Adam Cartwright raised his head and looked over at his friend.
“No way,” he said. “My father catches us on Ponderosa land, he’ll have us rounding up cattle before we even know what hit us. Or worse, minding Little Joe.”
Adam’s two-year-old brother was a handful on his best days, and judging by the tantrum he’d thrown at breakfast that morning, Joe was not having one of his best days. Adam wasn’t about to spoil a rare day off from his ranch chores by getting roped into babysitting.
“Least Joe’s almost toilet-trained,” Ross said, tossing his fishing pole aside and stretching out in the grass. “I got at least another year of helpin’ my ma change Matthew’s diapers.”
Adam chuckled as he dandled his bare toes in the duck pond. “If you can call it ‘trained.’ He’s too small to go in the privy by himself, and his aim is terrible. I’m getting pretty sick of him pissing all over my boots.”
Ross laughed and offered Adam a swig from his canteen. The late July sun beat down, and even in the shade of the large oak tree, the two fourteen-year-olds were sweating. Their boots, socks, hats, and shirts lay scattered about like fallen soldiers on a battlefield, and Adam was contemplating shucking his trousers and undershorts, too, and jumping into the pond.
“Come on,” Ross said, sitting up and pulling his socks and boots back on. “Let’s go back to the house and see if Ma’s got any lemonade.”
Adam grinned and stuffed his feet back into his socks and boots. Mrs. Marquette made the best lemonade in the territory, and she almost always had some stirred up when Adam came to visit. The boys grabbed their hats, shirts, and fishing gear and scampered toward the house.
It was only a quarter mile from the duck pond to the Marquettes’ house, and despite the heat of the afternoon, the eager teenagers covered the distance in less than five minutes. As they laughed their way into the front yard, an unholy screech emanating from the house stopped them dead in their tracks. Adam let out a low whistle.
“Holy smokes,” he said. “Sounds like Matthew’s having a worse day than Little Joe.”
“Yeah,” Ross agreed. “You know, on second thought, let’s not bother Ma. Sounds like she’s got her hands full as it is.”
As the screaming from inside the house reached a fevered pitch, the boys dithered in the yard, trying to decide on their next move. The fish weren’t biting, they weren’t allowed to ride into Carson City by themselves, and the house was a warzone. They stared at each other glumly as they realized they were facing a long, hot afternoon with nothing to do.
Adam would later reflect on how approaching danger can quickly turn a difficult decision into an easy one.
In between Matthew’s squalls, Adam and Ross heard hoof beats coming their direction.
“That’s Pa!” Ross cried. “We gotta get outta here, Adam! He sees us lookin’ bored, he’ll put us to work before you can say Jack Robinson!”
The boys tore off toward the barn, slipping inside just as Mr. Marquette rode into the front yard. Adam and Ross jockeyed for position as they tried to peer through the crack between the barn’s double doors to see which way Ross’s father would go. They were about the same height, but Adam was broader than his skinny friend and shouldered him aside. Ross dropped to all fours and peeked out around Adam’s knees.
“Go in the house,” Ross whispered. “Please, please go in the house.” He let out a soft moan of despair as Mr. Marquette led his horse toward the barn.
Adam and Ross snatched up their fishing poles and darted for the ladder leading to the hayloft. Ross scurried up first and leaned over to grab the fishing poles from Adam – they didn’t want to leave evidence of their presence. Then Adam zipped up the ladder, rolling out of sight just as Mr. Marquette led his horse into the barn.
The boys hardly breathed as Mr. Marquette untacked his mare. Adam had never seen someone unsaddle a horse so slowly, and he wished he had put his shirt back on. The hay he and Ross were lying on tickled his bare chest, but he didn’t dare scratch or shift around. In their haste to take cover in the loft, they’d stirred up puffs of dust, and Adam’s eyes widened in horror as he realized that Ross was about to sneeze. His friend’s face was scrunched up like he’d just tasted something sour, and his nose was twitching like a rabbit’s. Thinking fast, Adam grabbed Ross’s shirt and pounced on his friend as lightly as he could, pressing Ross’s shirt over his face to muffle his sneeze. They froze, straining their ears for any indication that they’d blown their cover. Adam inched his way to the edge of the loft and peered over, hoping against hope that Mr. Marquette was not looking up.
He wasn’t.
Adam breathed a sigh of relief as the man hung up his horse’s bridle and left the barn.
“I think we’re safe, Ross.” His friend didn’t respond. “Ross?”
“I think you broke my back,” Ross moaned, rolling over onto his side.
Adam looked at him skeptically. “Quit playing, you fool. I didn’t do any such thing.”
Ross sat up and massaged the middle of his back. “Well, something did. What in the world did I land on?” He plunged his hands into the hay and sifted about. His eyes lit up, and he extracted a tall, thin bottle filled with amber liquid. Adam’s eyes widened as Ross read the label. “‘Old Jake Beam, 1835.’ This is whiskey, Adam!”
Adam snatched the bottle from Ross and examined the label. “It sure is,” he said as he fished an itchy bit of hay out of his dark hair. “And 1835. I wonder how long this bottle’s been up here.”
“I don’t know,” Ross said. “Pa doesn’t drink much. I’m surprised he even has this. He must have forgotten about it.” Before Adam could stop him, Ross had broken the wax seal and pulled out the cork. He inhaled deeply. “Whew! Get a whiff of this!”
He passed the bottle to Adam, whose eyes watered at the first sniff. He handed the bottle back. “Put it back, Ross, and let’s go find something to do.”
Ross stared at Adam like he’d lost his mind. He waved the bottle in Adam’s face. “We just found something to do! Bet I can drink more than you can.”
“I’m not drinking that,” Adam said. “It smells like turpentine.”
“Whatsa matter, Adam? Not turnin’ into a yellow belly, are you?”
“I ain’t yellow! I just don’t want to drink it is all. It’s not even ours.” Adam’s father enjoyed a small nightcap most evenings, and he and Adam’s stepmother, Marie, sometimes shared a bottle of wine on special occasions, but other than that there was little alcohol at home on the Ponderosa. Ben Cartwright said it made fools out of wise men, and one look at the men stumbling out of the saloons in Carson City had been all the proof Adam needed.
“All right, Angel May,” Ross said sweetly. “You don’t have to drink it. You just run along home and get your boots pissed on.”
His masculinity at stake, Adam ripped the bottle from Ross’s grasp and took a deep swig. He screwed up his face as the liquid shot a hot trail down his throat and set fire to his belly. His stomach churned, and Adam thought he was going to lose it. He took several slow, steadying breaths, and handed the bottle back to Ross with a smirk.
“Your turn, Betty Lou.”
