Important Lessons

by Stacey256

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.

In my alternate universe (started in “Play It With Finesse” and continued in “New Orleans Noel” and “Star Crossed”) there’s an extra Barkley brother, Peter, who ran away from home at the age of 14. When he finally returns, some 14 years later, he has his own family. They have moved from New Orleans to San Francisco to be closer to the rest of the family. This short story is about the oldest son’s first day of school.

“I don’t know why I can’t be the one who takes Tom to school this morning,” Samantha Barkley shot another angry look at her husband before her eyes filled with tears. “He’s my child, too.”

“Of course he’s your child, too,” her husband said patiently. Peter reached over to pat his wife’s shoulder, “It’s just that you’ll cry and that’ll be upsetting to Tom. You know how he hates it when you cry.”

It was true, she silently admitted to herself. She would cry and Tom, who was so tender hearted, wouldn’t understand that they were happy tears . . . well sort of happy tears. The idea that her precious little boy was going off to school squeezed her heart. It was just yesterday that she had given birth to him, that beautiful spring morning in New Orleans. Sighing, she knuckled her eyes as the tears threatened again.

“Here,” Peter handed her his handkerchief. “Now, buck up, old girl. You want to give your boy smiles when you send him off to his first day of school.”

“Old girl!” she glared at her husband and then immediately turned to look at herself in her vanity mirror. Was she getting old? Oh, she must be; after all, her baby was starting school. She ran her fingers over her flawless skin and she scoured the corners of her eyes and mouth for crows’ feet. Suddenly, she felt her husband’s strong hands on her shoulders and then watched in the mirror as he bent to kiss her cheek and then rest his own cheek against her hair for a moment.

“Just teasing,” he whispered. “You still look like a schoolgirl yourself. Shoot, if you took Tom today, the headmaster would probably insist that you go in for class.”

She appreciated his words, but her heart still ached. Gently she squeezed the hand that still rested on her shoulder, “All right, I’ll put on my brave face, but I still think I should be able to go with you. Didn’t your mother take you to school your first day?”

“Nope,” he offered her his arm as she stood. “Rode in with Jarrod and Nick.”

“Well,” she sniffed, “I bet your mother took Jarrod his first day.”

He thought for a moment, “Don’t think so. First school in Stockton didn’t open until Jarrod was about ten, after the gold rush started. Mother schooled him at home until then. I think he and Nick rode in together on their first day at the Stockton school.”

Thwarted once again, all she could do was sigh . . . and then fight to hold back her tears as she saw her darling little boy waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs. He was so handsome, in his school clothes, carefully holding his lunch pail in one hand and his little satchel in the other. And he looked so little . . . she stifled a sob. He was too little to be going off to school. He was little more than a baby.

Which is exactly what she called him when she knelt down in front of him, “Oh, baby, you look so handsome.” She straightened a collar that didn’t need straightening and smoothed the blond locks that didn’t need smoothing.

Because he was Tom, the well-mannered brother, he did not roll his eyes and wrinkle his nose at his mother’s ministrations like his little brother Nicky would have. But he did gently correct, “I’m not a baby, Mamma.”

“Of course, you’re not,” she just managed not to sniff. “I guess you’re ready to go to your first day of school.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied dutifully and held up the satchel and lunch pail as evidence.

“I guess Pappa’s going to take you to school this morning . . .” and she tried once more, “unless you’d prefer me to do it.”

“Pappa’s fine,” the little boy said calmly.

Before his wife could pressure the boy, Peter added, “I’ll be busy at the bank this afternoon, so Sean’s going to pick you up at the end of your school day . . . do you want your mamma to come, too?”

Tom immediately shook his head, “No, Pappa, Mamma needs to be here for the little ones. Mr. Sean picking me up will be just fine.”

Peter’s eyes danced but he held back his chuckle at the notion of how Nicky, Tom’s junior by only two years, would feel about being referred to as a “little one.” And then he was pleasantly surprised by his young son’s wisdom as the boy eagerly added, “But you’ll be here when I get home, won’t you, Mamma? So I can tell you all about my first day.”

It was exactly what Samantha needed to hear. She wasn’t losing her darling boy, he was simply extending his territory a little, and the first person he wanted to tell his adventures to was his mamma. “Of course I’ll be here, darling,” she reached out to hug him. “And I will hardly be able to wait to hear all about it.”

Peter allowed Samantha a few more moments of hugging and fussing and then observed, “Well, Tom, we best be going. You don’t want to be late your first day.”

