Benita Watson
by Calim11
Feedback is appreciated
Disclaimer: The characters and
general situations in this story are the property of Bonanza Ventures, Inc.,
however I reserve the rights to the specific details. It is not my
intention to infringe upon their rights; this story is purely for the enjoyment
of fans. Please do not redistribute in any form
Tuesday
“Hello,
Hoss, Joe,” Benita Watson said with a warm smile. They returned her smile and tipped their
hats, quickly stepping into Mr. Harry Gardner’s General Store and peered out
the front window knowing their big brother was right behind them. Joe giggled as they watched Adam, distracted
by something they’d pointed out to him in the other window, plow right into
Benita and bounce back against the wall, himself showered with the many small
packages she carried.
Now
it was said that walking into Benita Watson was like walking into a
mountain. It wasn’t that she was taller
than most men (although she was as tall as Adam) or even larger than Wally Turner
(the rather large baker at the International House) it was just that she was,
well . . . big boned as Hoss called it, and solid. Currently, she held her hand to her mouth and
breathed a soft “oh” as Adam recovered, pushing himself away from the wall to
pick up her packages from the sidewalk.
Finished with that little task, he stood and touched his hat, giving her
a small grin.
“Miss
Benita.”
“Adam.” She beamed back at him, batting her
eyelashes and he sighed.
He
knew his brothers had purposely distracted him so they could make their
escape. Joe’s giggles confirmed that
suspicion as he caught them looking through Mr. Gardner’s window. Smirking, he hefted the heavy packages in his
arms, wondering what was in them, and looked at the young woman before him.
Benita
Watson, just returned from schooling in the East, had known the Cartwright boys
forever. They’d all met her in differing
circumstances, all resulting in stays at Dr. Paul Martin’s office. To say she was accident-prone was not correct. To say that she caused accidents was more truthful. Never intentionally, of course. Things just seemed to happen around her. Why her first meeting with Adam had been an
up close and personal with her buggy resulting in ten stitches to his upper
lip; Hoss found himself wallowing in a mud hole with two pigs and Joe, well,
Joe had had the privilege of drawing her name at one of the town dances. He wasn’t able to wear boots for a week. Yes, Benita Watson was well known to the
Cartwright boys.
“Adam,
are we still on for the dance Saturday?” she asked, excitement lighting up
every word. He so hated to tell her the
truth, but he might as well get it over with.
“Miss
Benita,” he began, “I was going to find you today and tell you that my back’s
been acting up and I didn’t know if I’d be very good company. I hope it’s not too late to find another
dance partner.” Her face fell and he
immediately felt guilty. It was
true! His back did hurt. After being
slammed into a corral fence while trying to break a mustang just yesterday and
he had, as Ben remarked, a hitch in his get along. Dancing didn’t seem to be in the cards this
weekend.
“Oh,”
she said then quickly recovered. “But I
don’t mind. We could just sit and
talk. I can tell you all about school.”
“Well,
. . .” Adam began only to be interrupted by a new voice from inside the General
Store.
“I’ll
take ya, Miss Benita.” They both turned
seeing Oren Fudge moving into the doorway, a silly grin on his long face.
Oren
Fudge was visually the direct opposite of Benita. About Joe’s height and skinny
(or lean and lanky as he liked to call it) with only a few hairs remaining on
his head, he managed to call everyone friend.
His family owned a farm just outside town and, as far as Adam knew,
never had spared a glance at Benita before this. Ah, the plot thickens.
“Oren,”
Benita stuttered. “Well, I don’t know .
. .”
“Oren! You forgot your flour!” shouted Mr. Gardner
from inside his store.
“Wait
just a second,” he said bounding back inside, leaving Adam to raise his brows
and smile at her once again.
“Well,
Miss Benita, seems like you have a suitor,” he said watching her face squinch
up like she’d smelled a skunk.
“Oren?”
“You’ve
known him about as long as you’ve known me.
He plays a mean game of pinochle.”
“But
. . . Oren?” she repeated her head simply not wrapping about that at all. Tall, dark and handsome to skinny . . . ah,
lean and lanky and, well, Oren-like?
“Whatcha
say, Miss Benita?” Oren practically yelled as he came bounding out of the store. Well, his loud question coinciding with an
equally loud clatter from inside the store (pans it sounded like) made such a
racket that everyone jumped, including Benita.
She whirled toward the noise, her arms flying out and catching the
packages in Adam’s arms, which flew into his face.
Assailed
by the heavy items, he stepped backwards onto Oren’s foot and, losing his
balance, fell against him. In a
desperate attempt to grab something solid, Oren let fly his newly bought bag of
flour high above him and head-butted Mr. Gardner who’d come out to see what all
the commotion was about. It was Mr.
Gardner’s turn to then stumble back against the china cabinet by the front door
of his store making it wobble this way and that, Hoss and Joe frantically
trying to catch the plates and cups that zipped through the air from the
teetering display.
“Oh,
my!” Benita was heard to say, hand over her mouth, as the calamity came to a
noisy conclusion, followed by a deafening silence and a snow shower of flour.
Mr.
Gardner lay clutching a delicate gravy boat half on and half off his display
letting out a breath as everything came to a halt. He winced though when Hoss lost his grip on
one of the plates and shattered the sudden silence.
“Sorry,
Mr. Gardner,” he said with a swallow carefully putting the rest of his catch on
the counter next to the pans Joe had most recently knocked to the floor.
“It’s
all right, Hoss,” he answered daring not to move from his precarious position.
Adam
raised himself to his elbows and shook his head, flour flying in every
direction, pressing a hand gently against his left eye. What was in those packages?! Taking a second, he decided he’d better get
up and help Mr. Gardner recover what he could.
Having
difficulty finding traction on the flour-covered sidewalk and deciding the best
method would be to move to his knees, he grabbed onto the barrel of shovels in
front of him to steady himself. His
twinging back reminded him at that moment that if it wasn’t the mustang it was
definitely this that made dancing a no-no this weekend.
Beginning
to rise, he stopped as a shadow fell over him forcing him to look up directly
into the shocked face of Benita Watson.
He didn’t know if it was the angle or not but it appeared she was headed
directly toward him in an uncontrolled fall.
Automatically raising his arms, he caught her, her momentum pushing them
into the barrel of shovels scattering them everywhere.
“Ohhh!”
was heard above this new noise as the two rolled through the shovels and off
the sidewalk and into the muddy street to land in a breath-expelling heap. People said they couldn’t even see Adam lying
underneath Benita, her dress having flown over her head covering them both. Only his hat was visible upside down in the
mud.
Mr.
Gardner leaned out as far as he dared to see what was happening as Hoss and Joe
stepped past him and over a flour-covered Oren to see what had happened to
their brother. Shovels littered the
sidewalk and Benita’s bloomers were there for everyone to see along with her
panicky voice calling to the man beneath her.
