The Preacher’s Bets

By Kierin

Adam Cartwright nearly choked on his cider when at the breakfast table Little Joe suddenly announced, "I think I’m gonna be a preacher when I grow up."

The incongruous thought of his spitfire of a little brother expounding the word of God was too much, and he couldn’t hold back a good, loud laugh. Little Joe glared at him, but his father and Hoss also had trouble hiding the smiles on their faces, though they weren’t surprised by the announcement the way Adam was.

For the last week all Little Joe could talk about was Reverend Thomas Whitney, the new preacher in town who looked no older than thirty, was nearly as tall as Hoss, and had a batch of unruly blond curls that jutted out at odd angles from beneath his little black preacher’s hat. In his fiery streetside sermons, Reverend Whitney spoke of little else besides sin, repentance, and obeying the Sabbath, and demanded that no town the size of Eagle Station was fit to continue existence without a proper church. But he spoke of it all with a hint of a grin on his face and with such a flopping of curls and waving of arms and blustering and sputtering that Little Joe and most of the rest of the townsfolk could not help but be impressed.

Adam hadn’t heard most of Little Joe’s chatter. Lately, he was spending most of his spare time at Greene Valley with Isabella. Their relationship wasn’t progressing as quickly as he would have liked, and this often left sensitive Adam in a grievous mood. Hence, the spitefulness in his laugh was real and noticeable and not lost on Little Joe.

"Well, I am!" Joe demanded, his mind suddenly made up.

When Adam continued laughing and Hoss failed in his battle to stifle a chuckle, Little Joe’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment. Noticing that his youngest son’s emotions were about to boil over, Ben put out his hands as a signal to Adam and Hoss to be quiet. "I believe that Joseph can become whatever he sets his mind to," he said.

"Except maybe a mathematician," replied Adam, familiar with Joe’s less-than-stellar abilities in that subject. "Or an English teacher."

"Or a dressmaker," put in Hoss, now chuckling. "Or a nun!"

"Or a housekeeper. Have you see his bunk lately?"

"Or a cook! Remember that foul-tasting excuse for stew he and Pa made on our last hunting trip?"

"Oh, or a barber," offered Adam, his laughter still uncontained. "He can’t stand getting his hair cut. Or a tightrope walker. You know how he is about heights."

"Or a doctor," added Hoss. "He sure hates doctorin’ of any kind." Both Hoss and Adam were in full-fledged hilarity by this time. Unable to stand it any longer, Little Joe flew out of his chair toward his eldest brother, but Ben quickly reached out an arm and caught him before he could inflict whatever assailment he had planned.

"That will be quite enough from all of you," said Ben in a warning tone, though his eyes were smiling. He pulled the boy into his lap. "Little Joe, you don’t have to decide tonight what you want to be when you grow up. You have a few years yet to make up your mind."

Little Joe glared at Adam but risked saying or doing nothing more as he knew it would most likely get him in trouble with his father, not to mention God, his future boss. He decided that tonight when Reverend Whitney came to dinner he’d tell him about his career decision. He most assuredly would not laugh.

*************************************

"…and I named her Paint and tamed her and now she’s my horse. This is Betsy. She’s not usually in the barn, but she’s gonna have a foal any day now and it’s her first one so Pa and Hoss brought her in here. This is Beauty, Adam’s horse. Me and Pa and Adam and Hoss built this barn. Some of the people from town came to help after the fire. We’re gonna build a bigger one some day. This is where we keep the clean hay. This is where we keep the saddles. This is where we…"

From the barn doorway, Ben cleared his throat and spoke, "Little Joe? Is your tour about finished? Hop Sing’s got supper ready."

"’Kay, Pa. I’m finished. Oh, but Reverend Whitney, I’ve been meaning to tell you I’m gonna be a preacher when I grow up. Just like you!"

