The Composition

By Ella

Author's Notes: This story is a sequel to "A Note of Thanks," which explains how Adam came into possession of his guitar. My thanks to Kathryn, for her editing, and to Marion for posting the writer’s challenge that inspired this tale.

********

Adam Cartwright sat down on the front porch bench. Leaning back, he closed his eyes, to focus on the early morning sounds of the ranch. The song sparrow's serenade swelled in his ears, soon joined by the rat-tat-tat of a woodpecker drilling in the distance. A horse whinnied from the coral, as if in answer to Hop Sing's chickens clucking as they scratched and pecked at the earth in their endless quest for juicy bugs and fat seeds. The pitter-pat of a gentle rain played in soft accompaniment upon the grass. Adam imagined the drops kissing the roof before joining a multitude of rivulets racing to the roof’s edge to leap into waiting puddles below.

At the click of boot heels against sturdy floor planks, Adam sat up straight, eyes blinking until they focused on the dark ones shinning in answer. He smiled sheepishly. "Morning, Pa."

Ben grinned widely at his son, then handed him a steaming mug. "Good morning. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. Just thought you might like some coffee."

Adam stretched out a hand to accept the welcomed vessel. "Thanks." As he sipped Hop Sing's strong black brew, he watched his father's attention shift to the object next to him on the bench. He reached out a protective hand to caress the neck of his mother's guitar - no, his guitar, thanks to Pa and Grampa Stoddard. "I ... I was ... I was trying to capture a mood."

Ben lifted an eyebrow, then echoed, "A mood?"

Leaning forward, Adam held his cup with both hands and stared into it. "I want to ... compose a tune about-" He looked out over the yard and passed a hand out in front of him to encompass everything in sight and beyond.

Ben suggested quietly, "About the ranch? About home?"

Before Adam could answer, the front door crashed open. Joe ran out with a bare-footed Hoss in hot pursuit.

"Mornin’, Pa! Mornin’, Adam!" Joe leaped off the porch.

Hoss yelled at the retreating figure. "Bein’ polite ain’t gonna save your skin, Little Joe!" He looked over his shoulder as he jumped off the deck. "Mornin’, Pa! Adam! Little Joe, you come back here!"

Ben opened his mouth, then shut it again with an exasperated growl, closing his eyes to shake his head slowly. He called through the still open door, "Hop Sing?" The young man appeared in the doorway, a half smile on his lips, his eyes twinkling. Ben gestured impatiently at the two boys in the distance. "What was that all about?"

Joining the others on the porch, Hop Sing watched Hoss’ futile pursuit of his spry sibling. "Little Joe make brother’s boots uncomfortable for feet."

Adam's eyes danced, watching his father digest their cook's answer. Ben cleared his throat, then captured Hop Sing with his firmest expression. "Just what exactly did Hoss say, Hop Sing?"

Rubbing his chin, the young man gazed upwards, trying to get the words straight, then did his best to imitate the middle son’s outburst. "He say, 'Why, you little skunk, I knew you was up ta somethin' yesterday when you said you weren't up ta nothin'. Ain't nothin' worse than puttin' your feet inta boots filled with that green pond slime."

Adam rolled his eyes, volunteering, "I can think of a lot worse things to put your feet into."

Ben cleared his throat again, trying to squelch an appreciative smile. "Yes. Well, Little Joe can just clean those boots out to Hoss' satisfaction."

Hop Sing gave a single bob of his head in agreement, then announced, "Breakfast be ready shortly."

"Thank you, Hop Sing. I'll see if I can't lasso those boys and get them back to table."

As Hop Sing returned to the house, Ben asked Adam, with a mischievous glint in his eye, "And were you planning on capturing that bit of drama in your tune as well?"

Adam laughed, then grew thoughtful. "Well, Pa, I don’t know how just yet, but yes, I guess my brothers' antics need to have a place in my song too." Ben nodded, then started off the porch. "Pa?"

Turning back, Ben looked deeply into his eldest son's eyes, catching the silent yearning he’d seen a lot lately, ever since Adam had received his mother’s guitar. "Yes, Adam?"

"Did my mother … did she ever talk about what if felt like ... to have a song growing inside?"

Returning to his son's side, Ben reached out to squeeze Adam's shoulder. "Yes, yes she did." His eyes traveled over the young man's face, as if seeing it for the first time and memorizing every detail. "And she wrote a song about something else growing inside her - just before you were born."

Ben watched conflicting emotions play across Adam’s face – wonder, curiosity and finally, frustration. He asked gently, "What is it, son?"

