In Her Words

By Ella

Author’s Notes:

This story was written in response to a writer’s challenge. The assignment was actually to write two stories – one to take place in 1832 (Ponderosa prequel), the other to be set in 1867, with Ben at age sixty (Ponderosa sequel). I chose to combine the two stories into one.

My thanks to Marion, for presenting the challenge, and to Kathryn, for her editing.

********

Everyone else is asleep, and thanks to Pa's foresight, no one had to bed down on the floor. However, that addition we put on the ranch house, in 1855, only just barely accommodates the family, when we all spend the night here. But when Hoss mentioned that at supper, Pa just grinned, saying he'll gladly add on to the house again, if we want to fill up the rooms with more grandchildren.

Had it been needed, I would have gladly offered someone my bed. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. This is one of the positive things about never having married – at least I don't disturb my wife, when I slip out of bed on nights like this.

Nights like this. How many have there been over the years? How many nights have I laid awake, telling myself it was time to let it go - pass it on to its rightful owner? And just as many times, I found a reason to hold on to it.

In the beginning, I hid it, because I was afraid it might get lost or – no, he wouldn't have thrown it out if he’d found it – but still, I might not ever have seen it again either. Later, I told myself that I was holding onto it, for safekeeping – protecting it, to ensure that it never got torn, misplaced, ruined by some accidental spill – or, God forbid, left out in the rain. But the truth is, I was selfish. I couldn't give it up.

As it was, it took me until the age of ten to even find the courage to read it. Then, it was nearly two years later, before I opened it again. But even though I knew, the second time around, which page was the last, knowing wasn't enough to keep the tears from coming back, when I turned that page and found a blank sheet staring me in the face. And all the times I've read it since, that blank page still hits me like a punch in the gut.

I tried to share my secret – really I did. But no time ever seemed like the right time to bring up the subject. That's what I've told myself – no, it's how I've justified my actions – all these years. When I went to college, I took it with me, afraid someone might accidentally find it. How could I have explained the fact that I had it – and that I'd kept it to myself?

Tonight was going to be the night. Pa's sixtieth birthday. I was going to find a quiet moment and steal him away. But sitting there at that big table, watching Pa glow, surrounded by all those laughing, chattering children … it suddenly felt like the wrong time ... I’ve only succeeded in fooling myself – again ….

Easing out of his bunk, Adam slipped his hand under his pillow, to grab a thin brown paper package, before taking a lantern from the table under the window. As he crept on tiptoe toward the door, he stopped beside the beds his brothers used to sleep in – occupied now by Joe's twin boys. A soft smile eased the tension in his face, when he noticed that both children had kicked most of their bedding into a wad at their feet. He took a moment to grasp William’s arm, suspended out over the edge of the bed, and fold it back to his chest, before covering him with his blanket and quilt. Shaking his head, he bent to do the same for Jonathan. Even as he turned away, he heard the restless arms flop back over their bedsides.

So much like their father at ten! Ah, little brother, I feel for you. At least we only had to keep track of one of you! You’re lucky that your daughters take after Angela.

As he opened the door, Adam glanced back in the direction of the bunk over the one he’d just vacated. Again he found a smile twitching on his lips. Nathaniel snores like his pa. He’s large like his pa, too – and just as soft-hearted. But then he gets that from both his parents. He makes a terrific older brother, even if he does whine occasionally about being the only boy. I know he loves his little sisters, but for his sake, I hope this next baby is a boy. At least he has Joe’s sons to go fishing with him – and whatever else those three get up to when they ride off together. It’s been good, for all the cousins, to live so close by one another. Good for Pa, too. The Ponderosa has grown in more ways than one over the years.

Grabbing his coat, Adam slipped out into the night, then headed toward the barn. When the chilly wind hit him, he wrapped his thick wool scarf for another loop around his neck and snuggled his chin into it as he hunched his shoulders. I’m grateful that Kathleen always knits these extra long – though I’m not sure if that is by design or because knitting helps her relax on the nights when the children are in bed and she's waiting for Hoss to finish tending to one animal or another. She complains – though with that ever-present smile of hers – that their animals always seem to choose the bedtime hour to have their calves, foals, or kittens! Not that that seems to have kept them from making quite a few calves of their own!