The Reverend straightened his hat and clapped Little Joe on the shoulder. He glanced at Ben to see what he thought of his son’s career decision. Ben’s expression was unreadable, so Reverend Whitney said, "That’s very impressive, Joseph. I shall try to be a good example for you. I have a Bible in my room at the boarding house that I will give to you. A person is never too young to start studying the word of God."

Joe nodded, pleased with the Reverend’s reaction to his news.

Ben held the barn door open. "Let’s go get some of Hop Sing’s beef stew before Hoss eats it all," he declared, not entirely joking.

Adam ate silently, only occasionally laying a pair of icy blue eyes on the Reverend. There was something Adam didn’t like about the man, but he couldn’t quite determine what it was. All he knew was that his mere presence upset him. Had he really thought about, it might have occurred to him that the anger simmering in his stomach was actually jealousy. Adam was used to being Little Joe’s hero--fearless big brother--but since Adam had been spending so much time with Isabella and on his ranch chores, Joe had found someone else to adore. Added to this was the fact that Adam had been giving a lot of thought to the current state of his life--including perhaps getting a place of his own--and here was a man not much older than he traveling around the country alone and unfettered. Right now, however, Adam only identified anger, and he was determined to find something unlikable about the Reverend and share it with the whole world.

"You’ve built an impressive ranch here, Mr. Cartwright." Reverend Whitney reached for another slice of bread. "It pleases the Lord to see a man work so hard and do so much with the resources God’s provided. That is why he has blessed you so . . ."

"Well, we’ve had more than our share of trouble, too, Reverend," interrupted Adam.

Surprised by the comment, Reverend Whitney looked toward Adam, his standard grin disappearing. "Yes, I understand that, but God has pulled you through, has he not?"

"He sure has," replied Ben, glancing at his eldest son. "He has helped us through some tough losses."

"So I assume I can count on you to donate a sum toward the building of a church in Eagle Station?"

When Ben didn’t answer right away, Little Joe eagerly replied, "Pa’s been trying to get the town council to build a church since the council got started, ain’t that right Pa?"

"Yes, I’ve tried several times, but there hasn’t been much of a response. The council would rather have a saw mill, or freight line, or even a jailhouse. Big Dan, Jack and Shelby don’t have much use for religion, the Orowitzes are Jewish, and you never can tell with Margaret Greene. Half the rest of the folks in town on any given day are just passing through on their way to California."

"That’s why Sacramento is my next stop. Sin and vice run rampant in the mining camps. God needs me there."

"Well, I’m sure they could use someone to preside over funerals," said Adam scornfully. Silence followed, and his father shot him a dangerous glare that said he’d better be careful about what came out of his mouth.

After Adam mumbled an apology into his stew, Ben continued, "I’m afraid the main problem is that few in Eagle Station have money to spare."

The Reverend nodded thoughtfully, the usual hint of a grin again lighting his face. "God works in mysterious ways," was all he said.

That night, after Little Joe was in bed and the evening chores completed, Hoss and Reverend Whitney leaned against the top slats of Betsy’s stall, watching her chew the hay Hoss had just tossed to her.

"When do you think she’ll drop?"

"Reckon in the next two weeks."

"She’s a good-looking mare. Should have a fine-looking young’un. Do you think the foal will be male or female?"

"I cain’t rightly say, but I think it’ll be a little filly."

"Why’s that?"

"The stallion has a history of producing fillies."

Reverend Whitney glanced at Hoss out of the corners of his eyes. After examining Betsy for a few moments, he stated, "I disagree. I think it’ll be a colt."

"Why?"

"Just have a feeling."

"Well, I think your feeling’s wrong, mister. I mean, Reverend."

"Really? I guess we disagree then. Would you care to make a little bet?"

Surprise flashed across Hoss’s face. "Ah…but what about…I don’t think…Reckon you’re…Preachers aren’t supposed to make bets, are they? Are you trying to rustle up some trouble or somethin’?"

Reverend Whitney grinned and straightened his hat. "I’m not your average preacher, Hoss. Besides, this is just a friendly wager. We don’t have to tell anyone."

