A Hogshead of Whiskey—by J. Rosemary Moss


The Cartwrights had just settled down to dinner when someone knocked at the front door. Ben put down his fork.

"Looks like we’ll have company for supper after all," he commented. "Would one of you boys answer that?"

He looked to his sons. Hoss already had his mouth full. Adam and Little Joe exchanged glances. Neither of them spoke a word, but a whole conversation passed between them.

Ben smiled to himself as he interpreted their exchange. Joe’s look clearly said, ‘Don’t make me get up, Adam. I’m always the one who gets up.’ Adam rolled his eyes in response, as if to say, ‘Very well. If you’re going to sit there and moan about it, I’ll get the door.’

"I’ll get it, Pa," Adam said out loud.

"Thank you," Ben said.

A moment later Adam was ushering Sheriff Coffee inside. All the Cartwrights stood to greet him and Ben left his plate to walk over to him.

"How are you, Roy?" he asked. "I hope you’ll have some supper with us."

"Love to," Roy answered. "Oh, Adam, I’ve got a parcel for you. I said I’d bring it over seeing as I was coming to speak with your Pa."

"Thank you," Adam said as he accepted the package.

"Come on, Roy, sit down," Ben said as he escorted his friend to the table. "Hop Sing, let’s have another plate here."

Ben got Roy settled and then glanced at his oldest son. Adam had opened the parcel. He was holding a book in his right hand—it looked like a book of music—and a letter in his left. His face took on a sad, nostalgic expression as he read the letter.

"Adam, are you all right?" he called out. "I hope it’s not bad news."

He looked up from the letter. "It is, but I can’t say it’s unexpected. Do you remember Father Ronan? He passed on."

"Hey," said Hoss, "that was the priest that was here when Ma died. Your Ma, Little Joe."

"That’s right," said Ben. "He said the Mass. I’m sorry to hear he’s gone."

"He was Irish, wasn’t he?" Hoss said. "I remember he taught you all those death songs. You know, like ‘Look at the Coffin’ and ‘Finnegan’s Wake.’"

Adam nodded and held up the book of music. "That’s the one," he said with a smile. "He could see what a wreck I was after we laid out Marie. So he gave me a flask of whiskey, told me to fetch my guitar and then he took me off to a saloon."

Ben shook his head. "And you were all of seventeen."

"Well, what can I say, Pa," Adam said with a tolerant shrug. "He wasn’t much of a priest but he was a good man."

"Don’t be too hard on him," said Roy. "Nothing wrong with letting a young man have a stiff drink or two when he’s grieving."

"He let me do more than that," Adam informed him. "He, ah, introduced me to one of the girls at the saloon."

Hoss and Little Joe both burst out laughing.

"He sounds like more fun than the ministers and priests we’ve got around here now," Joe managed when he got control of himself. “Lord, Adam—it’s nice to know what you were up to the night of my mother’s wake. Was this girl your first?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“How much did she set you back, older brother?” Hoss asked through a mouthful of roast beef.

Adam shrugged. “I don’t know. Father Ronan picked up the tab.”

Ben glared at his family as that comment was met by more laughter. Even Roy joined in.

Ben sighed. "I remember just what I thought to myself that night,” he said. “‘Adam’s gone off with a man of the cloth. I’m sure he’s fine.’”

Still more laughter ensued. Ben rolled his eyes. “I’m glad that I knew nothing about this at the time.”

Adam grinned. "So am I." But then his features sobered.

“That night was hell, Pa,” he said at length. “Marie and I—well, we always knew how to bring out the worst in each other. She had taught me to waltz just the night before, but I still managed to poison my words to her.”

The room fell silent at that. Joe was the first to speak up. “I told you once, older brother. My ma knew you were a Yankee. She didn’t expect you to have manners.”

Adam gave him a playful glare and then he turned back to his father.

“Pa,” he began, “I know that Father Ronan’s methods were unorthodox—and probably immoral. But he made a world of difference to me. I’ve kept up with him all this time and I’m going to miss him fiercely.”

Ben read the deep affection in Adam’s eyes and smiled. “I’m not one to judge a man, Adam. I’m glad that Father Ronan was there for you. But I am wondering one thing—between the whiskey, the songs and the girl, how did you ever make it through the Mass the next day?”

His son laughed as he shook his head. “I have no idea.”