After collecting an armload of logs and a handful of kindling, Adam headed around to the back of the barn, to a small room attached there. As he opened the door, his lamplight found the small, sturdy desk under the window. Pa had surprised him with this getaway on his return from college. His father’s words came back now, as he closed the door behind him and circled the lamp around the room slowly.

‘I know it's small, but it's got a stove, so you can always have a pot of coffee handy – and you won't freeze on those wintry nights when you’re feeling inspired. At least it's somewhere you can escape to, when you want to write your music or your poetry – or perhaps, start that book you say is in you. I know, all-too-soon, you’ll be itching to build your own place, on that piece of land you picked out near the lake. But I hoped …well … at least this might ... serve your needs in the meantime.’

Adam knelt before the stove, methodically stacking and igniting the kindling. As the fire hungrily devoured the offering, he added a log, then watched for several moments as the flames stretched, then curled around it. Adding more wood, he shut the door of the stove before going to sit down at his desk.

Turning the lantern up full, Adam reached inside his coat, to retrieve his secret package. He tore away the paper, then ran his hand reverently over the leather cover he’d made years ago. When he realized his hands were trembling, he set the book down before him.

Perhaps now would be a good time to make a pot of that coffee.

As the heat from his mug seeped into his fingers, he studied the cover, then drew in a deep breath before reaching out to open the book to the first page. Exhaling slowly, he read the opening sentence:

"Today I begin my own journal, at my oldest son's request."

Adam sipped his coffee, digesting the carefully printed words.