"How much?"

"How about ten dollars?"

After a couple seconds of consideration, Hoss reached out to shake the Reverend’s hand. "You got yourself a deal."

******************************

Shelby’s mouth dropped open when, as if it were an everyday occurrence, Reverend Whitney strolled into her saloon, sat down at the bar, and resolutely ordered a beer.

"B-beer?" she managed to ask, raising one eyebrow.

"Nah, you better just give me a sarsaparilla," Reverend Whitney replied, his trademark grin appearing once again. Shelby gave a little laugh and turned to get him his drink.

"You ain’t like no preacher I ever met before."

"Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment."

"Where you from?"

"New York."

"What brought you way out here?"

"God."

"God?"

"Yup. Told me to go out west and build churches. I try to do as He says whenever possible."

Shelby laughed again, this time a little skeptically. "What made you choose Eagle Station?"

"Eagle Station isn’t my first stop. I’ve been in lots of other places. In this area, there aren’t many other towns to choose from, so Eagle Station won by default. Besides, you’re so close to the California gold fields and you have all these mountains around that haven’t been mined yet. I think Eagle Station will grow, especially if that fellow Jack Wolf has his way, and a growing town needs a church. Did you go to church when you were a child?"

"What if I did?"

"I was just asking."

"Well, let’s talk about something else."

"All right. You ever shot that pistol you got there?"

Again the reverend had managed to shock the saloon owner. "What kind of question is that?"

"You said you wanted to talk about something else. I haven’t seen a lot of women carrying guns, even out here in the West."

"Sure I’ve shot it."

"Hit anything?"

"I’m the best shot in these parts," she stated matter-of-factly.

Reverend Whitney nodded then straightened his hat. "I’m a pretty good shot myself."

"Ha!"

"You think just because I’m a preacher I can’t shoot?"

"You think just because I’m a woman I can’t shoot?"

The two grinned at each other. "Perhaps we should have a friendly contest sometime."

"I wouldn’t want you to get beat by a lady."

"I’m not worried. I think I’d win."

Her eyes met his and her voice dropped in pitch. "You would not."

"Really? You wanna bet?"

"Are you serious?"

"As serious as sin, Ms. Sterret."

"Don’t the Bible say something about laying bets being wrong and all that?"

"A fellow has to have some kind of vice, doesn’t he? Guess this is mine. Just don’t tell anyone. Wouldn’t want it to get around that Reverend Whitney is a gambling man."

"Fifty bucks," Shelby suggested, hoping to shock him.

The Reverend’s expression didn’t even change. He just extended his hand for a shake. "Fifty bucks."

***********************************

Adam was in no mood to talk to anyone. His father had sent him alone on the long ride to town to deliver the extra eggs to the Orowitzes, and Ben’s final words still rang in his ears. "While you’re at it, I suggest you give some thought to this sour attitude you’ve recently acquired. I’ve given you some leeway because of your age, but I am not about to let it continue."

When Adam saw Reverend Whitney coming out of the saloon, the daggers he shot him would have leveled a lesser man. But the Reverend had come into contact with his fair share of cynics and downright angry folks, and he simply gave Adam a questioning nod and smile. Adam mounted his horse without a word and steered her out of town. A few minutes later, Reverend Whitney galloped up behind him, saying, "I have a book for your brother. Would you mind delivering it to him?" Grudgingly, Adam pulled Beauty to a stop, and the Reverend reached out to stroke her nose. "Joseph told me her name. She really is quite a beauty, isn’t she?"

Adam did his best to keep himself under control, though he could feel tight anger in his chest. "I think she is."

"She fast?"

"One of the fastest around here. Never lost a race."

"Abraham here is a fast one, too. Come to think of it, I don’t think he’s ever lost a race either. I think he could beat your Beauty."

Adam almost laughed as he looked at the short, black horse. Abraham did seem to have solid, straight, muscular legs and flanks, and a nicely arched neck, but he was no taller than thirteen hands and he was obviously several years older than Beauty. Plus, Adam could tell he weighed much less than Whitney. "No offense, Reverend, but I don’t think so."