***

"My favorite waltz," Marie announced as she stepped outside the house. Ben had hired an excellent violinist for this soiree and he was doing full justice to the music.

She stood on the porch for a moment, enjoying the cool night air and the strains of the violin. Then she remembered her purpose.

She held a punch glass in each hand. One for herself and one—well, one for a peace offering.

She inhaled deeply and then made her way to the rail. There were no horses tied there, but Adam was leaning up against it. He folded his arms as she approached him.

Marie put on her most charming smile. "Here, cheri," she said, handing him a glass. "I will take some air with you."

"Thank you," he said as he accepted it. But the flat tone of his voice undermined the gratitude of his words.

Marie sighed. "Cheri, stop glowering at me. In a few months you will leave for college—and while you’re back east you can forget that your father ever laid eyes on me. But until then, we must do what we can to get along."

He smiled at that—an unpleasant smile. "I don’t mind that my father set eyes on you, Marie," he said evenly. "I just wish he had offered you a carte blanche instead of a wedding ring."

Marie tightened her grip on her glass. Somehow she conquered the urge to box Adam’s ears. She forced herself to smile instead.

"If you mean to drive me off with insults, you’ll have to do better than that," she informed him.

He stared at her. She met his glare and held it. In the end he was the one to look away. In fact he blushed and stared down at the ground.

She felt a bit sorry for him, for she could see that he was ashamed of his words. Poor boy—it was hard to be seventeen.

"I’m sorry," he said at last. "I had no right to say that."

"No, you did not," she agreed. "But you’ve been wanting to say it for years. So perhaps it’s best to have it out, n’est-ce pas?"

He looked back up at her. "Will you forgive me?"

She smiled and put her glass down on the ground. "Only if you’ll dance with me. Come, I adore this waltz."

He shook his head. "No. I, that is—no thank you."

Marie was puzzled, but suddenly she understood his reluctance. "Oh, but how stupid of me. You don’t know how to waltz, do you? Don’t worry, cheri, I’ll teach you."

She didn’t give him an opportunity to refuse her. She took the glass out of his hand, set it down, and drew him away from the rail.

He held her stiffly when she first showed him how to circle his arm around her waist. But at length he relaxed. He gave her his attention as she taught him the steps and even managed a smile or two.

"Very good, cheri," she told him as he settled into the dance. "Ah, but we must practice more before you leave. Those barbarians in Boston will know nothing of waltzing."

Adam raised his eyebrows at her. "I might find a few civilized souls there."

Marie sniffed contemptuously. "They are Yankees. And that reminds me, Adam. I know that you and your father are Yankee heretics but you must promise me not to burn effigies of the pope."

Adam laughed. "That’s no longer the custom in Boston," he assured her. "At least not since my grandfather was a boy."

She returned his laughter and then showed him how to end the dance. She smiled up at him as she completed her curtsey.

"Te voila," she said. "And you did very well."

He nodded his thanks and retrieved the punch glasses. After handing one to her he offered her his arm.

Marie accepted it and decided to press her luck. Why not? She was finally bringing Adam around. With a bit more coaxing perhaps they could become friends.

"We should get back to our guests now," she said. "But would you care to come riding with me in the morning? I want to take Mulciber out."

They had been walking back toward the house but Adam stopped short at that.

"Mulciber?" he repeated. "That animal is too strong for you, Marie. You should stick with a gelding."

She gave him a teasing smile. "Thank you, cheri, but I can choose my own mount."

He released her arm and turned to face her. Marie rolled her eyes at the disapproval that was plainly written on his face.

"Poor Adam," she said as she patted his cheek. "I know it pains you but I’m your stepmother—you can’t throttle me."

She didn’t miss the regret in his voice as he answered. "No," he admitted. "But if you’re foolish enough to ride that devil I hope he tosses you. That might teach you a lesson."

She laughed as she put her arm back through his. "Perhaps, but I doubt it. I’m better at giving lessons than receiving them. Now come, cheri. Let’s return to our guests."

***

Adam stood out in the barn, staring at the one lantern that was hanging nearby. In a few minutes he would pull himself together. He would go back inside and say everything that was proper. He’d thank people for coming. He’d check on Hoss and Little Joe. And he’d defend his Pa from the tactless fools that wanted to pester him with questions about the accident.

But he couldn’t face the house yet—not with Marie laid out.

"Pardon, lad, but you look like you could use this."

