The Last to Go
By DebbieB
The
elderly man pushed himself up from the old faded blue chair and steadied
himself with his walking stick. When he
glanced down at the chair, the impression of his behind was melted into the
cushion. He snickered to himself, he
could hardly believe that the old chair was the same chair of his youth. How long had that same piece of furniture sat
in the exact spot, thirty or thirty-five years, possibly more he concluded. His eyes wandered across the room to the
ancient leather chair and then slowly took in every stick of furniture in the
large open rooms that had since his childhood, been his home. Nothing had changed, it had remained as it
was when he first went away, to seek his own destiny and live his own life, far
from the log house where he had grown up and found himself as a man.
Leaning
heavily on his walking stick, Adam slowly turned until he stood at the bottom
of the long staircase. Almost lovingly,
his wrinkled and twisted fingers stroked the post and then the railing. He could remember being young, no more than
ten when he had made his first excited ascent up these very steps. His father had watched with pride as he
climbed upward, trying in his boyish manner to make two steps at a time, but
his little legs had barely been long enough and by the time he’d gotten to the
landing, he had given up trying to master the feat. That accomplishment had come the next year,
after his pa had told him he’d grown nearly a foot since the house had been
built.
Now,
standing at the bottom of the stairs, he wondered when the last time had been,
since he had seen the upstairs rooms.
Having been in ill health for the last couple of years, he’d given up
using his old room and had retired most of his belongings to the downstairs
guest room off the dining room. He
hadn’t much cared for the idea, but with the rheumatism getting so much worse
and his old bones becoming frail, the doctor had recommended that he avoid the
stairs, least he fall and fracture a bone.
Doctor Ira Martin, grandson of Paul Martin,
Today,
he had promised himself, he would take the chance, for a deep yearning had
beckoned to him from above. Adam glanced
upward, it would take some time for him to climb the many stairs, but he willed
himself to go. By the time that he had
reached the landing, the old man was gasping for air to fill his burning
lungs. He leaned wearily against the
railing; his eyes set on the utmost step.
Over
and over he whispered, his voice raspy with age, “I can do this, I can do
this,” he uttered as he stepped beyond the final step.
His
wrinkled face formed a smile. Where once
dimples deepened his cheeks, now weather worn lines hid the impressions that
had once made his handsome face so pleasing to look upon. Cautiously he made his way down the long
hall, stopping at the first door on his right.
With
one hand on the curve of his cane and the other on the doorknob, Adam gave a
little turn and pushed opened the door.
The room was dark, with only a sliver of light trying to peep from
behind the closed curtains. Being
careful not to trip over the carpet, Adam walked over to the opposite wall and
tugged on the drapes until they parted enough that the sun could light the room
well enough that he might see.
Unexpectedly,
his heart fluttered and rose in tempo as the old man’s eyes swept the
room. He felt the onrush of tears as old
memories came creeping back to him. He
slowly walked to the bed, where in his mind he saw the face, twisted with pain,
his brother’s brow dotted with beads of moisture from the raging fever, the boy
whom he had helped to raise, a gunshot wound in the shoulder. It was his bullet that had nearly killed his
brother, his carelessness and Adam instantly felt again, as if it had just
happened, the guilt that had nearly driven him from his home and his
family. His hand wiped at his eyes, that
had been another lifetime ago, and Little Joe had lived and had forgiven him
for the accident that had nearly claimed his young life.
Adam
turned and his eyes cleared and he smiled at the picture of the old Indian that
still hung in the back corner wall of Joe’s room. He’d always hated that particular picture,
but Joe had liked it. Adam laughed,
naturally he would have, especially since the boy had known that his older
brother hated it. It had always been
like that between himself and Little Joe, at least after he had returned home
from college. Before then, when Joe had
been a boy, Adam could remember holding the weeping child in his arms as Joseph
cried for his mama who had been killed in a riding accident. He could see the tiny face with huge green
eyes looking into his own tear filled eyes and asking when would his mama be
coming home?
The
memory refreshed his own tears, those days had been filled with such sadness
and there had been little to make the boy smile and practically nothing could
make him happy. But time, as always,
eased away the sorrow and pain, and the memories became something to cherish
and hold within their hearts. As time
went by, life took on a routine and before he knew it, the little boy had
become a man, a good man at that. The
rough edges had smoothed, the recklessness had given way to caution and
thoughtfulness and soon, Little Joe became Joseph, his father’s right hand
man. Adam was pleased, for he had seen
years earlier the potential that his youngest brother possessed and when he’d
finally gotten up the courage to leave home for good, it was with the assurance
that he had left the best man possible to stand beside his father.