“Adam? Adam, are you all right?!” Wondering where their brother was under all
that dress, Hoss and Joe jumped into the muddy street, Hoss helping Benita to
her feet. Both raised their brows as
Adam became visible as she stood, his yellow jacket covered in mud and
flour. He didn’t move. Joe knelt quickly by his side.
“Is
he all right?” Hoss asked, worry etching his face.
“Out
cold,” Joe answered as Benita’s hand moved to her now flour covered face. “He’s got a right nice lump on his head.”
“Oh,
goodness.” Hoss patted her on the
shoulder raising a dusting of flour.
“Probably
all them shovels, Miss Benita,” he said with slight cough. “Don’t you worry none. We’ll get him over to Doc Martin’s and he’ll
be right as rain in a jiffy. He’s got a
hard head.” Hoss leaned over and picked
up his unconscious brother, Joe grabbing Adam’s wayward hat.
“I
should go with you,” Benita said taking a step after them, dusting off her
hands.
“No,
no,” Joe said a bit too quickly, holding up his hand and making her stop, sure
that his feet were well away from hers.
“You stay here and help Oren and Mr. Gardner. We’ll take care of Adam.”
“If
you think that’s best,” she said not even thinking about how fast Joe was
moving down the street.
“We
do, Miss Benita,” Joe called out to her with a quick smile as he followed after
his brothers. “We do!”
“I’ll
stop by later to see if he’s okay!” she called seeing Joe wave at her then
disappear inside the doctor’s office.
Sighing, she turned back toward the store to see what she could do to
help finding Oren standing directly behind her giving her a flour-covered smile.
“I’d
be glad ta take ya to the dance, Miss Benita, what with Adam lookin’ like he
won’t be standin’ anytime soon.” Her
eyes narrowed and her mouth pursed up, hands flying to her hips. The smile quickly left his face.
“Oren
Fudge,” she began. “Adam could really be
hurt. You shouldn’t be saying things
like that.” He began to fidget.
“Well,
its jest that ya want ta go ta the dance and I’m more than willin’ to take
ya. I don’t see what ya see in him
anyways. Jest because he’s got perfect
teeth and talks nice don’t mean he’s better than me.”
“Better
than I am,” she corrected. She was a
teacher after all. Now this is odd. I’ve known Oren since I was little and he’d
never even looked sideways at me and now, all of a sudden, he wanted to take me
to the dance. Well, I don’t think so, mister! “Either I go to the dance with Adam
Cartwright or not at all.”
Raising
her chin in defiance she turned from Oren, pulled her dress up (so as not to
trip again) and marched back toward the General Store, ignoring the looks from
the growing crowd. Stepping inside a
loud crash sounded followed by a raging bellow.
“MY
GRAVY BOAT!”
* *
* * * * * * * *
“I
send you boys to get supplies,” Ben Cartwright began in quiet measured tones,
his hands rising up, “and one of you ends up at Paul’s!” he ended loudly, his
hands falling to slap against his thighs.
He stood quietly then, shutting his eyes, taking a breath and forcing
himself to be calm. “What happened?”
“Benita
Watson,” both Hoss and Joe said without hesitation. Ben’s brows flew up as his eyes popped open.
“Oh.” No other explanation was necessary.
“Come
on in, boys,” Paul Martin said opening the door to the surgery, his eyes
falling on Ben. “You, too, Ben.”
They
all filed in to see Adam’s flour covered self sitting up on the exam table,
shirt open to reveal heavily wrapped ribs, one hand holding an ice pack over
his left eye and the other one to the back of his head. There his son sat - a vision of flour, mud
and bruises. Ben didn’t know if he
wanted the story or not. It should be a
doozie.
“Hi,
Pa,” Adam said with a weak smile as Ben approached.
“Let
me see,” he said in his most fatherly way pulling the pack from Adam’s
eye. He winced at the sight.
“Benita
Watson.”
“I
heard.”
“At
least you won’t have ta go ta the dance with her now,” Hoss said. Adam peeked around Ben’s arms.
“Oh,
I’m going. I promised,” he answered
putting the ice back on his tender eye.
Always the upright Adam.
“Son,”
Paul began nearing the table, “you aren’t going to be doing any dancing for a
couple of weeks, maybe a month. She
broke two of your ribs.”
“She?”
Ben asked, looking from one son to the other.
“It
was an accident, Pa,” Adam explained.
“She?”
“Miss
Benita,” Joe provided. Tossing him a
questioning glance, Hoss took up the slack.
“Fell
on him, Pa, right out there in the street.”
“Fell
on him,” Ben repeated trying to picture it in his head.
“More
like fell on him, rolled into a barrel of shovels and landed hard in the
street,” Paul added, Hoss and Joe looking at him. “I was watching through the window.”
“So
that’s why the door was open,” Hoss said with a grin.
“Always
good to be prepared,” Paul answered as he replaced his instruments on their
tray.
“I thought
going away to school, learning new things, building up her confidence would
break her out of her . . . her . . .”
Ben stopped, searching for the right word.
“Klutziness,”
Joe stated.
“Awkwardness,”
Ben added in a reproachful tone followed by a glare to his youngest. Joe lowered his eyes and fidgeted with
something on his pants.
“She’s
a jumpy thing, I’ll give ya that,” Hoss added with a nod.
“A
loud noise started the whole thing, Pa,” Adam explained squinting his eyes
against the pounding in his head.
“Sounded like pans falling.”
“Pans?”
Joe asked, a worried look crossing his face.
“That’s
what it sounded like and then it all snowballed from there.” Joe glanced at Hoss who shook his head hoping
neither Ben nor Adam saw the look of guilt pass between them. “She just tries too hard,
“Now,
Adam,” Paul began, “it’s not wise for you to be gallivanting across the dance
floor with two broken ribs and a concussion.
You might just keel over.”
“I
promised, Paul. I promised as soon as
she came back from school, I’d take her to the first dance, like a welcome home
gesture.”
“She’ll
have to find someone else,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Couldn’t
you’ve just given her a book or something?” Joe asked. “It’s safer.”
“Ha,
ha,” Adam said, holding his ribs as a pain passed through him.
“Dr.
Martin,” came Benita’s voice from the front door. “Is Adam still here?” Both Hoss and Joe flattened themselves against
the wall and Ben jumped like a rattlesnake had snuck up on him. Paul grinned and looked to Adam. He nodded.
“He’s
in here, Miss Benita.” Quietly, she
moved through the waiting room seeing Adam hastily trying to button his shirt,
cringing at the black eye already forming on his handsome face.
“Oh,
Adam, did I do that?” she said tentatively reaching for the injury. He leaned back, out of reach, and grabbed her
hand.
“No,
I did that, Benita,” he began. “I’m just
clumsy. What did you have in those
packages anyway?” he asked, touching his swollen eye. “Rocks?”
“Actually,
yes.” He raised his brows. She glanced around at the men in the
room. “I promised the girls in my class
to send back rocks for their collections.”
“Rocks,”
Hoss repeated as she nodded.
