Responsibilities
By Meira Bracha
August 2002
This short story takes place several weeks after the events described
in “Loss and Legacy”.
Adam Cartwright gradually became aware of an incessant knocking sound.
He lifted his head from his desk where he had apparently fallen asleep surrounded
by paperwork. The lamp was still burning bright, so he knew that he
had not been sleeping long. He yawned, stretched and groaned a little
before calling out, somewhat testily, “Yes, who is it?”
“So you are alive in there! Open this door!” came
the reply.
Adam managed a small smile. He recognized the voice
of his old college friend, Charles Weston. Adam pushed himself to his
feet and walked stiffly across the small room to unlock his office door.
The energetic, if rather portly, man who strode in was looking, truth be told,
rather peeved. “I heard yesterday that you had returned last week,
though of course I didn’t here this from you. I sent word inviting you
to dine with us this evening. Your secretary sent word back that you
had accepted. Well the food is now cold, the children are in bed, and
Martha is quite put out. She sent me to fetch you. I checked your
lodgings but your landlord said you had not returned from work. So
here I am. What have you got to say for yourself?”
Adam let the tirade wash over him, a properly chagrined
look on his face. “Charlie, I am truly sorry. It’s just that I
still haven’t been able to straighten out these books. I don’t think
my grandfather had balanced his accounts in over a year prior to his death,
and nobody else did either. How am I ever going to get this business
back on track if I don’t even know what we have? And my being gone for
three weeks only put me further behind. But that doesn’t excuse my
behavior tonight. The truth is, I got so wrapped up in this morass that
I lost track of the time. Then I seem to have fallen asleep.”
Charles answered in a more conciliatory tone. “That
just proves that you aren’t fit to accomplish any more tonight. You
need to eat and you need to sleep in a bed. Come to my house and do
both. Martha won’t let me back in tonight without you so I won’t take
no for an answer.”
Adam was too tired to put up any resistance. He
took his overcoat, hat and cane from the coatrack and followed his friend
out to a waiting cab. Charles did his best to make conversation.
“How was your trip to Nevada? Was your brother as ill as your other
brother said, or was it the ruse you told me you suspected to entice you to
visit?”
Adam responded sadly, “I never should have doubted
Joe. I ought to have gone in response to his first wire. Hoss
was quite ill. He died less than twelve hours after I arrived.”
“Oh Adam, I am so sorry. Well it’s good you went
then. Your family needed you.”
“That’s just the thing. They didn’t. Well,
Hoss had told Joe he wanted to see me, so that alone justifies the trip.
I owed the big guy that much and a lot more. As for Joe and Pa, they’re
grieving, but they’re managing.”
“You’re telling me they are doing so fine without you
that they sent you packing?”
“They didn’t send me. They asked me to stay, of
course. But they didn’t need me to stay. And Stoddard Shipping
does need me. I have young cousins whose maintenance and education depend
on the profits of the business. I had to come back and untangle this
mess.”
“Are you sorry you went?”
“Selfishly, no. I got there in time to say goodbye
to Hoss. I spent a little time with Pa and Joe and our…their…cook Hop
Sing. I met the lad my father recently adopted. It was good to
see all of them. And the Ponderosa is still the most beautiful place
on earth. I’ve seen quite a bit of the world now so I know what I am
saying.”
Charles shook his head. “You call that selfish?
You don’t think your family was glad to see you and grateful that you came?”
Adam had no reply but a shrug. The cab pulled up
in front of the Westons’ house. The two men entered through the kitchen
door to find that Mrs. Weston had left a brimming dinner plate for Adam.
He began to eat while Charles continued the conversation.
“Cartwright, what is it with you? You always seem
to be planning your life based on some calculation of who needs you to be
doing what the most. You went back to Nevada after college instead of
pursuing a career here because you felt you owed it to your family.
But then you came back here to Boston from Europe last year all fired up about
becoming an artist. I was ready to hire you as an illustrator for the
newspaper to pay your bills while you pursued that goal when you discovered
that your grandfather needed you to work for him. And when he died,
all your New England relatives suddenly needed you to continue running the
company. Apparently Adam Cartwright was the only person capable of
assuming that responsibility.”
“Look, Weston, did you invite me here to feed me or to
lecture me? Even my father has apparently given up doing the latter.
And I will remind you that I took a six-year holiday from any responsibilities
while I traveled the world as an increasingly not-so-able-bodied seaman.
Don’t you think it’s time I resumed being mindful of responsibilities?”
Charles thought for a few moments before replying.
“I think you’ve done nothing but be mindful of responsibilities for most of
your life. Don’t forget I’m the one to whom you told the story of your
childhood over a few too many beers one night back in college. You
earned that ‘holiday’ five times over. But even if the holiday has
ended, isn’t there a middle ground? Why can’t you be a happy, responsible
artist instead of a miserable, responsible businessman? I suspect you
even were a lot happier as a rancher than you are doing what you are doing
now.”
“Well I can’t be a rancher now. I went to sea with
an injured back and left the sea six years later a virtual cripple.
As a result of my indulgence in irresponsibility it’s impossible for me to
ever resume my responsibilities on the Ponderosa. Fortunately, my brother
Joe seems to have more than filled my shoes. And he likes what he is
doing”
“You just proved my point. You’re a great fellow,
but maybe you are not as indispensible as you think. Isn’t it possible
that there is another Joe who could fill your shoes at Stoddard Shipping?
Have you even looked?”
“Oh, Charlie, I would never forgive myself if I walked
away and the business collapsed. I understand what you are saying, but
I just can’t do it. Maybe in a few years, if things are going better,
but not now.”
Charles sighed. His friend Adam was a singular
individual. He had an artist’s soul, but a Yankee merchant’s work ethic.
For a while it had seemed that the artist was winning the struggle.
But the merchant had mounted a fierce counterattack and was now in control.
There seemed to be no way to sway him from his current path.
“Well, if I can’t persuade you to abandon yourself to
art, can I at least tempt you to be just the least bit hedonist and sample
some of Martha’s chocolate cream pie?”
Adam laughed. “I don’t have the sweet tooth or
appetite of my late brother Hoss, but I believe I will succumb to that temptation,
if only to honor his memory.”
Charles cut them each a generous portion. “To Hoss!”
toasted Adam as he put a large forkful into his mouth.
“To Hoss.” replied Charles, doing likewise. “And
to his brother Adam. May he always remember to find time for dessert
and other pleasures among his responsibilities.”
END
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