"Really? Would you care to bet?"

"You’re joking, right?" returned Adam. "You really think your horse can beat Beauty?"

"Would I offer to bet on it if I didn’t?"

"How much?"

"Ten dollars…and I would prefer it if you wouldn’t tell anyone no matter what the outcome."

Adam’s eyes narrowed as he thought. He’d been careful with his money lately, saving up to buy some land. But here was a chance to trounce this scoundrel and have an extra ten dollars to show for it as well. Things were looking up. "All right, Reverend Whitney, it’s a bet. Shall we ride out to The Ponderosa?"

"Lead the way, Adam."

Two hours later, Adam, ten dollars lighter, stormed into the house, slammed the front door, threw his jacket toward his room, and slumped down in a chair by the fireplace. Luckily, Hop Sing was the only one home to witness the display, and he only eyed Adam wordlessly.

That evening, Shelby was especially short with the saloon patrons. She slung and rattled things around even more than usual and called anyone who upset her every name she could think of, some of which were pretty impressive in their originality. When Reverend Whitney strolled into the bar bearing his usual grin, the saloon grew quiet as the men waited to see how grouchy Shelby would treat the so-called man of God. They were pretty disappointed when she silently dropped something into his extended palm and he pocketed it, tipped his hat to her and toward the patrons, and strolled out of the saloon.

"You deliver quite an impressive sermon," Ben told Reverend Whitney after the completion of one of his streetside spectacles, which Little Joe had pleaded with his father take him to see.

"Yeah, that was so neat!" agreed Little Joe. "Everybody just stops and pays attention to you! That’ll be me someday, Pa."

"Unfortunately, they simply move on once I am done speaking."

"So you haven’t had much success raising funds for the church?"

"Hardly a nickel, Mr. Cartwright. I’ve been preaching in various parts of town everyday, but no one seems to want to donate. I can now see the trials you’ve had to endure. But, mark my words, we’ll get donations. I’ll see to it."

A week later, Hoss was inhaling a snack when Little Joe burst into the house. "Hoss! Hoss, come quick! Betsy’s laying down in her stall and making hurt sounds. I think she’s gonna have the baby."

Hoss had known it was getting about time. He dropped his sandwich and sprinted toward the barn with Joe right behind him. They made Betsy as comfortable as they could, then watched in wonder as the birthing played out before their saucerlike eyes.

"Golly!" was all Little Joe could manage to say, and he said it many times.

Ben arrived in time to help the boys clean the foal’s nose and mouth and dry the little chestnut horse. Once the foal was washed and standing precariously next to its mother, Hoss took a quick inspection of the horse’s nether regions.

"Well, doggone it," he moaned.

"What? What’s wrong?" asked Joe and Ben.

Hoss half-heartedly kicked the barn wall. "It’s a boy." His eyes grew wide. Uh oh, he had to cover this up. He didn’t want his father to know he’d been betting, let alone betting with the preacher. "I just, uh, I was hoping for a filly."

Not long after, Adam was taking his frustrations out on the woodpile, and he’d accumulated a mighty big heap, when Ben came to talk to him.

"Be careful," he cautioned as Adam brought the axe down particularly heavily. "We don’t want another broken handle." Adam didn’t respond, but the next whack was a little lighter. Still the log split briskly in two.

"How’s the colt?"

"Just fine. Your brothers are about to burst with excitement. Although Hoss had apparently been hoping for a filly." When Adam again said nothing, Ben removed his gloves and leaned against the woodpile. "I’d like you to talk to me, Adam. Tell me what’s going on with you lately."

Adam jammed the axe head into the chopping block and pushed up a shirt sleeve that had fallen down. "Honestly, I don’t know, Pa. I’ve been studying on a couple things, but you might get angry if I tell you."

"Son, you always have the right to speak your mind to me. I can’t say I’ll always agree."