“Rocks,”
she said, lowering her head. “Oh, I’m
always causing problems.” Adam squeezed
her hand.
“It
was an accident, Benita,” Adam said.
“Don’t worry about it.” She
turned from him to Paul who’d expertly put himself between her and his
instrument tray. It wasn’t until later
that he thought how dangerous that could have been.
“Doctor,
will he be all right?”
“He’ll
be just fine, Miss Benita, with some rest.”
“I’m
glad,” she nodded. “Well, thanks anyway,
Adam.”
“For
what?”
“For
wanting to take me to the dance. Maybe
we’ll go next time.” She turned to leave
but Adam held onto her hand.
“If
you have someone else to take you, that’s fine, but I plan on being there.”
“But
you’re hurt . . .”
“Only
my head . . .
“And
your ribs,” Joe added. Adam scowled at
him.
“.
. . but not my dancing legs,” he said with a smile.
“Now,
Adam . . . ,” Paul began and was silenced with a look.
“I’ll
pick you up around
“Are
you sure? Doctor?”
“Positive,”
Adam interjected, eyeing Paul who shut his mouth on his objection. She beamed at him and he smiled back. “
“I
sent all the way to
“I
cannot not take her, Paul,” he
said. “I promised.”
“Look,
son . . . ,” Ben began but Adam held up his hand.
“Pa,
if I don’t take her she’ll be the laughing stock of the town.”
“She
already is,” Joe added with a snort getting a stern look from his big
brother. He looked the other way.
“And
it’s not deserved. She’s been to school,
she’s a trained schoolteacher, and she deserves the right to start over. We’ve known her forever,
“Just
remember she’s enamored with you, always has been. Don’t you think taking her to this dance
might not be such a good idea?” Adam put
the ice pack back on his eye and shrugged.
“I
promised,” he said with a sigh.
“All
right then,” he said turning to his other two boys. “Now, does anyone want to tell me how all this,”
he said, pointing at Adam’s flour covered form, “happened?”
“It
was like dominos, Pa,” Joe began eagerly ready to retell the tale.
“One
minute they was standin’, the next they was flat,” Hoss finished as Joe nodded.
“They?”
“Yessir,”
Hoss said. “Adam . . .”
“Mr.
Gardner . . .” Joe added.
“And
Oren Fudge,” they said together. Ben
looked at each of his son’s then sat down next to Adam on the table, pushing
his hat back off his forehead.
“From
the beginning,” he sighed as Hoss took a breath.
“Well,
we was mindin’ our own business when . . .”
Thursday
Two
days later, and finally able to move around by himself without pitching over,
Adam made his way out of the house slipping past the ever-vigilant Hop
Sing. Smiling at his escape, he rubbed
his hands together and breathed in the fresh air. His quick grab for the hitching post proved
that that was a regrettable action as a stabbing pain passed across his ribs
forcing sweat to pop out on his forehead and stars to flit in front of his
eyes. Groaning, he was in the process of
slowing his fast breathing when he chanced to open his eyes on Oren Fudge
standing in front of him, a mean look on his face.
“Holy
. . !” Adam cursed, jumping a foot and putting a shaky hand to his chest. “Oren!
Don’t sneak up on people. You
could get hurt,” he explained finally noticing a peculiar look in the man’s
eye, settling Adam’s ire and drawing his concern. “What’s the matter, Oren? Is something wrong?”
“Ya
could say that,” he answered continuing to glare at Adam who was perplexed to
say the least until he saw Oren raise his hands and turn them into fists.
“Now,
Oren, what’s this about?” he asked pushing himself away from the post, raising
his hands palms out.
“Ya
know. Don’t act like ya don’t,” he said moving
from side to side in front of Adam, turning up a dust cloud and making him
cough.
“I don’t know, Oren, or I wouldn’t
be asking,” Adam answered quietly hoping to distract him with this simple
statement. He could see Oren thinking on
it then watched him stop moving and sighed with relief. He was in no shape to take him on. “Now, what’s this all about?”
Oren
looked into Adam’s face, trying to see if he was lying or not ‘cause he never
thought Adam Cartwright was dense but then maybe that tumble though the shovel
barrel dented his head. Maybe he should
go easy on him. He lowered his hands.
“Miss
Benita,” he stated flatly looking away, missing Adam’s mouth falling open. Benita.
Benita Watson? “You all right,
Adam?” Oren asked looking up and seeing the idiotic face before him. Blinking a few times, Adam finally closed his
mouth and rubbed his hand across his forehead.
“Ah,
Miss Benita?” he asked, trying to look a bit smarter. He still had a concussion and this was taking
a moment, but then the light bulb went on and he began to smile. Oren thought he’d lost it for sure. “Oh.”
Leaning back against the post, he held his aching ribs and plastered a
smile across his face. Not one to be put
off, Oren once again raised his fists and began pumping them in the air.
“Well,
come on then,” he urged, thinking he could probably take Adam in his current
condition.
Adam
watched this skinny . . . ah, lean and lanky, man move his fists up and down,
walking in a semi circle in front of him.
Under normal circumstances he knew it would take one or two punches to
knock him to the ground if he had too, but he was severely limited at
present. The better part of valor and
all that.
“You
have me at a disadvantage, sir,” Adam admitted sounding quite noble to his own
ears, giving his opponent a very slight bow.
It stopped Oren flat. Wow, it
worked!
“A
disa what?” Any storybook resolution
gone with the wind, Adam sighed and tried something else.
“Broken
ribs. Can barely move,” he said pointing
to himself still not getting through to him, the pinched look on Oren’s face
proof of that. “You’ve got me, Oren,” he
said holding up his hands, “before we even start. I give up.”
Adam watched him digest the news then slowly lower his fists.
“Oh,
I guess . . . well, I guess that wouldn’t be fair,” Oren admitted, completely
dejected.
“Not
in the slightest. No,” he quickly added
seeing that look reappear on Oren’s face.
Shoving his now useless hands into his pockets, Oren kicked at the dirt.
“I
jest wanted ta take her ta the dance, Adam.
It’s taken me so long to git up the nerve. But, she’ll only go with you,” he said in a childish voice. Adam tried desperately not to grin and rubbed
his face with his hand to wipe it away.
“Well,
I promised her, Oren,” he explained, “before she even left for school.”
“I
know.” He pulled some bark from one of
the trees and fiddled with it. “Cain’t
ya jest, I don’t know, fall down the stairs or sumthin’? I could break yer foot fer ya,” he offered
with a smile.
“No,
no. That’s all right,” Adam quickly said
stepping back as Oren moved toward him.
“I
guess that wouldn’t be right,” he decided, leaning over the post. “Do ya love her, Adam?” The question came out of left field and
Adam’s brows flew up his forehead.
“What?” Oren turned toward him. Those shovels must’ve really done some
damage.
“Do
ya love her?” He was serious. Of course, he’s serious, you idiot! Can’t you see that look?
“Well,”
he began desperately trying to come up with something. Maneuvering a thoughtful look onto his face
he faced Oren. “Not in the traditional
manner.” There’s that look. “Just as a friend,” he simplified.