Brow furrowed, Adam looked back at his father. "I wish we had her music here." He slapped a hand to his side. "But then, what difference would that make? I can’t read music. Or write it."

Ben gave his son’s shoulder another squeeze. "Well, that’s something you can learn, son, just like anything else."

Adam spread his arms out before him. "Where am I going to find a music teacher, out here?"

"There could very well be someone in town who could teach you."

"Who?"

"Well, I don’t know, but I can think of one person who may be aware of such talent."

Adam looked back, still disbelieving. "Who is that?"

"Why, Dan Larson of course. He probably meets just about everyone who comes through Eagle Station. As do the Orwitzes." He frowned, then added reluctantly, "And then there’s Shelby. She sees a fair share of the new faces in town - and hears plenty."

Adam grinned at the sour look lingering on his father’s face. Then, urged on by the notes racing through his head, he asked, "Pa? I’d like to go into town today. To see if maybe-"

Ben nodded. "Of course, son, and while you’re there, you can pick up a few things for me at the trading post." A surprised yelp behind the chicken pen caught his attention and he stepped off the porch. "Sounds like Hoss finally caught your youngest brother. Best go settle this before it escalates any further."

*****

Amid his brothers’ protests, Adam headed into town alone. Lost in thought, he glanced up as he passed Jack Roberts’ grave. Pulling the buckboard to a halt, he climbed down and removed his hat as he neared the wooden cross. He sighed. Death. Pa always says it’s part of life. Sure has been a part of ours. He dropped his head - in memory of all the people he’d loved and lost in his own short journey through life. He drew in a shaky breath. "Yes, it’s part of life, Pa, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Nor will I ever get used to it."

His eyes fell on the jack of hearts and whiskey bottle Shelby had left to honor her man. How I do I put that to music? His lips turned up slightly. But I will. Music. It’s just another form of words.

Placing his hat firmly back on his head, he nodded with conviction. "Time I find that teacher."

*****

As he continued his ride toward town, Adam replayed the beginning of the composition in his head. Suddenly, he was back at the lake, where he’d ridden yesterday afternoon, to watch the sunset. Closing his eyes for a moment, he recaptured the picture - colors so intense that they burned in his memory long after the sun had slid into the lake. Even now he could see the streaks of cerise, azure and scarlet splattered across the sky behind a fiery orange ball. That’s when the music had started. It was also when he realized his dilemma. For when he heard the first few notes, he also heard two distinct instruments playing. He’d reached for his guitar and plucked out his part of it. He'd raised his head abruptly at a coyote’s howl in the distance, then noticed the rising moon. He couldn’t help but ask the glowing face, How do I tell Pa what to play on his fiddle? I need to write the music. Mr. Henderson* taught me where the notes were on the guitar strings, but he couldn’t show me how to write them down. Besides, there wasn’t time for that anyway, even if he’d known how.

Before he knew it, Adam was in town and the bustle hit him – in the form of more notes. Overwhelmed by the music, he pulled up in front of the Orwitz’s trading post. He drew in a deep breath, closing he eyes briefly while he pushed his composition into the background, before climbing down to enter the store.

Ruth Orwitz looked up from the package she was wrapping for someone Adam didn’t recognize. "Good morning, Adam. What brings you into town this beautiful day?"

Touching the brim of his hat, Adam returned Ruth’s warm smile. "Hi, Mrs. Orwitz. Pa gave me a list of things he needs." He placed the folded paper into outstretched fingers. "But I also have a question for you and Mr. Orwitz." Ruth held up a finger. "Yes’m. There’s no hurry. I’ll look over the new books. I see you’ve gotten another supply in since I was here last."

Ruth smiled gently, then returned her attention to her customer.

A few moments later, Adam reluctantly drew his eyes away from the pages before him and turned at the touch to his shoulder. He closed the book and nodded at the round face smiling at him. "Mr. Orwitz."

"Adam? Ruth tells me you have a question for us?"

"Yes, sir." With one last longing look at the volume in his hands, he placed the book carefully back on the table and turned his full attention to the storekeeper. "I was hoping you might be able to tell me if you’ve heard of anyone who’s come into town recently who might be able to read and write music?"

Ruth joined them, slipping an arm through her husband’s as she volunteered cheerfully, "Why, my Eli can help you, Adam."

Eli dropped his head humbly, shaking it slowly.

