Are a son’s thoughts of his Father a Father’s thoughts of his sons?
By Sadiespinner June 2004
Ben Cartwright woke with a start, his eyes shot open. He laid perfectly still, his heart racing wildly.
Trembling and in a cold sweat for a long few minutes he tried to make sense of his world.
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Sounds crept into his room, whispered voices. Concentrating all his efforts he sought to separate and define them. Pastor Gordon he knew at once. Lucy and Lloyd Burrow he figured out must be the other two.
Yet he knew these sounds were not what had awoken him. A new wave of cold sweat rolled over him as he remembered it had been a dream. Closing his eyes he struggled to make his scattered thoughts stand still.
Just what was the meaning of this weird and draining dream?
It was beyond him, as to the meaning, his young mind did not associate the trauma and physical demands made on him had triggered it. For the last three days he had doggedly, fiercely demanded, and refused to take no for an answer to being allowed to accompany the rescue boats sent out to search for possible survivors of the wreckage caused by the violent storm last week. Each boat set out at daybreak. Never returning until way after dark by lantern light. Each time they returned empty with nothing to show for their endeavors. Cold, wet, totally exhausted and finding nothing more than bits of broken boards, or a handful of personal effects that could have easily belonged to any one of the crew or the captain. Nothing was found to say; positively it had belonged to Joseph Cartwright.
Today was the memorial service at dockside for the crew and captain of the trade ship. Joseph Cartwright had undertaken this voyage to firm up a deal for his purchase of specialty items he felt would enhance his business.
Captain Able Stoddard was to officiate, a long time friend of Captain Hobson, and a sailing master himself. Able Stoddard, a very take charge, stern, no-nonsense man was well respected by all. Young Ben Cartwright both admired and feared his fierce countenance. Able had a strong deep commanding voice, dark penetrating eyes showing out from a mass of darker brows. His strong, wide jaw was covered with steely gray whiskers forming a short pointed beard. All these features spoke of great power, a man use to giving orders from his many years at sea, and use to being obeyed with out question.
But what was the meaning of this strange dream, and why now? One thing was sure; it had shaken him badly. Try as he might he was not able to shake it, every time he closed his tired eyes, these strange images jumped in front of him just as vividly as the first time.
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He was in a huge bed somewhere he did not recognize. This room, it was much bigger, than his own. Ben felt it was a massive place with high ceilings made of sturdy wide wooden planks. He was grown up, and his sons, “His sons?” Gathered around his bed. There was a doctor, not doctor Webber, and another man, a small man hovering in the background. His sons were crying, there were three of them. Ben could not really see them, they remained shadowy figures, but he knew each of them, knew how very different yet how alike they were. The youngest, was obviously around 14 years old, a slim boy, sobbing uncontrollably, begging him not to go, not to leave him, his high-pitched voice verging on hysterics. Right behind him with one arm around the boy’s chest holding him tightly to himself, stood the eldest of the three, the other arm encircled the massive shoulders of who could only be his third son. This huge young man was weeping also but in a more subdued manor as he strove to keep control of himself. The elder boy’s face came into focus more clearly, for just a brief moment. Dark features, dark eyes, vaguely familiar, smoldered, they seemed to be trying to will him to come back, a strange fury glowed in those dark expressive eyes. It was if he was forbidding him to leave.
The hurt and pain that radiated from those eyes, drew tears of shame flooding into Ben’s own eyes.
“How dare he do this to them! Had they not suffered enough? Did he not know how they felt? How he himself had felt?”
Once again the youngest face took over, pale, haunted, completely devastated. “P-p-p eezzz, Pa… I-I-n-nn-eed you!” he whispered his voice horse from crying. “I---I—L-L-lo-ove you. D-don- don’t leave m-mmee tooo . . . Y—youuu pr- pr- promised me . . . ”
His voice faded off into a choked sob, new tears spilled down his cheeks, reaching out to him his hand trembling. It was all so real, he felt he was so weak but able to barely reach out and touch the tear stained face. The image was too painful he turned his face away into his pillow, only to find it unsettling, already damp from tears. Confused, he felt his face. It was wet.