“Oh,”
he said fiddling with the post ties.
“Well, . . . I think . . . I think I might,” he admitted surprising
Adam. Never would’ve thought that.
“Might?” Oren nodded and stood up straight.
“I
definitely . . . might,” he said, his tone sure and solid.
“Definitely
might,” Adam mumbled.
“Yessir.” Blowing out a long breath, Adam draped his
arm around Oren’s shoulders and directed him toward the chairs on the porch.
“Well,
then, that’s whole different story.”
“Huh?”
“That
you definitely might.” Oren’s brows drew
together and he dropped into the
seat
Adam offered. “Do you even know how to
dance?” Adam asked as he sat down.
Oren’s face lit up.
“Do
I?! I’ll show ya.” Popping excitedly out of the chair, Oren
began to bounce around in a very chaotic way, Adam wincing at more than his
ribs. A few moments later he returned to
his chair, out of breath. “What about
that?” He smiled at Adam who tried to
keep his fake smile from turning into a grimace.
“O-k-a-y,”
he finally answered, Oren’s face falling at the tone and the look.
“Oh.” Adam quickly patted Oren’s arm.
“It’s
not that it isn’t good,” he began trying to gloss over the complete badness of
what he’d just seen, “it’s just that it’s different than what happens at these
dances.” Whew! I need to bottle that for future use. “If I could teach you a dance or two before
Saturday, you could . . .”
“I
could cut in on you!” Oren finished excited again.
“Exactly,”
Adam said with a smile.
“Ya
think that could work?” he asked, his smile returning to his face.
“We
can try. Are you game?” Oren fidgeted suddenly supremely aware of
what little he had to offer her.
“WelI,
I ain’t never danced fancy like. I don’t
know . . .”
“M-i-s-s
B-e-n-i-t-a,” was all Adam said, dragging out her name and wiggling his
brows. Oren smiled again.
“Okay,
let’s try.”
* *
* * * * * * * *
“Ow!”
Adam
sat in the blue chair with his head in his hands flinching at the oft-repeated
sound. Roping Hoss into helping hadn’t
been hard, he was after all just a bit taller than Benita, (Joe being too
short), but after the last few hours Adam didn’t know how long he’d be able to
keep his brother going. Sighing, he
watched Hoss limp over to the large red leather chair and fall into it, holding
onto his foot.
“I’m
really sorry, Hoss,” Oren said following after him.
“I
know you is, Oren. Ya don’t have ta keep
sayin’ it.” Throwing himself on the
settee, Oren’s face fell into his hands.
“I’m
jest not cut out fer this fancy footwork,” he moaned. “I don’t think this is gonna work,
Adam.” The sounds of three men sighing
filled the room.
“You
can’t give up, Mr. Oren,” came Hop Sing’s voice making them all look up. He moved out into the great room looking at
the three gloomy men deciding he needed to step in. “The path to true love is fraught with
danger. You must be strong.” Oren had that look again and Adam put his
hand over his mouth.
“Fraught?” Hop Sing opened his mouth then closed it
again throwing a look toward Adam.
“What
good are pearls of wisdom if no one get them?”
Hoss laughed as Adam bit his lip watching Hop Sing grab Oren’s hand and
deposit a cup of tea within it, pushing it towards his mouth. “Drink.
Will make you light on your
feet not Mr. Hoss’s.”
“What
is it?” Oren asked wrinkling his nose at the odd smell.
“Tea. Cure everything. Drink.”
“Tea? That’s fer sissies.” Hop Sing’s eyes narrowed and Hoss immediately
broke in.
“You’d
better drink it, Oren,” he said, “or he’ll pester ya good ‘til ya do.” Oren glanced at Adam who shrugged.
“Couldn’t
hurt.” He took one last look at Hop Sing
who motioned him to drink, waiting there until he did. Reluctantly he took a sip, the worry lines
creasing his face smoothing out after the first gulp.
“That’s
tasty,” he said.
“Of
course,” Hop Sing said. “Now drink
all. I bring more. You need lots of light feet.”
Saturday
Night
“Okay,
Oren, here they come,” Hoss said, the two of them secreted outside the dance
hall watching as Adam pulled the buggy to a stop, carefully easing himself to
the ground then just as carefully helping Benita out, yelping only once as she
stepped on his foot.
“She
sure looks purty,” Oren stated with a dreamy smile. Hoss shook him.
“Ya
don’t have time for that right now, Oren,” Hoss stated. “Now, ya remember what ya gotta do?” He nodded.
“Wait
‘til Adam gives me the sign then tap him on the shoulder and cut in nice like
ya showed me then dance the night away with Miss Benita.”
“That’s
right, Oren. My bruised feet are
countin’ on ya, son. Just remember to
wait for Adam’s sign.”
“I
will. Thanks, Hoss.” He shook Hoss’s hand, straightened his
oversized jacket (borrowed from Joe) and headed toward the backside of the
hall. Hoss took a deep breath and
moseyed on past Adam, winking at him then disappearing into the crowd. Adam took a breath, grinned at Benita and
stepped inside.
Music
filled the air along with flying dresses and grinning people, all of them, down
to Jeb Trunkett on the fiddle, glancing their way as they entered. He felt Benita stiffen and squeezed her hand.
“Don’t
worry,” he whispered to her. “You’re
going to wow them with that pretty dress of yours.”
“Do
you really think so?” she asked glancing toward him and running her hand
nervously across her middle. “It’s not
too gaudy?”
“Nonsense,”
he grinned scanning the crowd. “Why look
at Angela Porter over there by Dan Jergens.
Now that’s gaudy.” Benita looked
and giggled, covering her mouth.
“It
looks like all of Mr. Gardner’s bead selection blew up on her.”
“Exactly. And Miss Teresa Banks by the back exit
talking to Joe, too plain. And then
there’s Polly Smeed.” He leaned in close
and whispered. “Well, she just looks
like a saloon girl.”
“She
is a saloon girl, Adam,”
Benita whispered back.
“I
know, but she doesn’t have to look like one outside work.” He smiled at her and she gave him a small
laugh seeing the twinkle in his eyes.
“You’re
bad.”
“Very,”
he answered conspiratorially. “Now, what
say we proceed with caution and take it slow?
You don’t want me keeling over on you out there.” Taking a step forward, he was brought up
short when she failed to move, his ribs reminding him they still had power over
him. Grabbing his side, he moved back to
stand next to her. “What’s the matter?”
“I
know I was the one who wanted to come, but now that I’m here . . . Oh, I’ve already stepped on your toes. Are you sure you want to do this?” He grabbed her other hand and looked her in
the eye.
“Am
I, Adam Cartwright, being turned away?” he asked. “You’ll ruin my reputation, Miss
Benita.” Looking back at him she knew he
was kidding and loved him all the more for it.
Inwardly
she sighed. Her schoolgirl crush
remained in full bloom and would do so forever.