Adam pulled off one glove and absentmindedly rubbed the beginning of a blister. Ben waited for his son to find the right words. "It’s about Reverend Whitney."

"Yes?"

"There’s something I don’t like about him. I can’t say what it is, but it’s bothered me since I laid eyes on him, even since I heard about him." Adam had decided not to tell his father that he’d lost ten dollars to the Reverend in a horseracing bet.

"I see. What do you think it could be?"

"He’s not like any other preacher we’ve come across during all our travels."

"That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with him or that he isn’t sincere."

"I know. It’s just…Haven’t you ever had a feeling about someone, felt like something wasn’t right?"

"Yes, I think I felt like that the day I met Jack Wolf."

"Well, that’s how I feel with this Reverend Thomas Whitney, if that’s even his real name."

Ben sighed as he stood and put his gloves back on. "Adam, I guess you need to find proof. I haven’t seen any. In fact, I find him to be sincere, but if you can come to me with evidence that he’s not, I would listen, and if something needs to be done, we’ll do it. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, Pa. Thanks." Now Adam was on a mission.

************************************

On Sunday morning, Ben and the boys dressed in their best clothes and headed for the town hall and the first actual church services they’d attended since arriving in Eagle Station. When baskets were passed, despite a fierce and demanding appeal from Reverend Whitney, it looked like it would take quite a while to raise the needed funds for an actual church building. Ben’s words about no one having much to spare were proving accurate.

"Pa, let’s eat at Shelby’s," Adam suggested as they walked out of the hall. Since Ben had told Hop Sing he could have the day off, he agreed. It wasn’t necessarily his first choice as a place to dine, but it was the only choice, so it wasn’t a hard one to make. He knew how the boys felt about his cooking.

As they awaited their food, Little Joe mimicked part of the sermon Reverend Whitney had delivered just a bit ago, even swinging his arms in wide arcs the way the Reverend did. "Repent sinners for the day of the Lord is at hand! Choose to ignore His word and be flung into the burning fires of Hades. But choose to trust and obey His almighty word and enjoy the magnificent sweetness of everlasting…"

Shelby caught Joe’s right arm mid-swing. "Aw, I don’t need to hear it from you, Little Joe. Don’t go reminding me of that low-down, rotten, skunky…"

"Shelby!" snapped Ben. "That’s a man of God you’re talking about."

"I’m not so sure God’s who he’s working for."

"What?"

Shelby scoffed. "Aw, c’mon, Ben, you’ve traveled all around the country; you’re telling me you ain’t seen a crooked preacher or two? Don’t you remember Reverend Champion?"

"I know some abuse their power, but…"

"Pa," interrupted Adam. "I think you better listen to what Shelby has to say."

"Yeah, Ben, your reverend friend ain’t so popular in town. Adam and me did a little investigating. He’s been involved in some…activities."

"For instance?"

"Well, he’s been making these wagers all over the countryside."

"It’s true," confirmed Adam. "I lost ten dollars to him in a horse race."

Ben’s eyebrows came quickly together.

"Me too! We bet about the colt," put in Hoss. "And Tess bet him five dollars he couldn’t eat twenty churros in a row. He even won that! Even I can’t eat twenty churros in a row."

Ben was clearly shocked, presumably because of the Reverend’s gambling rather than about the churros. Hoss hung his head remorsefully, unsure how his father was going to react to finding out about his betting.

Shelby had her own examples to add. "Big Dan lost twenty-five to him in an axe-throwing contest, Jack lost thirty in some wager about the stagecoach arriving on time, the oldest Johnson boy lost five in a footrace, and I heard that he beat Pete Patterson in a staring contest and you know how stubborn that old cuss is. And I, uh, well…I lost some money to him, too."

Adam turned to his father. "There you go, Pa. He preaches all that stuff about the poor shall be rich and last shall be first and then he goes and robs about everyone in this territory."

"Are telling me you don’t think he won those bets fairly?"

"No one’s that lucky, Pa."