Somehow he knew he had to fight hard. He loved them too much to do this to them. To leave them so suddenly when they still needed him so much. The-the way his father had just done! Lost at sea, he had died on him, leaving so much unsaid, without the chance to say Good by, nothing to feel, to give him closure or peace, only an aching, empty loss.
“No, boy, I won’t leave you . . . Not like . . . Please, son, don’t cry, I’ll fight, I pr-promise, I’ll come back----I’ll come B-b”.
Darkness slid over his mind sending him down into a deep exhausted much needed sleep.
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When he again opened his eyes it was daylight. Blinking, he turned to see his younger brothers standing at his bedside, their faces, pale and somber.
“F-f- fathers n- n-ot—c-c-oming back, is he?” John softly asked.
Aaron sniffled looking into Ben’s face for the comfort and reassurance only his big brother could offer. So it was true. Ben was now the head of this household. Dragging his bone-tired body up to sit on the edge of the bed with his one arm he drew Aaron to him in a hug, at the same time he reached for John.
“We’ll be all right I promise you.” He managed to give them a weak smile. “ What I need now is for us to stick together. The three of us, we are brothers and brothers, help each other and stick together, no matter what, F-f. . .” he faltered then taking a deep breath straightened up. “That’s what father, would say. That’s what he would expect from us.” “Right?” To himself he cried “Oh father why? I miss you so much, I—I-l-love you!”
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Was this why Ben would strive to be the best father he could? His sons, no matter what, came first. To be there for them, always, at all cost. Is this why he was to be so haunted by the times he was forced to leave a small boy alone for periods of time, to get work, to support them. Were the memories of the last time his father left him part of it? Or, in spite of his determination, were the circumstances to come, force him to place such a burden on his oldest son? To put on his tender shoulders the responsibility of his younger brothers? Was it his own story, as he took the place of his own father? The need to look after his younger brothers and sister, taking part of his youth? His decision to go to sea, one he wanted since forever, but was now not an option, but a necessity, to help support his widowed mother care for her family. Would these things forever make family that much more precious to Ben?
Ingrained in him, willing to fight anything or anyone, that might threaten his sons. Absolutely willing to go to the ends of the earth to assure their safety. That they, were his world, it revolved around them. That, they, always knew, whatever it was, they could come to him anytime with anything. He may get cross or angry, or have to punish them to show them the right way. To make them men whom he could be proud of, men who could be proud of themselves, with the right set of values and morals. His love would be given freely, unquestionably, unconditionally, from the bottom of his heart always and forever. Wherever they went or what ever they chose to do, he would be there to support, nurture and most of all love. To hold them when they cried, to hold them when they hurt, to laugh with them and even at them. Could he wipe away the pain of his own loss, by loving his own sons, by cherishing his every moment with them? Ben Cartwright would vow to try.
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Round and round in a kaleidoscope, these faces swam in his mind, never really clear enough to see the individual features but the eyes stood out clear as a bell. Deep dark Hazel brown, often hooded, so like his yet so different, so sensitive, serious, so guarded hiding some undeniable pain. The second clear, crystal blue, like the summer sky, wide-open, trusting, honest and pure. The third, troubled him, deep Hazel one minute and stormy sparks of emerald green the next, exploding with emotion, changing like the wind. Then came the voices, one a deep melodious Baritone resonating and reverberating in his head. Another just as deep perhaps even deeper, rich and full of gentle strength, a softness that soothed and gave a soul hope. The last childlike, quivering, able to reach great high pitches; delightfully mischievous or smooth and confident, or ooze charm, full of emotion.
“I Love You Pa!” “I Love You Pa.” “ I Love you Papa . . . ” Tumbled over and over as the eyes swam around in his head. The voices jumped back in. “WE, love you Pa!” “ I love you father . . . ”
The images finally faded into gray, slowly echoing away.
Which dream was the dream?
A son’s, dream, or, a father’s?
*A Line taken from a song by George Strait . . . * No infringement intended.
“Let me tell you a secret about a father’s love. A secret that my daddy said was just between us. A daddy loves his children not just now and then, it’s a love with out end. Amen!”
For all the Fathers whose love for their children is a love with out end.
THE END