I Know You Think You Understand...

by Katlynn

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.

This story is about the 7-year-old Heath, now 12-year-old Nick, and 16-year-old Jarrod that I used in my story "The Wish" … with one minor difference. It should be set in the mid-1850's. But, since Oscar Wilde wasn't born until 1854 and his first book wasn't published until the early 1880's, think of it as moving a bit more than thirty years forward so the reference to him as a published writer is timely. It was written in response to a challenge to write a story that incorporates the words 'sushi', 'walrus', 'submarine', 'lunatic asylum', 'puce', and 'Oscar Wilde'.

I'll warn you that this story MAY completely confuse you … but, hopefully, it'll all make sense in the end. If not, someone who read a short bit of it suggested that reading it aloud (at least the bits that are spoken) might help. My fingers are crossed that you won't ALL be echoing Heath's "Huh?" when you finish reading.

~ I know you think you understand what you heard me say. But I'm not sure if what you think you heard me say was what I really said. ~

It had been ten months since seven-year-old Heath Barkley had come to live with his father's family. There'd been difficult days … weeks … months … when he'd first joined them. But he'd finally settled in and seemed to have found his place in the family. In those early days, when they all gathered in the parlour or the study after dinner, Heath would find a book and sit quietly, afraid to disturb what he thought was a nightly routine. But when he really stopped to watch, he found that there was no actual routine. His brothers would sometimes challenge each other to a game of checkers. On other nights, like Heath, they'd read a book. Or sometimes they'd play a game of gin rummy and persuade their mother to join in.

Mother. It took him a while to call Mrs. Barkley that … just as it took him a while to realize that she didn't mind when he joined in the card games she played with her sons. And, if she wasn't playing cards, she didn't mind when he'd sit next to her to read a book while she did her knitting or darning. She'd stop for a moment to help him when he had trouble sounding out one of the words then she'd smile and squeeze his hand when he figured it out. It took him a while to accept that she actually enjoyed those moments.

His Pa would sometimes spend the night reading, too, but it was usually the newspaper rather than a book. The Stockton newspaper came out twice a week now and his Pa would read every word of it. On those nights when there was no newspaper to read, he might join in their card game … or he might sit at his desk working on ranch business. And then there were those nights when his Pa would wink at him and say, "Come on over and tell me about your day, Son."

THOSE were the best nights ever! Yeah … he enjoyed playing games with his brothers … or sitting quietly next to his mother … but those moments with his father were moments from the dreams he had well before he ever met the man. And the moments were even better than he'd imagined they could be! There'd been times when he'd sit in a tree out back of the two-room cottage he and his mother lived in, lean back against the tree's trunk with his eyes closed, and imagine that it was his father cradling him in his arms. He'd talk about his day as though to his father … but no one had ever responded to his tales as his father did now. And the branches that he fancied to be his father's arms never rubbed his back or tightened their hold as his father's did now.

Tonight was one of those nights. Tom Barkley had started to pick up the newspaper when he saw Heath standing just a few feet away, silently watching the game of checkers that his brothers were playing. He knew the boy was hoping to play the winner but the older boys were contemplating their moves so carefully that Tom could see the single game taking at least an hour. With their attention on the game, neither would be willing to engage in idle chatter with their little brother. So Tom decided that some idle chatter was just what he needed and he refolded the paper, setting it on the table next to his favorite chair as he reached out and said, "Heath. Son, come on up here and tell me about your day."

He noticed that both Jarrod and Nick looked up when they heard his comment and each looked at Heath as though just realizing he was there. He saw genuine regret in their eyes that they'd been ignoring their little brother and he winked to let them know that all was well and they could go back to their game. But he suspected that they'd try to listen in and contribute to the conversation as their way of apologizing for taking no notice of the boy.

Heath turned to his father, smiling that crooked little grin that the man knew only came out when he was truly happy about something. It elicited a similar smile from Tom, a smile that grew wider when Heath was the one to ask, "So how was your day, Pa?"

"I had a mighty fine day today. How was yours?" he turned the question around to his son.

"Well … I thought it was gonna be a bad one 'cuz it didn't start out so good," the little blond told his father as he settled into his lap.