She printed all her entries - never used script. But I expect she was influenced by her audience, on that autumn day in 1832. I can still picture the faraway look on her face, hear the dreamy quality of her voice, as she spoke her thoughts aloud …

~~~~~~~~

‘My mind is a kind of journal ... full of weather and growing things ... Not many would want to read it.’ (1)

A voice beside her shook her from her wistful state. ‘Are you going to write like Pa, Mama?’

She turned, smiling down into wide blue eyes. ‘What, Adam?’

‘Are you going to write in a book, like Pa does every day?’

‘Oh, honey, Mama was only thinking out loud. No one would really want to read what I might write.’

The boy gazed up at her, adoration lighting his face. ‘I would, Mama. And Erik. But he's too little now. But maybe he might ask me to read it to him ... when he can talk.’ Adam frowned, then looked at her imploringly. ‘Mama, can we please have more reading lessons today?’

Inger glanced up, to find Ben standing at the back of the wagon, a severe expression on his face. Brow furrowing, she shook her head ever so slightly, to halt the reprimand rising on her husband's lips.

She sighed inwardly. Even though Rachel, who'd delivered baby Erik, had assured Ben that his wife was as strong as a Missouri mule, worry continued to cloud Ben's brown eyes. After the baby was born, he’d insisted that she was to do nothing but rest, then scolded Adam, several times for accidentally waking her when he’d crept in to peek at his baby brother. Inger knew Ben’s fears stemmed from his first wife's death in childbirth. She knew, too, that only the passage of time would prove to Ben that she was not destined to suffer Elizabeth's fate.

Despite her sympathy for her husband's fears, she could no longer allow him to make Adam suffer for them. The boy ached for knowledge. Inger realized it abruptly one afternoon, back at her home in Illinois. She was making their dinner when she glanced up to find Adam sitting in her rocker, newspaper in hand, in true mimic of his father. That very evening, she began to teach the boy to read. They'd had daily lessons ever since, until the day of Erik’s birth. To Adam’s credit, he’d held his tongue about the halt in his studies, until today.

Holding her husband’s eyes with her own, Inger spoke with an underlying determination. ‘Ben, Erik is sleeping. Adam’s reading lesson won’t strain me in any way. In fact, it would please me, relax me, to hear him recite.’

If Ben Cartwright knew nothing else about his second wife, he knew she was stubborn as any mule he’d ever encountered – Missouri or otherwise.

‘Very well, Inger. I came to let you know the wagon train is getting ready to pull out. Rockwell is unwilling to delay our journey any longer, but if it gives you any …’ his gaze shifted to Adam and he hesitated, then finished, ‘well … you let me know if the movement of the wagon is a problem. We’ll hang back if need be.’

Inger's eyes sparkled as she gave her husband an encouraging smile. ‘Ben, I’ll be fine, really.’

Ben nodded, doubt clouding his face. He turned to his eldest son, his voice and expression firm. "A short reading lesson today, young man, is that clear?’

Adam nodded rapidly, unwilling to jeopardize this chance to resume his education. ‘Yes, sir.’

Their wagon began to roll and Adam could hear their trail guide, Rockwell, barking at someone up ahead. The boy listened intently, identifying various voices, as the other members of their party pulled in behind them. As they picked up speed, their wagon swayed as it rolled over the hard, ridged earth, rutted by the many wheels that had passed over it before them. Inger didn’t seem to notice the movement, as she smiled down on the face peeking out of the folds of a striped blanket she cradled in her arms. She kissed the tender forehead of her firstborn, aware of the blue eyes watching her every move. Turning her head, she met them with a soft smile.

Adam returned the smile, then whispered, ‘He sleeps good, don’t he, Mama?’

Inger nodded, correcting gently, ‘Doesn't he. Yes, the rocking wagon is like a big cradle for him. But you need not whisper, Adam. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by our voices.’

The boy answered with confidence. ‘Yes’m, that’s ‘cause he knows us already, ain’t that so?’

‘Isn’t that so,’ Inger corrected again.

‘Yes, ma’am, isn't.’ The boy pressed his lips together, against the burning question on his tongue. His roving eyes gave him away though, when they landed on a small bundle wrapped in blue gingham cloth, tucked in amongst supplies at the other end of the wagon.

Reaching out, Inger pushed a few loose strands of hair off the youngster’s forehead. ‘Go on, Adam, bring the books. I’ll listen now, while you read. Do you remember where we left off the last time?’ She knew the answer, before the boy responded, his voice rising in excitement as he crawled rapidly toward the back of the wagon.

‘Oh, yes’m, I know the page. I … um … I was readin', when ... when you and Erik were sleepin’. I can read the next lesson in the book, without you helpin’. You’ll be proud of me, Mama. I … I … sound-ed the words out … like you showed me … before we stopped our lessons.’

The sharpness of this young boy’s mind made Inger’s heart quicken, as proven in the words she added later in the day, to her initial journal entry:

"Adam’s enthusiasm mustn’t be squelched. I want to fan the flames that burn so hotly inside his little head. To let such a fire die would be no less than criminal. His father knows this, but his worry for me is getting in the way of that just now. But I know Ben is so very proud of Adam’s abilities. He has told me this more than once, and the glow I see in his eyes when he says it, tells me more than any words can say."

~~~~~~~~

Adam felt the blush on his cheeks. Even now, his father’s pride in him filled his chest, like nothing else in his life.

His eyes returned to the journal. Unlike Ben’s daily logs, Inger’s entries avoided mention of the difficult parts of the journey. She said nothing about their brusque wagon master, Rockwell. Nor did she write of the rising concerns over the Indians pursuing them, or the tension and friction spreading like plague amongst the group as a result. Instead, her notations were her thoughts about her newborn child and the boy who spent endless hours at their side. And interspersed amongst these notes, were thoughts about her own childhood.

"Adam adores his brother. He tells me of all he and this new baby will do together, when we reach our new home. His dreams are as big as his father’s. Bigger maybe. His head is always churning, though I know he doesn’t tell either of us everything he thinks. I do know that all the reading we do together fuels his active mind. He will read to me, for as long as I allow him. I am sorry now that I didn’t bring more books with us, but I’m glad that some I chose are ones from my own childhood. It brings me great pleasure to know that the precious treasures, I fairly smuggled across the ocean with me, are books that are now feeding this hungry mind. Surely, our trip across the sea would have been an endless journey, if I hadn’t had those books. I couldn’t tell my father that I would rather bring them than clothes for my back, and so I wrapped the volumes in my shawl, along with my extra dress and under things. I never allowed anyone, not even Gunnar, to know I’d brought them."

