs. Holland in the chair pulled close to the bed and they both held cards although my father's hands shook a bit; they were playing gin.
"Who's winning?" I asked and my father scowled back at me. This was the most engaged I had seen him all week.
"Well," Mrs. Holland said, "we've both won two games. If I win this one, your father has to allow me to give him a sponge bath after dinner. If he wins, he gets to steep in his own filth for another day." She pulled the card off the stock pile and after discarding another, triumphantly called out, "Gin!" She grinned and triumphantly spread her cards out on the coverlet. "Well, Mr. Cartwright, I'll go see if Hop Sing has that chicken broth ready yet." Mrs. Holland, obviously happy at having won, left the bedroom.
My father's shoulders sagged as he leaned his head back. I picked up the cards and put them back into the wooden box with inlay mother-of-pearl hearts, clubs, diamonds and spades on the lid. "You okay, Pa?"
"I swear, that woman must have been a dealer in some gambling house. I usually win at Gin." He was hoarse; he must have been talking quite a bit but knowing him, he'd been arguing.
"Hasn't been my experience, Pa. You usually lose to me." I put the box on his bedstand and took a deep breath. "I'm have to leave tomorrow for Sacramento."
"Oh? Take me with you, will you? I'll go anywhere away from the bossy woman." He was obviously tired, gray circles under his eyes, but he was interested. I took that for a good sign.
"The Yolo-Sacramento bridge is being rebuilt for trains as well as wagon and pedestrian traffic. The railroads are finally coming in from both the east and west and they need ties. Should be gone about a week if all goes well. Will you be okay for that long?"
"Ask Mrs. Holland; she seems to know everything. Claimed playing cards would help my dexterity but I think that next time, it'll be for money," he said and then let out a deep sigh. "Is there anything else I should know about?"
"Not that I can think of. Oh, except you may very well have company Sunday afternoon—Mrs. Morrisey and Miss Varney and probably a cake. Rumor is you're at death's door." He gave a snort. "Are you comfortable?"
"If you would just help me to sit up higher…I slouched during the game; kept dropping cards. She must have counted on that, seeing what I had and that's how she won. Cheated." I had to smile; my father couldn't stand being bested. I grasped him under the arms and gently pulled him up so he sat upright. I adjusted the pillows and the coverlet.
"Now you're all ready for your dinner and then a nice bath." I looked down at him. So many nights he had sat up with me and my brothers when we were ill; he was our rock. But now he looked frail, having lost quite a bit of weight in just a week and my heart ached with love. His loss would be hard on me when it came. But not now. I wouldn't allow it.
"She talks to me like I'm a child; I don't need it from you as well. But speaking of baths, seems you need one as well." he said. "You smell a little musky." He raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Come back up after dinner and maybe Mrs. Holland will sponge you down as well."
"No, that's just for you, Pa. Enjoy it. I leave you in the capable hands of Nurse Holland and if you two are married by the time I get back from Sacramento, I'll know it was a really good sponge bath and she scrubbed you in all the right places."
He smiled and closed his eyes. "Well, might as well get our money's worth."