Ross grinned and tipped the bottle back a little too enthusiastically. He came up sputtering, his face red.
“You gotta do that one again,” Adam said, wiping whiskey off his face with Ross’s shirt. “You spit most of it out.”
Ross glared at Adam but took another, much smaller, gulp. This time he kept it in. “Ha!” he said. “That’s you showed.”
Adam grinned and took the bottle again. This time, he was ready for it. The sharp, bitter flavor made him cringe again, but his stomach didn’t rebel.
“That’s the spirit, Cartwright!” Ross cheered. The lanky boy took another shot, wiped his mouth on his forearm, and handed the bottle back to Adam. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He crawled to the edge of the loft and swung a foot down onto the top rung of the ladder.
“Where you goin’?” Adam asked.
Ross was already halfway down the ladder. “Gettin’ some cards. Figure as long as we’re drinkin’, we may as well be playin’ poker.”
Adam snorted and broke into giggles as he watched Ross sway a bit as he scampered from the barn. He returned only minutes later, holding a deck of cards triumphantly aloft. He crammed the cards into his back pocket and climbed back up into the loft. He lost his balance near the top and nearly fell backward twenty feet to the barn floor. Adam swung out a clumsy hand and grabbed Ross’s arm just in time. He hauled his friend into the loft, where Ross lay in the hay and panted. Adam waved the whiskey bottle over his face.
“Don’t worry, I saved you some,” he said and dissolved into giggles again. He gathered himself just enough to take another quaff before passing the bottle to Ross.
“All right,” Ross said after drinking again and tugging the cards out of his back pocket. “Let’s play poker!” He let Adam cut the cards and then picked them up to shuffle them. He did all right riffling the two halves of the deck, but when he attempted to cascade, the cards flew out of his hands in fifty-two different directions. He and Adam stared at each wide-eyed for a few seconds before falling backward into the hay in hysterical laughter. It took them five minutes to collect themselves and another ten minutes to find all of the playing cards. Adam shuffled this time and dealt five cards each to himself and Ross. The boys scrutinized their hands, occasionally casting suspicious glances at each other over the tops of their cards.
“You go first,” Adam said.
“No, you.”
“I dealt. You have to go first.”
Ross sighed and took another sip of whiskey as he stared at his cards again. “Hey, uh, Adam?” he said at last. “What am I s’posed to do?”
Adam choked on the whiskey he was swallowing.
“You don’t know how to play?!”
Ross shifted uncomfortably. “Well, no. I kinda thought maybe you did.”
“Where would I learn to play poker? My father doesn’t let me in saloons!”
“You think mine does?”
“Naw, I guess not,” Adam said. He reached under his rear end and patted down some hay that had been poking him through his britches. He grabbed the bottle and took another sip. “Tell you what, though,” he said conspiratorially. He and Ross both leaned forward so they were only inches apart, and Adam lowered his voice. “Last time we were in town, one of those saloon girls whistled at me as I walked by.”
“Really?!”
“Oh, yeah!” Adam said, his eyes wide. “Managed to slip away from Ma and Pa that afternoon, too, and paid her a little visit, if you know what I mean.” He winked at Ross.
Dulled by the whiskey, Ross stared at Adam in frank admiration for several seconds before his face crumpled into skepticism. “You did not!”
“Did so! Her name was Sue Ellen, and she cost me five dollars!”
“Sure, Adam. You just keep spinnin’ ‘em, son.”
“You callin’ me a liar?”
“Sure am.”
His face burning, Adam threw down his cards and launched himself at Ross. He knocked the slimmer boy onto his back and knelt on his chest while he drew back a fist.
“Take it back!” he ordered.
“Not on your life!”
Adam swung his fist forward, but Ross’s squirming threw him off balance, and he fell sideways. Ross pounced on him, and Adam tried to land a punch, but his vision had gone blurry, and he couldn’t aim. Ross, apparently, was having the same problem, because he couldn’t land a blow, either. His head swimming, Adam tried regain the upper hand by catching Ross up in a headlock, but one of Ross’s long legs kicked out, and they heard the “CLINK!” of glass hitting a wooden floor. They froze, Adam’s arm around Ross’s neck, and Ross reaching behind him and yanking Adam’s hair.
“Noooo!” they cried in unison.
Adam released Ross, and they both dived for the whiskey bottle. Ross snatched it up and held it up for inspection. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“We didn’t lose much,” he said. “Not even a full inch.”
“Let’s never fight again,” Adam said.
Ross nodded, and they sealed their pact with shots of whiskey.
Dizzy, Adam flopped onto his back and stared up at the rafters. He could have sworn they were dancing. “How d’ya now was flibbin?” he asked.
“What?”
“Sorry,” Adam slurred. He scrunched his eyes shut and focused on articulating each word. “How. Did. You. Know. I was. Fib-bing? Think I ain’t brave ‘nough to visit a sportin’ woman?”
“Ain’t that,” Ross answered. His voice moved like cold molasses. “Just don’t think you’ve ever had five bucks.”
The boys burst out laughing, but Adam cut off as the pressure from his bladder told him that laughing was not in his best interests. After another swig from the bottle, he staggered across the hayloft and opened the door to the outside. He stood at the edge and unbuttoned his trousers. His shoulders sagged in relief as the stream arced to the ground twenty feet below.
“Cartwright, you fall to your death, I’m pretendin’ I don’t know a thing about it,” Ross drawled.
Adam grew thoughtful as a crow glided past. “Hey, Ross?”
“Hey what?”
“You ever wish you could fly?”
Ross raised his head. It swayed as he spoke. “Can’t say I have. Why?”
“Leonardo da Vinci thought human flight was possible.”
Ross dropped his head back into the hay. “Adam, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about half the time.”
Adam buttoned his trousers and tried to walk back to Ross, but the floor shifted under him, and he dropped to all fours and crawled instead. “Da Vinci, Ross! He was a genius. He invented the orthodonter! No, orpicopter! No, the- the, flyin’ machine!”
Ross held the whiskey bottle Adam’s lips and gave him another drink. “If he invented a flyin’ machine, how’s come you rode your horse over here this mornin’?”
Adam swallowed the liquor and collapsed next to Ross once more. “‘Cause he couldn’t get it to work, stupid. But he was close, Ross! He was real close! All that needs to happen is for someone to take the next step.”
Ross’s eyebrows shot up and he looked over at Adam. “Someone like us!” he cheered.
“Oh, I didn’t mean us,” Adam said, accepting the bottle again.
“Why not? Everyone’s always sayin’ how smart you are. Gonna be the first Cartwright to go to college, ain’t ya?”
Adam nodded. Ross could make a lot of sense when he wanted to.
“So what do we need to do?” Ross asked.
