Lesson One: Be Consistent

Ben picked up a cup and poured coffee into it, then laced in a liberal amount of cream and sugar, stirring it once. He settled it back in its saucer and headed across the main room and up the stairs. A quick tap on the first door to his right was all he gave before pushing it open and entering. A gentle chuckle escaped him then.

            Joe lay face down, sprawled on the bed, the quilts and blankets haphazard across his lean frame. The pillows, he had bunched under his head and his face was buried in their linen-covered softness. One foot seemed to want to escape the sleeping-entanglement because it hung over the side of the bed and from under the coverings. Setting the cup of coffee aside, Ben was tempted to run a finger across the bare sole of the escaped foot, knowing the reaction it would cause. Instead, he tried to ease it back into the cocoon of warmth. The body attached to the foot stirred.

Ben settled himself down on the side of the bed and waited.

A low groan escaped next followed by an arm snaking out from the blankets that ran first through the tangled mass of long brown hair, then over the pillow as though seeking something. The bare shoulders hunched then rolled, making the muscles in his back ripple with the movement. Finally the head lifted and Ben heard a sniffing noise. With another groan, Joe flopped over onto his back, his eyes barely slits. Vaguely he could make out the dark shape sitting there on the bed beside him. There was only one person he knew of that did that and it didn't usually bode well that he was doing it either.

"Morning, Pa," came the mumbled greeting as Joe scrubbed both hands across his face. With bleary eyes now open, he took a quick glance to his left and saw that even though the drapes were still closed, strong daylight was leaking around the edges. And since his window faced the south, that could only mean one thing: it was very late in the morning.

"Want some of this?" Ben offered the cup of coffee.

Joe wasn't sure what to make of the offer. He had more expected a sharp rebuke for sleeping late, maybe even a none-too-gentle reminder in the form of a hand to his backside. Long ago, Joe had figured that no matter how old he got, his father would forever use that sort of attention-getter with him. For good reason too since it usually got the desired results. But this morning, there was only the offer of coffee. Right there. While he was still in bed. Never one to argue with the proclivities of a kind-hearted father when said father was doing something nice, Joe struggled to sit up more and finally managed to get himself propped against his headboard. Smiling, he accepted the proffered cup of coffee. A quick glimpse into the cup followed by a sip brought a broader smile to his face. His father had even fixed his coffee the way he liked it! But that put Joe on warning swiftly. Things just weren't adding up. It was probably mid-morning and he still wasn't out of bed but Pa wasn't standing there shouting at him to get up. No, Pa was sitting on the side of the bed and he was smiling. And worst of all, Pa had brought him coffee, and when Pa had done that sort of thing before, it was usually served black, the way his father drank it. He was almost sure his father could hear the warning bells going off in his head.

"You got in rather late last night." Ben pulled his near leg up and let his thigh rest along side his son's leg on the bed, his fingers interlacing themselves across his raised knee.

Joe almost sighed with relief, sure that the next thing he heard would be the general speech on hours to be kept if one was to be a contributing member of the family. That would have been more like his father's attitude and that Joe was sure he could handle. "Just a little late, Pa. That's all."

His mouth pursed as though in deep consideration, Ben repeated Joe's words back to him. "Just a little late. I see. Tell me son, what would a 'whole lot late' be?"

Ah ha! There was the trap opening Joe had expected. Frantically he searched through his under-caffeinated brain for an answer but came up empty handed. He knew then that his best defense was going to be the one that usually worked best with his father. It was the 'Woe-is -me-I-am-the-youngest-so-it-is your-job-to-teach-me' one but it had to be accompanied by his sad, lost little puppy dog look. And that was hard to do when he didn't have a hangover. But Joe dug down deep into himself and pulled off a good imitation of it.

"Not real sure, Pa," but I bet you have the answer, Joe finished silently.

Ben simply smiled back at his son, his dark eyes dancing with delight. Getting better at the game, he thought, but your old man still has had more practice than you have, my young upstart. "Well, I think it depends on the individual, don't you?"

"You mean like what is late for one person may not be late for another?" Joe asked innocently and sipped the last of his coffee.

Nodding sagely, Ben reluctantly agreed, trying to formulate his counter-attack. But Joe spoke up quickly. "Then is the opposite true as well? That what is early for one isn't for another?"

Truly puzzled as to what direction Joe was headed, Ben's answer of "I suppose you could say that," made Joe smile even broader.

"Thanks Pa!" Joe exclaimed. He gave his father back the now empty cup and gave his father's hand a quick touch before he scooted down under the blankets again, snuggling into the pillows with a contented sigh.

Blinking several times, Ben was nonplused. "Aren't you going to get up, Joseph?" he asked softly.

With a soft snort, Joe promptly rolled to his far side and buried himself a little deeper in the pillows.

"Am I to take that as a 'no'?"

"Yep. After all, you just as much as said that what is early for one man is late for another. And this is much too early for me to be getting out of bed," Joe reasoned back, his eyes closed as he pushed his head a little further under the covers, hiding a smug smile. He waited tensely. If the swat to his backside and the roar to get out of bed was going to happen, now was the perfect time. Instead he felt his father's hand gently caress his upraised shoulder then he was gone.

Joe sat up wide eyed in bed. Something had just gone terribly wrong but he wasn't sure just what. He pulled his knees up and hugged them, trying to figure it out but for the life of him, he kept coming up empty handed.

 After delivering the empty cup to the kitchen sink, Ben returned to the main room. There at the front door, he strapped on his holster and shrugged into his coat. He tied his neckerchief around his throat then put his hat on before he opened the front door. There in the yard waiting for him, Hoss and Adam sat on their horses, with Buck awaiting him. Hop Sing had the buckboard already turned and headed out of the yard.

"May as well just leave your brother's horse tied up there," Ben instructed, gesturing to where Cochise was tied to the hitching rail in front of the house. "I'm sure when he recalls the barn raising today and the dance tonight, he will be needing his horse in a hurry."

Ben had swung into his saddle and pulled the buckskin around to follow his sons and the buckboard out of the yard when he heard it: a half strangled yelp followed swiftly by what was obviously drawers opening and then slamming shut. He angled Buck back around and without leaving the saddle, reached over and loosened the pinto's reins. Then he stopped to listen again, eye brows raised questioningly. When he heard the fast clatter on the stairs, he smiled and pulled both horses around so that they were once again headed out of the yard. Then he heard the front door bang open then slammed closed. He didn't even look back.

"Button your shirt up, Joseph. And put on your jacket, please." But then he did look back. There stood his youngest, quickly trying to stuff his shirt into his jeans while strapping on his gunbelt, his hat and his jacket dangling from his teeth. Ben decided that the mumbled words he couldn't understand were something closely akin to a "yes sir".

Finally getting his clothing in the right places, Joe took his reins from his father with a bright smile. Glancing quickly behind him, he saw his father leaning down from the saddle as though he was trying to pick something up. Then, just before he began to swing into the saddle, he felt it: a solid swat to his rear end.

"Get up, Joseph!" his father shouted then urged Buck to follow the others, leaving Joe standing in the yard, his hand rubbing the spot where his father's hand had connected.

"Glad you got that out of your system, Pa or I would have been waiting all day for it!" Joe cheerfully shouted to the retreating back. Although he meant it as a joke, he also knew it was true. "If nothing else, Pa, you are consistent."

Ben raised his hand as though waving but didn't look back at his youngest son. If he had of, the broad smile he now wore would have told his son far more than words ever could have.

The end, literally, of Lesson One.

The Tahoe Ladies

            November 2001