“Yes, Pappa,” the little boy stepped away from his mamma and tightened his hold on his satchel and lunch pail. He had been waiting for this day for a very long time. School. Finally he was going to get to go to school. Finally, he was doing something that would set him apart from his younger siblings. “Is Mr. Sean going to take us or are we riding one of the horses?”

“Actually,” Peter reached down to help his wife stand again and brushed her cheek with another kiss, “I had Sean get us a hack. I thought it might make this day special.”

“Just you and me?” Tom’s eyes shone brightly. He could never remember just him and Pappa going in a hack.

“Just you and me,” his pappa nodded and then picked up his hat with one hand and placed his other hand on Tom’s shoulder to guide him out the front door and down the walk. He gently propelled the boy along, casually encouraging his son’s prattle, with the hope of getting the boy far enough down the walk that when he turned back to wave at his mamma he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. His plan worked well because Tom did not turn back to look at his mamma standing on the porch until he had climbed into the hack by himself. The little boy gave his mother a big smile and wave through the open window which she immediately returned.

Peter swung up into the hack and sat in the seat across from his son, enjoying the boy’s proud smile. As the hack moved down the street, Tom’s eyes danced. For a few moments, Peter just watched the boy’s happy face, wondering a little where the years had gone. It was just yesterday that he had held the boy for the first time, that little squirming bundle of life, the most precious gift that he had ever been given. Feeling foolishly sentimental, Peter wanted to reach over and draw the boy into his lap to cradle him once more . . . but that probably wasn’t proper father behavior for the first day of school. Hadn’t he already scolded Sam for coddling too much? No, best that he treat Tom like the little man he was becoming.

“So, I know your mamma has told you a lot about school. And you and I have talked some. Is there anything you want to ask me now, anything about what you should do, what you should expect to happen?” Peter gently prodded the boy.

Tom’s forehead wrinkled for a moment and then he shook his head, “I can’t think of anything, Pappa. I mean you and Mamma told me about school. And so has Grandmother. And so has everybody else, so I think I know most everything for the first day of school.”

“Everybody else?” Peter wondered who else was the source of information for his son.

“When we were at the ranch last week, Aunt Audra and my uncles all kinda told me what to expect,” Tom said confidently. “I think I got a real good idea of what to do.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh, Uncle Jarrod told me that I needed to be polite to my teacher and to pay attention to all her instructions.”

“Really?” Peter repeated, imaging his big brother’s serious face as he discussed this important topic with Tom and how his son would have listened with just as serious a face. Although Tom closely resembled him, Peter always thought that his first-born’s personality was much closer to big brother Jarrod’s. Must be something about first-borns.

“Yep, he said I didn’t have to be the teacher’s pet or anything but that she’ll like me a lot better if I just pay her the respect of listening to her and obeying her. He said that’s just common courtesy.”

“Well, common courtesy sounds pretty reasonable,” his father agreed thinking that Samantha would be very pleased with Jarrod’s sage advice. “So did you get any other advice for your first day from your aunt and uncles?”

“Oh, yeah, lots,” the boy nodded eagerly. “Uncle Gene said to sit next to the prettiest girl and if I smiled at her she might just share her lunch with me . . . maybe even her dessert.”

Peter couldn’t stop his chuckle, thinking that his youngest brother was always full of surprises. He wondered how many desserts Gene had charmed out of his female classmates. “Well, I think Uncle Gene has an interesting idea there,” he finally allowed.

“But Aunt Audra made me promise that I wouldn’t tease the girls. She said that she didn’t want to hear about me trying to untie girls’ bows or pulling their hair. She said that boys used to do that when she was in school and that she expected me to have better manners than that.”

“I think your mamma would feel exactly the same way. Mamma has taught you very good manners and she will expect you to use them in school. So, what did Uncle Nick tell you?”

“To keep my thumbs out.”

Peter blinked, speechless as he considered what in the world that meant. Finally, he asked, “Excuse me?”

Tom glanced out of the hack for a moment, enjoying the way the scenery just slipped past. He finally elaborated, “Uncle Nick said to be sure to keep my thumbs out when I make a fist or else I could hurt my thumb.”

“Make a fist?” now this was an interesting topic . . . one he was sure Samantha would not approve of.

“Yeah, Uncle Nick said that most schools have bullies and sometimes you have to take up for yourself or for others so you got to know how to make a good fist and throw a good punch,” Tom demonstrated the fist that Uncle Nick had shown him how to make.

“Well, let’s see your punch,” Peter held up a hand and Tom complied, planting a sharp punch into the palm and earning an approving nod from his father.

“And Uncle Nick said I need to think real hard before I throw a punch ‘cause there are consequences.”