Joe
had always been the heart of the Ponderosa, the spirit of this home and this
family. He had been their father’s pride
and joy, the little boy who had made his father the happiest in his golden
years. Though Joseph had suffered his
own losses, what with the death of his wife, Alice, and her unborn child, Joe
had remained steadfast to his first love, this ranch, this home, and his
family.
Adam’s
head dropped and his body trembled slightly as he recalled the telegram he’d
received from Ira Martin, informing him of his brother’s untimely death. Adam had been far from home, too far to get
back in time to say goodbye to the boy whom he had always loved as if he had
been his own son. It was with sadness
that Joe had died alone, without family at his bedside. A whole slew of friends had gathered around,
but the thoughts of his parting without Adam’s presence, left a hollow and
guilt-ridden feeling deep within his heart.
It
seemed like yesterday to Adam as he stood in his brother’s bedroom doorway,
that they had been boys. Joe had been
gone now, twelve years. He had only been
fifty-five, when the unknown disease claimed him. Adam pinched his lips together and gave the
room one final sweep with his eyes. It
was as if Little Joe stood before him, laughing and smiling at him, assuring
his big brother that everything was well, and as it should be. Adam closed the door, the memory of Joe’s
harmonious and infamous giggle resounding in his ear.
Taking
a deep breath to calm himself, Adam made his way slowly across the hall and
stopped. Hoss’ room, his biggest
brother’s room. The door creaked
slightly as he pushed it forward. The
drapes in this room were opened wide and the sun cast a warm and inviting glow
throughout the room. The first thing
that caught Adam’s attention was the massive sized bed, made and ordered just
for Hoss. The bed had been shipped from
a manufacturer in
Little
green men, and miniature ponies, a box of gold and a kind-hearted giant, all
roaming over the fields and woods of the Ponderosa. Adam shut his eyes, white rabbits and fur
coats, a flying apparatus, an infernal machine, horseless carriages, it all
came charging back at him in full force.
Adam laughed; one thing was certain, life had never been dull with Hoss
around. His middle brother had been kind
and loving, compassionate, yet big and strong, a force to be reckoned with when
angered, which was seldom, but as meek as a mouse with tender hands that could
hold within their grasps, new born life, both human and otherwise. Hoss…God how he missed him.
His
brother, just six years his junior, had died so young, without warning and his
death had almost been the undoing of his family. The hole his dying had left in their hearts
had taken nearly a lifetime to heal, and even now, Adam wondered if they had
all ever really gotten over the death of such a warm, wonderful human being.
The
hour had passed swiftly as Adam stood to his feet and walked from the
room. His aged old bones had begun to
ache, the pain matching the grief he felt in his heart as he pushed aside the
last door in the hallway.
The
minute he stepped inside, his eyes filled with tears and no matter that he
willed himself to be strong, the tiny droplets rolled slowly down the sides of
his face. His father’s face loomed
before him and once again, Adam felt as if he were a young man. When he looked up, he felt the warmth he saw
in the dark chocolate eyes that he envisioned smiling back at him. They were the same eyes that had danced with
laughter, smiled with pride and cried tears of joy and unhappiness that he
remembered from the days of his youth and had haunted his dreams years later
when he had become a man. No other
person on the face of the earth had, had such an impact on his life. Ben Cartwright, his father, his mentor, his
idol, had been the inspiration that fueled the flame that drove him to be the
best possible man he could be. But yet,
standing as he was now, in his father’s room, Adam questioned himself as to
whether or not he had fully achieved everything that he had striven to
become. Somehow he doubted that his
father would think otherwise, for Ben Cartwirght had always been proud of his
sons, all three of them and he had never failed to tell them so. Whether Joe and Hoss lived here in the only
home they had ever known, the Ponderosa, and Adam lived another world away, Ben
had suffered the people to know, he had sons to be proud of and justly so, he
had told them.
Adam
remembered when he had finally gotten the courage to tell his father that he
was leaving. The news had broken his
father’s heart, but it had been expected, Ben had said. Masking his own disappointments and fears for
his son’s life, Pa had given him his blessings and sent him on his way, bidding
him God’s speed.
Of
any one person, Adam missed his father the most. The eldest Cartwright had set out to follow
his dream, dragging his eldest son along with him, and had succeeded in making
that dream come true. For what he was
and what he had become and for who he was right now, it was all due to the
loving guidance of his father.
“It
won’t be long now Pa, until we’re all together once again,” whispered Adam as
he backed slowly from the room. He
paused in the doorway and smiled, then closed the door.