Ruth wagged a finger under her husband’s nose. "Oh no you don’t. Don’t you try to back out of this, Eli Orwitz." She looked at Adam. "Eli learned music, as a small child, at his mother’s knee. He has not forgotten, even if he would tell you so."

The look it Adam’s eyes moved the storeowner, even before the young man pled, "Mr. Orwitz, I’ll work as many hours as you say, to repay you, but please teach me what you know. I can’t begin to tell you what it would mean to me."

Ruth squeezed the arm still entwined in her own; realizing Eli was too moved to say anything. She knew her husband had a heart of gold. He couldn’t refuse this young man’s request. His eyes said ‘yes.’

*****

Though half lost in thought as he neared the ranch, Adam slowed the team, catching a movement out of the corner of his eye in a nearby grove of pinyon pine. Rolling his eyes, he muttered, "What is he up to now?"

He raised his voice to alert the little culprit. "Little Joe! I know that’s you in there. What are you up to now?"

Stepping out from behind a tree, hands behind him, Joe called back, "Ain’t up ta nothin’."

With a soft snort, Adam shook his head, then called back, "I think it’s time I share a little secret with you, little brother." Noting the boy was stuffing something into his pants pocket, Adam waited until Joe drew closer, enjoying the curiosity bursting in the youngster’s eyes.

"A secret? What kinda secret."

Adam cocked his head to stare at the bulges in the boy’s pockets packed like a chipmunk’s cheeks chockfull of seeds. "Well, I just thought you might like to know that whenever you say you’re not ‘up ta nothin,’ your family knows darn sure you are up to ‘somethin’’."

Joe frowned. "How come? ‘cause I ain’t got a good poker face, like you?"

Adam grinned. "Well, you don’t, but that’s not the reason."

"Well, how come then?"

"Because, little brother, any time you’ve ever said you’re not up to something, it’s only been a matter of time before we found out that you were. We’re familiar with your personal history, you might say."

Eyebrows folding, the boy scratched his chin, then answered, "Oh." He considered further, then questioned, "How come you’re telling me this, Adam? You siding with me instead of Hoss?"

"Huh? I’m not siding with anybody. In fact, I didn’t know you two were at odds." He patted the place on the seat beside him.

Joe shrugged. "We ain’t at odds. We’re just playing pranks on each other." He laughed as he climbed up next to his brother. "Pretty good one, that pond slime, don’t ya think?"

Adam slapped the reins. "Well, considering you ended up having to wipe out Hoss’ boots, how do you figure it was a good one?"

Joe laughed again. "You didn’t see the look on Hoss’ face when his sock soaked up all that muck."

Chuckling at the boy’s enthusiasm, Adam nodded slowly. Sliding a sideward look at the child’s pockets, Adam suggested, "You know, it’ll be some time before Hoss puts his feet in his boots again without looking first."

The boy threw him a suspicious look. "How come ya said that?"

"Joe, you obviously stuffed your pockets with something. I’m suspecting that it’s bits of pinecone – very prickly on the unprotected foot." He rolled his eyes. "Hop Sing is gonna have a fit when he finds that sticky mess in your pockets."

The boys started to wipe his hands on his pants, and Adam turned sharply. "Don’t! Don’t make matters worse."

"Well, golly, they’re sticky."

"Of course they’re sticky. What did you expect? Honestly, Joe." Adam shook his head as he concentrated on the team.

Joe mumbled, "Ya’d think you’d never been a kid."

"How’s that?"

Turning, the boy waved his hands in the air as he hollered, "I said, you’d think you’d never been a kid!"

Pulling back on the reins to halt the horses, Adam turned to address the angry red face. "Well, I was. But … well, I guess I just didn’t have that many clothes when I was a little kid." Shutting his eyes briefly against the outrage rising in Joe’s eyes, he held up a hand. "Sorry, I know, you’re not a little kid. All I mean is, Joe, I had a limited number of clothes when I was your age and it was real important to preserve them."

As Adam encouraged the team forward, Joe studied him out of the corner of his eye. He licked his lips, then asked carefully, "Adam?"

Without taking his eyes of the trail, Adam answered. "Yes?"

The boy asked quietly, respectfully, "You know any secrets ta getting pine sap off pants pockets?"

Sliding an arm across the Joe’s shoulders, Adam nodded. "Yeah. His name is Hop Sing. I expect he has a remedy or two up his sleeve. How about if you get rid of what’s in your pockets, then, when we get home, I’ll approach Hop Sing about the problem, while you entertain Pa elsewhere?"

Joe nodded enthusiastically, his boyish enthusiasm returning in an elfish grin. "Yeah, okay, Adam. Thanks."