The words startled him out of his thoughts. Adam turned his head and found himself facing the crinkled Irish priest who had come to give Marie her last rites.

He was offering Adam a flask.

"Forgive the intrusion, but I noticed you when I stepped out for some air," he continued. "Take the whiskey, lad. You’ll feel the better for it."

Adam hesitated a moment, but then he accepted the flask. He drank deep and felt the whiskey burn his throat.

"Thanks," he said as he handed it back.

The priest shook his head. "No, my boy. You keep that. You’ll be needing it more than I will. Now shall I say how sorry I am for your loss, or are you tired of hearing it?"

Adam managed a smile. "I can stand to hear it again. It’ll be good practice for when I step back inside."

"Well in that case, I’m most deeply sorry. It seems she was a lovely woman."

Adam fell silent at that. "She had her moments," he said at last. "But I spent most of my time wishing that she wasn’t my stepmother."

"Did you now?" the priest asked. There was no shock or judgement in his voice, just a mild interest. Adam leaned up against the wall of the barn and watched as the man drew a snuffbox from his pocket.

"Care for a pinch?" he asked.

Adam shook his head. "No thank you."

The priest took a pinch himself and then put the box away. Then he followed Adam’s lead and leaned up against the wall.

"My boy, if there’s something weighing on you, I can hear your confession right now."

"I’m not Catholic, Father."

"Ah. Well, perhaps you’d just like a sympathetic ear. Why didn’t you want her for a stepmother?"

Adam hesitated, but the priest must’ve guessed his thoughts.

"If you’re going to confide in someone, lad, it might as well be me," he said. "After all, I’m just passing through here. You’ll never see me again—so what do you care what I think of you?

Adam grinned at that and took another gulp of the whiskey. "All right," he said.

He took his time, trying to find the right words. "There were times when I wanted to forget that she was my stepmother just so I could throttle her," he explained. "Marie knew that. She even teased me about it. But I never told her—"

Adam paused and felt himself blush. "Well, there was another reason that I wished she wasn’t my father’s wife. And I was all the more brutal to her because of it."

The priest gave him a wan smile. "Ah, so you weren’t immune to her charm. I’m not surprised. Me, I’ve only seen her laid out, but had I met her before—well, me bucko, I’d have regretted joining the priesthood."

He paused and pulled out the snuffbox again. "No, lad," he continued after taking another pinch, "don’t brood over that. Just keep a warm spot for her."

Adam considered that as he took another sip from the flask. "Father," he said at length, "I knew she meant to ride Mulciber. I could’ve stopped her. And I should have—even if it meant dragging her out of the barn."

"Well, there’s that problem of her being your stepmother again. T’aint exactly good form to go dragging your stepmother about."

Adam shook his head. "I could’ve told my Pa. He would have stopped her. But Marie and I never carried tales about each other…" he let his voice trail off.

He sighed and downed the last of the whiskey. "And the worst of it, Father, is what I said last night. I told her that I hoped Mulciber would toss her. I—I wanted her to learn a lesson."

He was looking down now, but he felt the priest place a hand on his shoulder.

"You didn’t mean for this to happen," the priest told him. "And you can be sure she knows that."

He paused and gave Adam a long look. "All right, me bucko," he said at length. "I can see that you're determined to beat yourself up. We need to get you away from here. Now, you’re not the son that plays the guitar, are you?"

Adam nodded. "I am."

"That’s grand. Go on and fetch it, will you? Let me just look to your family and then I’ve got just the thing to help with your guilt and your grief—it’s drink and song you need."

***

Adam stood at Marie’s gravesite, glaring at her tombstone. It was six years after they had buried her.

"This was your job," he informed her, not bothering to keep the biting anger out of his voice. "You should have been here to see to Joe. Instead I had to take him in hand while Pa’s away—and watch him despise me for it."

There was no response from the stone. Not that he expected one, but he longed to carry out this argument in the flesh.

"And now I’m so annoyed that I’m standing here reprimanding a dead woman," he continued as he threw down his hat in disgust. Then he sighed and put one hand on his forehead.

"Marie," he said at length, "I know I gave you a hard time while you were alive, but I wish to God you hadn’t left us."

He paused again and crouched down so that he was eye-level with her gravestone. "You shouldn’t have tried to ride that horse," he told her. "You knew that devil was too strong for you. And your son is just as reckless. I hope you’re watching over him because he’s determined to break his neck."