The
last door stood slightly ajar, as if beckoning for him to enter the room. Without hesitation, Adam entered, and then
paused. It was all there his books, his
guitar, his etchings, even bits of his poetry still laid spread across the top
of his desk.
At
the foot of the bed, Adam picked up an old shirt and held it up to the
light. It had faded with time, but there
was no question, the original color had once been black. He was surprised to hear the sound of his
voice, for he had been unaware that he laughed out loud.
“I
wonder what kind of a statement I was trying to make, back then?” he asked
himself aloud and then looked down at the blue plaid design of his present
attire. “I know I’m getting old now…who
in the world picked this thing out?” He
seemed truly surprised.
Adam flinched, and rubbed his chest, the pain had grown worse. The shirt was tossed aside as Adam sat down on the edge of the bed to rest and collect his thoughts. The memories had stirred a longing in his heart that he had not anticipated and he suddenly felt lonely in a world where life had been, at times, hard and demanding. But with the memories, the emptiness had seemed to expand and swallow him up. For all the years that he had wasted wandering the world, seeking peace within his soul, he had finally found what he had been searching for. It really hadn’t come as a shock to Adam, to admit to himself that here, in the home of his youth, he was most contented to be, most free from life’s cruel rewards. The wonder that the Ponderosa and all that it involved had been his ultimate destination and that the end of the road had also been his beginning. It was something to be in awe of.
Adam
stretched out on his bed, making himself comfortable. He felt tired, and felt the need to close his
eyes, just for a moment, he reasoned, until he was rested enough to make his
way back, the way he had come. The
warmth of the room lured him to sleep within minutes of closing his eyes.
Back,
the way he had come. The thought
lingered in his mind, sending his spirit soaring. He felt weightless, as if he were floating
and the sensation was most welcoming.
The nagging pain he’d been suffering in his limbs seemed so much less
now than earlier, indeed, he could say that it was no longer present. His hands, when he looked down at his
fingers, appeared normal rather than arthritic and he flexed them over and over
until he was sure that the knotted pain in the knuckles was none existent. Adam straightened himself up, surprised that
his back had stopped hurting and the hip that he had broken ten years earlier
now moved with ease when he tried to walk.
He
stood silently, listening to the strange sounds around him. Off to his left he heard the gentle flutter
of what he supposed were birds, but a second glance told him he was wrong,
though he recognized the sound for what it was, he was unable to determine
exactly what was making the noise. It
reminded him of a story his father had read to him, many, many years ago about
the rustling of angel’s wings.
A
movement to his right drew his musings from the subject of heavenly
beings. He was amazed at what he saw,
and he stared opened-eyed at the three lone figures that were approaching
him. His old heart thumped wildly and
his breathing became erratic as he gasped for air. His father, in his prime, his middle brother
Hoss, looking fit and Little Joe, as he had always pictured the boy to be, now
stood before him.
“Welcome
home, son,” his father said in his deep rich voice that Adam remembered so
well.
“Pa?”
Adam’s lips formed the words as he pushed them outward from deep within his
throat. His voice was no longer raspy,
his words more distinct.
“Who
were you expecting to meet you, son?” Ben laughed. “We told you we’d wait here
for you.
“Ya
ready to go, big brother?” Hoss questioned.
“The
horses are tied over there, Adam, Sport’s all saddled and waiting for you,” Joe
informed him, pointing off into the distance.
“There’s
going to be a big feast soon, with lots of good food, and wine, to celebrate,”
Ben informed his oldest son.
“Yeah,
and everyone’s counting on seeing you.
Doc Martin, Clem, Roy, and even Hop Sing, they’re all there, Adam. And you’ll never guess who else is waiting,”
Little Joe giggled.
“Who?”
Adam asked, not sure if he ever wanted to wake up from this dream that had
brought his loved ones home to him.
“Cain’t
tell ya, we gotta show ya,” smiled Hoss.
“But I reckon ya gonna like it, it’s a surprise.”
Adam
grinned when he saw the gap between his middle brother’s two front teeth. Some things never change, he thought.
“Alright,
I suppose I’m ready,” Adam determined after a moment of indecision.
What
did he have to lose? He was tired and
sick and more than anything else in the whole world, he was lonesome for his
family. As he gazed up into the faces of
his loved ones, he knew he had made the right decision, it was time to go home.
“Alright
it’s settled, lets get the horses and then, let’s ride!” shouted Ben.
The
powdery white flakes stirred up by horses hooves floated softly down as the
foursome spurred their mounts into a gallop and rode off…into the clouds…and
into eternity.
THE END
July 2003