"God is," stated Little Joe, mimicking the Reverend’s grin.

"Like I said, I’m not sure God’s who he’s working for, Little Joe," replied Shelby. "He told all of us to keep the bets secret. He ain’t nothing but a swindler. Taking advantage of people using that collar he wears."

Little Joe couldn’t stand it any longer. "No he’s not!"

"Aw, you just like him ‘cause he gives you presents," stated Adam, pointing to the Bible in Joe’s hands.

"Reckon he’s gonna take our money and run," interrupted Hoss, his voice oddly calm.

"He wouldn’t do that!" Little Joe’s fist hit the table.

"Oh yeah, little brother? Look." Hoss pointed out the door. The others turned to see the Reverend riding by on a horse obviously packed for travel. They were out of their chairs and in the street in seconds. Several others gathered as well, their displeasure evident.

Ben caught Abraham’s bridle and pulled the horse to a stop. Frowning up at Tom Whitney, he demanded, "You’re leaving?"

Reverend Whitney looked down at Ben with the usual hint of a grin on his face. "Ah, Mr. Cartwright, I’ve been looking for you. I’ve successfully enraged about every person in town. It’s time for me to move on. I believe that God protects me, but I’m not about to test Him. Will you see to this?" The Reverend handed Ben a bundle of bills.

"What’s this?"

"Two hundred and forty-five dollars. Donated by various folks in Eagle Station toward the building of a church."

Ben examined the money as a hush fell over the onlookers. "I thought nobody around here had money to spare," he said to nobody in particular.

"Really? You wanna bet?" The Reverend paused to let his words sink in. When knowing looks spread across the faces before him, he continued, "I told you I was in town to raise money to build a church and that’s what I did. Ben, you’d be surprised how much extra money your neighbors have. And now a good portion of it has been donated to the future Eagle Station Church. God works in mighty mysterious ways. Good day." He straightened his hat, kicked his horse, and disappeared with a cloud of dust.

"Pa, that’s all the money he won, ain’t it?" asked Hoss.

"I think so, son."

"How do you think we won all those bets?"

"Well, like he said, God works in mysterious ways."

"So he wasn’t a crook after all." It wasn’t clear if Shelby was asking or stating this, but several people mumbled an affirmation.

Little Joe couldn’t resist saying, "See! I told you so! I was right."

Laughing, Hoss grabbed him and flung him gently over his shoulder. "Little brother, I guess you were. You better enjoy this because it’s pretty good odds it’ll never happen again."

"Got to hand it to him," admitted Shelby. "That was pretty creative. I weren’t gonna donate to that ole church fund and he found a way to make me do it without even realizing I was."

Adam stood in place, dumbfounded. He’d been so sure this man was a crook, especially after he’d found out about all the other bets. Ben put an arm around Adam’s shoulders and held out the money for him to see. "A man can’t always be right, Adam."

"I guess I had no call to dislike him so much, did I? I don’t know what came over me."

Ben nodded as a flash of memory came to him. "Remember when you first met Marie? You didn’t like her at all. You were hurt and jealous and offended all at once. And it took a long time for you to see her for the person she truly was. Son, you’ve been as stubborn as a mule since the day you were born."

After a moment of thought, Adam grinned and elbowed his father. "I wonder who I get that from."

When Ben tucked Little Joe into bed that night, he asked him, "Do you still want to be a preacher when you grow up?"

"Nope," Joe answered quickly. "I thought of something else."

"What’s that?"

"I’m gonna run The Ponderosa."

"Oh yeah? What about me?"

Little Joe indicated that his father should lean in so he could answer him without his brothers hearing. He whispered, "Well, after you get old you can make me the boss and then I can tell Adam and Hoss what to do."

The corners of Ben’s mouth twitched. "I see. And until then?"

"Until then we’ll just be partners. Me and you and Adam and Hoss."

Ben smiled and blew out the lamp. "That sounds just fine, Joseph. Just fine."

The End.