Adam’s eyes gleamed with delight.
******
Twenty minutes later, the boys reconvened in the loft. They’d had a hard time getting down the ladder safely and digging around in the barn for some scrap lumber, twine, and a big piece of canvas – their arms and legs weren’t responding properly, and they both had to stop twice to pee.
“Now, I think da Vinci’s problem was he made it too comp’cated,” Adam said. Dust tickled the back of his throat, and he coughed. “Thanks,” he said as Ross handed him the whiskey bottle. Adam frowned to see that it was two-thirds empty. He couldn’t figure out what his father’s problem was with alcohol; he’d never felt better in his life. “I think all we really need’s a pair o’ wings.”
For the first time in his life, Adam constructed something slapdash. Rather than measuring, sawing, and nailing, he and Ross pieced together a rudimentary framework by approximating and lashing pieces together with the twine. Adam used his pocketknife to poke holes in the canvas so they could tie it to the frame, and he prided himself on stabbing himself only twice in the process. He gave himself a pretty good gash across his left palm the second time, but he tied his bandana around it, took another swig of whiskey to dull the pain, and kept working.
The boys were so caught up in their project that they didn’t hear the barn door creak open.
“Ross? Adam? You boys in here?”
Adam and Ross froze and stared at each, their mouths agape. Mr. Marquette would tan them both if he discovered they’d been drinking. Adam’s stomach lurched.
“Uh, no!” he called back. “Nobody here but us cows! Mooooo!”
Ross slapped him upside the back of the head.
“You idiot!” he stage-whispered. “This is a horse barn!”
“I mean horses!” Adam hollered. “Neeeeiiiighhh!”
Ross buried his face in his hands.
Mr. Marquette chuckled; he clearly thought the boys were just being silly. Adam’s scalp jumped as they heard him approach the ladder to the hayloft. Ross stuffed the cork in the whiskey bottle and buried it under the hay, and Adam took a little comfort in knowing that at least he was going to die alongside his best friend.
Mr. Marquette’s smiling face popped up over the edge of the hayloft.
“There you are!” he said. “Been lookin’ all over for you two. Adam, Mrs. Marquette wants to know if you’re stayin’ for supper or if your pa’s expecting you home.”
“Oh, uh, I ‘spect I better get on home,” Adam muttered, not meeting Mr. Marquette’s gaze. “They prob’ly need help wi’ Joe.”
Adam realized too late that he should have covered his mouth when he spoke. Mr. Marquette’s nose wrinkled as Adam’s breath wafted toward him. The man’s face hardened.
“Adam, why do you smell like liquor?” he demanded.
“Liquor, sir?”
“Yes, son, liquor.”
As Adam sputtered nonsensically, Mr. Marquette pulled himself up into the hayloft. As he closed in on Adam, his foot knocked against the whiskey bottle, and he dropped to his knees and fished around under the hay until he found it. His eyes went as wide as wagon wheels as he studied the two inches of amber liquid sloshing about in the bottom of the otherwise empty bottle. He turned his gaze toward Ross so slowly that at first Adam wasn’t sure his head was even moving.
“Ross. Peterson. Marquette.”
Ross scuttled backward like a crab until he reached the gaping loft door. Sweat pouring down his face, he peered over his shoulder at the sharp drop-off.
“Ross, come here.”
Fear and something that Adam could describe only as insanity flashed in Ross’s eyes as the friends’ gazes met. With more dexterity than he should have had given the quantity of whiskey he’d consumed over the past hour and a half, Ross sprang to his feet and grabbed the contraption he and Adam had been building. He flung the crude wings across his shoulder, shouted “You’ll never take me alive!” and leapt out of the loft door.
Mr. Marquette shouted as his son flung himself into thin air, and he darted to the loft door. Adam tried to follow him, but the world swam before his eyes when he stood up, and he had to crawl to the gaping door. He was afraid to look down, certain he would see his best friend broken and bloodied in the dirt below.
Adam peeped over the edge of the loft. Ross lay sprawled on his back, the wings in splinters all around him. His left leg was bent at the knee, the ankle and foot underneath his rear end. There was no doubt he was dead. Tears spilled from Adam’s eyes as he and Mr. Marquette stared down at Ross’s limp form.
But then Ross began to laugh.
It started as a wheeze and grew into a deafening guffaw as Ross rolled over to one side and tried to push himself up. He got all the way up to his knees before he pitched over sideways and landed in the rubble, laughing like a hyena.
“Hey, Adam!” he called up between peals of hysterics. “I don’t think this was that next step you had in mind!” He snorted and rolled over onto his back, waving his arms and legs in the air as he continued to giggle.
Mr. Marquette grabbed Adam by his upper arm and dragged him across the loft to the ladder. He jabbed a finger toward the barn floor.
“Down. Now.”
Adam swallowed hard and belly-crawled to the edge of the loft. He swung one foot over the edge and waved it around, searching for the top rung. Mr. Marquette sighed.
“Looks like I better go first.” Tucking the whiskey bottle under one arm, he nudged Adam out of the way and began his descent. Halfway down, he called for Adam to follow him.
As Adam made his clumsy, unsteady way down the ladder, he imagined he now knew what it was like to climb the rigging of ship in the middle of a hurricane. The ladder that had been so solid earlier that afternoon now waved around like a kite, and Adam had to cling tightly to each rung to avoid being thrown off, his injured hand screeching with pain.
When Adam’s feet hit the floor, Mr. Marquette grabbed his left ear in a vice-like grip and dragged him from the barn. Even drunk as he was, Adam knew better than to protest, and he stumbled along behind Mr. Marquette as he tore off around the barn to Ross.
Ross was on all fours when they reached him, and his back looked like a porcupine. Sharp splinters of wood stuck out at all angles from his bare skin, which was oozing angry droplets of blood. Mr. Marquette kicked away the debris surrounding Ross and dropped to his knees beside his son. He brushed the boy’s shaggy brown hair out of his face.
“Ross! Ross, are you ok?!”
In response, Ross turned his head and vomited into his father’s lap. The sickening sour stench wafted up to Adam’s nose, and he went to pull his shirt up over his face before he remembered he wasn’t wearing one – his shirt was still in the hayloft next to Ross’s. Fighting to keep from vomiting, too, Adam started plucking slivers of wood from Ross’s back. Ross got only halfway through the word “Ouch” before he retched a second time. Mr. Marquette leapt back.
“Wonderful,” he griped, looking down at his ruined trousers. He sighed. “Let’s get you inside and get those splinters out of your back.” He grabbed Ross’s forearm and hauled him to his feet, but Ross shrieked with pain and dropped to the ground, landing in his own sick. He clutched his left ankle.
