To Hold In Trust

By Christine

Ben pulled back gently on the reins and his horse came to a standstill. Up here in the high meadows there was a definite chill in the air and he pulled his coat collar up and rubbed his hands together to get the blood circulating. He nudged his horse forward to the top of the ridge and looked out across the meadows and vast stands of timber, to the deep blue of Lake Tahoe. This was a view he would never tire of. Extensive stands of Ponderosa pines hugged the slopes; their dusky green standing out in sharp contrast to the deep blue of the lake and the rugged snow covered Sierra Mountains.

Ben shifted in the saddle and a deep sense of sadness filled him. Sadness that was reflected in the blue eyes that searched the meadow below for the simple, wooden cross that marked Marie’s grave. For a moment Ben’s eyes rested on the cross that marked the place where his wife was buried, murdered by a man hungry for land and the power and wealth that came with that ownership.

Ben sighed deeply and turned his eyes back to the lake and mountains. In the year since Marie’s death, he had come to love this land. Had found a peace beyond any he had ever expected. The Ponderosa had become a part of him and for the first time in his life he had put down roots. But it was more than just the land or the trees or the herd. It was he and the boys working together as a family, a team, respecting each other and the land, working together to build a dream.

The ranch was doing well. They had expanded the herd and were getting good prices for their beef. But the biggest growth had been in the demand for timber. New settlers arrived in Eagle Station almost every day, families looking for a better life and men passing through on their way to the gold fields of California. The ever growing town needed lumber for new homes and businesses.

Ben knew he had a responsibility to this land, to use its resources well. It was like a partnership, each beholden to the other. He felt he did not really own the land, but rather held it in trust for his sons and future generations. He did not cut down a tree without planting a new one in its place. His lips tugged upward and he found himself smiling at the thought of his oldest son and his oft repeated remark. "Don’t cut unless you plant. Isn’t that right, Pa?"

"Yes, that’s right, Adam," Ben whispered to himself. A cool breeze tugged at his hat and he pulled his collar up again as he turned his horse and made his way slowly back down the ridge.

Riding carefully over the difficult terrain, Ben allowed his thoughts to turn to his youngest son. This morning, Joseph had been singularly discourteous and disrespectful when Ben had questioned him about unfinished chores. When the boy had continued with the poor behaviour Ben had been left with no option but to turn his son over his knee and make his point felt on the seat of the boy’s pants. Returned to his feet again, Joseph had turned to his father, his eyes bright with tears, and then fled to the bunkroom. The boy had remained there until after Ben had left for the high country.

Ben eased the reins now as the ground become less steep, and he allowed himself to enjoy the beauty of the land as he rode down toward the lower meadows. He would talk with Joseph when he returned home. The boy needed to be reminded that disrespect in this family would not be tolerated. That he had responsibilities and chores, the same as the rest of the family.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was late in the afternoon before Ben arrived back at the ranch house. He was bone tired and as he came up the last slope into the clearing where the house and barn and corrals were clustered, he realized how much he was looking forward to supper and a quiet evening by the fire. He must be getting old, he chuckled to himself. Although, it would not do to share that particular thought with the boys!

Lost in thought, he swung out of the saddle and leading his horse, turned toward the barn.

"Can I help you with that, Pa?" Adam’s voice caught him by surprise.

Handing the reins to his son he smiled. "Thank you, son, I would appreciate that."

"Did you get the trees marked, Pa?" Adam asked as he led the horse toward the barn.

Ben stopped and Adam turned to face his father. "Yes, the stand was just as we expected. Tall, straight trees, all a good size for cutting."

"But we won’t cut them all, will we, Pa?" Adam asked, concern giving his voice an edge.

Placing an arm across his oldest son’s shoulder, Ben smiled. "No, Adam. I’ve marked every third tree. That will ensure we don’t get any soil erosion or runoff into the meadows below."

Adam smiled and nodded. "That’s good, Pa. We can replant up there in the spring."

Ben laughed. "That’s right, Adam. Don’t cut unless you plant." Ben turned and strode toward the house and then turned, glancing around the yard. "Where are your brothers?"

Adam stopped and turned to his father. "Hoss and Joe?"

When his father didn’t reply, Adam glanced down at his feet and coughed self consciously. "Ah, Hoss is in the barn finishing off some chores, Pa."

When nothing more was offered by his son, Ben walked back toward Adam. "And Joseph?"

Adam ran his hand through his hair and held his father’s gaze. "Joe’s worked really hard today, Pa."