Adam smiled. No one would have ever thought of her as a sneaky person. She had a quality of goodness and innocence about her. It was in her smile and her eyes. And when she laughed, it showed in the glow of her cheeks. Pa once said that that made her look like a little girl.

The next entry was about baby Erik – and Inger's observations about both his father and older brother.

"The wagon is moving again, after stopping for nooning. At last, Ben seems satisfied that I am strong enough to walk about. He no longer follows my every move with nervous eyes. Today he insisted that he be allowed to get to know his new son a little better and told me to go off and have some time with the other women. He said I needed to brag about my baby - our baby. Adam stayed with his father – I don’t know if that was to avoid the boredom of listening to a bunch of chattering women, or whether he wanted to make sure his father properly handled baby Erik. Adam thinks himself quite the expert now. He’s learned to change a diaper and he knows how to properly hold the baby, to cradle his little head and securely support his body. Erik is such a big baby. It’s almost comical to watch Adam hold him. But the boy is serious about his responsibilities - I know this by the expression on his face when he accepts his brother into his arms. There is no doubt in my mind that he’d die before he’d let any harm come to that child. It worries me to see such small shoulders take on such weight – and yet, it gives me a sense of comfort and relief inside, knowing how devoted the boy is to watching out for this still helpless creature. I know, without a doubt, he’ll take care of him, always."

Standing, Adam stretched, then walked to the stove to refill his mug. He added more wood to the fire, before returning to his chair. He considered how much time he’d spent with Inger in their wagon – I probably spent more time with her than Pa did.

The snap of a breaking twig outside brought Adam to his feet so quickly, he nearly spilled the contents of his mug. His heart pounded in his chest – more over the fact that he’d almost damaged the treasured pages, than over who or what was outside his room. He raised an eyebrow when the door latch clicked, not surprised to find his father standing before him when the door swung open.

Adam sidestepped, to shield the surface of the desk behind him, explaining lamely, "I couldn’t sleep."

Ben nodded at the obvious, then waited, eyes never leaving his son’s.

Hesitating, Adam motioned him in, then indicated with his hand at the other chair over by the stove and the second mug, hanging on a nail in the wall.

"Did you … did you want to join me for a cup of coffee?"

Ben’s eyes slid up and down his son’s body, before finding his eyes again in the shadowed lamplight. He stepped inside far enough so he could close the door behind him.

"I woke with a start, for some reason. When I couldn’t go back to sleep, I decided to check and make sure all my grandchildren were properly covered. When I discovered your bunk was empty, I couldn’t help but come looking for you. Of course, as soon as I poked my nose out the front door, I smelled the smoke from your stove. Something told me … to come out here. You see, I’ve had a feeling there was something you’ve been trying to tell me." He watched the guilt rise in his son’s eyes. "Adam, what is it, son? You’ve been acting strangely ever since you arrived for my party."

Adam sunk his teeth into his lower lip, suddenly feeling like a little boy who’d been caught doing something he knew full well was forbidden. He dropped his gaze, admitting quietly, "It’s something I’ve been trying to tell you … show you … for years, Pa. You see … I have something ... something that belongs to Hoss … or maybe to you … I’m not sure anymore."

Ben took several long strides, to stand within inches of his son. Reaching out, he lifted Adam’s chin, as if his son was still the child in that wagon, so many years ago. He spoke gently. "Her journal."

Adam’s jaw dropped as his eyes rounded. "But … when … how … how long have you known this?"

Eyes suddenly moist, Ben reached out and drew his son to him, relieved to feel his embrace returned. "Son, I’ve known about that journal since our early days in New Orleans." Adam stiffened and Ben patted his back as he continued, "Marie came across it, purely by accident. Erik was upset over misplacing some treasured toy - something you'd carved for him. So, while you boys were in school one day, she looked through your closet. She came across the gingham cloth bundle. I suppose she knew it didn’t hold a toy, but she couldn’t help herself. When she realized what the journal was, she shared it with me, when I came home for lunch that day."