*****

That evening after dinner, Ben joined Adam on the porch while the younger boys played their nightly checkers match. Hop Sing had quietly told Ben he had a ‘special project’ to occupy his time that evening. Ben wisely ignored the silent exchange that passed between his youngest and eldest sons at that moment.

Once Ben was seated, Adam cradled his guitar as he plucked and strummed out his melody. The shine in the boy’s eyes rivaled the moon as he watched the smile on his father’s face grow and grow until it could spread no further. He knew Pa could see the images leaping into the air on the tails of the notes. Adam’s song captured the essence of home, the beauty of nature, the love and fun of family, even his little brother’s mischief.

When Adam plucked the last note, Ben raised his fiddle and tucked it under his chin, to answer with his own accompaniment. Adam’s jaw dropped; his fingers froze, as he listened to the music echoing back at him.

Ben stopped, seeing his son’s consternation. "Adam?"

"Pa, it’s not the part I wrote for you, but it’s perfect. It’s a good accompaniment. It goes so well with the guitar. I-"

Ben interrupted gently. "Adam?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I don’t make a habit of writing music, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have any aptitude."

"Yes, but-"

Ben held up a hand. "You know, some great composers have written what they call ‘variations on a theme.’" Adam nodded, encouraging his father to continue. "They’ve taken music someone before them has written, then interpreted it, and given it a new life." Again, Adam nodded. "I expect that’s what I’ve done here, son. I heard your music and answered with the voice of the instrument in my hand. It doesn’t mean that the music you planned for the violin part won’t work. In fact, you might find that it fits very well with what I just played."

"You mean, if we had two violins to accompany my guitar?"

Ben nodded. "Yes, that’s right. The truth is, from what you’ve told me, your composition could support a multitude of instruments."

Adam shook his head, "You don’t mean … you aren’t suggesting…"

"A symphony? Why not?"

"But, Pa … I’m not a composer. I can’t write something as complex as a symphony. Why, I’ve only just begun to learn how to put the notes on paper this afternoon."

"Maybe you can and maybe you can’t. But there are many levels of music, son. Duets, quartets…"

Adam’s mouth dropped open again, and then he nodded with new understanding. "Yes. Yes. A quartet. That’s what it is, Pa. That’s what it is. A guitar, two violins and … I think it’s a flute."

Ben’s slow smile rose into his eyes. "Well, isn’t that a coincidence."

"What? What do you mean? Pa, do you know someone who can play the flute in Eagle Station? And the other violin?"

Ben’s mysterious smile only widened.

*****

Some weeks later, the Cartwright family arrived at the recently built town hall at the same time as the Greenes did. Tess sidled up to Hoss, then whisked him away before her mother or Ben could utter a word.

Wrinkles of concern lined Margaret’s forehead. "Ben-"

Ben held up a hand, following his middle son with his eyes. Meanwhile, Adam slipped inside and Joe scooted in behind him. "Yes, Margaret, I know, we need to sit those two down for a talk, but not tonight. Please. This is Adam’s night." His face softened, "I wouldn’t ruin it for him, not for the world, Maggie."

Margaret Greene watched Ben's eyes fill with a love and pride so rich and full, it filled her eyes with tears. She blinked them away, then answered, "Of course not, Ben. You’re right. Let’s go in. Besides, you need time to tune your fiddle, don’t you?"

"Yes." Ben answered distractedly, his mind somewhere far away from Eagle Station. When he looked back at her, his voice was full of passion. "Oh, Maggie, you can’t know what this means to me. This night. His music." Ben’s next words came out in a husky whisper. "Her music."

Margaret suddenly saw a side of Ben Cartwright she’d never really thought about much before - the man who’d been married twice before Marie. She considered his sons. There was no doubt Adam had loved Marie, of that no one at Eagle Station could dispute, but he was not Marie’s son, nor was Hoss. Margaret suddenly realized that those other women still held their own special place in Ben Cartwright’s heart.

Slipping her arm through his, she suggested softly, "Let’s go in, Ben, shall we?"

Wiping his eyes quickly with his fingers, Ben nodded, finding his smile. "Yes. Let’s."