“It’s broke, Pa! It’s broke!” he cried.
Mr. Marquette shoved the whiskey bottle he was still holding at Adam, lifted his son, and bore him toward the house.
Alone in the barnyard, Adam considered fleeing the scene until Mr. Marquette turned around and ordered him to get his sorry rear end inside this instant or there would be so little of him left that they would return him to the Ponderosa in a matchbox. He staggered across the yard and followed Mr. Marquette into the house.
Mrs. Marquette wailed in terror when she spotted her vomit-soaked husband carrying their sobbing child into the house. Frightened, Little Matthew sent up his banshee-like screech again, his howls bouncing painfully around Adam’s swimming head.
“What happened?!” Mrs. Marquette shouted over the baby’s screaming.
“These two fools,” Mr. Marquette jerked his head toward Adam and then down at Ross, “got corned out of their minds, and Ross decided to jump out of the hayloft.”
Mrs. Marquette was too stunned to speak.
“Rosemary, let’s get these splinters out of his back, and then I gotta ride for Doc Martin. Think Ross broke his ankle.” Mr. Marquette laid his son face-down on the sofa and turned on Adam. “And you, young man, had better not still be here when I get back. I’ll be by the Ponderosa first thing tomorrow to speak with your father.”
Adam quailed. “But, Mizzzer Marquette,” he slurred, “wha ‘bout the-”
“Not another word outta you! Now get on home!” Mr. Marquette sent Adam reeling toward the door with a stinging smack on the rear end, never noticing that Adam still had the bottle of whiskey in his hand.
Adam weaved back to the barn to saddle up his horse. He thought about leaving the whiskey on the porch, but he worried that this reminder of their indiscretion might make things harder on Ross, so he held onto it. It took him twice as long as usual to tack up his chestnut mare, Beauty. No matter how hard he concentrated, his long, usually nimble fingers didn’t want to manipulate all the buckles and straps. He broke out in a cold sweat, desperate to be gone by the time Mr. Marquette came out to the barn to collect his own horse to ride for the doctor. An eternity later, Adam had Beauty tacked up more or less correctly and after three failed attempts managed to flop into the saddle. He rode out of the Marquettes’ barnyard, the bottle of whiskey tied to his saddle horn.
******
It was usually only an hour’s ride home to the Ponderosa from the Marquettes’, but Adam usually rode the distance at a lope. In his current inebriated state, he knew he wouldn’t stay in the saddle at anything faster than a jog.
When he was nearly home, he reached for his canteen, and his hand bumped the whiskey bottle. He glanced down at it and tried to decide how he was going to explain its presence to his father when he got home. He was going to have to tell him something before Mr. Marquette showed up the next day, and Ben would be angry enough without seeing that Adam had ridden off with the stolen whiskey.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” Adam sighed. He untied the bottle, popped out the cork, and drained the remaining two inches liquor in a single gulp. Tossing the empty bottle into a clump of scrub brush, he clucked to Beauty and nudged her toward home.
Adam had begun to sober up after leaving the Marquettes’, but the fresh infusion of alcohol sent his head spinning again. He replayed Ross’s flight over and over in his mind, and by the time he jogged into the Cartwrights’ barnyard, he was howling with laughter over Ross’s assertion that his father would never take him alive.
Hoss and Little Joe were in the yard helping their new cook, Hop Sing, feed the chickens. Adam liked Hop Sing; he knew he wouldn’t get days off like this if not for the assistance the Chinaman lent around the house, especially when it came to chasing after Little Joe. The cook and both boys looked up when they heard Adam cackling.
“Hey, Sop Hing!” Adam cheered. He snorted at his mistake and bent over the saddle horn to giggle into Beauty’s mane. He laughed so hard that he slid sideways out of the saddle and crashed to the ground, his left foot still dangling in the stirrup.
“Adam!” Hoss cried.
Adam closed his eyes and laughed until his stomach ached. When he finally caught his breath and opened his eyes, he was staring up into the faces of his family. Ben, Marie, Hoss, Hop Sing, and even Little Joe had crowded around him, framing his field of vision like a halo.
“Mon dieu!” Marie exclaimed. “Adam! Are you all right?!” Her French accent grew thicker when she was upset, and Adam started giggling again.
“Oui, madame,” Adam said as grandly as he could while lying shirtless in the dirt. He shifted his eyes to the right. “Hey, Pa! Did you see me fly?! I just flew right outta my saddle! Not as good as Ross did flyin’ outta the hayloft, but still pretty good. You’ll never take me alive!” He burst out laughing again.
Ben gaped at his son as the whiskey on the boy’s breath wafted over him.
“Pa, is Adam ok?” Hoss whimpered, his bright blue eyes filling with tears.
“He’s drunk!” Ben exclaimed incredulously.
“But, Pa, I flew!” Adam shouted. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper. “I FLEW.” He reached up and poked Little Joe in the tummy, and the brothers dissolved into giggles together.
Ben sighed and disentangled Adam’s foot from his stirrup. A few ranch hands had wandered out of the bunkhouse to watch the show, and Ben gestured for one of them to take Beauty to the barn. He grabbed Adam under the arms and hauled him to his feet. As soon as he let go, Adam swayed, and Ben had to catch him before he landed in the dirt again. He scooped the still giggling boy up in his arms and bore him toward the house.
“Son, what happened to your shirt?” he asked as Marie held the door open for them.
“Shirt, sir?”
“Yes, shirt.”
“Don’t need one, Pa. It’s hot.”
Adam was sweaty and coated in dirt, so Ben set him down on the kitchen floor and knelt next to him. He grabbed Adam’s chin and forced his son to meet his gaze.
“You care to explain yourself, young man?”
“Not really, Pa.” Adam snickered as the color rose in Ben’s cheeks.
Ben tightened his grip on the boy’s jaw, and the smirk faded from Adam’s face. He cast his hazel eyes down to his lap.
“Me an’ Ross were drinkin,” Adam mumbled.
“I gathered as much. And where, pray tell, did the two of you get ahold of liquor?”
“Hayloft. But, Pa, Ross flew! Not real far, but you gimme some time to fix the design, and we’ll soar all the way to the moon!”
Ben gaped at his son again, trying to work out what the boy was babbling about. By this time, Marie, Hoss, Joe, and Hop Sing had followed Adam and Ben into the kitchen and were staring at the drunken teen again. Marie asked Hop Sing to take the little boys into the living room and laid her hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“I don’t think you’re going to get anything out of him right now,” she said.
“Yeah,” Ben grumbled. “This isn’t over, young man,” he promised, finally relaxing his grip on Adam’s chin.