"What happened?" Tom shifted him around a bit so he could see his face.

"Boy howdy, you was right when ya' said that I'd likely get hungry b'fore lunch if I didn't eat all my breakfast! Pa, I got hungry just on the ride to school," the boy admitted. "So when we got there and I had Buddy all settled, I went over to the bench and took a cookie outta my lunch pail. I was fixin' to eat it but I didn't take more than a single bite b'fore John grabbed it right outta my hand. I tried to get it back but he turned an' threw it past Buddy an' then whirled around again like he thought I was gonna come chargin' after him. But…"

"Hey, Midget, who ya' talkin' about?" Nick had only been half listening to his brother. "I thought I was your best buddy in the world."

"Ya' ARE, Nick," Heath stated simply, not sure what had brought such a comment from his brother.

"Well … ya' just remember that then!" the dark-haired, twelve-year-old stated emphatically. "Don't you go callin' anyone else your best buddy in the world! 'Specially not John."

Jarrod reached out and tapped the checkers board. "Nick! Would you make your move!"

As Nick turned his attention back to the game, Heath looked at his father with a single raised eyebrow. Tom shrugged and shook his head. He figured he knew what Nick thought he'd heard but wasn't sure he could explain it to the seven-year-old. So rather than answer the unasked question, he asked instead, "So did your day get better after John took your cookie?"

"Got better for me, Pa, but I think the bad luck rubbed off on Mr. Hudson and his wife."

"How's that?"

"They was driving their buggy by the school on the way to the general store and Mrs. Hudson woulda fallen out if they hadn't been holding hands when a loose wheel fell off. Mr. Hudson just held onta her and…"

"What was she doing bringing hens to school?" Jarrod looked over at them.

"Huh?"

"Lucille. You said she was holding hens on the way to school."

"He said she was takin' 'em to the general store," Nick informed his brother. "And now YOU'RE holding up the game. Make your move, okay!" he demanded and Jarrod's focus returned to the game.

"Pa?" Heath sounded bewildered as he looked up at the man. "Who's Lucille?"

This time Tom decided that a short explanation was in order. "I think he heard you say 'loose wheel' and thought you were talking about someone named 'Lucille'."

Heath nodded thoughtfully and then said very seriously, "I didn't see no hens, though."

"No," Tom agreed, "I'm sure you didn't. Jarrod is just confused."

"Me, too, Pa," the little boy agreed.

"Then why don't we move on to something that's not so confusing," the man suggested, rubbing his hand up and down his son's arm. "What subjects did Mr. Grover cover in school today?"

"We had some spellin'. And 'rithmatic. And history!" he said excitedly. "Ya'd never guess what we learned about!"

"Why don't you tell me about it, then."

Heath's eyes grew wider as they'd looked into his father's. "Did ya' know they got boats that go under water, Pa! We learned about 'em today!"

"Really!? Under water!? What did you learn about them?"

"Well, we learned that they're real good at sneakin' up on ya! They ain't very big but they can sink a big ol' war ship!" Heath told him. "'Ceptin' … it don't seem very safe, Pa. The one Mr. Grover told us about didn't get outta the way … and that ol' war ship sank right on top of it. Musta been a real sight ta see if ya' was a fish," the boy suggested. "Mr. Grover said they call 'em submarines. Pretty good name, seems ta me."

"Why is that?"

"Ya' ever heard of Latin?"

"Yes … it's a language that not very many people speak."

"Well … Mr. Grover said the 'marine' part of that word is a Latin word that means 'sea'. And 'sub' means 'below'. So the whole word together means…" the boy paused dramatically, "…below the sea!"

"Then I guess that IS a pretty good name for it," Tom concurred with his son's suggestion.

"When we went outside for lunch," the seven-year-old continued, "we wanted to see how long you could hold your breath if ya' was under water like that. So we picked Billy ta do it. Had it all planned out. Over by the wall, Russ just stood there whistlin' a tune … and Oscar whiled away his time leanin' against the fence…"

As the boy paused for breath, with a frown Tom asked, "What were they waiting for?"