Ben continued to look at Adam, feet wide and arms crossed. "I would hope he has," he said firmly.

"He finished all his own chores and then helped Hoss and me with ours."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Where is he, Adam?"

Adam sighed, "He’s helping Hop Sing in the garden, Pa."

Ben nodded.

Adam rushed to continue. "Pa, he’s really sorry about this morning."

"Being sorry doesn’t excuse his behaviour, Adam."

"I know that, Pa. But—" Adam stopped, unsure how to continue.

Thinking he knew what Adam wanted to hear, Ben said. "You don’t want me to be too hard on him. Is that right?"

Glancing to the side, Adam answered slowly. "I think he’s learned his lesson, Pa."

"I’ll bear that in mind, son." Ben turned and walked toward the house.

Adam watched his father go, knowing he’d said all he could to try and ease the way for his little brother.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Later that evening, after supper, Ben walked out onto the porch, mug of coffee in hand. He sat on the bench and leaned back against the house; legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. The night was clear and calm and the stars shone brightly in sharp contrast to the velvet blackness of the sky.

The creak of the front door opening and the sound of small feet on the porch, alerted Ben to the presence of his youngest son.

"Pa?" The voice was soft and uncertain.

Ben turned. Joseph stood on the porch, bathed in soft light from the lantern by the door. His nightshirt reached to his ankles, and he held his hands at his sides.

"You should be asleep, Joseph."

The boy remained where he was and looked down, rubbing his toe along a crack in the porch floor. "I can’t sleep when you’re still angry with me, Pa."

Ben gestured with his hand. "Come here please, son."

Joe walked to his father. Ben pulled back from the wall and sat straight. "Joseph, you know better than to behave as you did this morning." The boy looked down, unable to meet his father’s gaze. Ben grasped the small chin and turned the boy’s face to look at him. "Don’t you, young man?" Ben’s voice was unmistakably firm.

Joe nodded, tears pooling in the hazel eyes.

"In this family we work together, Joseph. We help each other. We’re a partnership, and if you don’t do your share, then that just leaves more for someone else. Do you understand what I’m saying, son?"

"Yes, sir." Joe wiped the back of his sleeve across his eyes. "Pa, I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you this morning."

"Joseph," Ben spoke so softly, Joe wasn’t sure he’d heard him. He looked up and his father held his arms out to him. He leaned into them and Ben picked him up and sat him on his lap. Joe leaned back against his father’s chest and for several moments they sat quietly, listening to the sounds of the night; the sigh of the wind in the pines, an owl hooting in the distance and the lowing of the cattle in the pasture close to the house.

"Joe," Ben said, holding the boy close, "being part of a family carries certain responsibilities." Ben turned his head to make sure Joe was listening. "Just the same as we have responsibilities to the land. It’s like a partnership. We’re beholden to one another."

Joe sat up and turned to his father. "So we can’t be selfish, Pa?"

"That’s right, Joe," Ben smiled. "The Ponderosa has a lot to give, just as this family does, but we can’t take more than we can give back."

Joe leaned back against his father’s chest. "It’s like Adam says, ‘don’t cut unless you plant’. Isn’t that right, Pa?"

Joe’s words caused Ben to smile. "That’s right, Joe."

The night air had become chilled. Joe shivered and Ben pulled the boy close against him. Ben spoke softly and his breath ruffled the hair on the top of Joe’s head. "Joseph, there was a young and very wise Indian chief who spoke to his people about the importance of looking after this land that God has given us. He said ‘The Earth says God has placed me here to produce all that grows upon me. The same way the Earth says, it was from her Man was made. God, on placing them on Earth, desired them to take good care of the Earth. Do each other no harm. God said’."

Joe turned to his father, eyes wide. "Gol-ly, Pa. He was pretty wise for a young chief." Joe’s eyes sparkled, "Maybe even wiser than you, Pa?"

Ben’s laugh rang out into the night. "Yes, definitely wiser than me, Joseph."

Joe leaned back, savouring this time alone with his father. They sat that way for sometime, each lost in his own thoughts, until Joe’s breathing became slow and even in sleep. Ben looked up at the new moon, clear in the sky above the pines. He smiled to himself as he made his wish, just as he had when he was a boy in New England. The only difference then, the moon’s light had been reflected in the ocean, rather than absorbed by the land. He leaned back against the house and closed his eyes, allowing the peace of this land to wash over him.

The End