Adam rubbed his jaw and worked it back and forth a few times. Something cold and wet slapped him between the shoulder blades, and Adam jumped. His arms flailed behind him as he tried to grab whatever it was.
“Hold still!” Marie ordered. “You’re filthy.” She grabbed Adam’s left wrist to hold him still while she wiped the grime off his back, and she gasped. “Adam! Your hand!” With Ben peering over her shoulder, Marie unwrapped the blood-soaked bandana from Adam’s hand. She shook her head at the cut on the boy’s palm and started wiping the dried blood away with her rag.
“Hey, tha’ hurs!” Adam protested. He flailed again, but Marie had his wrist in a grip that was surprisingly strong for such a slender woman. She ordered Ben to get some liniment and a fresh bandage and finished wiping Adam off while Ben retrieved the items. When he returned, Ben sat behind Adam, wrapped one tree-trunk of an arm across the boy’s chest and grabbed Adam’s left wrist with his free hand. Adam couldn’t have moved to save his life, and tears leaked from his eyes as Marie poured the stinging liniment into his palm and then wrapped the bandage tightly around his hand.
When Marie finished with Adam’s hand, Ben ordered Adam to get a fresh shirt before supper. But the last shots of whiskey Adam had drunk on the way home had taken full effect, and he couldn’t even stand up on his own. Ben hauled him up by one arm and dragged him to the little bedroom he shared with Hoss and Joe, calling to Marie to make some extra coffee.
Ben said nothing as he dropped Adam onto his bed and stuffed his arms into the sleeves of a clean shirt, and his silence frightened Adam more than shouting ever could have.
“You’re real mad, ain’t you, Pa?” he asked in a small voice.
“Son, ‘mad’ doesn’t begin to describe it. Now do you think you can sit at the table without falling into your supper?”
He didn’t think so, but Adam knew better than to give his father any other answer than “yes,” and he nodded his head. Ben grunted approvingly, buttoned up Adam’s shirt, and hauled the boy to his feet. The realization of just how much trouble he was in had sobered Adam up enough to stand on his own, but he couldn’t walk straight to his bedroom door; every time he took a step, the room shifted, and he found himself headed for the either the window or the wardrobe. Ben grabbed his shoulders and steered him into the hallway and out to the dining room.
During supper, Marie kept Adam’s coffee cup full and encouraged him to keep drinking it. Adam did his best to act sober so as not to set a bad example for his little brothers, but when Little Joe dumped his mashed potatoes into his hair, Adam laughed so hard that he fell out of his chair. As Ben picked him up, Adam heard Hoss ask Marie if he was sick.
“I ain’t sick, Hoss,” Adam assured him, giving the husky blond boy a big smile.
“Not yet,” Ben muttered. “Drink more coffee, son.”
Ben ordered Adam to bed immediately after supper. Adam was about to protest that it was still two hours until his usual bedtime, but one stern glare from Ben, and Adam’s objection died on his lips. His supper having soaked up some of the alcohol in his system, Adam shuffled toward the boys’ bedroom and fumbled his way out of his clothes and into a nightshirt. It felt like a cotton prison around his throat, and Adam wondered if he was having another one of those growing spurts Marie complained about. She always said that she was glad he was growing tall and strong, but it was a burden keeping him in britches that fit.
Ben came in just as Adam was sliding his legs under the thin sheet that was all the bed covering he could stand during the summer. Father and son stared at each other for several moments before Ben sat down on the edge of the bed. Adam didn’t like the way Ben was looking at him. He’d seen his father angry plenty of times – especially since Little Joe had started walking last year – but this was something new. Adam’s heart sank as he realized it was disappointment.
“Pa, I-”
Ben held up a hand, and Adam fell silent.
“You and I are going to have a good long talk in the morning, boy,” Ben said. “And then we’re riding over to the Marquettes’ to apologize for whatever shenanigans you and Ross got up to today.”
“Mr. Marquette’s comin’ to talk to you tomorrow,” Adam mumbled, no longer able to meet his father’s gaze. He tugged at the collar of his nightshirt as he wondered how Ross was getting along. “You gonna whup me, Pa?”
Ben sighed. “I should, but no. I have a feeling that by the time morning comes, you’ll have learned your lesson. Now, would you like to put your nightshirt on the right way around?”
Adam glanced down in surprise and saw that he was, in fact, wearing his nightshirt backward. He’d felt like it was choking him because the back of the collar was against his throat. He bit back a giggle and swung his legs out of bed. He stood up and yanked unproductively at his nightshirt until Ben pulled the garment over his head, turned it around, and tugged it back over his head. He held onto Adam’s arm to steady him as the boy climbed back into bed.
“Go to sleep,” Ben said as he pulled the sheet up over Adam’s shoulders. “And try not to wake your brothers in the middle of the night.” He blew out the oil lamp and left the room, leaving Adam wondering what exactly he meant.
Three hours later, Adam discovered exactly what his father had meant. Still half drunk and exhausted by the day’s adventures, Adam had drifted off to sleep quickly, but he awoke somewhere between ten and eleven o’clock in a cold sweat. He tried to sit up, but his head screamed in protest, and he gasped and fell backward onto his pillow. Screwing his eyes shut, he took deep, ravenous breaths, trying to bring the pain under control. When at last he opened his eyes again, he lay and watched the moonlight’s shadows dancing across the ceiling. For a split second, he felt like he was dancing with them, until he realized, too late, why he felt like he was whirling around.
With a loud “URGH!” Adam expelled the contents of his stomach. One hand fell off the bed and scrabbled for the chamber pot, but there was no time. Ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, coffee, and half a bottle of whiskey gushed onto Adam’s sheet and nightshirt. He convulsed over and over again, with no chance to inhale. Tears leaked out of his eyes as he thought he would suffocate.
His retching woke Hoss, who leapt from the top bunk of the stacked beds he shared with Little Joe and tore out of the bedroom. In a few seconds of respite between gags, Adam heard him screaming for Ben and Marie. Hoss had nearly knocked over the bunk beds when he’d jumped, and the manmade earthquake woke Little Joe, who crawled out of bed, his bottom fat under his nightshirt from the diaper he still wore at night. He toddled over to Adam and looked up at his big brother, his green eyes wide.
“Joe!” Adam gasped. “Chamber pot, Joe! Chamber pot!”
The toddler snatched the chamber pot from under Adam’s bed and handed it to his brother just before another round of heaving gripped him, and he spewed into the receptacle. Completely unperturbed by the violence of Adam’s stomach and the sour stench now permeating the small bedroom, Little Joe climbed up onto Adam’s bed, sat next to his pillow, and patted his big brother’s hair consolingly while Adam continued to sputter.