“Consequences?” now this was very interesting. Peter had never considered that Nick thought about the consequences of his actions.

“Yep, he said that usually you get punished for throwing punches in school but pretty often it’s worth it ‘cause you shut up a bully or kept him from hurting somebody else,” Tom nodded seriously. “But, you best decide the punishment is worth it before you throw the punch. He said sometimes that you don’t have to throw a punch, that you can just do it with the look.”

“The look?” this was truly fascinating, Peter thought.

“Uh huh, the look will sometimes shut a bully up, Uncle Nick said,” Tom nodded seriously. “He said to try it first before throwing a punch.”

“So, let’s see your look,” Peter’s lips twitched.

Tom looked straight into his father’s eyes. His smile faded and his lips pressed into a firm straight line. The twinkling blue in his eyes went from soft sky blue to icy in just a heartbeat. Peter thought immediately of his father; Tom Barkley’s eyes could change just like that, leaving you cold right down to your toes. Of course, Peter didn’t know that his own eyes would do that when required. Watching his sweet little boy’s face change so completely rocked Peter for a moment. He finally managed to nod, “Pretty potent face. It just might work on occasion.”

“Good,” Tom’s smile, Samantha’s wonderful smile, lit up his whole face.

Surprised again by the complete transformation, Peter caught his breath and then forced it out in a slow sigh. “So, did Uncle Heath have any words of wisdom on this school stuff.”

“Hmm, not too much,” Tom frowned as if he were trying to recall.

Peter nodded, knowing that his newest brother was a man of few words. He was surprised when Tom continued, “He didn’t much tell what to do. He just told me that since Mamma had been working with me and I already knew my letters and numbers and since I had nice manners and knew how to use them, he expected that the teacher and I would get along just fine.”

His father agreed, “I think Uncle Heath is probably right.”

“And he said that I was pretty big for my age so he didn’t expect that I would have much trouble with any bullies. And that was even before Uncle Nick taught me how to do the look and how to make a good fist.”

“Uh huh,” Peter worked hard to contain his smile.

“And he told me that I was a pretty likeable fellow so he kinda thought I would most likely be friends with just about everybody at school . . . and he said that would be a really nice thing.”

“That is a nice thing,” his father agreed.

The frown returned to Tom’s face and he struggled for a few moments before he continued, “Uncle Heath did tell me one thing I might do, Pappa.”

A little concerned because of the frown, Peter asked, “What was that, son?”

“He just said that when I’m at school, I might look around and see if I noticed anybody who was having a hard time, somebody who might not have friends. Uncle Heath said it might be a good thing for me to consider being that person’s friend. Uncle Heath said everybody needs a friend, especially when you’re in school.”

Peter’s throat closed up. He feared that his younger brother was speaking from experience. Had Heath been the outcast in school . . . the small, undernourished child of a single mother who was preyed upon by bullies . . . the little boy who had no friends . . . the one who sat by himself at lunch time and recess . . . perhaps because of the circumstances of his birth shunned even by his teachers? It was so damn unfair. The Barkley children had always been accepted in Stockton; each of them had had a wide circle of friends; all of them had, in fact, been acknowledged leaders of their classmates. Heath had never known such easy acceptance. Peter struggled against his anger. Tom’s first day of school wasn’t the place to explore this inequity.

“Well,” Peter successfully kept his voice level, “that might be a good thing to think about.” As the hack slowed down, he added, “It looks as if we’re here. You ready, mate?”

Tom grinned at the beloved nickname, “Aye, aye, captain!”

Peter swung down from the stopped hack and almost reached up to lift Tom down. His son’s stern expression stopped his hand. Instead he just took the lunch pail that Tom extended to him and watched as the boy climbed out of the hack on his own. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Peter managed to tell the hack driver to wait for him. Tom reached up to take the lunch pail from his father’s hand and, with a straightening of his shoulders, turned to face the sea of children outside the school’s gates. Peter reflected that the academy that Samantha had selected for their eldest son was certainly a lot different from the two-room school he had gone to in Stockton. Dang, Peter thought, there were probably as many children in each class of this school as there had been in all of the Stockton school. For a moment, the suave, self-assured banker felt a lick of panic. What was he supposed to do now?

But Tom saved him, “Pappa, doesn’t that sign over there say first grade? Shouldn’t we go over there.”

“Good eye, mate,” Peter sighed. “Let’s set our course for that harbor.”