They entered the hall, amazed at the numbers filling the seats. Surely, every permanent resident of the town had purchased tickets to this event, the proceeds of which would go into a fund for building a schoolhouse. Extra chairs had been added, for anyone just passing through interested in attending. All of those seats were also taken. Again Ben dashed his eyes. He knew he had Shelby to thank for these extra bodies. He’d heard her voice, bellowing in the saloon as he’d passed by the other day. When he’d peeked over the doors, he witnessed a grand performance….

~~~~

Shelby watched her customers quaff their drinks and push their glasses forward for a refill. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she growled, ‘I guess you all didn’t hear what I jest said. If you want to partake of an hour of free drinks, then you’ll buy one a these here tickets I got in my hand to the show comin’ up tahmarrah, and you’ll oc-u-py them seats this here ticket is fer, if’n ya value yer life. Ain’t that so, Big Dan?’

Dan Larson stood larger than life, nodding behind the drinkers, arms crossed over his massive chest. ‘Yep, that’s right, Shelby.’

One of the more sober patrons raised a finger and a question. ‘But how is the drink free, if we gotta put up money fer some high fell-oot-ten shindig?’

Shelby zipped around the bar to grab the man by his collar. ‘You know the word ingratiate, Simon?’

Sliding his eyes left, then right, the wisp of a man gulped as he continued to try to avoid the crazed bartender’s eyes. ‘Mehbe I do, mehbe I ain’t. What’s it to ya?’

Shelby relaxed her grip, long enough to roll her eyes, then resumed her chokehold. ‘Well, whether you know the meanin’ or not, I suggest you ingratiate yerself with me and buy one a these here tickets. Else, ya cain get yer sorry bee-hind outta here and find yerself someplace else ta do yer drinkin.’

Simon’s eyes grew wide as his jaw dropped. ‘But, Shelby, there ain’t no other place in this here town ta drink at.’

A sickly grin filled the bartender’s face as she nodded and checked out the knowing faces of all her other patrons. She continued to nod as she passed over their faces once more, a smirk working on her lips. ‘Ain’t that a fact.’ Her eyes shot back to Simon, pinning him to his barstool. ‘So, ingratiate me.’

Simon turned around to look up at Big Dan looming over him. The stick of a man smiled weakly, offering the most pitiful shrug of his shoulders.

Dan looked down on him and shook his head. Placing a large hand on the spindly shoulder, he squeezed just enough to make Simon gulp audibly. ‘Just buy the ticket, Simon. Ain’t ya got no brains in that heada yours?’

~~~~

After escorting Margaret to her seat, Ben joined the other musicians. He gave a nod to Eli tuning his violin and to Frenchy doing a bit of warm-up on his piccolo. Then he turned to Adam. "Are you ready for your speech, son? Looks like the place is about full up."

Adam nodded with his usual confidence. He couldn’t contain his smile. "It’s great, isn’t it, Pa, all these folks showed up? We’ll have a school built in no time."

"Yes, son, it’s wonderful. Let’s get started."

Adam carefully leaned his guitar against a post, then stepped up to the podium. "Good evening, everyone, thank you for coming out to support our school fund." Shelby grinned widely, then gave Simon Owens a sharp jab with her elbow. The man would have fallen off his chair if Big Dan didn’t reach out from behind to steady him.

With a hesitant smile, Adam continued. "This town has many musicians I didn’t know about. And thanks to my father, two of them stepped forward to lend their talent to this program and to help me realize my own debut as a songwriter. We’d like to start with some music everyone is familiar with. And if anyone has requests, we’ll be happy to play them." He spread his hands out before him. "There is room for dancing, for anyone wishes. Refreshments are also available, compliments or Margaret Greene, Shelby and the Ponderosa’s fine cook, Hop Sing."

With a nod at his fellow musicians, Adam concluded, "Now, without further delay, we’ll begin."

The walls of the new building seemed to rock with the hand clapping and foot stomping that accompanied the music that flowed throughout the evening. Finally, as the hour grew late, Ben Cartwright stepped to the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please. I take great pride in introducing our last song of the evening. This tune was written by my son Adam. It’s his first." He paused to look at his son as he added, "but I know it will not be his last. He has titled it simply, ‘Home.’ He’s dedicated the song to his mother, Elizabeth Cartwright, my first wife. I hope you all will be as moved by it as I am."

The room grew silent for a moment, in honor of someone they didn’t know, yet did know, through the young man behind the guitar. And as the notes leaped into the air from two violins, a guitar, and a piccolo, somehow the audience suddenly knew Elizabeth Stoddard Cartwright a little better, because she was in the notes, and in the fingers of the young man who grinned while he brought them to life.

The End.

(May 2005)

*Author’s Footnote: Mr. Henderson taught Adam to play guitar in the author’s story "A Note of Thanks."