"It wouldn’t have mattered if she was here," a voice called out. Adam nearly jumped out of his skin—that voice was a strange echo of Marie’s.

He stood up and turned around. Little Joe was a few feet back, regarding him with a half-smile. The little scamp suddenly looked older than his eleven years.

"She would’ve shook her head," Joe continued, "and told you that she couldn’t bring herself to raise a hand to me—much less a belt. Then she would’ve smiled at you, patted your cheek and left you to punish me."

Adam managed a grin. "That’s probably true."

Joe grinned back, but then his face grew serious. "Did you hate her?"

"No," he answered, taking care to meet his brother’s eyes. "I just resented her for a while."

Joe looked down at his feet. "Why?"

Adam shrugged. "I suppose because she was different from Inger. I—I was a bit brutal to your Ma, Joe. I admit that. And I’m sorry for it now."

Little Joe looked up again and Adam could see the mischief back in his eyes.

"That’s all right. She knew you were a Yankee, Adam. She didn’t expect you to have manners."

Adam bit back a smile. "You trying for another tanning, boy?"

"Nah. I just—I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pulled a dangerous stunt like that. And I didn't mean it when I said that I hated you."

He paused and stared at Adam. "And I’m impressed, older brother," he said at last. "You wield a belt just as good as Pa does."

"Yeah, well, I learned from the best."

Little Joe laughed at that and ran up to him. Adam suddenly found himself locked in a hug.

"One thing, older brother," Joe said, still clutching him. "Are we squared up now, or are you going to tell Pa?"

Adam smiled. "We’re squared up," he assured him.

They broke apart from each other and Adam retrieved his hat. "Come on, Joe. Let’s go back to the house."

***

When dinner was over Ben walked Roy to the door and bid him goodnight. Then he turned around to find Hoss handing Adam his guitar.

"I’ll get us drinks," Little Joe put in, "and we’ll have some toasts and some songs in honor of Father Ronan."

Adam smiled. "What song shall it be, me buckos?" he asked, aping an Irish brogue.

"Well, if it’s death songs," Hoss said, "I like that one you learned about Rosin the Beau."

Adam nodded. He gave his guitar a couple of tentative strums and then he began to sing:

Well, I’ve traveled this wide world all over
And now to another I go
But I know that good quarters are waiting
To welcome old Rosin the Beau!

To welcome old Rosin the Beau, me lads, to welcome old Rosin the Beau
I know that good quarters are waiting, to welcome old Rosin the beau.

And when I'm dead and laid out on the counter
Then a voice you may hear from below
Saying 'Send down a hogshead of whiskey
To drink with old Rosin the Beau!'

To drink with old Rosin the Beau, me lads...*

Ben smiled as Hoss and Little Joe joined in the boisterous chorus. He shook his head at the three of them, but he offered his own private toast up to the spirit of Father Ronan.

***

“I can’t believe you lost your virginity on the night of my mother’s wake,” Joe said, shaking his head at Adam.

Their father had long since retired, so only the three boys remained downstairs. They were gathered around the fireplace.

Adam sighed. “I’m trying to think of something to say that will make that sound better.”

“Come up with anything yet?” Hoss asked him.

Adam took another swig of whiskey and then passed the bottle on. “Only that she was a redhead,” he answered.

“A redhead?” Joe repeated, impressed. He took a mouthful from the bottle and then handed it to Hoss. “All right, that does make it better. Now what verse were we up to?”

“I don’t even remember what song we were on,” said Hoss.

“`Finnegan’s Wake,’” Joe answered in unison with Adam.

“Now let’s see,” Joe continued, frowning in an effort of memory. “We introduced Tim Finnegan and his tippler’s way, we saw him crack his skull, we laid him out for the wake in nice clean sheets, put whiskey and porter about his head and started the brawl. I think we must be on the last verse.”

“I believe you are correct,” Adam said with a respectful nod. He picked up his guitar and began to sing:

Now Mickey Malone raised up his head
When a gallon of whiskey flew at him
It missed and landed on the bed
And the whiskey scattered all over Tim!

Hoss and Joe both joined in for the final lines:

By God! He revives, see how he rises
Tim Finnegan is jumping from the bed
Crying as he ran around like blazes
'Thundering Jesus, did you think I’m dead!'*

Hoss slapped the table in time as they finished with a final chorus and then all three boys collapsed in laughter.