With just a quick smile for his father, Tom started off on his own and Peter could only trail after him. He watched in awe as his little boy easily moved around groups of much larger children and pockets of parents. His son would occasionally make eye contact with someone and give them one of his smiles and a nod but he moved steadily toward his goal . . . the sign proclaiming first grade. As they neared, they both could hear the young woman standing beside the sign introducing herself as Miss Anderson, the first grade teacher, and explaining that the first graders were going to go in after all the other students made their way to their classrooms. “It’ll be less confusing,” she promised.

So the first graders and their parents began to form a ragged semi-circle around the young woman. Peter reflected that she seemed very young to be a teacher, but she was cheerful and she was speaking kindly to both students and parents. He heard her gently warn one mother to try not to cry, that it would just make it more upsetting to her child. The woman sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. Peter kept himself from shaking his head; what was it about mothers and sending their children off to school. It was a happy day, not a sad one. Absently, he reached down to pat his son’s shoulder. Tom tilted his head up and exchanged a confident smile with his father and then returned to calmly studying the children gathering around him. Peter tried hard to keep the smug smile off his face. His son was certainly handling this first day of school experience better than the majority of his classmates. The teacher seemed impressed with Tom’s maturity, favoring him with a smile and a nod which the little boy returned, but then she bent to comfort a little girl who was crying.

Like his son, Peter’s eyes scanned the group of first graders. These would be his son’s classmates . . . potentially for many years to come. Because this was a pricey private school, all were dressed nicely. There were no Heath Thomsons here, Peter suddenly realized, and a part of him thought maybe his children would miss out on learning some important lessons because of his and Samantha’s decision to place them in a private school. Maybe he should talk this with Sam. But even here, among these children, there were differences:

. . . the two little girls, obviously already friends, whispering behind cupped hands just like their mothers standing behind them.

. . . the few children who had been escorted by older siblings and who were now starting to be abandoned as the first bell was rung. Bolstered by the “inside” knowledge that can only be imparted by older brothers or sisters, they watched the teacher closely and shifted nervously from foot to foot. His mind’s eye already looking two years down the road, Peter knew that Tom would insist on escorting Nicky, playing the role of big brother to the hilt.

. . . the little boy clinging to his mother’s skirts . . . no bigger than Nicky, his brown eyes wide with fear and wet with tears. His mother had made the added mistake of dressing the slight child in a frilly shirt. Peter cringed inwardly. He was sure to be the target of every bully around.

. . . the sweet little dark-haired girl, so shy and so nervous, her tiny hands twisting the skirt of her pretty pink dress. Her mother, just as nervous, not realizing that the dress, no doubt picked especially for this first day of school, was being ruined.

. . . the beautiful blonde girl who looked like a princess, who even now was looking at Tom and smiling and then turning her head up to her mother and saying “he’s cute,” and whose mother gave her a proud smile and nod as Tom favored the little girl with one of his smiles.

During his days as a sailor, Peter had numerous opportunities to observe barracudas. He almost shivered at the similarity between the predator and the woman. Pretending that Tom’s collar needed straightening, Peter knelt down in front of the boy. He felt the overwhelming need to protect the boy from this woman. Good lord, they were six years old and the woman seemed to be measuring Tom for his wedding tuxedo. Peter suddenly realized that Tom had dropped his easy smile and was assuming “the look.” Following his son’s eyes, he watched as a heavy-set little boy, being egged on by his older brother, was reaching out to pull the loose end of a tiny little girl’s pretty blue sash. The troublemaker was checking furtively around to be sure his misdeed was not going to be witnessed. He saw Tom’s face and his hand froze immediately. Peter could easily read the older brother’s lips, “Don’t mess with him.” The little brother nodded and quickly shoved his hand into his pocket and shifted away from the little girl who remained oblivious to the threat. The older brother took off at a fast trot. Tom’s face held “the look” a moment longer and then he relaxed and gave the other boy a small smile which was eagerly returned.

Peter fought hard to hold back his own smile, but Tom could see it dancing in his eyes.

“The look works, Pappa,” he whispered.

“Seems to, doesn’t it,” he agreed in a whisper.

And then the teacher announced to the group, “All right, first graders, why don’t we pair up and I’ll take you to your classroom now.”

Pair up, Peter’s heart lurched. Damn, did she have to do that the first thing? Nothing worse than having to pair up, to wait to be chosen by someone else or to risk choosing someone and being rejected. The whole group of parents and children froze, and Peter’s eyes went to the teacher’s face. She was at first confused and then she must have realized her mistake. He almost felt sorry for her as the look of panic flew across her face. She obviously couldn’t think of a way to quickly rectify the problem. Parents began to shift, trying to think of the best approach. Children’s eyes darted around, trying to read each other’s minds. Peter realized that many of the eyes were turning toward Tom, and he risked a look at his son’s face.

