“Dream On, Joe”
by
K. K. Shaulis
Ben Cartwright just couldn’t sleep. He tried clearing his mind. He tried counting sheep. He tried thinking of pleasant memories. He tried to sleep on his right side, then on his left side and he flopped from his back to his stomach to his back. He covered and uncovered himself -- even stripped down to his all-together -- and rearranged his pillows so many times he couldn’t count how many. Nothing was working. He glanced at the clock on his bed table. Just a little after midnight. He burped slightly, tasting again and at the same time regretting that last piece of apple pie and coffee he had shortly before he retired. Must be getting old, he grumbled sitting up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and getting to his feet. He reached for his red dressing gown, slid on his slippers and silently left his room in search of a little bicarbonate of soda and water.
Meanwhile Ben’s youngest son, seventeen year old Little Joe, boots in one hand and his hat and gunbelt in the other, eased open the front door hoping above hope that neither his father nor his brothers were sitting up waiting for him. Whew! He breathed a sigh of relief when he discovered the coast was clear. Still he had to be careful. His family members all had ears like bats and all he needed was to have just one of them hear him and the other two would surely follow. He would then have to explain where he had been “’til this hour of the morning,” endure a thunderous lecture for his disobedience and disrespect from his Pa along with Adam’s smirks and Hoss’s sympathetic looks and heaven only knew how many additional chores as punishment. He gently placed his hat and gunbelt on the credenza in the entryway and began to tiptoe noiselessly across the great room to the stairs. He then heard the distinctive e-r-r-re-e-e-k-k-k-k-a-a sound his Pa’s door made when it was slowly eased opened. Oh, no! Joe thought dropping his boots on the pier table, diving over it, and making a perfect face down landing on the settee as Ben ambled down to the first landing of the staircase scratching the back of his neck and stopping when he spied...
“Joseph?!?!”
Based on the inflection of his father’s voice, Joe couldn’t tell whether
it was an expression of surprise or a question. Thinking fast, he let out
a loud “NO!!! NO!!! NO!!!” and began to thrash around on the settee.
Ben was caught off guard, almost falling down the last three steps trying
to scramble over to his youngest. “Son! Son! Are you all right?” he took
Joe by the shoulders to try to stop his movements.
“NO!!! NO!!!” Joe, however, continued to fight him but was real careful to keep him at arm’s length lest he smell the telltale beer on his breath.
“Joe…Come on, boy,” Ben moderated his tone. “You’re having a bad dream. Wake up, Joe.”
“Pa…,” Joe tried to sound sleepy and agitated. “Pa?” Now he moved on to confused, looking at his parent blankly.
“It’s all right… Calm down, son,” Ben said in a soothing voice and sank down on the pier table beside Joe’s boots. “What was the dream about any way?”
“I don’t know, Pa,” Joe shook his head to clear it and rubbed his eyes. That should explain the red in them, he thought as he blinked them a few times and rubbed them again for good measure. “When I woke up…well…it just seemed so real,” he sat up a little bit more, “I was a whole lot older and my hair was a whole lot longer and I was a farmer, carpenter, saw mill operator/freighter. I did everything, Pa…I was married to the prettiest lady... And I lived a little house that was within walking distance of town called Walnut Grove…and the townspeople there looked up to me like they look up to you, Pa.” Joe felt that sneaking a compliment in here certainly wouldn’t hurt matters especially if somehow his father guessed that he was really dreaming this up.
It seemed to have since Ben was smiling back at him in a concerned fatherly way.
Joe took a deep breath, faked a shudder as he pretended to compose himself and continued. “They always expected me to help solve all their problems. I was on the school board and the town council and lectured at church – no one complained about my singing either -- and I played the fiddle…and…a whole lot of folks from around here were in it…”
“That doesn’t sound too terrible, son,” Ben now was gently rubbing his youngest’s back to comfort him.
His Pa always did this since he was a baby when he had some difficulty sleeping, whether it was a wet diaper, a raging fever or a bad dream. Yep, he most certainly had him fooled, Joe decided, quite please with himself. “Oh, all of that was fine…it’s just that…” he paused for effect.
“Yes, son, go on,” Ben listened patiently.
“Well,” Joe’s face now looked quite tormented. “Every time my wife had a baby which seemed to be about every two months or so, it was a girl. Every time I turned around, I got handed another girl baby. Time after time after time, all I ever got were little girls with long pigtails! And soon this whole little house where I lived was filled with little girls from floorboards to rafters,” he closed eyes and sank back on the red pillow on the settee theatrically. “It was just such a horrible nightmare!” he put his hand to forehead and slid it down to cover his eyes.
Ben stared at him with his mouth open. “Nightmare?!?” he looked at Joe in amazement and laughed loudly.
Joe uncovered his eyes and actually looked offended at his father’s reaction to his ‘torment.’ He thought he did an admirable acting job himself.
“I’m sorry, Joseph,” Ben finally could talk, “But to a man who raised three hooligan boys, that sounds like a dream come true.” He got to his feet and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Joe mumbled sarcastically.
“And I’m sure that all the little ladies will enjoy hearing about your dream too…” Ben said wiping a tear from his eye and nodding his head up and down.
Uh-oh. “Little ladies, Pa…?” Joe tried to look innocent.
“…Out in the chicken house, young man, when you clean it –how did you
state it – “from the floorboards to the rafters” as part of your punishment
for staying out so late and drinking when you know we had a big day planned
for tomorrow,” Ben frowned down at his astonished baby son.
Oh, no. Joe got himself to a sitting position in a hurry while he still
could.
“You see, Joseph,” Ben leaned over so that he was in his youngest’s face,
“I checked on you before I went to bed at nine. It’s a little habit of mine,
just in case you haven’t noticed. You were not in your room then and I have
been up with indigestion since then. I know for a fact that you have not
been home and from the smell of beer on you, well…I’ve been your father
for too many years not to put two and two together. Now,” he straightened
up, tightened the belt of his robe and turned toward the kitchen, “I’m going
to get something to settle my stomach and you had best be upstairs in bed
before I get back out here or we will have a more extended discussion out
in the barn about what you were really doing ’til this hour of the morning
and I’m sure I’ll have a few more chores for you to do, too!”
Joe gulped. “Yes, sir,” he slowly stood up.
“And, Joseph,” Ben called from the kitchen doorway. “Get your boots off the table,” he smirked as he repeated the ever familiar reminder to his youngest. “Pleasant dreams.”
“Yes, sir, Pa,” Joe sighed, picked up his footwear and started toward the staircase. He stopped just short, however. After all, this could be a dream, he thought hopefully and then pinched himself just to make sure. No such luck, he concluded sadly shaking his head and trudging wearily up the steps. No dream, even a nightmare could end like this.
The End
__________________________________
Many thanks to David Dortort for his creation of Bonanza in general and
the Cartwrights. The author does not claim ownership of any of the aforementioned
characters, just the story. © September10, 2006. This story is not
intended to infringe on any known copyrights. ALL INTERNATIONAL RIGHTS ARE
RESERVED.