And she wasn’t so deluded to think that she even had a chance with this
tall, dark and handsome man who was just so, well, tall, dark and
handsome. But having him as a friend
would do just fine. She was taking too
long to answer and Adam moved in closer, a serious tone to his voice.
“Benita,
if you’d rather leave that’s fine with me.
I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” She heard his words then looked over the
crowd of annoyed young ladies and decided that whatever they thought, or
whatever they would say tomorrow, she had the best looking man on her arm
tonight. Go for it!
“Let’s
go,” she finally answered practically dragging him onto the dance floor. Gracefully recovering he followed after her,
ignoring the humorous looks he was receiving from the assembled ladies. He liked to think it was his black eye, which
was now turning a fashionable shade of yellowish purple and not his date that
was causing the whispers and smiles and searched the crowd for Oren. Finally spotting him near the punch bowl
hiding behind a plant, he looked away when Oren waved, trying not to roll his
eyes. Returning his attention to Benita,
he smiled at her as they moved into the rhythm of the dance.
It
occurred to Adam about halfway through that no harm had come to him or anyone
else for that matter. Did he dare tempt
fate and bring it up or keep the observation to himself? Oh, why not.
“Benita,”
he began, his insides cringing at what might follow, “we’ve been out here
twirling around and not once has anything gone awry.”
“I
didn’t want to say anything,” she admitted shyly. “It must have been all those dance lessons I
took when I was away at school. I
thought if I could control one thing in my life maybe other things would fall
into place.”
“It
seems to have worked.”
“I
don’t have problems when I’m sewing or teaching either, just when I’m out in
the world meeting people,” she said with a wave of her hand.
“Maybe
it’s because you don’t have to think about it.
Its second nature to you, you don’t have to try because you know you
can.” They stopped as the music did and
she turned to him.
“You’re
very smart, Mr. Cartwright.” He mirrored
her smile and then noticed that that smile seemed to be running away with her
face. She was either melting or he was
about to pass out. “Are you all
right? Adam?” she asked her smile fading
as she noticed the color draining from his face.
“Ah,
I think I should probably sit down for a minute.”
“Oh,
my.” Grabbing his arm, she led him
quickly toward one of the settees against the wall, motioning people aside as
she settled him down, stepping on Mr. Gardner’s foot in her hurry. Memories of the gravy boat mishap descended
upon him and he beat a hasty retreat.
Benita
pulled a kerchief from her sleeve and handed it to Adam who nodded his thanks
and wiped his brow, looking towards the rear of the building to see if he could
catch Oren’s eye. Now would be the
perfect time for him to make his play.
But all Adam’s eyes fell on was a large fellow with a scraggly beard and
a patched shirt eyeing him back, the sight interrupted as Hoss came into view.
“You
all right, Adam?” he asked, dragging Sadie Young behind him. “I saw Miss Benita pull ya off the floor.”
“I
just got a little lightheaded.”
“I
just danced his feet off,” Benita said with slight laugh. “Oh, not literally,” she finished. Hoss smiled and turned to Adam.
“If’n
ya want to go, just say the word.
“No,
no, I’ll be fine as long as I rest a bit.”
He eyed Hoss and inclined his head towards the back of the
building. Hoss’s brows came together
then flew apart.
“Gotcha. Come on, Sadie. There startin’ the Reel.” Adam watched Hoss move onto the floor always
amazed at how light on his feet he was, whirling Sadie about, both grinning
from ear to ear, working his way towards the back.
“You
have such nice brothers, Adam,” Benita said a bit wistfully.
“You’ve
got yourself a nice couple of brothers, too, Benita.”
“That’s
true. But I’m kinda the black sheep.”
“You?”
he said with a short laugh. “After what
Dillon did last year?”
“Oh,
that was nothing,” she said.
“Nothing,”
Adam restated. “He practically burned
down
“True,
that brother of mine is always getting into trouble.”
“Then
why do you consider yourself the black sheep?”
She sighed and patted his hand.
“Because
all I have to do is almost kill a Cartwright, in the street, in front of
everyone, and I’m back in the news.” He
grabbed her hand.
“You
didn’t almost kill me,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “It was the shovels, the rocks . . .” His voice trailed off and he gave her another
smile. “Don’t go feeling sorry for
yourself, Benita. You’re a beautiful
dancer, a trained educator and a great seamstress. Don’t sell yourself short. I bet there’s a few men here tonight who are
wanting to dance a time or two with you.”
“Now,
Adam, don’t go making up stories just to make me feel better.”
“I’m
not. Take Brian Dinker over by the
window. He keeps looking this way, or
Caleb Johnston by the front door, or even . . .” He’d started to say Oren Fudge by the punch
bowl but what met his gaze was that large fellow with a scraggly beard and a
patched shirt. “Or even someone else,”
he finished lamely.
“Oh,
Adam, you’re to kind.” He gave her a
weak grin and the both of them watched the dancers for a spell, Adam spying
Hoss finally making his way toward the punch bowl, glancing toward the plant by
the back door. He looked back toward
Adam and shook his head. Where the hell
was he? “Are you feeling better?” she
asked, startling him.
“I
believe I am,” he answered, handing her back her kerchief. “Better enough for another turn.”
“I
think it’s a slow one coming up.”
“The
slower the better in my condition,” he admitted pushing himself up and hiding a
wince. Holding out his arm the two made
their way back to the floor.
The
music started and the two of them began to dance, Adam continuing to glance
over toward the punch bowl. Where was
Oren?! His eyes fell, once again, on
that large fellow. This time the man
reacted, slamming down his cup of punch on the table and walking straight for
them. Adam tried to move her out of the
way but Benita plowed right into the man and stomped on his foot. Letting out a whoop, the large fellow grabbed
his wounded appendage as snickers arose about them. This evening was going south with each
passing minute.
“See
here good man,” Adam began having to tilt his head back to look him in the eye
for he towered above him. This was not a
good idea. “Unless you plan to cut in,”
he asked hopefully, “you’d better step aside.”
The large fellow dropped his foot and glared at Adam.
“You
keep makin’ goo-goo eyes at me, mister, and I don’t like it,” he
announced.
“What?”
he asked all gallantry gone in a flash by the dropping open of his mouth.
“You
been lookin’ at me all night. Now stop
it or I’ll just have ta punch ya.”
“I
wasn’t . . .” Think fast. “I was looking out the window. It looked like rain earlier.”
“You
cain’t see nothin’ out that tiny window.”
“If
that’s what he says he was doing,” Benita cut in, suddenly emboldened, “then
that’s what he was doing.” She held her
chin out in defiance to this rude individual.
“Benita
. . .” Adam began, a warning in his voice.
The large fellow glared at her then turned back to Adam.
“Keep
yer woman quiet. I’m talkin’ ta you.”
“Now
just a minute, sir,” Adam began, pulling himself to his full height and
readying himself for a fight, when he saw Benita out of the corner of his eye narrow hers. Ah oh.