And was stunned to see that the boy was relaxed and smiling easily. Tom could have his pick of a partner, Peter realized suddenly, and the boy knew it. Tom now smiled at his father, “I best be going, Pappa. I’ll look for Mr. Sean this afternoon.”

“All right, son,” Peter forced himself to stand and then to lightly pat his eldest’s shoulder. “See you this evening.”

The boy just nodded and stepped away from his father. Peter held his breath, suddenly aware of just what these steps away meant, his little boy was growing up and growing away from him. And he wondered what the boy would do next. He watched as his son smiled and nodded at the pretty blonde and her eyes lit up. But Tom gave the same smile and nod to the little dark-haired girl dressed in pink . . . and the would-be bully . . . and the girl with the blue sash who stood next to him. And he walked directly to the small boy who was still clinging to his mother’s skirts.

“Hi, my name’s Tom. Do you want to walk in with me?” Tom’s cheerful voice carried to the edge of the group.

The little boy’s eyes rounded and he swallowed hard. It was a moment before he could stutter out, “S-s-sure.”

Peter thought the boy’s mother would sink to the ground in relief as her son released her skirts and moved to stand beside Tom.

“What’s your name?” Tom asked easily.

“M-m-m-ichael,” the boy managed to stutter.

“Nice to meet you, Mike,” Tom quickly converted to the nickname, seeming to instinctively know that this would improve the little boy’s acceptance among their classmates.

Miss Anderson looked just as relieved as Michael’s mother, Peter thought. She literally beamed down at Tom, “Well, if your name is Tom, I’ll just bet you are Thomas Henry Barkley.” She had obviously memorized her enrollment list.

“Thomas Henri Barkley,” Tom corrected gently. “You say it like the French do. I was named for my grandfather and his pappa was from France so it’s Henri and not Henry.”

“So you are part French?” the teacher seemed surprised to be having such a mature conversation with such a little boy.

“Oui, mademoiselle,” Tom smiled up at her. Peter was highly amused to see the young teacher actually blush. Dang, the boy was already sweet talking women. Hmm, he might need to have that talk about girls much earlier than he ever intended.

“Mother, he’s not only cute; he speaks French, too,” the beautiful little blonde gushed.

“I know, darling,” her mother was just as giddy, Peter thought, feeling a heavy lump develop in his stomach. He was surprised that they both didn’t just go ahead and swoon. “Now, you know his name is Tom so be sure to introduce yourself.”

“I will,” the little girl said eagerly and then turned to the girl in the pink dress. “Would you like to go in with me?”

And with that the children began to pair up and move into a ragged line. With obvious relief, the teacher proudly took charge of them and began leading them toward the school’s entrance. Released now from the concern that had paralyzed them all, the parents also began to move away, casting back occasional glances at the little troop. With the first graders being the last to enter the building and the school yard now virtually cleared of all the other parents, Peter’s walk to the hack went much more quickly. He gave the driver the address for the bank and climbed in. Only then did he allow himself one last look at his son.

Tom and Mike were right behind the teacher, leading the rest of the children into the building. Tom was continuing to smile easily, turning to talk to the two girls right behind him. Even from the distance, Peter could tell that Mike was looking up at Tom in awe. And then they disappeared into the building.

As the hack pulled away from the curb, Peter reflected that, no doubt, his son would learn many things over the next years at this school, but that the boy had already demonstrated he’d learned some very important lessons:

. . . he had been respectful and courteous to his teacher just as his Uncle Jarrod had instructed.

. . . he had been nice to the girls like Aunt Audra had wanted and had even offered them smiles (and, on his own, a little French) the way Uncle Gene had encouraged.

. . . he had stopped a bully with “the look” like his Uncle Nick had shown him.

. . . and he had demonstrated a level of kindness that truly awed Peter. Uncle Heath’s lesson had obviously taken root in Tom’s heart and that, more than anything, made Peter proud.

Peter swallowed hard as he thought of his little boy, of lessons learned and to be learned, of all the steps away that the boy would take in the years to come. His thoughts thickened the lump in his throat and he found himself reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief. Dang, he remembered that he had given it to Sam this morning. Laughing at himself now, he wiped away the tear in the corner of his eye with his finger. Peter said a silent prayer, asking God to protect his son on this special day and thanking Him for his incredible family who had already shared such important lessons with little Tom that would guide his oldest son . . . and his siblings . . . for many years to come.

THE END