"We didn't think Mr. Grover would much like Billy stickin' his head in the horse trough so they was waitin' for the signal."

"What signal?"

"Well … Sue, she was standin' outside the window waitin' ta see Mr. Grover sit down at his desk and open his lunch pail. When he did that, she signaled to Russ, an' he signaled to Oscar, an' he signaled to Billy."

"And what happened then?"

"Billy took a real deep breath and stuck his head in the horse trough and we all started countin'. Got somewhere over a hundred before he had to come up for air! I've gotta tell ya', Pa … his face was puce!" the little boy explained.

"Puce?'

"It's a color."

"I know it's a color," Tom sort of laughed. "I guess I just didn't expect that YOU would know it's a color."

"Mama made a quilt from some material scraps and some of 'em was from a dress she once had. She called it her puce dress so I asked her what it meant. I'm tellin' ya', Pa … Billy's face was kinda purple and kinda red and it looked a whole lot like them scraps from Mama's puce dress."

The little boy started giggling and Tom couldn't resist asking what memory was making him laugh that way.

"Well, Pa --" the boy tried to swallow his laugh, "at first when Mama said that word, I thought it sounded like something ya' did after ya' had too much ta eat at dinner and ya' 'scused yourself and went outside behind the bushes."

THAT got Nick's attention away from the checkers game, again. "Midget, what kinda story are ya' tellin' to Father! Who's gettin' sick behind the bushes?"

"You'd get sick, too, if you were eating sushi," Jarrod told him. "Now make your move."

"Sushi?" Nick ignored his brother's instruction.

"It's a kinda food that's got raw fish in it."

Not wanting to admit that he hadn't known that, Nick agreed, "Yeah … I heard him mention a walrus."

"The walrus isn't a fish," Jarrod let out a deep sigh.

"Well … they EAT fish. And I don't expect they stop to cook 'em first," the twelve-year-old said triumphantly.

"I'm sure they don't but --" Jarrod suddenly stopped and looked over at his blond brother. "What does that have to do with Oscar Wilde?"

"Huh?"

"I heard you mention Oscar Wilde. I'm familiar with his writing and I'm impressed that you know who he is. But I don't think I remember him writing a story about a walrus that got sick from eating sushi," he shook his head. And then, as though to himself, he mused, "I'll have to check for that one at the Library. And now," he turned to Nick, "would you make your move … or admit that you're beat."

It was the talk of being beaten that did it. Nick and Jarrod turned their attention back to their checkers board and Heath turned his attention back to his father.

"Pa--" he asked slowly, "have ya' ever heard of one'a them places where they put crazy people?"

"Do you mean an insane asylum?"

Heath shook his head. "That don't sound like the name I heard. Once when I was a kid, I heard Aunt Rachel tellin' Mama that Aunt Martha was talkin' so crazy she belonged in … some place. I 'member the 'sylum part but the rest don't sound the same."

"Maybe she said a lunatic asylum?"

"THAT'S what it was! Mama told me it was a place where people go when they're doin' or sayin' crazy things. Maybe that's where Nick and Jarrod'll end up. Boy howdy! I ain't NEVER heard nothin' as crazy as what they was just sayin'. It even made me forget where I was in my story, Pa!"

"Well …" Tom reminded his son, "…OSCAR WHILED away his time by the fence and over by the WALL, RUSS was whistling a tune…"

"Mm-hm, and SUE, SHE was watching by the window. Then Billy tried to pretend he was holdin' his breath in a submarine and ended up turning puce! Pa, I don't know how that turned into a story about a walrus getting sick from eating fish. And don't tell Jarrod I said so," Heath lowered his voice, "but I ain't never heard'a that Oscar Wilde guy."

"I have to admit that I'm confused myself," Tom tried to hide his smile, knowing perfectly well that what the two older boys had heard wasn't at all what Heath had said. "We might have to think about that lunatic asylum."

"Yeah … but … maybe could we wait 'til Jarrod goes to the library?" Heath asked. "Sounds like that Oscar Wilde writes some pretty good stories. Wouldn't mind readin' that one about the walrus…"

THE END