A warning popped into his head and was just about out his mouth when the
large fellow began hopping and hollering in pain, both arms holding onto his
right foot.
“That
was on purpose!” Benita shouted to be heard over his baying dropping her skirt
back to the floor. Turning back to Adam
she noted his surprised look. “Well, I
had to do it, Adam. You’re in no
condition to take on a man that size.”
When she was right, she was right.
“Very
true. Now, we need to disappear.” Glancing at the large fellow, she quickly
grabbed his outstretched hand.
“I
agree.” They started for the door,
leaving laughter in their wake then a hushed silence and Adam knew what was
coming. Stopping in mid-step as a large
hand descended upon his shoulder, he cringed.
“Just
a minute there, fancy pants,” the large fellow bellowed. I should have listened to Paul.
“NO
YOU DON’T!” Adam heard Benita yell then saw her deliver a full left cross
toward the man. Too busy being impressed
by her form, Adam didn’t see the large fellow lean back until it was too late
and Benita’s left cross crossed towards him and landed on his face sending him sprawling to the floor. “Oh!” she was heard to exclaim, hands to her
face as her tall, dark and handsome man slid along the floor to lie still
against the far wall.
The
large fellow began to laugh until he felt someone poking him on the back. Turning, his face met up with Hoss’s fist and
he dropped to the floor, coming to rest against Oren Fudge’s feet.
“What’d
I miss?” Oren was heard to say as the large fellow shook his head and flung
himself at Hoss, the two colliding with the long table at the side of the room
- the table that held Mrs. Henry Gardner’s brand new crystal punch bowl.
Shrieking,
Mrs. Gardner scrambled through the gawking crowd toward her precious bowl,
following it as it moved from one end of the table to the other all the while
sloshing punch all over her white linen tablecloth and the floor.
“Oh,
Lordy,” Mr. Gardner was heard to say as the crowd egged on the combatants. Benita held Adam’s head in her lap, gently
tapping his face, trying to wake him up while Joe took bets on his other
brother’s bout near the back door.
The
large fellow gave Hoss a good one to the stomach, then the chin, then watched
him bounce back into the table, Mrs. Gardner’s fingers almost connecting with
the bowl as it moved out of reach.
Moving swiftly to his feet, Hoss tackled the large fellow, the both of
them rolling into the crowd only to be tossed back into the room by said crowd
eager to continue the fight. The last
straw came when both men grabbed each other and tumbled directly into the table
toppling it over and sending the punch bowl flying into the air.
It
was said that time seemed to slow as Hoss kicked the unconscious man off him and
Mrs. Gardner plucked her wayward bowl out of the air only to slip and shower
Hoss with any remaining punch left . . . along with the bowl that flew from her
slippery hands.
Silence
filled the room for a full minute as the brawlers lay quiet then Jeb Trunkett
picked up his fiddle and began playing.
Joe collected his bets and the crowd returned to the dance floor.
“What’s
goin’ on here?” Sheriff Roy Coffee said from the doorway, glancing down at an
unconscious Adam and Hoss and an unknown large fellow flat on the dance
floor. He shook his head. “I don’t really want to know,” he mumbled
with a shake of his head, motioning some of the men to help. “Miss Benita, you stay here until we can get
everyone situated.” He smiled at her and
followed the boys carrying Adam out the door.
“Um,”
came a voice behind her as she moved out of the way for Hoss, then the large
fellow. “Um,” came the voice again
making her turn. Oren Fudge, all dandied
up, stood behind her. Hm, he cleans up
nice. “Is it too late ta ask ya ta
dance, Miss Benita?” he asked with a toothy grin, Jeb Trunkett’s fiddle going
on in the background. The hairs on the
back of Oren’s neck stiffened up at the look she gave him. He swallowed hard and shut his trap.
* *
* * * * * * * *
“Did
I not tell you you shouldn’t be dancing young man?” Paul Martin asked holding
onto Adam’s shoulder, glancing over at Ben who leaned against the wall, hand
over his mouth.
“Yes,”
was all Adam would admit, feeling his teeth to make sure they were all seated
properly with one hand while the other held his ribs. Paul nodded.
“And
did you listen to your family doctor?”
“No,”
he responded as Paul shook his head.
“No,”
Paul repeated. “And what happened?” Adam cleared his throat as if to speak and
then just didn’t continuing to massage his chin.
“It
wasn’t Adam’s fault, Paul,” Hoss broke in, holding an ice pack to the top of
his head, his nice white shirt now the color of punch. Joe leaned back in the settee giggling. “Oren just wasn’t where he was supposed ta be
and well, Adam kept eyeing that big fella who took offense.”
“A
big fella?” Ben asked, looking at his middle son.
“Big,”
Joe added, holding his hand up in the air.
“Big fella.”
“He
left before ya got here, Pa,” Hoss added.
Ben knew he had to ask this question even though he didn’t know if he
really wanted an answer.
“And
why did this ‘big fella’ take offense?”
Hoss squinched up his face and swallowed, glancing over at Adam who
offered no help.
“Well,
ya see, Pa, he thought . . . Well, he thought
Adam was . . . Well . . .”
“Well
what?” Hoss looked terribly
uncomfortable and pulled at his sticky shirt.
“Well,
Pa, he thought Adam was . . .” His voice
trailed off not quite sure how to put it.
“Making
a pass at him,” Joe finished trying to keep a straight face. Adam just shut his eyes and sighed while Ben
desperately tried to keep the grin off his own face.
“And
Miss Benita, well, she’s got a wicked left cross,” Hoss continued. “Wouldn’t ya say so, Adam?” Hoss gave his brother a grin that wasn’t
returned.
“Can
we just go home?” Adam wanted to know, fully aware that his matchmaking ability
obviously was, well, crap.
“No,”
Paul said. “You’re staying here
tonight.”
“I-feel-fine,”
he said enunciating each word and easing himself off the bed. Before his knees hit the floor, Paul and Ben
grabbed him and placed him firmly back on the bed.
“Not
listening to your doctor again,” Paul tsked him, holding Adam until he caught
his breath, then turning towards Hoss.
“Now, you, young man,” he began tenderly poking the lump on his
head. “You can go home. Take it easy for a couple of days, no work,
and you should be fine.”
“A
couple of days?!” Joe exclaimed.
“A
couple of days, Joe. Getting hit in the
head with a regular punch bowl may only warrant a few hours rest, but a crystal
punch bowl is completely different.”
Hoss raised his brows then smiled at Joe as only a brother can when he
knew what Paul’s declaration meant - Joe would have to do not only his own
chores but Adam’s and Hoss’s as well.
“Somebody
bonk me so’s I can get a vacation, too,” Joe whined.
“Dr.
Martin?” came Benita’s voice from the door making everyone jump.
“Now’s
your chance, Joe,” Hoss whispered, watching him move his feet quickly onto the
settee.
“In
here, Miss Benita,” Paul called, realizing his error with the instrument tray
the other day, now standing on the other side of Adam’s bed instead. Ben smiled courteously at her then quickly
stepped away to stand next to Joe not willing to take any chances.