Marie burst into the room just as Adam’s second round tapered off and he collapsed, pale and sweaty, onto his pillow. She stopped dead in the doorway as the reek of the vomit hit her, and Ben smacked into her from behind and nearly knocked her over. Bringing up the rear, Hoss bounced off his father’s suddenly stationary backside and landed on his butt in the hallway.
“He’s dyin’, Pa, he’s dyin!” Hoss cried from the floor. “Please, sir, do something!”
From his perch on Adam’s bed, Little Joe looked up at his parents. “Adam sick” he announced as he wiped his brother’s sweaty brow with the edge of his nightshirt.
His stomach throbbing from the convulsions, Adam lay panting and wishing for death. He held onto the brimming chamber pot with one hand, and his other hand sought Joe’s and gripped it tightly. His baby brother’s hand was warm, dry, and reassuring. The tiny boy leaned forward and kissed Adam’s forehead.
“It’s ok, Adam,” he said. “Mama fix you.”
Ordering Ben to fill the bathtub, Marie dashed over to Adam’s bed and plucked Little Joe from the mattress and set him on the floor.
“Go sit on your bed, mon chéri,” she said to Joe. “I’ll take care of Adam. You did a good job.” Little Joe grinned proudly and scampered back to his bed
where he sat and watched the proceedings.
Marie snatched the chamber pot from Adam and handed it to Hoss with instructions for him to dump it outside and rinse it out. Hoss wrinkled his nose and held the pot as far away from himself as he could as he made his way down the hall with this unwanted gift from his brother.
Everyone else out of the way, Marie directed her attention to Adam. She looked on him with a mixture of pity and anger as she ripped the soiled sheet off of him, balled it up, and tossed it on the bare wood floor.
“Ma,” Adam croaked. “Ma, I’m sorry.”
“I expect you are,” she replied. Her face was hard, but her expression softened as Adam’s chin began to quiver. “Come on,” she sighed and brushed a sweaty lock of black hair from his forehead. “Let’s get this nightshirt off of you.”
Marie had to hold the wobbly-kneed teenager up with one hand while she peeled his ruined nightshirt off him with the other. Adam knew he should be embarrassed to be standing in front of his stepmother in nothing but his undershorts, but he was so glad to be rid of the damp, stinking nightshirt that he didn’t even blush. Marie swung Adam’s arm across her shoulders and half-dragged him to the kitchen, where Ben had just finished pouring water into the tall copper hipbath. She handed Adam off to his father and returned to the boys’ bedroom to deal with the soiled linens.
Ben stripped off Adam’s undershorts and plunked the boy in the tub. Already trembling from his violent retching, Adam shivered as he hit the cold water. He leaned forward, rested his head on his drawn-up knees, and moaned.
“Pa, am I gonna die?”
Ben poured cool water over Adam’s head. “No, son. Sorry to disappoint you. You’re lucky, though. You know you can kill yourself with too much drink, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How in the world did you and Ross get into so much liquor?!”
As Ben scrubbed the day’s remaining dust from Adam’s back, Adam spilled the whole story: the whiskey in the hayloft, the flying machine, and Ross’s attempt to flee through the hayloft door.
“The worst part is, Pa, I don’t even know if Ross is ok. Mr. Marquette ran me off before he went to fetch the doctor.”
“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” Ben said. “But I doubt Ross will be able to help with their cattle drive in a couple weeks. I’m going to have to pay for an extra hand to help them out, and that money, young man, is going to come out of your portion from our drive, you understand?”
Adam’s eyes filled as he thought of the guitar he’d been hoping to buy with his earnings from the drive, and he bit his lip. He would not cry in the bathtub in front of his father. “Yes, sir,” he muttered.
Marie entered just then with a clean nightshirt, and Adam scrunched up in the tub, trying to conceal himself. To her eternal credit, Marie backed into the room, tossed the nightshirt over the back of a chair, and left without ever turning toward her red-faced stepson in the bathtub. Ben hauled Adam out of the tub, dried him off, and helped him back into his shorts and the clean nightshirt. After downing a tall glass of water, Adam shuffled back to bed and collapsed onto the clean sheet Marie had put there.
“Sleep now, mon chéri,” Marie whispered as she drew the sheet up over Adam’s bare toes. “Je t’aime.”
“Je t’aime, Ma,” Adam replied. Marie left the room, and Adam looked up at Ben. “Pa? I’ll feel better in the morning, right?”
“No, son” Ben said with a sardonic smile. “If anything, you’ll feel worse. Sleep tight.” He patted Adam’s damp hair and returned to his own bedroom.
Adam stared at the ceiling in despair as he listened to his father’s footsteps cross the short hallway and enter the master bedroom.
“Well,” he whispered to himself. “At least the puking’s over.”
It wasn’t.
Adam slept for only another hour and a half before his churning stomach woke him again. He scrabbled for the chamber pot, but Hoss had shoved it too far under the bed for him to reach without getting up, and Adam vomited all over himself a second time.
“S’alright, Adam,” Hoss mumbled sleepily as he slid off his bunk. “I’ll get Pa.” He reached under Adam’s bed and grabbed the chamber pot. He handed it to Adam and padded across the hall to wake their parents. Caught in the deep sleep known only to small children, Little Joe didn’t even stir this time.
Ben and Marie slogged into the boys’ room again, looked at each, and sighed. Marie ripped the soiled sheet from the bed while Ben pulled off Adam’s nightshirt and put yet another clean one on him. They made him drink another glass of water before he lay back down, and Adam sat on the bed and leaned against his father’s broad chest as he drank it.
“I’m so sorry, Pa,” Adam mumbled over and over. “I am so, so sorry.”
“It’s a mistake everyone makes, son,” Ben said. “And one I expect you won’t make twice.”
“No, sir.”
Adam finished his water, let Marie tuck him back under another clean sheet, and fell asleep.
Two hours later, he woke up a third time. This time, he was able to roll out of bed to grab for his chamber pot, but he was so dizzy from dehydration that he fell onto the floor and retched all over himself yet again. Ben and Marie must have been half-listening for sounds from the boys’ room because they materialized in the doorway without being summoned. Marie went white as she stared at the limp, trembling figure on the floor.
“Ben, should we fetch the doctor?” she asked.
“Don’t see what good it would do,” Ben replied, rolling Adam up into a sitting position. “There’s no cure for stupidity.”
“Pa, I am so-”
“Yes, son, I know: You’re very sorry. Come on, let’s get this nightshirt off. Marie, could you get us a clean one, please?”
“He hasn’t got a clean one.”
“I’m sorry?”
“He’s only got three, Ben, and he’s wearing the third one. Shall I get him one of yours?”