Pulling his son away from his shoulder, Ben reached out to smooth the ridges in his forehead, explaining, "Adam, Marie didn’t even read through the whole first page. She realized who had written the words and … she knew what Inger meant to you. When she showed me the journal, she could tell by my expression that I was unaware of its existence. She insisted I read it, then left the house so I could be alone to do so."

Ben turned away, to wipe his eyes. "I … didn’t go back to work that afternoon, I was so overwrought. But despite the ache it gave me to read the things she wrote, I was grateful to have the chance to read them. To hear that part of her."

He swallowed hard. "We knew her for so short a time, son, but what she shared in those pages … what she shared with me during our too few quiet moments alone together … well … I knew that the time she spent with us … it was what she’d dreamed of in her heart, since she was a little girl. She’d have risked that journey with us all over again, if the chance presented itself, even knowing the outcome. I believe that, Adam. In the very core of my soul, son, I know it to be true."

He took his son’s shoulders, squeezing them tight, to make sure he had Adam’s attention. "Giving me a son and nurturing the one I already had – Adam, she gave all of herself to being my wife and to mothering you boys. Those pages you’ve kept safe all these years, they proved that, didn’t they?"

Adam could barely squeak out his answer, his throat was so tight. "Yes, Pa."

Drawing his son close once more, Ben continued gently, "That book … she wrote it because of a conversation she had with you, didn’t she?"

With a tremor in his voice, Adam answered into the sturdy shoulder that had served him many times over the years. "Yes, sir."

Hand sliding up and down his son’s back, Ben added, "I think if she were here, she’d tell you that journal belongs to you, if only for that reason alone."

Adam shook his head as he pulled away abruptly. "But I told her I would read it to Erik, and I never did. After all these years, I should have at least allowed him to read it for himself." He whispered, "She'd be ashamed of me, for being so selfish."

"Selfish?" When his son nodded silently, Ben sighed. With a soft smile, he gestured at the coffee pot. "Perhaps I'll have a cup of that now."

When the two were settled in their chairs, Ben sipped his drink while he gathered his thoughts. Adam mirrored his gesture, watching his father's eyes from behind his cup. When he saw the shift in Ben's expression, he found himself holding his breath, as he used to do long ago, when his father was about to lecture him. But when Ben spoke, his voice and eyes were gentle.

"May I see the journal, son?"

Adam picked it up as if it were made of ancient paper, that might crumble at a mere touch. He passed it carefully into his father's outstretched hand.

Ben opened it to the first page, caressing the words with his eyes, before carefully turning the pages until he came to the entry of his choice. He swallowed hard, hoping his voice wouldn't betray him, then began to read:

"I left Adam to stay with Erik today, while I took a walk with my husband. We had stopped for nooning, and Mr. Rockwell told us that if we push hard tomorrow, we should reach Ash Hollow before nightfall. It's the first time I've seen the lines leave Ben's face, in too long. And he smiled – a grin so wide, I think it almost reached his ears. He is so handsome when he smiles and I told him so. Then, in front of everyone, he kissed me, like he did the day when he proposed marriage to me in the middle of the street. (2) I blushed when the other women laughed, but I knew they weren't laughing at me. They were laughing because they were happy. Happy to see us like that together. We haven't had enough moments, as husband and wife. I've been too busy being a mother and Ben has been too busy worrying for our whole company.

Ben is a man who will always put his responsibilities before his pleasure. He is a strong man. Strong in his beliefs. Strong in his will. Strong in his character. He is a good husband and a good father and I know his sons will be like him. But I hope they will also be like me."

Ben quickly wiped his eyes, then continued reading, without daring to look at his son.

"Adam does not have my blood, I know this. But I know he loves me and I know that because of this, he will learn from me. If he learns nothing else, I hope he will learn not to take himself too seriously. Not to take the world too seriously. When I met him, he was such a quiet boy – too serious, I thought at the time. I learned soon after, of course, part of the reason for this trait in him.

One of my biggest joys on our journey together has been to listen to his laughter and to know he's laughing more because of me. And now he has a little brother and I pray that Erik will be someone he can share laughter with, for many years ahead.

He and Erik are just starting out in the world. I want them to laugh together, play together, love each other deeply, as brothers should. And when they are grown, and each of them go off to make their own places in this world, I hope they will keep each other, as well as Ben and me, with them in their hearts. I hope they will also carry the lessons we will teach them and that knowing how to laugh will be one of those lessons.