“Oh,
Adam,” she said holding her hand to her mouth as she spied the large lump
already forming on the side of his face.
She turned toward Ben. “I’m
afraid I’ve injured your son again,
Mr. Cartwright. I didn’t intend too it’s
just that that man got me so mad. I
didn’t know he was going to duck.”
“That’s
all right, Miss Benita,” Ben began.
“Don’t you worry now. Adam’ll be
just fine.”
“Oh,
I should just lock myself up and never come out,” she stated in obvious
distress.
“Nonsense,”
Ben said stepping towards her, ignoring Joe clutching at his sleeve. “From what I heard you were only doing what
was necessary,” he began holding onto her shoulders. “In his condition, you may have saved Adam
greater injury. Did you ever think of
that?” Adam opened his mouth to comment
but Paul shushed him, directing his attention toward Ben as he stepped closer
to Benita’s infamous feet, Joe and Hoss angling their heads to watch what they
knew was coming. If they’d been alone they
would’ve taken bets.
“Do
you really think so, Mr. Cartwright?” she asked looking into his kind face.
“Yes,
I do. In fact, as a thank you, why don’t
you come out to the house next Saturday?
We’re having a get together and I can’t think of a nicer person to have
around.” She beamed looking from Joe to
Hoss then Adam.
“Really?”
“Yes. One of the boys’ll pick you up around
“Oh,
thank you, Mr. Cartwright. I’d be
delighted.” She reached in to hug him
and everyone cringed but nothing untoward occurred. Turning she looked toward Adam.
“See
you on Saturday, Benita,” he said with a smile while she grinned, turning
toward the exit. Paul sighed as that
same table rolled into the surgery again sans the new vase he’d just purchased
at Mr. Gardner’s store.
“I’ve
got to stop decorating,” he whispered as Ben turned to his sons.
“I
don’t know why you boys seem to have trouble with her. Nothing happened.” He gave them all a wise smile, seeing Joe’s
attention drawn toward Paul’s office window.
“Ah,
Pa,” he began, a sickly smile on his face.
“Yes,
Joe?”
“Isn’t
that Buck?” Looking past Joe and out
the window, Ben caught the tail end
of
his horse disappearing from sight.
Without a word, he ran from Paul’s office, all of them watching as he
ran past the window yelling down the street.
“Sorry
about that, Mr. Cartwright!” floated into the office as Benita made her way
down the street. Joe burst out laughing,
followed by Hoss as Adam grabbed his ribs, trying to restrain himself as best
he could. Paul just shook his head.
Sunday
Morning
“I
got hot, Adam,” Oren explained looking at everything in Paul’s office but
him. Hoss looked up from where he was
helping his brother with his boots.
“Hot?” Oren glanced at Hoss.
“Well,
it was hot in that corner and I had to use the necessary bein’ nervous an’ all,
an’ that big fella kept givin’ me the eye.
Made me nervous. Well, the next
thing I know’d you was on the floor and that big fella, well he practically
slid right into me. It was then I said
what I said.” Adam eyed him, buttoning
his shirt taking second to his desire, however later regretted, to find out
what Oren had said. He let out a breath.
“What
did you say?”
“Well
. . .” he stammered fiddling with his hat.
“Oren.”
“Well,
I asked Miss Benita if she’d like to dance.”
“You
asked her to dance?” Adam repeated.
“I
did. And she got so mad. Her face turned as red as her dress.”
“You
asked her to dance with both Hoss and I lying on the floor?”
“Ah,
yessir,” he repeated a bit quieter than before.
Adam turned to Hoss.
“And
I wonder why this isn’t working.”
“As
soon as I said it I know’d it was wrong,” Oren jumped in. “But it was too late. I couldn’t suck the words back in. What am I gonna do, Adam?”
“I
don’t know,” he admitted, finishing with his shirt and easing himself off the
bed, Hoss holding his arm just in case.
“But
ya gotta know, Adam. Ya know
everything.”
“Why
don’t ya just try talkin’ to her, Oren?” Hoss asked placing Adam’s hat gently
on his head as Oren’s face squished into disbelief.
“Talkin’?”
“Ya,
Oren, talkin’ like we’re doin’ now,” Hoss said.
“
“Oh,
what would I talk ta her about?”
“I
don’t know. Ask her about her schoolin’
or the weather.” Oren shook his head.
“Oh,
no, I couldn’t do that.”
“Why
not?” Adam asked willing to hear the answer to this one.
“’cause
I’d have to talk to her to do
that.” Hoss opened his mouth then closed
it trading a look with Adam who hadn’t a clue.
“Oh, I’ve spoken to her before but they was just pleasantries. I don’t have the schoolin’ like she does,
like you do, Adam, to keep up a conversation.
I only know about plantin’ and harvestin’. No gal like Miss Benita’s gonna be interested
in that.”
“How
do you know?” Adam asked as Hoss helped him with his coat.
“Oh,
don’t go teasin’ me, Adam.”
“I’m
not. She’s a teacher, Oren, and I’ve
found that teachers are interested in many things.” Oren just shook his head.
“No,
I cain’t do it. It’ll make me look
dumb.”
“Dumb? You’ve already . . .” Hoss began as Adam
jabbed him in the ribs to shut him up.
“If
you can’t talk to her now how else are you going to be able to tell her that
you definitely . . . might . . . love her?” Adam asked drawing a funny look
from Hoss. “Later,” he mouthed. Oren looked up then directly at Adam and
smiled.
“Well,
I thought you . . .” Adam’s brows shot
up and he held up a hand.
“Oh,
no. No, no, no,” he said with a firm
shake of his head finally understanding the path of this conversation.
“But,
Adam . . .”
“No,
Oren. My job as a matchmaker is
over. You’re on your own now.”
“Oh,
please, Adam. Ya got them nice words and
all . . .”
“NO!” He held Oren’s gaze and watched his happy
face crumble.
“Now,
Adam . . . ,” Hoss began, Adam seeing that same lost puppy look on his
brother’s face as on Oren’s. He knew
fighting against that ‘look’ was near impossible. He sighed.
It wasn’t fair them taking advantage of his injured state. “All right.
All right. I’ll think of
something.”
“Oh,
thank you, Adam,” Oren said, grabbing his hand to shake. “You won’t regret this.”
“I
already do,” he said, holding his ribs, all of them turning as Ben entered the
room.
“Ready
to go home?” he asked, everyone ignoring the scraps up the right side of his
face. Hoss leaned over to pick up his
own hat to hide his smile as best he could.
“Please,”
was all Adam could get out as he eased himself past Oren and his father, hiding
his own grin.
“What
happened ta yer face, Mr. Cartwright?” Oren asked breaking the silence. A stony glance met his question.
“A
slight mishap with my horse is all,” he answered following Adam and Hoss out
the door and into the morning sunshine.