“Not a chance!” Ben thundered. Adam winced as his father’s resonant voice rattled inside his head. Up on his bunk, Hoss stirred, and Ben lowered his voice. “He’s ruined enough nightshirts as it is. He’ll just have to sleep without one.” Ben pulled the soiled nightshirt off of Adam and then went for the boy’s undershorts.
“Hey!” Adam protested as vehemently as his dehydrated state would allow. “What’re you doing?!”
“I’m keeping you from ruining more perfectly good clothes,” Ben grumbled, wrenching the garment from his son’s skinny hips. “It’s July; you won’t freeze to death.”
Adam’s face burned as his father lifted his naked body and laid him on his bed in full view of Marie, but he was too weak to struggle, so he lay there, shivering and wishing for death.
“I’ll get you another glass of water,” Ben grumbled, and he stalked out of the room.
Adam curled up in the fetal position, hot tears burning the corners of his eyes. He heard Marie’s light footsteps approaching his bedside, and he wished that she would just go away rather than adding to his mortification. Then he felt a soft sheet being tucked in around him, and he rolled over. Marie smiled down at him and laid a warm hand on his cheek. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ben returned with Adam’s water.
“I’ll give this to him,” Marie said, taking the glass from Ben. “You go back to bed, mon chéri.”
“All right.” Ben laid a hand on Adam’s forehead. “Hang in there, son. This, too, shall pass away.” Adam nodded, and Ben slipped out of the room.
Marie leaned Adam up against her while he drained his water glass and then eased him back onto his pillows.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” Adam whimpered.
Marie ran a hand lightly down Adam’s face to make him close his eyes. “It’s all right, Adam,” she said. “Sleep now.”
Comforted by the soft hand resting on his chest, Adam dropped off to sleep.
******
The sunlight pouring into the boys’ bedroom shot through Adam’s eyes and stabbed his throbbing brain. He groaned and pulled the sheet up over his face.
“We need a curtain,” he moaned.
Hoss, who was already up and pulling on his trousers, glared at him. “We need separate rooms so you don’t wake us up in the middle of the night with your pukin’,” he retorted.
“You don’t have to worry about me doing that again,” Adam said. He sat up and dropped his head into his hands. “Uhhhhhhh. I’ve never felt so awful in my life.” His throat burned from all the stomach acid it had accommodated last night, and Adam’s entire midsection ached from repeated heaving. His head felt like it was twice its normal size, and the scent of frying bacon wafting in from the kitchen made his stomach roll. Adam bit his lip and breathed deeply, warding off the nausea. Hoss looked over at his pale, sweaty brother and shook his head.
“You really done it this time, Adam,” the eight-year-old observed.
“Yeah, I sure have,” Adam agreed. “Tell Ma and Pa I won’t be out for breakfast, ok?” He closed his eyes and lay back down.
“They ain’t gonna like that,” Hoss muttered as he left the room.
Hoss was right. No more than thirty seconds later, Ben burst into the room. Little Joe, who had just woken up, beamed at him.
“Pa!” the little boy crowed, pleased to pieces to see his father.
The stern expression Ben had entered the room with melted, and he crossed the room to pick up his youngest son. Joe giggled and buried his face in the crook of Ben’s shoulder. Ben smiled and cuddled the toddler for a moment before turning to Adam.
“Get up, Adam,” he said, the gruffness returning to his voice.
“Pa, if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon skip breakfast,” Adam replied.
Ben raised an eyebrow and set Little Joe down. He whispered something in the boy’s ear, and Joe laughed and scampered out of the room. Ben strode to Adam’s bedside.
“I don’t care if you eat anything, but you will come out to the dining room and sit with the family, young man.”
Knowing this was a battle he would not win, Adam flung off his sheet and rose shakily to his feet. The room spun, and Adam clutched the headboard of his bed until it slowed to a stop. Taking a deep breath, he placed one foot in front of the other and gingerly made his way to the door.
“Adam?”
He stopped and turned to his father.
“Sir?”
“Put some clothes on first.”
Adam glanced down and shot crimson as he realized he was still stark naked. While his father’s eyes danced with newfound amusement, Adam shuffled to his chest of drawers and pulled out shorts, socks, trousers, and a shirt. Too dizzy to stand any longer, he dropped onto the edge of his bed to sit down while he pulled on his clothes. Dressed at last, he made his slow way toward the bedroom door. Ben laid a hand gently on his shoulder as Adam trudged down the hallway, his head down.
He could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he sank into his seat at the breakfast table, and he knew what he had to do next. He raised his head and caught each family member’s gaze in turn.
“I’m really sorry for all the trouble I caused last night,” he mumbled. “It won’t happen again.”
“Thank you, Adam,” Ben answered for the family. “Now eat up. We’re heading out to the Marquettes’ right after breakfast.”
The only thing Adam wanted to do less than eat up was to ride an hour or more out to the Silver Dollar Ranch to speak with Ross’s father. As it turned out, he was spared from both. Marie laid a hand on Ben’s arm just as he was about to place a heaping scoop of scrambled eggs on Adam’s plate. She shook her head at her husband and slipped Adam a single slice of toast with butter instead.
“Let’s see how this settles first,” she said with a smile at Adam. Then she turned to Ben. “No point wasting food if he can’t keep it down yet.”
Ben nodded at her logic and filled Adam’s coffee cup.
As Adam sat nibbling unenthusiastically on his toast and sipping his coffee, the family heard a knock at the door. The toast and coffee spun in Adam’s stomach as he realized who was most likely waiting on the other side. Ben gave Adam a hard look and rose to answer it. Sure enough, Mr. Marquette stepped into the house.
“Morning, Jasper,” Ben said, shaking his hand.
“Mornin’, Ben,” Mr. Marquette replied. “Long night?”
“Not as long as yours, from what I’ve heard. Would you like some coffee?”
Adam knew he shouldn’t interrupt, but concern for his best friend overpowered his manners. He sprang from his seat and dashed over to Mr. Marquette. The sudden motion made him dizzy again, and he had to clutch his father’s arm for a moment until he was sure he was steady.
“Mr. Marquette, is Ross ok?” he asked.
The thin man sighed. “Yeah, he’s all right, Adam. Been pukin’ his guts out all night, but Doc says that ankle’s just sprained. It’ll heal fine, but he won’t be any good for the cattle drive in a couple weeks.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Ben grumbled. “But Adam and I have already talked about this, Jasper, and I’m going to hire you an extra hand for your drive. The money’s gonna come out of Adam’s share from our drive.”
“You don’t have to do that, Ben.”
“Yes, I do. You’re a good neighbor and a better friend. I’ll not have Adam’s… indiscretion costing you.”
“No, Ben, you don’t understand. Ross told me the whole story. Said Adam didn’t want to drink the whiskey they found, but Ross shamed him into it. This was my boy’s fault, and the money for the extra hand will come out of his share, not Adam’s.”