“So what was the name of the little lady?” Hoss asked when they recovered.

“Nancy,” Adam answered.

“Nancy,” Hoss repeated reverently.

“Let’s have a toast to her,” said Joe. “Wait, where’s our glasses? We can’t toast straight from the bottle.”

“They’re on the table over there,” Adam said as he set down his guitar.

Joe, who was now perched on the corner of the settee, glanced in the general direction of the dining room.

“That’s too far,” he decided. “Sorry Nancy, no toast. Hand over that bottle, Hoss.”

“Poor Nancy,” Hoss sighed as he dutifully passed the whiskey.

“Doesn’t matter,” Adam said as he settled into the settee and put his feet on the table. “It wasn’t Nancy that I held in my arms that night.”

Joe put the bottle down at that and raised his eyebrows. “What are you saying, older brother?”

Adam shrugged. “Only that your mother was the most charming minx I ever knew. And that’s one of the reasons I couldn’t stand her.”

Joe stared at him. “You’ve never told me that before.”

Adam shut his eyes. “I’ve never been drunk enough to admit it before—at least not to you.”

“Ah-ha!” Joe exclaimed, shaking his head. “Now I understand why you always got on better with Hoss than with me.”

“I could’ve explained that to you, little brother,” Hoss put in. “You see, when Adam looks at me, he don’t see Marie.”

Little Joe smiled at that. “I should’ve known you had a soft spot for her, Adam.”

“I did. But I still wanted to throttle her. In fact, I came damn close to spanking her once.”

Joe laughed. "That must have been the day she hurled Inger's picture at your head. But she wasn't trying to kill you. She knew you'd duck."

"Don't be too sure," Adam insisted. "We were both riled up. And she had surprisingly good aim."

"Is that what happened to that picture?" Hoss asked. "That had a heavy frame on it. Good thing you did duck, Adam. But you shouldn't have kept comparing her to my Ma. You knew that made her crazy."

Adam gave them a sour smile. "Why do you think I did it?" he asked. "But there's more to that story. Ask me about it when I'm sober." He paused and looked up. “Do you two realize that we’ve got to be awake by cockcrow?”

“Yup,” Hoss answered. “But I’m going to fall asleep right here in this chair. I don’t want to chance the stairs.”

Little Joe promptly surveyed the staircase. The whiskey made it look menacing.

“That’s smart thinking, Hoss,” he owned. He climbed down off his perch, sat next to Adam and likewise rested his feet on the table.

“Tell me something, Adam,” he said. “How long does it take to recover from someone like my mother?”

Adam shrugged again. “I don’t know,” he answered in a flat voice. “I never did.”

Joe rested his head on his older brother’s shoulder. “That’s not true,” he said.

“Yeah, Adam,” Hoss put in. “You ain't exactly been pining.”

Adam managed a smile. “No, I haven’t pined. But I’ll always measure every woman I meet against your Ma, Joe.”

Little Joe grinned. “That’s fine,” he said as he closed his eyes and stifled a yawn. “In fact, that’s the way it should be.”

***

When Adam woke up the following morning Little Joe was asleep with his head on his shoulder. Hoss was snoring on the chair next to them.

Adam smiled and gently pushed Joe over, careful not to wake him.

He ignored the splitting pain in his head and made his way out to the barn. He was forced to pause by the side of it in order to vomit the excess whiskey in his system.

He shook his head at himself. He'd think twice before drinking like that again.

He managed to get Sport saddled up and then he rode out a ways, hoping to clear his head. But he found himself making his way to Marie's grave site.

He hadn't visited her grave for some time. He dismounted Sport and walked up to it.

He crouched down and placed his hand on the stone. Then he traced the outline of her name with his finger.

"I should have brought you some flowers, cherie," he said softly. "I'll have to remedy that later."

Once again, the stone was silent.

"Listen, Marie," he said. "I don't remember precisely what I told your son last night, but I know we talked about the time you threw that picture at me."

He paused to look down at his hands. Then he gave her an apologetic smile.

"He doesn't know what I found out about you that day," he told her. "But it was nothing to be ashamed of. And I only promised to keep it from him until he was grown."

He sighed. "Well, cherie, he's an adult now. He deserves to know. I hope you'll understand."

He stood up and tipped his hat at the stone. Then he went back to Sport and rode off to find Little Joe.


The End

* Traditional lyrics

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