“Try
to be a stranger!” Paul called after them as they made their way toward the
wagon, Joe fiddling with the horses’ harnesses.
“Adam!”
came Benita’s call from a few doors down making all of them turn. Forgetting the horses, Joe leaped into the
wagon, Hoss struggling over the side, his head still ringing this morning.
With
no way to get Adam into the wagon quickly, Ben reached for Benita as she slid
in the mud and pulled her to the side.
“My!”
floated around them as she crashed into Ben sending the backs of his legs hard
against the wagon, making him yelp. Paul
covered his face with his hand and peered through his fingers as Joe slapped a
hand over his mouth to silence himself
“Benita,”
Adam said from around Ben’s shoulder, glad that for once it wasn’t him.
“How
are you feeling this morning?” she asked getting her feet back under her. He grabbed his chin and moved it from side to
side.
“I
didn’t know you had such a good left cross.
You’ve got to teach me that sometime.”
She blushed.
“I’m
so sorry about that, Adam.”
“I
should’ve ducked,” he answered.
“Mornin’,
Miss Benita,” Oren interrupted, smiling away at her from beside the wagon. She kept her eyes straight.
“Mr.
Fudge,” was all she said. His face fell
and he looked toward Adam who tilted his head toward her, spurring him on.
“I
. . . ah, I . . .” Oren cleared his
throat. Now or never. “I . . . I wanted to apologize for sayin’
what I did last night. It wasn’t
gentlemanly.” She shifted a look to him
without turning her head.
“No
it wasn’t.”
“Well,
I’m right sorry, Miss Benita, truly I am, but I was just so enamored of yer
dress,” he said, his words tumbling over each other. Adam winced and Hoss shook his head. Oren glanced at them then back again, turning
his hat in his hand and decided to plow on.
“It . . . it was a . . . beautiful piece of tatting I’ve seen in a long
time.” There. He’d said it.
Now she’d never speak to him again.
Benita
began to reply then changed her mind, looking at Adam who gave her a lopsided
grin. Joe’s mouth dropped open as Ben
and Hoss exchanged funny looks. Even
Paul pulled his hand from his face.
“I
mean that now,” Oren said. “Well, I’ll be
goin’ . . .”
“Wait,
Oren,” Benita started, not knowing where she was going with this. “That was a
very nice thing to say.” He smiled then
and cleared his throat.
“I
jest wanted ya to know I noticed. Did ya
do that yerself?” She stood a bit
straighter.
“Yes
I did. How do you know about such
things?”
“My
Ma,” he began. This talking thing wasn’t
so bad. “She’s been sewin’, lord, goin’
on thirty years or more. Taught me a
stitch or two. I was wonderin’ if . . .”
he started, and then decided against it.
“Ah, never mind.”
“Wondering
what, Oren?” she asked. He traded a look
with Adam who nodded back, egging him on.
“Well,
I was wonderin’ if’n ya’d teach me some of that.” Silence fell and they held their breaths, the
boys thinking Oren may have overstepped himself.
“Sewing
is usually something a woman does.
Wouldn’t you find it awkward?” He
nodded before he could stop himself and cleared his throat again, fiddling with
his hat.
“Being
truthful and all I’d find it right sissified, but a man’s gotta learn a trade
ta fall back on in case the harvest fails.
Still gotta feed everyone.”
“Well
. . .” she said with a slight hesitation casting a glance toward Adam who
tilted his head toward Oren. “I could
use the help,” she admitted, tapping her chin with her finger.
“What
do ya mean, Miss Benita?” Hoss asked.
Her eyes brightened.
“Oh,
my news. Adam, you were right. Polly Smeed came to see me late last night.”
“She
did?” he said shocked at the admission.
“I’ve
got my first order for a new dress.” She
giggled then narrowed her eyes at him.
“You
didn’t have anything to do with that did you?”
“Not
me,” he said. “I was knocked out on the
floor remember?” He glanced at Hoss and
Joe and they both shook their heads.
“Congratulations. I told you
everything would work out.”
“Yes,
you did. Thank you so much, Adam,” she
said wrapping her arms about him in a rib-crushing hug. Paul felt for him as sweat popped out on his
face. He gave her a pain filled
reassuring smile as he held onto the wagon for support. “Thank you for everything.”
“Don’t
mention it, Benita,” he answered through clenched teeth as she let him go.
“I’ve
got to get over to Mr. Gardner’s.
Polly’s going to meet me there.
Oh,” she said stopping herself, “hopefully he’ll let me back in since
the gravy boat incident . . . No
matter,” she said waving the thought away.
“I must be going. I’ve got work
to do.” She smiled at all of them and
turned, Oren suddenly by her side.
“Mind
if I walk with you, Miss Benita.” She
thought on it a moment, then nodded.
“Please
do, Mr. Fudge.” She started off without
him and he turned and smiled at the Cartwrights.
“Well,
lookee there,” Hoss said. “He actually
talked to her and see what happened?”
“Looks
like she might be taking a shine to Oren, Adam,” Joe said with a grin. “Sorry for your loss.”
“Benita’s
a good person. She just needs to have a
little faith in herself,” Adam said, Ben returning to help him into the
wagon. A startled cry caught their
attention and they all looked down the street.
Oren lay flat in the muddy street as Benita stood on the sidewalk, a
loose board from said sidewalk lying by his side.
“Goodness,”
they heard as Paul disappeared into his office only to reappear a few moments
later, bag in hand.
“Once
more unto the breach,” he mumbled reaching the downed man just as he sat
up.
The
Cartwright’s tried to keep their laughter to a bare minimum as Oren decided he was
all right despite the large bruise already forming across his forehead and
would continue with Miss Benita to Mr. Gardner’s store. Watching him walk in a none too straight line
even made Paul smile.
“That
could be you, Adam,” Joe said wistfully.
“That
was me a week ago,” he
reminded them watching the two of them enter Mr. Gardner’s store.
“That
could be all of us,” Ben said, turning back to Joe. “Except Joe.
How’d you get so lucky?”
“Quick
on my feet,” was his answer as he picked up the reins. Quite suddenly a loud shattering sound came
from the area of Mr. Gardner’s store and the horses reared yanking both the
reins and Joe into the muddy street.
Everyone could hear their loose harness flapping as they made their way
down the street at a gallop.
Hoss
laid his head back and howled, doubling over as his youngest brother grabbed
the side of the wagon with one muddy hand then the other, his dirt encrusted
head following after. Paul just turned
away and walked right into his office shaking his head.
“I
saw nothing,” he said, closing the door behind him.
“You
may be quick on yer feet, shortshanks,” Hoss began through his laughter, “but
yer hands need work.” Joe gave Hoss an
unhappy grin and listened as Ben broke out in laughter. Adam grabbed his ribs trying not to laugh.
“Ha,
ha, ha,” was Joe’s only response as he started dejectedly down the street after
the wayward horses, drawing stares and laughs as he went, leaving his brothers
and father to laugh themselves silly behind him.
September
2005
Feedback
is appreciated