The wagon train is stopping now for the night. Tomorrow will be a hard day. I will not likely get a chance to write."

Ben closed the book and fumbled for the handkerchief in his coat pocket. He heard Adam blowing his nose and the two of them sat quietly until they both regained their composure.

When Ben finally spoke, his voice was strong again, not quite in lecture tone, but with the authority he still held, in all his sons' eyes.

"I don't doubt that part of your reason for not sharing this book was due to a sort of selfishness, Adam." He watched his son hang his head and he insisted quietly, "Look at me, son." When the blue eyes met his again, Ben continued. "But I have no doubt that a very big part of you was protecting two people you love very much, just as you’ve been doing most of your life. You didn't want to open a wound in me that you knew would remain tender for a long time." Ben’s smile was warm, with gratitude. "Nor did you want to sober a brother who seems to have been grinning ever since the very first moment he recognized you. Hoss is very much like his mother, even without really ever knowing her."

Adam nodded, then opened his mouth to comment, but Ben held up his hand and continued, "In her ... in what was … her final entry, Inger said she wished you would not take life too seriously. But ... you have always taken your responsibilities seriously and Hoss has been one of those responsibilities, for a very long time. You didn't want to see him hurt ... and as much as this journal will teach him about his mother, some pain is going to come with that knowledge."

Again, Adam nodded. Ben concluded, "I think your brother is more than old enough now, and well enough entrenched in his roles of father and husband, to read this journal and appreciate the knowledge it will give him about his mother. And he's mature enough to accept the sadness that will have to come with it. He is also mature enough to understand that the journal belongs to you and I think he will give it back to you without any feelings of resentment."

Adam straightened his shoulders. "Thanks, Pa … for understanding … and for putting things in proper perspective for me."

"Thank you, Adam, for protecting this … for all of us." He handed the journal back to his son.

Adam stroked the cover and realized a weight he’d been carrying for too long was no longer there. He looked up to see his father waiting patiently for him to speak. With a boyish grin, Adam said, "She did know how to make me laugh, Pa."

Ben's face lit up, as much over the smile coming to his son's face, as at the memory of his second wife's laughter mingling with his eldest son's in the back of the wagon as he drove them ever westward.

"Yes, she did. I can't tell you how many times I wished I could stop the wagon and climb in back with you, to hear what was so funny."

Eyes shifting back and forth, Adam recalled several amusing stories Mama Inger had shared about her childhood. He chuckled, then looked into his father's curious eyes to ask, "Did she ever tell you about the time she mixed stinging nettle into a salad she served to her Aunt Hedda ?"

Eyes narrowing at some foggy memory pricking at his mind, Ben shook his head slowly. "No, I'm sure she didn't, yet somehow that reminds me of something."

Adam winced, then cleared his throat. "Yes, well ... anyway … she and Uncle Gunnar went to great and careful lengths to harvest a small quantity of those wicked leaves. They managed to do it without getting stung themselves, and at great risk to their hides, had their reason for what they were doing been discovered. But they planned it very well. You see, she and her brother were in charge of catering to all the adults, before they were allowed to have their own dinners. They were rewarded when auntie took her first bite of salad, then dropped her fork to leave the table quite abruptly. And Mama and Gunnar, peeking from some hidden place, ran in the opposite direction, to collapse in fits of laughter."

Ben shook his head, his brow a mass of wrinkles. "Stinging nettle in the mouth would have felt as if a whole swarm of bees had stung it. I'm surprised Inger would have even told you such a story."

Adam shrugged. "Well, I can’t remember what led up to her telling me, but I remember she made me promise first, that I would never do such a thing to one of my aunts. Besides, she told me that the reason she did it was because this woman was always embarrassing Uncle Gunnar, by belittling him terribly in front of this one group of cousins, who apparently were raised to think they were superior for some reason. I think those cousins were lucky they weren’t also at that particular gathering."

Ben stared hard at his son as he continued to wrestle with the elusive memory this story had tickled. He finally prompted, "And did you?"