Ben turned to Adam. “Son, is this true?”
Adam hated to betray his best friend, but he knew things would go easier on both of them if he told the whole truth. “He may have teased me a little,” he mumbled. “But, Pa, those wings were my idea. He wouldn’t have known about da Vinci if not for me.”
Ben studied his son for a moment and then turned to Mr. Marquette.
“Jasper, how much did the doctor’s visit cost you?”
“Ten dollars seein’ as how he had to ride all the way in from Carson City in the middle of the night.”
Ben nodded. “Adam, since Ross wouldn’t have taken that flying leap without your assistance, you’ll pay Mr. Marquette ten dollars out of your cattle drive money, you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Adam was disappointed to lose so much, but ten dollars was better than the fifty he’d expected to lose if he’d had to pay for a hand for the Marquettes’ cattle drive. He’d have to put off buying that guitar, but if he picked up some extra chores, he might still be able to buy the instrument by Christmas.
“And starting tomorrow, once you finish your chores here, you’ll ride out to the Marquettes’ every day to do Ross’s chores until he’s back on his feet.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now apologize to Mr. Marquette and then go sit down before you fall down.”
Adam did. Back in his seat, he leaned forward and rested his head on the table. Ben led Mr. Marquette over to the table, pulled up an extra chair for him, and poured him a cup of coffee. Mr. Marquette nodded enthusiastically when Marie offered him some bacon and eggs; since Adam hadn’t eaten anything but half a slice of toast, there was plenty of food to share.
Ben leaned back in his seat and stirred milk into his third cup of coffee. “I have to ask, Jasper,” he said. “Why the hayloft?”
Mr. Marquette barked a laugh. “Ben, I’m so sorry. Sheriff gave it to me for helping him catch that horse thief back in the spring. Cora doesn’t like me having liquor in the house, so I tucked it up there, thinkin’ I’d give it to my brother. But you know how busy ranchin’ gets in the spring and summer, and I completely forgot I had it.”
Ben threw back his head and laughed. Adam was relieved to hear his father’s good humor returning; he just wished Ben wasn’t so loud about it. His head still on the table, Adam clapped his hands over his ears.
“Well, next time you have a bottle of fine whiskey you don’t know what to do with, you just let me know,” Ben said. “I’ll help you take care of it.” He glanced over at his hungover fourteen-year-old. “In moderation,” he added. He jabbed his index finger into Adam’s ribs to make him sit up.
When Mr. Marquette had left and the boys had at last been excused from the table, Adam pulled on his boots. He knew Ben wouldn’t let him off the hook for his chores, so better to get them over with. Horse manure didn’t usually bother him, but as soon as he stepped into the barn to muck out the stalls and put down fresh hay, he stomach contracted, and he retched into the filthy straw at Beauty’s feet. The mare glared at him.
“Sorry, girl,” Adam gasped, patting her flank.
It took him twice as long as usual to clean out the stalls because he had to keep sitting down to stop his head spinning. When at long last he finished and staggered back to the house, Marie met him on the porch with a glass of water.
“Everything hurts, Ma,” he moaned as he dropped into a rocking chair. “Sorry,” he added quickly. He knew he had no right to complain. Squinting against the blinding, painful sunlight, he looked up at the hitching post and saw his father’s tall black stallion was no longer there. “Where’s Pa?”
“Oh, he rode out with some hands to do a last round up of the cattle in the high country.”
Horror rose like a hard lump in Adam’s throat. “Oh no! I was supposed to go with him! He’s gonna be so angry with me…” He dropped his face into his hands.
Marie smiled and laid a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Your father thought that, given your current state, you might be more of a burden than a help today,” she said. Adam shuddered and fought back tears; he just couldn’t quit messing things up. Marie gave his shoulder a little squeeze. “He suggested that perhaps you’d be better off spending the day in bed but asked me to remind you that if this ever happens again he will – what were his words? – skin you alive and leave your sorry carcass for the buzzards, I believe he said.”
Adam smiled. Ben had forgiven him. He handed his empty water glass to Marie, thanked her, and plodded to his bedroom where he stayed upright just long enough to pull off his boots before pitching over onto his bed and falling asleep.
Adam slept until nearly suppertime when Ben returned home and poked his head into the boys’ bedroom to check on him. Adam awoke to the reassuring pressure of his father’s wide hand rubbing his back. He rolled over and blinked his eyes open.
“How you feeling, son?” Ben asked, giving Adam a little smile.
Adam took a brief inventory and discovered that while all of his joints still ached from dehydration, his head had stopped pounding, and the thought of supper didn’t repulse him. “Better, Pa. Thanks for lettin’ me sleep today. I know I didn’t deserve it.”
“No, you didn’t,” Ben agreed. “But we wouldn’t have been any further ahead if I’d dragged you along today. Besides, Hoss was thrilled when I asked him to come along.”
Adam let out a small chuckle. Hoss was desperate to start getting involved in the business of the Ponderosa, and he took every opportunity to let everyone know it.
“I won’t do this ever again, Pa, I swear.”
Ben laid his hand on Adam’s forehead and stroked the boy’s brow with his thumb. It was a comforting gesture he’d done all of Adam’s life, and Adam nearly fell right back to sleep. “I know you won’t, son. You’ve certainly learned your lesson. I just hope you understand what a good friend you have in Ross. He didn’t have to own up like he did.”
“I know it. I’m gonna thank him tomorrow when I go over to do his chores. Maybe I’ll take him a couple of my books to give him something to do while he’s laid up.”
Ben grinned. “That’s a good idea. Now how about a little supper? Hop Sing made some chicken soup that should settle all right in an upset stomach.”
Adam smiled and followed his father to the dining room.
The chicken soup did settle well, and by the time the family settled in the living room after supper, Adam was feeling much more like himself. After Hoss and Little Joe went to bed, however, Ben reached for his brandy bottle and poured himself his usual nightcap. Adam pulled his shirt collar over his face to block the cloying odor and found himself fighting down nausea again.
“I think I’m gonna go to bed, too,” he announced. “Got a big day tomorrow what with Ross’s chores and all.” He bid the briefest of goodnights to his parents and tore off down the hall to his bedroom. Safe from the scent of Ben’s brandy, Adam took several deep cleansing breaths and got undressed. Hop Sing was still soaking his soiled nightshirts, so Adam climbed under his sheet in just his undershorts. As he nuzzled into his pillow, the image of Ross leaping from the hayloft door drifted through his mind, and he had to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing out loud and waking his brothers.
“Boy are we stupid,” he snickered as he closed his eyes and sleep overtook him.