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Did I what, Pa?"

"Did you keep your promise?" It took all Ben's control not to shake a finger at his son and finish his sentence with young man.

"Promise?" Adam scratched his head, putting on his most perplexed expression. Ben scowled and his son suddenly brightened. "Oh … you mean my promise about not doing such a thing to any of my aunts?"

Folding his arms over his chest, Ben nodded, answering with a sarcastic bite in his voice. "Yes, that would be the one."

Adam looked convincingly taken aback, throwing out his hands for emphasis. "Pa, what makes you think I even know what stinging nettle looks like? Besides, I don’t even think it grows in these parts. So where would I even find it, to use it in the first place ... if I planned to use it?"

Dark eyes drilled into blue until the younger man looked down. Ben growled, bringing the bowed head upright. "I can think of a very good source of just about any herb a person might need. His name is Hop Sing and when I see him in the morning, I'm going to ask him if he has any or if he's ever had any in my house."

Adam nodded, agreeing a bit too willingly, "Yes. Well you should, if you feel you need to."

Shaking his head, Ben stood, rubbing his chin as he began to pace, annoyed at the elusive memory still nagging at him.

With a chuckle, Adam admitted quietly, "But it wasn’t an aunt … and it didn’t happen on the Ponderosa. The victim was my distant cousin Florence and the incident took place in Boston."

Snapping his fingers, Ben spun to face his son. "That’s it! Abel described what he called an ‘odd occurrence at dinner,’ in a letter to me during your college years." Hands on hips, Ben boomed, "Adam Cartwright, what in the world would make you do such a thing?"

Crossing his arms over his chest now, Adam lifted his chin, then shot back, "Pa, I know it was a long time ago, but surely you remember what my mother’s cousin Florence was really like?"

Ben grunted. "Remember. That woman was so full of herself, I wondered aloud to your mother one time, how it was that she didn’t burst because of it. Your mother tried to scold me, but then dissolved into laughter. We both laughed until tears ran down our cheeks. I dare say, we had trouble looking across the table at one another, the next time your grandfather invited Florence to dinner."

Adam gave a sharp nod. "Yes. Well, I think you’ll understand then, when I explain the circumstances. Apparently, Mother was one of cousin Florence’s prime targets, when she opened that big mouth of hers and made her snobbish, shallow comments. And once, when she didn’t know I was in the house, I overheard her speaking to another cousin – a nice, but very shy woman, Eleanor, who didn’t have the nerve to speak her own feelings. The two of them were waiting in Grandfather’s parlor, while he was seeing to having tea made for them. What Florence said about Mother was inexcusable and it seemed only right to me, at the time, to take a page from Mama Inger’s book." Adam waved his hand in the air. "After all, Pa, only just moments ago, you read aloud that Mama wanted me to be like her."

Ben did his utmost to maintain a stern expression, as he ordered, "Go on."

"Yes … so, having been educated by a Chinese cook and having wisely learned what various herbs were for AND what they looked like … I went out and found myself a patch of stinging nettle and collected what I needed, to give a certain cousin a reason to rest her mouth." Eyes dancing, he added, "I don’t know who had more trouble keeping a straight face at dinner that night – when Florence left the table abruptly, while trying to keep a dignified expression on her face – me, Grandfather, or meek cousin Eleanor."

Ben was rapidly losing not only his stern expression, but control of the laughter rising in his eyes.

Adam helped him along, as he noted, "Come on, Pa, think of it this way. If Grandfather had heard what cousin Florence had said about his daughter, her mouth wouldn’t be the only thing with a sting in it!"

Father and son roared with laughter until their cheeks were as wet as Ben’s and Elizabeth’s had been years ago at their foolish cousin’s expense.

As father and son made their way across the yard, back toward the sleeping household, Adam whispered, "Happy birthday, Pa."

Ben slid his arm across his son’s shoulders. "Thank you, Adam. I’m very happy. And right about now, I know all your mothers are too."

THE END.

(March 2006)

(1) Inger spoke these words to Ben, in the back of their wagon, in the Bonanza episode "Journey Remembered."

(2) Reference: Bonanza episode, "Inger, My Love."